Dear Jonathan Franzen,
It is strange where moments of "Eureka" occur. I was sitting on the toilet in the Entomology wing of the American Museum of Natural History when the latest one fell into my lap. Folded open, spine pinned back, i was reading an article you had written in the New Yorker about bird-watching. You represent to me one of those contemporary authors i try to avoid out of fear that i will hear how un-original my own voice is. As a result of this chauvinism, i've dismissed an entire era of writing (post-1960), insisting that i cannot be bothered by the present when so much past literature requires my attention (how much attention i give it, is another issue altogether). Nonetheless, left with nothing productive to do with my time in the bathroom stall, i let myself read your article, and quickly found myself engrossed.
You wrote a piece that never left the theatre of birdwatching, yet you were able to offer a tome to your glass bubble marriage that finally broke, and continued onto the delicious subject of your post-marriage dating cycle of younger women. In your expansion of these ideas, i found a parallel in my own circumstances, despite the fact you are probably 20 years my senior, and the similarities we share are the stripes on a watermelon's skin rather than the fruit inside. As i neared the end of the piece, i could feel that i'd made up a room in my head where these words and themes could stay for awhile so that i could visit with them and perhaps share a grey, cloudy day over a nice long conversation. I might, i thought, even indulge in my desire to go watch me some birds ever since i picked up that used copy of the Audubon Society's Field Guide of North American Birds at a stoop sale some 3 years earlier. I enjoyed your tone, your language, your relaxation with the written word, and immediately began to feel a little jealous. At this point, the recognition of jealousy, i looked up from my magazine, glanced to my right at the bland, grey metallic wall of the stall, and felt the processing of over 500 mental associations in about three seconds. "Eureka!" The lamp lit.
What i enjoyed about your writing is that you understood from the beginning your reasons for doing, feeling, and being and you articulated them clearly. You didn't litter the page with floral garbage, concealing how you really felt. You knew precisely why you enjoyed birdwatching and how that related to everything else you presented to your readers. You knew this and demonstrated it with such incredible precision and skill.
Now i believe that there exists people who are so connected to their brains that a blank page represents a surface to iron on the decal of their mind, but, alas, i am not one of them. In order for me to demonstrate a similar lucidity, i must be in a constant state of production, because in that effort, i will have expanded my thoughts to their fullest, most hyperbolic illusions. By giving room to every emotion, i can critically glean whether it is native, artificial or poorly identified. What's left is the placement of the quill directly in the grips of my gut. I'll then paint a page with the raw representations of my internal population, which is exactly what i look for in other authors. What i'd like to read is what i like to write. You accomplished this. You illustrated the rare quality of someone who has the anatomical blessing of their head being connected directly to their gut.
There can be, when this occurs, no separation from the writer and the page. To do so would cut off the life support for these types of auteurs. Their words are not approximations of a silhouette cast on the side of a moving elephant. What the reader consumes must be as close to the truth, as near as possible to the force that expels the roots from the seed buried deep in the earth.
I am not quite there. I put so much importance and power into the small, tapered point at the end of my pen, but i need to strive harder to bring it to the paper more often. Thank you for your inspiration.
Most respectfully regards,
DC
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
August 28th, 2006
An Open Letter To The Man Who Invented Parking Lots,
I don't even know who you are, or where to begin. Perhaps i should start with a little introduction.
I live in a city. I won't specify which one. I live in a city because i need hustle. And after the hustle, i need some bustle following that. That's awfully cliched and generic. Let me try this again. What i need is a place so small and compact that standing in a crowd makes you feel smaller. I want to feel small by virtue of the number of others around me. But, i want to be able to remove myself from this at anytime. I do not want Nature to have an unfair advantage over me. This is the opposite of where i came from: Colorado. The Centennial State is HUGE. Immense. But not because someone made it that way, it is gigantic with or without the people. I cannot dispel that largess, ever. Colorado is so spread out. This means that simple errands are carried out over large distances and durations. When i lived in Colorado, i would have to spend at least 10 minutes just driving to get milk. Never mind the walking to and fro the car, which was placeed in a parking lot.
