I’ve been ordering plenty of books off the web lately. Too many of them, actually. But one came in the mail yesterday, The Creative Writing MFA Handbook, which has been quite helpful. It’s a compact little manual to help find the best graduate schools for creative writing students. It tells how many applicants get accepted each year, which schools provide the best funding, and so forth. I’m glad something like this exists (as well as the accompanying blog) since I’ll be applying to a handful of MFA programs before January. Thanks to Tom Kealey for it.
I also started reading Doing It.
My last post (and first) was about people being jerks. This one’s about the nice folks of the world. My new friend Joe who has gray hair and glasses works at the library. Yesterday I walked in wearing my Descendents shirt and he instantly became twenty years younger. The guy was impressed. I asked if he was a fan, and he said not really, but back when he was a young guy he definitely was. He works about every day I think, and has to look after all the high schoolers that walk over from across the street, coming in and making plenty noise until their parents come by to pick them up. I suppose this makes him like people like me even more, though he seems to love everybody. Well this library is my new favorite spot to chain my bike up outside and hang out. It’s modest, square, small, covered in red bricks, and the only problem is there’s only one available power source for laptops, and someone’s always beaten me to it. Well today he’s officially given me access to the meeting room when no one’s using it, and I assume that’s indefinitely, which is great. It’s quieter and I can get a lot done. I hope I’ll continue getting a lot done, anyway, since the internet houses a million distractions. You’re quite a guy Joe, if you ever happen to read this.
It doesn’t bother me every blinking minute, but sometimes I’m reminded that my hairline is fading fast. Last night I was especially irked after two seperate people felt inclined to point out their thoughts on my hair. The first was merely a joking friend, whom I’ve pardoned because this guy actually knows me. Friends are allowed to make fun of one another and are usually careful enough to know which lines not to cross. I make fun of him too, he has his share of shortcomings, whatever. But after 15 hours on the job (yes- it’s true!), a bartender that recently quit (before I was hired) came in for some drinks. I said hello, he asked how old I was, and then was all like “Dude, you’re going bald. That sucks!” And then he laughed obnoxiously and kept on about it. I was so taken aback and uncomfortable in the situation that I’m not sure what else was said. Being sweaty and already irritable, I really failed to see the humor in this, and still do. Time takes its toll on us all, does it not? How can someone who’s only spoken to a person on one previous occassion feel permitted to comment on their hairline, or lack thereof? Yes, the cruelty in this world is unspeakable! What I WANTED to say was “Alright. So I’m going bald. It’s genetic, meaning I can’t control it. But you on the other hand are fat, which you CAN control. You look disgusting in this fatness of yours, so go lose some weight, asshole.” But I didn’t say this. Oh well. People can be jerks sometimes. That’s the world we live in. But I need to find a hairstylist quickly, since I’m kind of new to the area. When my hair’s a little shorter, it doesn’t force itself into natural combover-mode.