The vig

Vigorish.

I was looking at a friends blog and he's making these observations about vocabulary. One of the words he found interesting was Vigoda, which is the name of an actor from my child hood.

A word I learned at 12 (the old old office) is vig which is short for vigorish. It was explained to me by Timmy. Timmy deserves a place in my stories for a number of reasons, I wonder what ever happened to him.

A different time. All the PSHA crowd, Timmy, and the word vig. I should expand on this and him.

The beginning of a new collection

In a .txt format file I have a growing collection of first chapters. It's very educational to read them. I read them out loud to myself too, perhaps I'll get to a point where I have them memorized.

My new collection is publishers, and the first in the collection will be:
http://www.openroadmedia.com/

Why them? I don't have a good reason, I saw a reference to them somewhere and went to their web site. Maybe they were on 60 Minutes or something. Anyhow, they do have some authors, and I'm actually familiar with a couple of titles by their authors. Small world.

On a similar but different subject.....

In the process of working on that first chapter, I discovered a couple of reasons why people go to fiction for stories that are really memoirs. You can't remember all the tiny details well enough to fill in the stories in your book, so you say to yourself, oh well, that's what fiction's for.

For instance: I well remember when I made the decision to move to Madison, Wisconsin. How many details do I need to fill out the scene that I can't remember? And how many of them can I look up, so they're accurate? Well, Terri (to become my second wife later on), and I are sitting on the end of Francis street. It's late June or early July, nice warm day, and we're arguing about something. What? Who knows. All that #*@%^ ever wanted to do was argue about nothing, or something there was no control over anyway. Francis street runs into the lake, literally. I'm sure it was some kind of boat ramp many years ago. There's a bluff/hill on the east side of it, and at the top sits French House. On the west side, the low side, sits the DU house. There are wonderful trees with a canopy of leaves over us. So, we're sitting there in the shade, listening to the waves lazily lap against the pavement, arguing over nothing. Sitting on the curb.

There's a guy sitting on the curb on the opposite side of the street, that we weren't paying any attention to. It's a public place, and we're not slugging it out or anything, but she's got to argue. I wish I'd had enough sense to get up and tell her to find her own way back to East Lansing, and walk away. I know what she would have done, called her dad, and he'd get to rescue her, yet again. He lived for that. God, he was such an idiot. Anyway..... back on subject...... We're sitting on the curb about 15 feet from the water lazily lapping the end of Francis street, across from this guy we don't know. ARGUING, as usual.

The guy introduces himself as Jerry. He asks us if we'd be willing to shut up, if he got us stoned. Terri would always stop arguing for a joint. So, Jerry got us stoned, and I said to myself, "Here we are sitting by this beautiful lake, in this great campus district, and this guy has a joint for us. What a great place. I want to live here."

And that's how I chose Madison, Wisconsin. Now, where do I go with that...... Perhaps a longer work that is a collection of arguments with that idiot. But I'm really glad I made that realization about her father being a moron who gloried in saving his daughter. In a lot of ways, she's just like my younger brother was. Too many ways. Only, my mother wasn't as stupid as her father was. Nice guy, I really liked him, but stupid........ So stupid. And let his wife lead him around by his nose. And, WHY would she want a man like that? He was pudgy, stupid, didn't make much money.... She was pretty good looking, ambitious, had family behind her, what did she see in him? Sigh.............. who knows.............

Since I bored you..... (sorry bout that) Chapt 1?

......Yet again, I'm rewriting chapter 1 -- what/where I am this morning. ( from 1/1/89, 3am.)

I pulled up to O'Cayz looking for a pair. A guy ran out to the cab wearing only shoes, slacks, and a t-shirt. He was in good spirits and wanted to go to State street so he could party on. I had one in and two pairs to get, so I didn't have room for him. For a drunk, he was real nice about being told he couldn't get in. As I watched him run back into the bar, I couldn't help noticing the back of his t-shirt. It was black, probably from other men walking on him. Then a woman wearing an evening gown and her date hurried out. They carefully weaved through the dozen or so men wrestling on the ground in the snow. I pushed the passenger door open so they could slid into the front seat before one of those drunks grabbed one of them and dragged them into the melee. I was really pleased when the woman said Breeze Terrace. That was the destination I was looking for, they were my passengers. I didn't have to tell them I couldn't take them. I put the Dodge into drive, and pulled away.

Her date, sitting next to me in the middle of the front seat was a sight. One arm of his tux was hanging by a couple of threads. The back of his right hand had a knot on it the size of a golf ball, surely caused by a badly broken bone. She was wearing a beautiful evening gown. Over and over she said, oh you poor baby. He wasn't bleeding on my cab, but his general appearance could only be described as, all beat up. I thought to myself, "Yeah lady, that's why you spent five hundred bucks on an evening gown. So your boyfriend could get himself in a bar brawl and get all beat up."