Here's where you, kind sir, come in. I'm sorry to say, but i LOATHE parking lots. You don't have them here in the city (or they are rare species that have degenerative genes that won't be passed on). So much could be built on the land that parking lots consume (or more importantly, so much land could be spared the trampling). When did you think to invent them? I must know, when you came up with the idea for them, did you weep knowing you were contributing to the decimation of this great land? Or did you celebrate? Did you happily submit your plans for the first parking lot thinking you'd finally found a use for that pesky six acres of open space that was poking your community in the eye? Or, i hope, did you sigh with deep melancholy that you had created something society 'needed' but realized you had started something you could not stop?
I for one would like to go back in time and PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING NOSE. You are behind so much waste that has led to more waste, and so on. God dammit, i'm really pissed about this! I think i'll put my pen down...
...okay, that didn't work.
Dear sir, i hope that wherever you are buried, the current landowners receive a bid from some commercial real estate developer to graze the land of your peaceful last resting place, and pave it over with hot, scorching asphalt. And for every jalopy or hybrid SUV that rolls across your decomposed bones, you somehow, poetically, realize the error of your ways.
Good day,
DC
I don't even know who you are, or where to begin. Perhaps i should start with a little introduction.
I live in a city. I won't specify which one. I live in a city because i need hustle. And after the hustle, i need some bustle following that. That's awfully cliched and generic. Let me try this again. What i need is a place so small and compact that standing in a crowd makes you feel smaller. I want to feel small by virtue of the number of others around me. But, i want to be able to remove myself from this at anytime. I do not want Nature to have an unfair advantage over me. This is the opposite of where i came from: Colorado. The Centennial State is HUGE. Immense. But not because someone made it that way, it is gigantic with or without the people. I cannot dispel that largess, ever. Colorado is so spread out. This means that simple errands are carried out over large distances and durations. When i lived in Colorado, i would have to spend at least 10 minutes just driving to get milk. Never mind the walking to and fro the car, which was placeed in a parking lot.
Here's where you, kind sir, come in. I'm sorry to say, but i LOATHE parking lots. You don't have them here in the city (or they are rare species that have degenerative genes that won't be passed on). So much could be built on the land that parking lots consume (or more importantly, so much land could be spared the trampling). When did you think to invent them? I must know, when you came up with the idea for them, did you weep knowing you were contributing to the decimation of this great land? Or did you celebrate? Did you happily submit your plans for the first parking lot thinking you'd finally found a use for that pesky six acres of open space that was poking your community in the eye? Or, i hope, did you sigh with deep melancholy that you had created something society 'needed' but realized you had started something you could not stop?
I for one would like to go back in time and PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING NOSE. You are behind so much waste that has led to more waste, and so on. God dammit, i'm really pissed about this! I think i'll put my pen down...
...okay, that didn't work.
Dear sir, i hope that wherever you are buried, the current landowners receive a bid from some commercial real estate developer to graze the land of your peaceful last resting place, and pave it over with hot, scorching asphalt. And for every jalopy or hybrid SUV that rolls across your decomposed bones, you somehow, poetically, realize the error of your ways.
Good day,
DC
Sunday, May 13, 2007
March 11th, 2007
Dear Gem,
The date above means that it is twelve years since the last time we spoke. I wonder how long ghosts live. You've, since your vanishing from my life in 1993, continued to exist in my head in one form or another. At first, as an apparition conjured from many sightings wherein i would sneak around campus just to see you in the flesh. This growing old after a week or two, you soon took residence in my mind and subconscious.
Occasionally, over the next few years, your name would pop up in conversation or i would make the imbalanced comparison between you and whichever female counterpart i was currently seeing. As comparisons grew more and more blurry and obscure, echoing the treatment my memory of your specific qualities received, you landed a plum role in my dream world. You would sometimes take the form of the "One that got away" in the evening's star-studded lineup. You never went too far away in my mind, which may or may not explain actions on my part to continually revive your impact on my life by reaching out to you.
No one knows why i'm interested. You are not the same girl who 14 years ago professed an angry and perhaps regrettable love for me. Who knows what you are like these days, but i still find myself endlessly attracted to that cognition of someone as fruitfully as i had with you - once. You can end this infatuation simply by engaging me. I know, blame you for this, but i have no other explanation as to why after countless rejections of my attempts at reconciliation, i continue to find energy to draw up into this endeavor.
