The Wild Blog in the West

Growing up, I loved watching the original Twilight Zone  (1959-1964).  It was the perfect blend of creepy and thought-provoking, often portraying what happens when we take certain longings to their natural (or supernatural) conclusion. For Twilight Zone junkies, the classic episodes are almost too numerous to count.  However, the best of them tended to tap into our deep-seated fears and yearnings.  These include "Walking Distance," "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street," "The Hitch-Hiker," and "A Stop at Willoughby." Yet while Twilight Zone  had that sort of universal appeal, it was hard to dismiss that its perspective was largely white, middle or upper-middle class, urban, and male.  The theme of an inordinate number of episodes was men longing to escape the constraints of their hectic modern lives, whether that involved escaping shrewish wives or modern urban life altogether.  The "ideal" world was one that likely never existed,...

Two unpopular opinions in a row?  Can the universe hold? Eh, I was having a bit of a dry spell for a while, unable to think of anything I truly liked or disliked that most other people felt the opposite way about.  Then I remembered one of the most personal aspects of life, the one thing most likely to spur strong opinions. No, not motherhood. I'm talking about diets.  "But it's not unpopular to hate fad diets," you say.  Unless they're the ones you swear by. I should back up and explain.  Now and then, I have digestive ailments, and I am sensitive to a variety of foods.  Tired of dealing with the issue, I went to a nutritionist at my glorified McDonalds of a hospital network, who determined that I was gluten sensitive.  (As to why I was not simply referred to a gastroenterologist?  My hospital network demands that you jump through hoops first, including attending a special class and then seeing a nutritionist.  Because going to a ...

"Well sure, lots of people dislike driving," you think. No, I hate driving. "Sure, lots of people hate traffic jams and speedsters and --" No, I hate driving .  Not just hate it, but fear it. Let me back up a little.  I don't hate all driving.  I actually enjoy driving to some extent, like on curving country back roads.  Driving across town?  No problem. It's when I need to drive long distances on the freeway that the hate and fear come in waves.  By long distances, I mean more than 20 miles. I can't fully explain where the hate/fear came from.  It arose not long after I first started driving, when I realized that 65 mph on the freeway was kind of fast!  It is probably mainly centered around issues of control: driving is one of the more dangerous activities in this country, and I really prefer keeping my risk of death or bodily injury low, thanks. Then there is the claustrophobia element: stuck in one car, one position, for possib...

Normally I provide one unpopular opinion and expound at length.  However, the unpopular opinions I have lately are on subjects that are not especially weighty.  That is not to say I couldn't find more to say about them at a future date.  But for now, I give you not one, but five randomly chosen unpopular opinions. 1.  Get off my lawn!   Usually when that expression is used, it is meant to paint the speaker as a crotchety, out-of-touch, inflexible nincompoop who hates the free-flowing awesomeness of young people.  Omigod, how dare this geezer resent young people romping on his lawn?  It's like he cares about respect for other people's possessions or something.  If you worked hard to maintain your property, or something equivalent, why shouldn't you resent the people who make light of, and ruin, your efforts?         2.  I can't stand Pixar's UP.   People treat this movie like it's the high watermark of cinema. ...

That's not a compliment. It's actually an insult to children, since I'm sure many have greater capacity for empathy than many adults ever will.  In school, we learn how to analyze math problems, science experiments, or motivations in literature, but strangely never everyday human behavior.  Only the most inspired teachers will set aside time to discuss human behavior, and with mandated testing, that time is smaller than ever.   Otherwise, attempts to understand human thought are relegated to specialized fields: psychology, anthropology, criminology.  We save our deepest fears for private therapy sessions rather than discuss and analyze them in a public group.  Of course it makes sense to want privacy in some situations, but by separating feelings from our everyday lives, by telling ourselves that certain feelings shouldn't "be there," by pretending that they don't exist, we risk painting ourselves and others as one dimensional. So we wa...

There is a mocking term for people who have an unearned sense of their own importance: "snowflake." "You're such a special snowflake!" the taunt goes.  "You got trophies just for showing up in kindergarten.  Your mommy and daddy told you every day how wonderful you are and no one else is like you.  You think you shit gold.  Only now do you understand that no one else gives a shit about you ." This taunt is usually aimed at today's youth, up to about the age of 30, though technically it could be aimed at anyone.  The taunter aims to knock a sense of humility into the recipient, reduce the recipient's confidence, remind him or her that the world is hard and unforgiving.  People get used and chewed up and spit out, and only a few truly get to wear the "special" mantle. But what if this is the wrong message? What if the problem is that this person is special?  That there are not too few special people in this world, but too man...

