Uncorrected Personality Traits
...that seem whimsical in a child may prove to be ugly in a fully grown adult.
Happy February. We’re a bit more than a month away from the one year anniversary of the pandemic shutdown, and to be honest I don’t have any jokes to make about it. There have been a lot of stories that this is the time when people will start hitting the wall, and I’ve got to say that feels pretty accurate.
Last week was the virtual version of the Sundance Film Festival, and we watched a bunch of the films from the comfort of our couch. The oddest experience of all was definitely the Brazilian film The Pink Cloud.
As the disclaimer said, the film was written on 2017 and shot in 2019, which is bonkers considering how much of the early parts of the film resemble the ways we’ve been living for the last year. As for the later parts…let’s hope we don’t have to find out.
An Anniversary of Sorts
It was a little over a year ago that I sat down to start writing NOVEL ADVICE. It seem simultaneously like it was just yesterday and also eleventy million years ago. As a reminder, you can get a free advance preview of the book here, and it’s available for purchase at all your finer book retailers.
Last week I did an interview for the ADHD Rewired podcast, talking about how the writing of the book was impacted by my ADHD and APD, and some of the strategies I used to try to work with my particular brain orientation, instead of against it. I’m told it will come out in a couple of months; I’ll post the link when it does.
Tak For Det
As I mentioned in the previous installment, we’ve embarked on a binge watch of the Danish series Forbrydelsen, aka The Killing, which is hugely entertaining. There’s an incredible moment in the 11th episode, a tiny bit of business that filled me delight at seeing some craftspeople all come together to really nail something. Here’s the setup:
Our protagonist, dogged, be-sweatered investigator Sarah Lund, has spent each episode getting sucked deeper into the case of the murder of Nanna Birk Larsen. She’s supposed to be leaving the force and moving to Sweden with her boyfriend, but she just can’t let the case go. She’s also spent every episode chomping demonstrablyon nicotine gum. The detective who is supposed to replace her, Jan Meyer, has grimaced his way towards working with this sour, dour woman who persists in showing him up and telling him how to do his job. They butt heads continually, showing an increasing lack of respect for each other. The stress finally makes Lund crack and she starts smoking again.
But at a key moment, when they discover that their superior has tampered with evidence and has been suddenly replaced by a new boss who appears to be protecting a powerful politician, they close ranks.
Reader, I cheered. Just a simple little gesture - a shared cigarette - but the entire relationship, and the entire season, pivots around this point. Just masterful.
If there was a governing body that managed new entries into the Tamarian language, then I would propose that “Darmok And Jalad At Tanagra” should be joined by “Lund and Meyer Share A Smoke” — a moment where two people at odds strike a tentative alliance against a comment adversary.
Kari
In the summer of 1989, between my junior and senior years of high school, I spent a few weeks taking college classes in Washington DC. I’d already spent a few summers at CTY, aka Nerd Camp. This program was at The George Washington University, and I leapt at the chance to spend the summer in DC. I liked it so much, I ended up going to GWU for my undergraduate degree.
That summer was the first time I lived (mostly) unsupervised in a city. I made friends with some of my classmates, and one group of remarkable people in particular. Brent was from Los Angeles; he was the first person I met who treated the idea of a creative career as something that was perfectly reasonable to attain. Ayanna was from Columbia, Maryland, whip-smart and devilishly funny. Friends of hers were in a garage band, and she played us their tape; their song “My Name Is Chuck” became a staple. Kari was from Ridgefield, Connecticut. She loved Mel Brooks movies and silly jokes, and introduced me to the music of Robyn Hitchcock and XTC.
Kari was special. While we were in DC, my grandfather died. Kari stayed up all night with me as I grieved. At some point after the session was over, I drove up to visit her in Connecticut, and she gave me one of the most consequential gifts anyone has ever given me — she took me to my first Rocky Horror Picture Show.
We all swore to stay in touch, and of course we didn’t. I have an old address book with their names and every so often I would look through it and wonder what happened to them. It’s odd, for people of my generation — some of us are all over social media, and others are nowhere to be found. A quick google now and again would turn up nothing.
I found myself looking at that old address book again this weekend — I’m working on a project right now that’s set at a summer camp and I’ve been mining some of my old teenage memories for it. So I got to googling again.
And this time, I found Kari.
My friend, I’m sorry we never got to reconnect. You made an impact on me in the short time we knew each other, one that I’ve never forgotten. I’m sorry you were in so much pain. We thought those Robyn Hitchcock lyrics were funny because they were so true. But I wish they weren’t. I hope that you’re somewhere reading the riot act to a non-existent god.
There’s this thing that happens in cop shows sometimes. The sergeant does the rundown for the squad, and then just as they’re about to break, he issues some kind of warning or advice to take care. The classic one is Hill Street Blues:
But it’s not just for cop shows. There’s been too much loss. So please, where ever you are, let’s be careful out there.