On not posting

Just checked in to change the name of one of my novels and realized I hadn't blogged since my birthday. Shame. I have an excerpt from my first novel (still ALICE & HER GRAND BELL) due out in January in mgv2_69: Fifty Stars & A Maple Leaf. It's an online mag out of the UK and the chapter may be translated into French. That's about all I know about it.

I've been frantically trying to publish excerpts from RIGHT UNDER THEIR NOSES in an effort to garner some interest in it. No luck. Along the way I've run into a few magazines that seemed right for the other book. And with very little effort I've published two excerpts. Internationally, no less (the other in Australia--Skive Magazine).

Obvious New Year's resolution: Blog more often. Season's greetings!

On Friends, Music and Books (and that other matter)

When I first began this blog I was fresh off a 2010 when I had published four short stories and still had high hopes for my newest novel. Now's the time to start a website, I thought. I'm on a roll! Alas, 2011 has brought no new publications; it has brought only sadness. Every other post has brought bad news about illness or the passing of friends far too young to be passing. I saw a ton of old cronies at my friend Jan's memorial service, but it was still a sad affair. Well, the sadness stops here.

As I type, I'm listening to a new CD from Steve Law, grade school chum turned singer/dentist/songwriter. It's a wonderful five-song effort, full of hope and good vibes and fiddle and mandolin. Track four might cross that sentimentality line, but all's forgiven when "Tired" takes a shot at the Lohans and Sheens of the world: "We're so tired of hearin' your story. Tired of hearin' you name."

I just finished reading/critiquing another chapter of my friend Mary Vettel's latest novel full of young love and native American lore. Plus, I look forward to the publication of two books due out soon by members of my writing group.

See, there are all sorts of things to celebrate and keep one's mind off that hopeless other matter: I turned 55 today.

On Remembering Jan Gilbert Treanor

My friend Jan passed away in her sleep Saturday night. She had battled (and I mean battled) cancer for as long as I can remember. Treatments she couldn't get here she traveled elsewhere to find. I dared speak with her at a reunion a year ago about her health (I don't handle those conversations well) and she was remarkably forthcoming about the negatives, yet very positive about her chances. I came away from the conversation with the feeling that my friend was invincible. Not quite. If she's not, no one is.

Friends since junior high, I have trouble thinking back on what little I can remember of those days, and high school, without Jan being somewhere in the picture. She was in the middle of everything and rightly so. I still have close friends from those days largely because of Jan (and others) and her commitment to those reunions.

Having known her makes it hard to feel sad. I keep thinking back and all I find are good thoughts and wonderful times. My heart goes out to her family and her many, many friends.

(I stole these photos off Facebook. Hope I don't get in trouble.)

On Moving&UPS&Comcast&self-install-kit&freeHBO

I moved last month on what I guess were the two highest heat index days ever or some such thing. Two weeks later I recovered and—what with Gopher sports coming up and a general need for TCM—I went online to sign up for cable. That was August 16. On August 18 I received an email with a tracking number and a promise that my self-install-kit would arrive in 3-5 business days. I stayed home the next Monday and Tuesday, and on Wednesday found three notices (1st, 2nd and final) saying they had tried and failed to deliver the package. Where the first two notices were for those two days I have no idea.

On August 25 I called UPS and was told it had been returned to Comcast. I called Comcast and was told: "I'm putting the new order in right now and you should receive it in 3-5 business days. Five business days later, I called Comcast and was told that order wasn't put in until August 29, and I should receive my self-install-kit in 3-5 business days. Five business days later I called and said not only hasn't my kit been delivered but I've never even received the tracking number. The woman's computer conveniently shut down at this moment and she came back ten minutes later to tell me that that order had somehow never gone through. She told me that her boss had just put a new order in and I should receive my self-install-kit in 3-5 business days.

"Could you change the address to my work address?" I asked. She told me it was too late. I mentioned the order had just been put in. Sorry.

"Could you make that over-night delivery, at your expense, for my trouble?" Sorry, it's too late. Again, the order is five minutes old.

"Could you come to one of our offices and pick it up?" she asked. I guess I hadn't been inconvenienced enough. All this to see some lousy local sports and a Sterling Hayden movie now and then.