Honestly, you're nothing. You are nothing more than a 2-dimensional cut-out with clothing that adheres to you with the folding of a dozen tabs. You are a hobby, an endless pursuit that quite thankfully has never been snagged. I don't want to know you, in the end. I want to know the boy you fell for, and thus here trapped amongst your numerous refusals. In the end, you are not the fascinating personality i seek, and perhaps you realize this and thus see no reason to indulge such a self-centered individual's attempt at temporal hubris.
And frankly, i don't blame you.
Most sincerely,
DC
The date above means that it is twelve years since the last time we spoke. I wonder how long ghosts live. You've, since your vanishing from my life in 1993, continued to exist in my head in one form or another. At first, as an apparition conjured from many sightings wherein i would sneak around campus just to see you in the flesh. This growing old after a week or two, you soon took residence in my mind and subconscious.
Occasionally, over the next few years, your name would pop up in conversation or i would make the imbalanced comparison between you and whichever female counterpart i was currently seeing. As comparisons grew more and more blurry and obscure, echoing the treatment my memory of your specific qualities received, you landed a plum role in my dream world. You would sometimes take the form of the "One that got away" in the evening's star-studded lineup. You never went too far away in my mind, which may or may not explain actions on my part to continually revive your impact on my life by reaching out to you.
No one knows why i'm interested. You are not the same girl who 14 years ago professed an angry and perhaps regrettable love for me. Who knows what you are like these days, but i still find myself endlessly attracted to that cognition of someone as fruitfully as i had with you - once. You can end this infatuation simply by engaging me. I know, blame you for this, but i have no other explanation as to why after countless rejections of my attempts at reconciliation, i continue to find energy to draw up into this endeavor.
Honestly, you're nothing. You are nothing more than a 2-dimensional cut-out with clothing that adheres to you with the folding of a dozen tabs. You are a hobby, an endless pursuit that quite thankfully has never been snagged. I don't want to know you, in the end. I want to know the boy you fell for, and thus here trapped amongst your numerous refusals. In the end, you are not the fascinating personality i seek, and perhaps you realize this and thus see no reason to indulge such a self-centered individual's attempt at temporal hubris.
And frankly, i don't blame you.
Most sincerely,
DC
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
December 13th, 2006
Hey Dad,
It was nice seeing you during my visit out to Colorado.
You know what? Since you will never see this, I think i can dispose of any niceties I might normally adhere to and just say it was nice seeing you the second time I did. The first time was not enjoyable. I couldn’t crack your shell or span the distance you were keeping me at. You insisted on staying close only to Maggie and not engaging either Scarlett or me. Overtime, and with much reflection, I’ve come to realize that it is really important that you get to know and get along with Scarlett. The reasons why are not immediately clear. Well, obviously it has something to do with approval. But I’d hate to cheapen this desire by stereotyping it as just another battle in the decades long struggle to gain your approval. I think the world of Scarlett. She is my world, in so many ways, and it would mean a great deal to me if you showed as much outward affection for and interest in her as I feel I’ve gotten from her parents.
But, that isn’t why I chose to write you this letter. Something has been weighing down on me that I haven’t the gumption to bring up to you in person, not just yet. It has to do with my divorce. I haven’t ever fully shaken the belief that I made a mistake in seeking out Heather’s hand in marriage in the first place, and I do not believe I am alone in this sentiment. For the longest time, I’ve suspected that you think I made a mistake too. I know I rushed. I let fear of letting her go dictate my actions in both proposing to her and in betraying my own preservation during the short marriage. But I feel you think it was a mistake as well because of the impact it was going to have on your relationship to Maggie. It bothers me to think that you might look on my whole experience with Heather as an expression of overall shortcomings you believe i have. If you hadn’t ever married her mom, I don’t think you’d feel that way, and I believe the situation of your union colors your reactions to all of this.
My mind right now, on that thought, suddenly returns to the moment of your initial response when I told you that Heather wanted to get a divorce.
It was the next day, the morning after Heather told me she was in love with Jack and wanted a divorce. I was at the doctor’s office, pacing back and forth, waiting just outside, and I needed to call someone. ANYONE. Specifically from my family. My first thought was to you. I wanted your advice. I wanted your shock at the news to validate the tragedy of the moment. I wanted your comfort. I’d just gotten the words out of my mouth when you gave me your reaction.