Four blocks later, I was sitting in front of The Fess, tooting the horn. A couple hurried out and piled into the back seat, their destination was State street, specifically The Pub. They had the trademark New Year's Eve hats and horns. They were loaded, the cab was loaded, everybody was happy, and I hadn't even gotten to the square yet. All short rides too! I swung around the corner onto King street, every light the city had was on, giving it a surreal look. There was a line to get into The Majestic, at least thirty couples deep. Both gin joints on the other side of the street had lines too.

Slush

We all know what slush is, and god knows there's going to be a lot of it out there in the very near future. It's supposed to warm up to just above freezing, daytime temperatures starting tomorrow, so all that knee deep snow will start to melt. Then we get black ice (snow melt water that freezes into slick ice at sunset), and everybody who is driving professionally would almost be money ahead to park it for a week, rather than risk higher insurance premiums.

In publishing, slush refers unsolicited queries. I'm not sure if it's the whole query, or if it's just the sample of the work the author is hoping they'll publish. I do know that reading slush is considered drudgery by the people in the business.

An agent turned author had a contest of sorts on his blog. Post a first paragraph on the blog in the comments and it's entered. The winner basically gets an agent. No, I did not win, nor did I make it into the finals. BUT, I did enter. A step forward. Next time, I'll do better.

Which brings me to what I'm really thinking. First paragraphs......

The last time I seriously thought about writing a paragraph (that I remember) was when Kennedy was either running for, or had just become, president. A long time ago, to be sure. After that, instructors assume you have already learned basic English, and don't present it again. And why would you care anyway, if you can speak, you can write. This makes sense and works fine until someone expects you to do a good job on something longer.

Which is where we come to that first paragraph, and that "slush pile" on a literary agents desk. 100's, or 1000's of submissions (they call them queries), and if that agent is late for his kids little league game, he might not care how good the top query on that pile is.

My reaction to this is to get myself a big collection of first paragraphs. I can't keep them on the internet because I don't want somebody chasing me around over copy rite issues, but I can keep them in a file on a disk, and study them. I'm not scanning them, I'm typing them in, so book by book, I'm seeing what finally made it into print. AND the comments of that agent who got to judge the finalists of that contest begin to make a lot more sense.

Why didn't my 4th grade teacher tell me about this stuff? I seriously doubt she had a clue. She'd just gotten her Mrs. degree, was only minimally interested in teaching, and was just like a lot of the other morons teaching in the public schools in my home town back then. She was putting in her time, and putting her husband through grad school (another big 10 town), and wanted a nice neat little formula she could use in class. She had NO CLUE what a paragraph was really used for, and didn't care. I'm sure she's a grandmother today, and I'll bet her ears still touch. Oh well..............

Back to transcribing those first paragraphs.....

What's funny anyhow?

Back in the day, I used to sit in front of the awning at the Essen Haus if there was nothing else better to do. One night I'm sitting there, and Mike and Neil drag this struggling guy out and toss him on the pavement. Back in they go. Mike's the door man, and Neil 's the bouncer.

The guy comes up to me and asks me if I'll give him a ride to Langdon st. I say ok. He gets in, and we're off.

Almost immediately he's telling me what happened. One of the things you learn is you don't have to ask, usually they'll tell you what happened. If they're ashamed of what happened they won't tell you, and it doesn't matter if you ask or not.

He tells me he went there with his room mate. That's pretty common. They were drinking a pitcher of beer, sitting at the bar. Also pretty common. It's a week night, and on week nights they don't have that UUUoom Paaaahh polka band going. If you go there, it's to dine or more likely to drink. German beer on tap, and the best freshly made warm soft pretzels you could ask for to munch on while you drink.

He gets up and tells his room mate he's going to the bathroom to relieve himself. We all know you don't buy beer, you rent it.

He comes back and his room mate is cracking up. He asks the guy what's so funny. The room mate just snickers on trying hard to control the giggles and breaking into fits of laughing his ass off. Just what the hell is so funny?

So he takes a sip of beer and asks again. The room mate goes bonkers, laughing his ass off.

Finally after much pressing, the room mate confides that what's so funny is he pissed in the guys beer. It was only 3/4 full, so he unzipped his pants, slipped the stein down under the bar and topped it up.

What would you do? Almost anybody I've ever met would be ready to kill the guy. He acted just how you'd expect.

Neil doesn't wait for explanations, he breaks up fights and tosses people out. So the poor victim got tossed out, and was sitting in my cab telling me the story.

Now comes the punch line, sort of ....................... The guy tells me that the ultimate insult, what he's really really really pissed off about, is that his room mate is still inside the bar drinking. They didn't boot him out, so he can't kick the guys ass!

You've got to wonder what happened when the guy who didn't get kicked out finally got home.

Evolution

This blog started out as a collection of cab stories. I'd read Hack and said to myself, I've got so many more stories, and better stories.............