Yesterday (September 7, for those keeping score at home), I picked up my self-install-kit and today I found that it was missing its instructions. I went online and, finding nothing, hooked it up myself. I went to the Comcast Activation site, which assured me that everything was hooked up properly and the activation was successful. My tv says different. It says I'm receiving no signal. Did I tell you they gave me three months of HBO and Starz free for my trouble? I can only wonder what those channels are like...

On Moving

Last week I started calling around to the utilities to let them know I was moving and ask if they could switch my service to my new address on August 1. I called Xcel Energy, Qwest (soon-to-be-whatever-it's-changing-to-next) and Mpls Wi-Fi.

That was Thursday. Friday morning I got caught in a good-sized rain as I came home from the dentist. I dried myself off, sat down at the computer and found that my internet didn't work. I called they Wi-Fi people and they said THE STORM had knocked out my node. Now, I did get good and wet but we've had ten storms worse than that this year and my node had survived. Saturday, still no internet ('cept what I could steal from the bar across the street) and I called again. THE STORM, they said. Can't you point me to another node? I asked. THE STORM took out six nodes in the Uptown area, they said. Same story on Sunday: THE STORM.

Monday I went to call again, as I still had no internet, but my phone didn't work. Went to the library downtown to use the internet—couldn't steal a signal from the bar—and then stopped at the post office for a change of address card. Found one that said I could do it on-line (when and if I got service again), stuck it in my bag and went to work. Called Qwest from work about my phone. Somehow my request to switch my service on Monday, Aug 1 was translated into: shut it off Mon, July 18 and start it up again Aug 1. (July 18 was never even in the equation...)

Sometime Monday evening Mpls Wi-Fi recovered from THE STORM and I quickly typed my new address into the USPS on-line form and clicked "Submit." Another page appeared asking for my credit card info and $19.99 for processing and "privacy protection." The post office is now collecting protection money? I'll take my chances with the free card through the mail.

So my moving date is still two weeks away and I have yet to pack a box, but I'm thinking: this little dump of an apartment isn't so bad, really. Then I think: imagine the headaches involved in an unchange of address.

On Remembering Bart (Buck) Hazlett

Bart (Buck) Hazlett died Friday along with two of his children in a two-car, head-on collision out in someplace called Lindstrom. I last talked at length with Buck at a benefit for his brother Kevin, some months ago. I noticed him leave the stage after a brief Van Hazlett reunion; he had a cane and dragged that leg of his that used to sport a large brace back when he was a kid. I made my way through the crowd to ask him about it. He called me Billy (all the Hazletts call me Billy, how do they get away with that?) and said he'd had some sort of relapse with the hip. I mentioned that it didn't seem to have affected his drumming and he said it'd been some twenty years since he'd been behind a drum kit. I was shocked; it seemed like I'd been watching him play drums all through the years. We talked of his brother's cancer. A discussion on health insurance was interrupted often as he stopped to point out which kids running by were his. They seemed to be everywhere.

Buck, you are missed. My heart goes out to your wonderful family...

On Neighborhood Beatings

Over the last week there have been four beating/robberies in my neighborhood; the closest being two blocks either side of Lake Street. There may have been more, I haven't checked the news today. It's always the same: three or four cowards jump an unsuspecting passerby and pummeling him senseless and—if they think about—steal whatever he's got. It's more about beating than robbing. Their last victim turned out to be a 61-year-old, ex-Marine with a gun. They beat him pretty bad but he got off a few shots. Reports say he may have "winged" one of them. Let's hope.

The crimes have taken place between 11:30 pm and 2 am. I leave work every night at midnight and make my walk from Lake Calhoun, up Lake Street to Lyndale. I am safe. Even these thugs aren't stupid enough to do their dirty work on such a well-lit, highly policed strip. Cowards prefer to do their cowering in the dark and, by nature, fear the authorities.

It used to be a very pleasant walk; a good way to unwind after a long night of watching tv at work. Now—instead of working out a troublesome scene from a story or fantasizing about a promising email from a magazine or agent awaiting me at home—I find myself watching for people heading off toward 31st or crossing Lagoon and worrying about their fate. Instead of chuckling at the partiers stumbling around Lake and Hennepin, I wonder which ones are gonna be foolish enough to venture off on foot. Jump in a cab! I wanna yell.

I'd rather the police get 'em before some vigilante. Let 'em take their own beating (and worse) in prison.

(I guess this means I'm gonna have to be more diligent in my blog posting, lest my two followers worry that something bad has happened to me.)