“Well, you need to do whatever you can to win her back. Perhaps she’s not feeling loved enough by you. You need to pay her more attention, do more romantic things for her.”
You didn't accept the reality of the scenario. You didn't acknowledge that this was out of your's and my control. Basically, in my state, I took that as you putting the entire blame for the predicament on me. Until just now, I haven’t seen the impact of this implication and how I ended up taking your “advice”. In those initial moments, you evaluated the crumble of my marriage as my liability, never thinking to shoulder some of the blame onto Heather, which crushed me. At that moment, when I was reaching out, instead of doing the equivalent of holding me in your arms and telling me how sorry you were, you passed judgment and then tried to “fix’ the situation. Were you trying to quickly dress the wound and send me back onto the ice so that I could continue playing, when instead, deep inside you were fearful of having to face making a choice between Maggie and me? You needn’t worry, that choice has been made clear which way it would fall.
Man, suddenly I feel myself welling up with anger. Still, four years after the whole ordeal. Why couldn’t you have just felt bad for me? Why couldn’t you have just offered to come out here, come out here and just give your support? You must’ve been incredibly scared to hear the news of a possible divorce. How long did you process it before you thought about how you would have to intercept Maggie finding out this news, just so that she would hear it the way you wanted her to hear it? How quickly did you diffuse your emotional reaction in order to remain focused on the stability of your own marriage? You must’ve been full of insecurity (i realize i may be projecting here). That is the only explanation I can think of that makes what you said to me logical. But then, I can't know that, you’ve never offered your emotions surrounding this episode. Weren’t you pissed at Heather? Weren’t you a tad bit appalled at her behavior? Weren’t you angry at the woman who cheated on your son? Or would acknowledging that cause a quandry? Because if the daughter was capable of this behavior surely her mom possessed that capability. Instead, in order to maintain your safe, isolated bubble with Maggie, you insisted on a strict embargo of any information that would point to Heather’s culpability in our demise. I’m almost certain that Maggie, via Heather, convinced you that it was I who did the cheating. That’s why you so quickly defended Maggie’s sensitivity to seeing me in a photograph with my female friends only a few months after her daughter and I had separated. But how does that truly measure anywhere to the level of betrayal I experienced when i learned that you’ve shared several meals with Heather and the man for whom she left me? When do I ever get to wash that off my skin? My father, my own father, has sat across the table from the man who actively sought a romance with my wife, succeeded in prying her away from me, and you’ve BROKEN BREAD WITH THIS MAN.
I think of this. I think of the water I’ve been made to watch flow under the bridge and then I think of what I have to do just to get you to act in a normal and congenial fashion around the one person who now means everything to me, and I feel completely taxed. I want to be done with these issues. It’s not fun thinking your father blames you for your failed marriage. What’s worse is that I believe you blame me not because of what impact it had on my life, but because of what impact it had on yours, that i didn't have enough foresight to take care of the situation before it affected you. It's just like when you used to get mad at me as a kid whenever i accidentally spilled a glass of milk.
"You do this just to piss me off."
Perhaps, my need for your acceptance allows me to absorb the responsibility my actions have on your life, when you should be just as profoundly concerned about yours.
With love,
DC
It was nice seeing you during my visit out to Colorado.
You know what? Since you will never see this, I think i can dispose of any niceties I might normally adhere to and just say it was nice seeing you the second time I did. The first time was not enjoyable. I couldn’t crack your shell or span the distance you were keeping me at. You insisted on staying close only to Maggie and not engaging either Scarlett or me. Overtime, and with much reflection, I’ve come to realize that it is really important that you get to know and get along with Scarlett. The reasons why are not immediately clear. Well, obviously it has something to do with approval. But I’d hate to cheapen this desire by stereotyping it as just another battle in the decades long struggle to gain your approval. I think the world of Scarlett. She is my world, in so many ways, and it would mean a great deal to me if you showed as much outward affection for and interest in her as I feel I’ve gotten from her parents.
