MOVING

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http://allnewbriefhistory.blogspot.com/

Photo Tag

I've been tagged by Girl in the Room to do a picture tag! Here it goes: open your first photo folder (She took this to mean oldest digital pictures folder). Scroll down to the 10th photo. Post that photo and story on your blog. Tag five others (or more) friends to do the same.























Monica's brother took this one while he was in Santa Barbara for our wedding. What's remarkable about it is that it's just the kind of thing that guy from Minnesota would take a picture of when he's in California. I only understand now that he was in California in February. Let me say again, he was in Minnesota in February, and then he flew to California. I don't think I could have understood at the time what a shock that must have been. Especially to come to Santa Barbara. It must have seemed freakish or like coming to heaven. He left a land that was slushy and frozen and beaten hard for three months by winter with at least a month or more of snow and subzero temperatures and he came to the Southern California coast. What must our verdant desert have seemed like? Among some of the other pictures he took was this one:


















And this one:

















This one was also on the roll:

















Here he is with his sister, soon to be married she is, running into the Pacific Ocean - in February - I can't stress that enough - February. Just as they ran into Lake Michigan as children.

I'll tag you back and add Blueprint Blue.

http://girlintheroom.blogspot.com/

http://blueprintblue.blogspot.com/

Too Late For Crime?

Is it too late for me to fulfill my life ambition of being a professional criminal and cat burgler?

This reminds me of my current favorite pitch - Go Team Ninja! - it's City Slickers meets Beverly Hills Ninja. A motley crew of middle aged misfits are thrown together during a work team building exercise. They bicker and complain until their beloved ninja master is kidnapped and they must band together and use the ninja techniques that they've gleaned along with their office skills to find him and bring him home.

Who Am I Here? Addressed More Fully.

I spent many years doing one kind of thing - working toward creating a screenwriting career in New Spain. Now I feel like that has come to an end. Not a bad end, but still an end. I still write. But now writing scripts seems pointless - not pointless, but purposeless. Why write scripts? Am I really going to sell one? Certainly I enjoy it, but there are other more reader-ready forms of writing than scripts. And, to tell the truth I was never a natural at it. Now of course I have a family and I am the guy who is going to work and making the money. I do that well. I'm good at it. Maybe I've spent the last ten years as Michael Jordan trying to play baseball. I like work. But my picture of my identity isn't of someone who works in an office, my picture of my identity is of someone who is an artist - a creator rather than a manager or a helper. Who can I blame for this? Ha! I can't say I regret my choices. I would much rather be in the position I am now having done what I wanted without too much regard for practicality than looking back with regret at not having goofed off more.

Who Am I Here?

This is the question that I've bumped into frequently since we've moved to New France - who am I here? God, there's so much to say about this I can't write it all now. Later.

Why Today?

Why have I picked today to start posting again? Who knows? It could be the sheets of ice over the streets and sidewalks. It could be because I'm wearing corduroy pants with a corduroy sport coat. (Some out there would be surprised, and I hope proud, to see how well I've cleaned up since my stay-at-home dad days.)

The real reason is because I miss typing and writing. I had a day off yesterday and did no writing at all. None. A completely free bonus day - with no writing done. What does that mean? Have I given up on my script? No. No. I refuse. I'm incubating it. But man, I need some outlet. Some venue for my thoughts.

If you're looking for a good read, try Norman Rush's Mating. Top shelf fiction. I must have read something else since then, but I can't remember what...

Airport

Okay, so the only thing I haven't been able to get my head around is the airport. The only thing that I can't think is quaint or homey is the airport. All I want to do is drive to the airport, board the plane, and get off at my destination. I'm not to be convinced that it's somehow a minor inconvenience to have to change planes every time I fly. Every single time. And many times through O'Hare. O'Hare! Many good men and women have been lost there. I can deal with the cold. I can handle the food. The falling leaves, Packer fans, snow, Badger fans, North Face wearing students, the "traffic" on the highway, the constant search for winter clothes, rural jurors, farmers, hunters, fishermen, and all of it, but man. Why can't there be a direct flight anywhere that I want to fly?

Here's the list of cities that are served by flights from MSN. So I have family in two of those cities, but I'm disregarding that since I have yet to fly from here to either of them. My point is that it's like flying out of AOL Online airport. It's severely restricted. I suppose this is the sign that I need to start loving New York.

# Atlanta - Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport (ATL)

# Chicago - O’Hare International Airport (ORD)

# Cincinnati - Cincinnati / Northern Kentucky International Airport (CVG)

# Cleveland - Cleveland Hopkins International Airport (CLE)

# Dallas-Fort Worth - Dallas / Fort Worth International Airport (DFW)

# Denver - Denver International Airport (DEN)

# Detroit - Detroit Metro Airport (DTW)

# Memphis - Memphis International Airport (MEM)

# Milwaukee - General Mitchell International Airport (MKE)

# Minneapolis - Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport (MSP)

# New York - LaGuardia Airport (LGA)

# Newark - Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR)

# St. Louis - Lambert/St. Louis International Airport (STL)

# Washington DC - Reagan National Airport (DCA)