I told myself that when I started actually writing the book, I'd go back through the posts, and one by one take them down, as they went into the pages of the book. Otherwise, I wasn't going to go back and read my own writing. Lately, I did a little reading of my own writing, and it's evolved. I now see why people don't write in certain ways. You don't say, "Ah, yeah................ Ah, am, er.... and so forth", before you begin to speak like you would if you were actually speaking. Readers won't tolerate it. They just put the book down, or click into the next website, or what ever they do. When I started this blog, I put that stuff in on purpose because it's how I'd actually tell the story if you were in my cab listening. I, the reader would put the book down too.

Perhaps my writing has improved.

There are a few reasons for reading those old posts. How many of you keep a diary? Do you ever read that diary? How much value is there in reading your own diary?

I came across a letter that I'd written to my daughter. I've written dozens of letters to my daughter, and only ever mailed 2 perhaps. Last time I saw her, she was 5. All the stuff I'd write to her is on real paper, so to get it here I'd have to transcribe it. Last time I talked to her, she told me I'd have to do some really off the wall things if I ever wanted to talk to her again. Some time later, my mother told me she'd had second thoughts, but what she'd said to me was sufficiently off the wall that I said to myself, I should be afraid of somebody with that much hate in them.

How did I come to be talking to her? I had hunted her up on the internet, I sent an email to someone who was probably her. Bingo, it was her. I'd sent an email to one, Lisa Sherrill Schumaker of the Tuscon, Arizona area, employee of the State of Arizona. Over the years, she'd kept in contact with grandma, and my sister, but not me. I was this monster or something, and everyone was to hide her from me. Something she probably never realized was how off the wall my relationship with my mother was. Her total image of me was the one painted by my mother, her mother, and her mother's family. Great portrait.

Back in the early '70's her mother figured out that it was much more profitable to not have a husband. She had a live in boyfriend who paid 1/2 her rent, and a female room mate who paid 1/2 the rent on the house, and she went to my mother and grand parents frequently with her hand out asking for more money to tide her over until next months child support check came. I'm sure she never hit on her own family. In spite of the fact that her father was a salaried consultant to a major automaker, and a tenured professor at the University of Michigan, and a staff officer in the US Air Force, he never had any money. Just like her. She asked my dad once, and he asked what she was willing to give him for it. For ever more, she'd claim that my dad had propositioned her.

So do you ever read your own diary? Huh?

A dangerous Ground Hog Day

I've seen cold, and I've seen snow, but..............

Last night was the first time I've ever laid in bed and said to myself, if the electricity goes out, I'm in a lot of trouble. I thought of the flashlight, and said to myself, "The truck will start, and the tank is full." The last time I really remember something like this was when I moved here in January of 1979. I lived in a huge old converted frat house on Lake Mendota, south shore. I can remember watching those waves of snow sweeping up against the house off the lake. It wasn't scary then. It never occurred to me that the heat or electric could fail. Where I'm at as I write, the heat is electric, so if the electric failed, well, the dog and I would be in a lot of trouble.

The national news, (NATIONAL, not local, NATIONAL), mentioned 7 cars out on an Illinois interstate highway, about an hour from here, stranded for over 12 hours. They say a snowmobile club is trying to rescue those people from their cars. Before I moved here, I'd seen blizzards before, but they were pretty warm compared to here. Heavy wet snow. This snow is really cold, and blows good. Snow that blows good, creates drifts, and it doesn't take a drift over the top of your house to put you in a lot of trouble. A drift across the highway that's 12" deep is enough to trap the car in front of you, then your, then....... A truck sliding off the highway can drop an electric pole that will kill the power for 1,000's of people. And, as if it wasn't bad enough, they say that tonight the low will be around -10, which is around -23 centigrade.

The news people have been making a big deal out of the 'thunder' snow. I heard the thunder last night, and it didn't worry me that much, but perhaps it should have. Another way to wipe out an electric pole and kill 1000's of peoples power is a lightning strike on a power pole. Where there's thunder, there's lightning.

They say that in Indiana the electricity is out in places and they don't expect to restore it for days. They also say there is an inch of ice on some highways. I've been through Indiana in a truck during a storm like that, it requires very careful driving. The biggest problem in a storm like that is you can't get off the highway. Imagine pulling down the exit ramp and the only place you can go is back up the on ramp. And the on ramp looks kind of sketchy, but you can't park in the middle of the highway, so back up onto the interstate you go. Indiana is a lot warmer than here, so they'll get warm air and rain that will burn it off.

In Egypt there are riots with soldiers trying hard to not kill people. The news just announced a molotov being thrown from the roof of a building into a crowd of people. The result of the unrest in Egypt is a 10% overnight increase in the price of gasoline. So in this neck of the woods, gas is around $3.20/gal, and diesel is around $3.40. That means that driving a truck around is getting pretty expensive, figure a dollar a mile for where ever you're going, round trip. Wow, a trip to Seattle, just for fuel, is around $2,000.............. Wow............

Oh, yeah, the ground hog. Since he's under snow, he's unlikely to see a shadow. So, why should he be scared of it, and go back inside. If I was the ground hog, I'd be digging a tunnel through the snow looking for some frozen greenery to eat. So, I'm guessing, the ground hog prediction will be early spring.