But, that isn’t why I chose to write you this letter. Something has been weighing down on me that I haven’t the gumption to bring up to you in person, not just yet. It has to do with my divorce. I haven’t ever fully shaken the belief that I made a mistake in seeking out Heather’s hand in marriage in the first place, and I do not believe I am alone in this sentiment. For the longest time, I’ve suspected that you think I made a mistake too. I know I rushed. I let fear of letting her go dictate my actions in both proposing to her and in betraying my own preservation during the short marriage. But I feel you think it was a mistake as well because of the impact it was going to have on your relationship to Maggie. It bothers me to think that you might look on my whole experience with Heather as an expression of overall shortcomings you believe i have. If you hadn’t ever married her mom, I don’t think you’d feel that way, and I believe the situation of your union colors your reactions to all of this.
My mind right now, on that thought, suddenly returns to the moment of your initial response when I told you that Heather wanted to get a divorce.
It was the next day, the morning after Heather told me she was in love with Jack and wanted a divorce. I was at the doctor’s office, pacing back and forth, waiting just outside, and I needed to call someone. ANYONE. Specifically from my family. My first thought was to you. I wanted your advice. I wanted your shock at the news to validate the tragedy of the moment. I wanted your comfort. I’d just gotten the words out of my mouth when you gave me your reaction.
“Well, you need to do whatever you can to win her back. Perhaps she’s not feeling loved enough by you. You need to pay her more attention, do more romantic things for her.”
You didn't accept the reality of the scenario. You didn't acknowledge that this was out of your's and my control. Basically, in my state, I took that as you putting the entire blame for the predicament on me. Until just now, I haven’t seen the impact of this implication and how I ended up taking your “advice”. In those initial moments, you evaluated the crumble of my marriage as my liability, never thinking to shoulder some of the blame onto Heather, which crushed me. At that moment, when I was reaching out, instead of doing the equivalent of holding me in your arms and telling me how sorry you were, you passed judgment and then tried to “fix’ the situation. Were you trying to quickly dress the wound and send me back onto the ice so that I could continue playing, when instead, deep inside you were fearful of having to face making a choice between Maggie and me? You needn’t worry, that choice has been made clear which way it would fall.
Man, suddenly I feel myself welling up with anger. Still, four years after the whole ordeal. Why couldn’t you have just felt bad for me? Why couldn’t you have just offered to come out here, come out here and just give your support? You must’ve been incredibly scared to hear the news of a possible divorce. How long did you process it before you thought about how you would have to intercept Maggie finding out this news, just so that she would hear it the way you wanted her to hear it? How quickly did you diffuse your emotional reaction in order to remain focused on the stability of your own marriage? You must’ve been full of insecurity (i realize i may be projecting here). That is the only explanation I can think of that makes what you said to me logical. But then, I can't know that, you’ve never offered your emotions surrounding this episode. Weren’t you pissed at Heather? Weren’t you a tad bit appalled at her behavior? Weren’t you angry at the woman who cheated on your son? Or would acknowledging that cause a quandry? Because if the daughter was capable of this behavior surely her mom possessed that capability. Instead, in order to maintain your safe, isolated bubble with Maggie, you insisted on a strict embargo of any information that would point to Heather’s culpability in our demise. I’m almost certain that Maggie, via Heather, convinced you that it was I who did the cheating. That’s why you so quickly defended Maggie’s sensitivity to seeing me in a photograph with my female friends only a few months after her daughter and I had separated. But how does that truly measure anywhere to the level of betrayal I experienced when i learned that you’ve shared several meals with Heather and the man for whom she left me? When do I ever get to wash that off my skin? My father, my own father, has sat across the table from the man who actively sought a romance with my wife, succeeded in prying her away from me, and you’ve BROKEN BREAD WITH THIS MAN.
I think of this. I think of the water I’ve been made to watch flow under the bridge and then I think of what I have to do just to get you to act in a normal and congenial fashion around the one person who now means everything to me, and I feel completely taxed. I want to be done with these issues. It’s not fun thinking your father blames you for your failed marriage. What’s worse is that I believe you blame me not because of what impact it had on my life, but because of what impact it had on yours, that i didn't have enough foresight to take care of the situation before it affected you. It's just like when you used to get mad at me as a kid whenever i accidentally spilled a glass of milk.
"You do this just to piss me off."
Perhaps, my need for your acceptance allows me to absorb the responsibility my actions have on your life, when you should be just as profoundly concerned about yours.
With love,
DC
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