my last few weeks outlined

Preface: So in case I am not doing this correctly, this is andrew, not jesse. andrew hamilton, not jesse gloyd. jesse knows how to set up blogs and give clear directions to his friends so that they may join him on his blog. i, andrew, do not know how to set up a blog or post things in my own name.

In case I am doing this correctly, disregard everything I just said.

I. Moving

A. Moving is a strange experience, as I am sure you all can attest. For those of you who have seen the new house, which I believe is the majority of you, rest assured that the house is well in order. Plants are growing, trash is being emptied, life carries on. I have not written a creative word in nearly two months, a cause of much shame and shit upon my head. I am however counting thevirtualporch as creative writing, which should lift any residual shit or shame from my head.

II. Work

Work was going really well. I felt like I was getting the hang of it. I felt like I was begining to gain the respect of my superiors and coworkers. I felt that perhaps fundraising work wasn't so bad. After all, it is a noble and good thing to do one's task with honor, to not waste time by looking up news events and current politcal debates on the Internet. If the Good Lord has given one a job, the least one can do is learn to ignore the cursory boredom and seek to do it well. And so I did. Until last night.

Amanda and I spent last night with our good friends Peter and Alison, parents of our godson Maclane Finnegan, and all around good people. I like Peter and Alison quite a bit. They are creative, well read, fine cooks, respectable drinkers, commited smoker (peter), and sincere and loyal friends. They also hate to hold steady jobs, and seem to relish just barely making ends meet. which in its own way carries a certin amount of respectability with it. After all, I would love to stay home and play with a kid and make art, or read, or, or, well, whatever it is you do when you don't have a full time job. Anyway, just being around them reminded me how much I have ignored how much I resent wearing a shirt and tie everyday, and getting up at 7 fucking o'clock in the morning, and wallowing in front of crazy people for what seems like a measly paycheck but is actually quite good but it's amazing how fast you can burn money no matter the amount when you don't understand the fundamentals of sound finance. it's a catch-22, in the purest sense. I want to stay home. I need money. I don't mind my job, but I hate my job, but what else am I going to do between 8 and 5, but i have debts to pay, but i need to be doing something that reinforces my romantic notion of myself as a WRITER, i.e. i need to be in college and stay up till 9am drinking wine in cowboy hats.

Now of course I don't want to be drinking wine in cowboy hats.

The evening tipped the scales, that's all. And today at work the slightest little thing, I can't even remember what it was now, sent me on an internal rampage, and a passive campaign of telling all of my co-workers that I was quitting.

The moral: 8-5 jobs suck. They pay the bills. They suck the life out of you. I have no one to blame for my lack of creativity but myself. History is soaked with writers who wrote while they worked day jobs. They had what the French call "dedication" and "tenacity." Two qualities that I am severly lacking.

It's not that I hate my job as much as I resent having to pretend to be interested in something that I could not care less about. But, there is that paycheck...

III. Kentucky

Amanda and I went to visit her grandparents' farm in Kentucky two weeks ago, which has proven to be a formative experience. I gained ten pounds in five days by eating meals comprised primarily opf gravy, fried cornmeal, and assorted boiled vegetables, I learned to shoot a gun. I killed birds with said gun. Said gun was a motherfucking shotgun. I met some of the most solid and remarkable men I have ever had the privilege of coming into contact with.

I won't go into terrible detail, as I am planning to give a painfully detailed account of our trip in my next post. But I will say that Kentucky is not a different state, it is a completely different country; much like England in that they speak an English that has little remeblance to the language you and I speak. Exhibit A: Cousin Mary Lynn, pronounced "Merlin." Also witness turkey fans, throats, and feet nailed to the side of a hunting cabin, and bumper stickers reading "I brake for animals. I eat them and wear their skins," and "I don't brake for liberals, gays, and anti-gunners." Also witness a sense of family and place like you would not believe, along with a profound sense of satisfaction with one's life and vocation. I hope your appetites are sufficiently whetted.

IV. Reccomendations

A. Zadie Smith's forward in The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003
B. Don Delillo's Libra, but only after you watch JFK
C. The Thinking Fellow's Union Local 282 -- think sonic youth meets a travelling yiddish carnival, and you might be close.
D. Not buying Charles Shaw and springing for the extra $1.50 on a nicer bottle of wine.
E. Not using Wal Mart to develop your film, or as a source for anything in particular.

V. Bed

A. I am going to bed.