Endure.

The word has been bouncing around inside my head the last eight hours or so like a 1990s screen saver. Any minute now, I’ll start seeing flying toasters.

What began as “What would you have me do?” (“The Dark Knight”) plays telephone within my own thoughts until it evolves into “What are you prepared to do?” (“The Untouchables”).

I’ve been prodded to leave the industry. I’ve even tried a time or two. But I’m still here. For now? Maybe.

Nothing out there has yet persuaded me to trade a familiar foe for the unknown, and sticking it to The Man, whomever he is, has never been a draw for me. I wouldn’t be the first to try it, nor the last. And guess what? The Man would still be there. Still at the helm. Tanking? Maybe. Down? Yes. Out? Not yet.

The optimists out there remain adamant that nation isn’t entering a double-dip recession. I’m not exactly sure what the turnover rate is for economic analysts, but I’d bet my non-existant merit raise that this is largely the same group of folks who took a year to realize we were going through a recession… in 2007. Color me skeptical.

Could it be worse? Absolutely. You could be this guy, who robbed a bank of a single dollar in the hopes that he would be thrown in jail. Why? For the health care, of course.

And before you think me a company cheerleader, please consider the following:

I’ve spent a lot of my free time during the past year updating my online resume. Designing and printing my own business cards. Hell, I even designed my own T-shirts. GUESS WHY? Because I <3 Dean Singleton? Nope. Because “drawrings” are fun? Well, they are, but again… uh, no.

And since I, myself, haven’t been able to convince a bigger, better (closer-to-home?) publication — or even another business altogether — to pay me more (or even the same amount), I think I’ll have to go ahead and look on the bright side of my current situation as long as I’m able. Because the fact remains that worrying about the bad will always be easier than actually living the bad. And who knows? In five years, you might think of these days as flush by comparison.

1. Health care. Yep.
2. Steady paycheck? So far, yep.
3. Roof over my head? So far, yep.
4. Looming zombie apocalypse? Not in the foreseeable future.

Could these all go away tomorrow? Sure. But I’m smart enough to realize this isn’t a problem that is unique to our company, or even our industry. I think, deep down, most of the people in this business realize it, too, no matter the chatter about “we didn’t see it coming.” All they have to do is read their paper’s own Business page(s?) to know better, and if you don’t have a Business page, well, that should only speak the same message louder. Because if you haven’t had some extreme back-up plan filed away behind the cobwebs in the deepest recesses of your wildest imagination since at least 2009, well, you just haven’t been paying attention.

Does anyone really know they’re living in the when they’re actually in the heydays? Doubtful. And, with the national unemployment rate just begging to break 10%, I shudder to even fathom what 23.5% unemployment would look like in this country, and I am grateful for the realization that I knew and talked to and loved grandparents and great-grandparents who survived just that.

Maybe there’s ways I could be paring down. Do I need cable TV? A smart phone with a data plan? Not really. I can send tweets via text message, and how appealing is it to think that the office email could stay, well, at the office? And a few months of not paying the cable bill would definitely cover a better-than-decent web-ready TV. Or the rent, in a pinch.

But through all the noise and static within and outside the industry about whether we will “make it,” it seems I’m staying put, at least for the foreseeable future.

Just a normal day

No headlines. No photo galleries. No news coverage. No clips of the president on sacred ground. No pause to remember where I was, or how I heard, or how my days unfolded immediately following. No reflection on the impact. No first-person media perspective.

Not today. Not for me. No, thanks.

It may strike you as a bit insensitive, maybe even unpatriotic. But the only talk of 9/11 I intend to hear today will happen by accident, overheard at Starbucks as I commence with a few necessary e-mails while keeping an eye on some college football scores.

After a latte (or two), maybe I’ll take in a matinée — if I can find one that sounds decent, given the movies I’m really waiting for aren’t out for a few weeks yet, and the ones I wanted to see are long gone. No matter. I have a free ticket; something will pass muster.

A sandwich at my favorite shop, or a slice of decadent dessert, perhaps. Maybe both. Then a phone call or two to catch up with fam and arrange some good times for later.

At some point, there’s bills to pay, errands to run.

In short, there’s nothing special about this day. Not for me. And really, I can’t think of a better way to honor those we lost nine years ago today (and in the events that have since followed as a result) than to partake in normal life as I know it on their behalf.

Take that, enemies of the state.

‘The American’ Way

Though I certainly never was a fan of Booker, and I always thought Dr. Ross was kind of a… jerk, I admit I’ve grown sorta fond of ol’ George since his movie career took off. Just like the rest of the world.

