Well, I have to be honest and report that very few things have actually left the house. I don’t want to throw away all of the useful things that I’m trying to detach myself from.

I’ve managed to consign a few things to the trash bin–chipped coffee mugs, underwear with holes. The rest of my things are in piles–books to be sold somewhere, jewelry that needs to go somewhere, clothes that can be donated.

I’m trying to remember the wise things I tell my students–that the best things in life make us happy and are useful. While it’s useful and happy to have a lot of books, for instance, each book does not necessarily share that status. I also keep asking myself–do I want to pack this and then unpack this later?

In other news, the job search is on. Pickings are slim and I’m anxious to the point of fleeting attacks. Whatever happens, this is going to be a year of great transition. I have a lot of absolutely wonderful things to look forward to.

All the more reason not to look back on a pile of things weighing me down. I would hate to turn to salt.

you can read it here: http://www.matchflick.com/column/2037

Well, the book is submitted to the publisher, and it’s time to think about other things. I’m going to be moving sometime next summer (whether in town or out of town, it will be somewhere), so I need to think about all this crap I have.

When I teach writing, I advise my students to cut ten words per page. Tighter writing is stronger and I do this exercise myself. It can be painful, especially to more inexperienced writers, but it’s necessary.

Starting now, I am getting rid of ten things per week. They may be small, they may be big. Some things will be tricky–does one piece of paper out of a file count–should it be part of a long stapled document–does it have to be the whole file?

Food doesn’t count, nor do things I have that belong to other people (unless perhaps I’ve had them so long that the original owner never thought they’d get them back).

If I bring in new things (as I did yesterday–mostly socks and underwear), I have to cancel that out by getting rid of an equal number of things that week.

By the end of the quarter, I will be at least 100 things lighter, though it probably won’t show, as those things will likely simply appear from the backs of closets.

For the first week, ending yesterday, I got rid of books (actually, I haven’t actually had them leave yet, I’m not sure how I want to do that).

Cutting books is an extreme way to cut words out of my life, but I have to think about boxes and lifting and simplicity.

Anyone want to take the challenge with me?

My new column on pirates and pirate movies is up:  http://www.matchflick.com/column/2029  The book is due in eight days and so I can’t blog or think or clean the house or anything . . .

First, happy Labor Day! Remember that the whole idea of the weekend and days off came (due to industrialization first) from labor unions. We generally have time off and no child labor and safety and all kinds of things because of people who fought for it.
Of course, there are crappy union moves. But there are more crappy corporations who would sooner let their workers die than treat them well. And that kind of power only responds to workers uniting.
As a teacher and a writer, I don’t have days off in the traditional sense. I’m going to be writing today.
Didn’t get much done yesterday. I woke up feeling like my life energy was completely gone. I didn’t even have the energy to eat much good sushi. I don’t really understand days like that, but they happen every once in a while.
Off to write.

For those of you keeping track, the book is due to McFarland on October 1st. I’ve been working a bit feverishly on it and yesterday succumbed to simple exhaustion after finishing the 14,000 word chapter on satire and postmodernism.

So today, after finally catching up on some sleep, I’m not doing too much book work. Instead, I’m relaxing by cleaning the kitchen, paying the bills, and prepping the courses that start in three weeks. The kitchen is nice and shiny now, even the floor (well, for those who’ve seen the floor in there, you know it can never be really clean–but it’s as close now as it will ever get). I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that I will never be able to have every room in the house really clean at the same time. I know it to be true, intellectually, but the same part of my heart that believes a bit in romance and true love believes that a place I inhabit could look good all over.

In other news, my glasses are broken, so I’m wearing an old pair until I can get to the eye doctor. I don’t know when that will happen–maybe when the book is done . . .

It occurred to me a few moments ago that I haven’t heard any UB40 in almost a week. Why had I been hearing UB40? Well, as many of you know, I spent two weeks in Maui recently. The radio stations are sparse, as are the repertoires. Most of the music consisted of UB40 wannabees, making it sound like I was in some generic wannabeabeach place all the time. In fact, the wannabees were so annoying that when the actual UB40 came on, it was a blessing. And when they played Iz or Bob Marley, it was a miracle.

Maybe I’m just missing the music now because I’m missing other things associated with it.

In other news, I think things are finally settled with the landlord. My lease will be renewed for nine months (starting in a month), so I won’t have to move while I’m finishing the book!

islands visited: 3
dolphins seen: about 400 (they were spinners!)
turtles seen: 3
humuhumunukunukuapuaa seen: 6
crazy fucking hawaiians met: 1
tropical storms avoided: 1
hitchhikers named elvis picked up: 1
nights spent drinking with a girl I call Bird: 2
green flashes seen: 0
books read: 2 1/2
visits to The Fish Market for amazing sandwiches: 3
visits to Charley’s restaurant: 3
times traveling on the dangerous & beautiful Hana highway: 2
times ending up accidentally on road even worse than Hana highway: 1
times I let the cleaning people into the condo (they wanted 60 a day!): 1 (cause they had to come after I left)
mai tais enjoyed: 0 (though I drank four)
sunsets seen from a catamaran: 1
visits to Kmart: 1
sunsets from the top of a volcano: 1
snorkeling trips: 3
times I dressed up: 0

Coming from a beach town (Panama City Beach, Florida), I am not usually awed by water and sand. Seeing sunlight on water is religious to me—nothing else quite looks like a god kissing the world.
Hawai’i is therefore a beautiful place, a generally welcoming place, in terms of the land and the water.
I didn’t expect the following, though:
Clouds so low on the land—I have never seen mountains touched this way—roads that could take me into a cloud if I followed them high enough.
These clouds hover around the horizon, too, blocking the sun at sunset, creating pink shadows, but precluding the view of a sun dying in the sea.
A sun that burns me through my sunblock almost instantaneously. Parts of me are red and weary and the rest are librarian-white.
An angry Safeway with three ridiculously small parking spaces & a crowd of people always inside and in each other’s way.
A little restaurant with half price appetizers and sushi and jazz on Sunday afternoons. The first full song I heard there was the one I would have requested if there had been a need—All of Me.
Firedancers performing after dark at one of the hotels on this strip each night—and the hosts proclaiming to the paying crowd (of which I manage not to be) that they won’t see that show anywhere else.
Spam sushi. Spam in the A.M. at Burger King (a spam platter or spam crossaint-wich).
In angry Safeway, a can of Bud Light Clamato. That’s right. That’s what was in the can.

But I have found a grocery store that is not angry, I have ahi to grill today for lunch. Tomorrow I will visit a bar that Willie Nelson owns. And the sun will burn and then drift down into the clouds and my skin will match the clouds at dusk–white and pink and ready for ready for rest.