In American culture, whining is probably second only to murdering in terms of being a scorned activity.  Those who whine are labeled childish, selfish, soft, weak, lazy, lacking character, and "everything that's wrong with today."  Americans don't want whiners -- we want winners! Yet the definition of "whine" can be difficult to pin down.  Merriam-Webster Dictionary merely describes the sound -- "to utter a high-pitched plaintive or distressed cry" or "to complain with or as if with a whine."  As does the Free Dictionary: "To utter a plaintive, high-pitched, protracted sound, as in pain, fear, supplication, or complaint." So the sound isn't pleasant, but does that mean the reason for it should be ignored?  What is the fine line between a valid complaint and a "whine"? Maybe the answer lies in our view of the American ideal: the stoic, rugged individual who takes a single tree on a barren landscape and turn...

... on television, that is. Warning for the squeamish: extensive, sometimes graphic, talk about nudity.  If that's not your thing, get out now.   I like when characters are not afraid to get naked on television.  The scenes on network TV where the woman and man sit post-coital, with the woman's chest carefully concealed, always make me snicker.  So I was grateful when premium cable channels like HBO said: "Fuck it all.  Let's show people the way they really are."  And real people get naked.  Not just above the waist, but below. However, there was a point where the nudity started to feel less "real" and more exploitative.  I feel this way often while watching Game of Thrones , but noticed it much sooner.  It was during an episode of Boardwalk Empire , a show that I've tried really hard to like, but which leaves me cold.  Investigators were in a coroner's office looking at the body of a murdered woman.  The corpse lay on the t...

Warning: this post will be long.  If you do not like length, the exits are to the left and right. I have begun shopping my book around.  I typed "best query letters" into Google and came up with this page .  I followed its advice to the letter, and the advice of other "best query" sites, and sent out about 20 queries.  I have since learned that the advice on the pages is outdated.  I also learned something else uncomfortable: according to conventional wisdom, my novel is too long. How long?  A debut novel should be 80,000 words.  Who says?  Everyone.  Who is "everyone"?  I don't know. But everyone says that a debut novel should be between 80,000 and 100,000 words, and mine is well over that.  I can (and likely will) edit it down further, but it will always be a big book.  According to everyone, big books don't sell.  I can point to exceptions, but apparently I will never be one. I could protest, but everyone is...

They only look  dorky and responsible... To any responsible cyclists who are offended by this piece, I do apologize.  This is not meant for you. There are cyclists who remain watchful of their surroundings, who ride on the correct side of the road, stop at signs and at red lights, who signal when they turn, and who get off of their bikes to walk them across cross walks. Then there are the majority of cyclists.  Seemingly unaware that their bikes are vehicles and must abide by the same rules as cars , they ride the wrong way on busy streets, careen across cross walks without bothering to put a foot on the ground, and -- oh yes -- never met a stop sign that they didn't sail through. They're on the street one minute and the next, they're all over the sidewalk.  As if they think they're pedestrians equipped with special powers.  "Look at me, Ma!  I can go super-fast!  Whooooeeeee!" Oops... here come the protests.   "What about cars? ...

What I hear... and sometimes how I feel. I have been wanting to write about this topic for a long time, but struggled with how to do it.  So I'm going to forgo the pretty words and just say it: when did people have to start apologizing for wanting other people to be quiet? Think about it: the quiet person hurts no one.  He or she may as well not even exist because no one else is aware of his or her presence.  The loud person hurts numerous people by imposing him/herself on other people's space, crowding out their thoughts with insistent noise or chatter. Yet the quiet person is the one who must say time and again: "I'm sorry, could you please keep it down?"   I'm so sorry to have to impose myself on you.   The loud person never pauses to consider whether his or her noise could be hurting someone else.  The loud person just turns up that car stereo, or cranks up that leaf blower, or talks even louder into that cell phone, or plays the television lo...

Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration.  No, not really. And this guy is doing... what exactly?  Blowing leaves back onto the grass?  Into the water? I hate leaf blowers.  Really, really hate them.  It's not just that a leaf blower sounds like a jumbo jet landing on your front lawn, but also that so much noise and pollution comes from so little.  It just blows leaves around for Crissake.  You would think for all that noise, it could at least vacuum the leaves up and turn them into easily disposed-of mulch.  But no.*  Most of the time, the people that use leaf blowers aren't even blowing around big leaves, but tiny little leaves that no one notices, except for those who think it is their job to make the yard look as sterile as possible.  Half the time, the end result is not forming a neat pile of leaves that can be easily scooped into a bucket for disposal.  It is blowing the offending leaves into the street... or onto a ...