Caught all the “Ocean’s” movies — a dozen times apiece at this point, I’m sure. Enjoyed the heck out of “Michael Clayton” several times over. Was relatively amused by “Burn After Reading” (don’t judge me) the few times I’ve seen it. Will forever thoroughly love “O Brother, Where Art Thou?” no matter how many times I’ve seen it. Have remained rather charmed by “Up In the Air” — I hadn’t purchased a DVD in years, but I bought that one. Missed “The Men Who Stare at Goats,” but I’m sure I’ll get to it at some point.

But the preview for his latest film, “The American,” is a total noggin-scratcher. As far as I can tell, George Clooney is the only reason the promoters think anyone should see this movie. Can’t really discern the plot from the ads. Don’t really recognize the other actors.

The posters are cool, though. (I’m a print designer; this could be enough for me…)

Despite the likely lack of a decent plot, I won’t be terribly shocked to find myself in a theater of less than six other people watching George’s latest adventure unfold a la Bourne, praying the “American” turns out to be Jason’s great-uncle twice removed. After all, I do have a free movie pass that expires before “Tron” is due out, and I think “Toy Story 3” is long gone from my free-pass theater. Curses.

You win this time, Clooney and the Hollywood machine. You win this time. OK, and probably every time after that…

I’m baaa-aaaaack!

Forgive the long pause. I got busy. Working on a book I didn’t write. Making bad decisions about boys… a couple times. Finishing said book. Going to the dentist. Not exercising. Winning at Cribbage. And, amongst the whole lot of it, working too much. (At least pretend you’re shocked…)

Yep. That about sums up the past two years. Rather efficiently, I might add.

At any rate, I’m back. Flexing my web skilz. And my writing skills. (Ahem.) Bear with me; I’ll find my literary (?) stride soon — you hope.

Thanks for playing.

The Grinch Lives

They stole Christmas.

I’ve been having more than a few bummer bouts lately, and it had really been bugging me, especially since I’m only a few weeks away from a holiday vacation at home on the farm. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago when I wasn’t able to go home for Christmas at all, either because of work schedules or financial limitations. But this year, I get to spend 10 whole days soaking up the solitude of a rural Nebraska winter. I get to bask in the fun of my nearly 18-month-old nephew frolicking in the snow (please, Bing, let it be a white Christmas…).

If I can just get there.

Yeah, that must be it — all the trials of moving: the packing, the cleaning, the glass-wrapping, the phone calls, the address changing. And all of it on top of the seemingly daily struggles at the office, trying to figure out how to keep existing despite the desperate turns the newspaper industry seems to be boxing itself into.

It must all be getting to me. This must be taxing my soul.

Hmm… On second thought, maybe not. Because — seriously — what do I have to complain about? Not a lot. My loved ones aren’t fighting enemies abroad or diseases within, or vice versa. We have jobs and shelter, food aplenty. My rent is cheapening and my car nearly paid off. (Don’t ask about the credit card — but at least there’s only one!)

What’s my deal?! What’s with all the weeping and whining?

On the way home it hit me: The Grinch stole Christmas, and he had accomplices.

With all the turmoil at the apartment and all the moving as a direct result, I’m really not able to enjoy the season. For starters, I wasn’t able to spend much time with my relatives on Thanksgiving break because I had get home and start packing up everything I own. Despite the fact that I’ll have two living rooms in my possession by the end the week, I won’t be getting a Christmas tree this season, and I really really wanted one this year.

Well, OK, so they didn’t steal Christmas, exactly. But they did force me to keep it in a box.

Instead of unpacking my accumulated holiday treasures, I’m getting them ready to be U-hauled to another county. Instead of spending my time looking for a great gift for my niece, I’m scanning movers’ quotes and trying to get the cable hooked up. Instead of working on a present for my sister, I’m cramming newspaper-wrapped valuables into “small” boxes.

It sucks — a lot — because this year… this year, I really need Christmas. (Don’t we all?) And I’ll find it. I haven’t packed the Christmas DVDs up yet (or the liquor — shhh!). I bought a big bottle of gingerbread flavoring for the lattes. I’m also going to try to cut myself as much slack as possible the next few weeks because Lord knows I deserve it. I’ve been very good this year. (Mental note: Without newspapers, what will you pack with? You’ll have to buy bubble wrap, and that can get pricey… is all I’m sayin’.)

The Grinches can do their best to try to usurp the holiday cheer right out of me. But in a few weeks, it will all come flooding back. Trekking out in the countryside with my brother, trying to find the perfect ginormous Christmas tree for the Shoppe Party. Piling up the presents under the living room tree until my nephew can tear into them. Sitting in the darkened room mesmerized by the twinkling tree while watching “The Muppet Christmas Carol” with the folks for the seventh (Dad’s 12th) time this year.

I can’t wait.

Thanks for allowing me the Hallmark moment.
Merry Christmas.

The Christmas Letter

I used to be good at this. Award-winning, even. At least, that’s what they tell me. Granted, “they” are biased, of course, being mostly relatives and a few good friends. And OK, it was one of my uncles who gave me the “Best Christmas Letter” award that one year, paying my way into Universal Studios on one of our family’s last summer vacations.

So I haven’t sent Christmas cards out for some time. I thought of just sending cards — no letter — but it felt like cheating. Consequently, it’s been several years since I’ve actually chosen a quality greeting card (I have standards, you know), written and edited down a witty letter that fits on one page — BTW… why is that hard for me to do? I’m not married, have no kids or even a pet, for crying out loud! — physically written the greetings and addressed those envelopes, slapped on those stamps (sometimes the holiday sort), and dumped them in a nearby blue monster.

All bias aside, I think my Christmas letters are at least a good read. I think the last letter I actually did write and send out — with a card and everything — contained the tale of how I got a six-foot-plus Christmas tree into my car then into my less-than-six-foot-plus, second-floor apartment almost entirely all by myself. (See what you’ve been deprived of?)

What I have done almost every year is compose the Christmas letter. How could I not? Between my many address shifts, my ever-changing job duties, my series of somewhat unfortunate events, and ever-frequent clumsy adventures, I can’t NOT write one. In my head, at least. Except I rarely have shared it with others — actually written it down and disseminated it. Weird, since that sort of thing is really my bread and butter.

In my defense, weak as it may be, I have written many witty Christmas letter sentences in my head. I’ve even designed my own card. Had that puppy ready to go last Christmas… or was it the Christmas before? Same difference.

It’s a good card, I think, and I’d like to promise that this year, I’ll deliver it. But circumstances will conspire against me yet again, I’m almost positive of it: Moving into a new apartment in the middle of December — a mere two weeks from now and just a week before I head to Nebraska to spend Christmas week with my family — seems likely to seal the fate of this year’s Christmas letter.

Maybe I should blog my Christmas letter this year. Facebook it. Keep with times, and all that. I considered just sending it out over e-mail last year. Almost had myself talked into it: “It’s 2007! Why aren’t more Christmas letters sent electronically?! Besides, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Yeah, whatever. Nothing substitutes the hand-signed, hand-addressed or even hand-delivered Christmas card. In truth, I hope — and am pretty certain — nothing ever will.

In case you don’t hear from me: Have a Merry Christmas and very happy 2009.

The Angry Voter

Working for a newspaper, I’m usually pretty jazzed about Election Day, especially when the presidency is in play. The day seems so full of promise, not just from an ideological standpoint, but in how we, as journalists, get to figure out how best to tell the day’s story and stand as a record of that moment — especially when that moment becomes historical.

Today, days later, I can reflect on the awe of witnessing and recording history. But that morning, before and after putting my ballot in the box, I didn’t feel like much of a patriot or purveyor of the ideals of democracy. I was just angry.

I didn’t like my options, and I felt like my vote didn’t really matter in California anyway; our state so decidedly leftist that John McCain’s camp tactically blew it off.

And I was angry.

I felt like the nation as a whole didn’t really have a real choice, and that states like California had even less options. I felt like no matter what mark I made on my ballot, my state had turned blue well before I got there to have my say.

And I was angry.

At some point during the campaign, a friend of mine suggested the only vote a Californian can truly make for change is to pick Bob Barr — that whether you liked him or not, a Barr vote would help non-mainstream candidates gain legitimacy in the next round, maybe even get a seat at the debate table.

Take a second and imagine that kind of change…

So… but… these were my options? Making an unlikely run at shaking up the two-party system? Casting another Kool-Aid ballot for all-talk Barack? Signing up for McCain 2.0, a much less independent version of the “maverick” he used to be?

I was angry.

And it didn’t stop with the presidential race. It trickled down into the local contests, and even the propositions festered frustration. Like Prop. 2: You mean I actually have to decide whether a chicken gets to see grass or whether I want to run a greater risk of salmonella on a dozen eggs I would pay upwards of $4 for?

Seriously? These are my options?

Normally, I would dress up a little on Election Day, not knowing who might be making appearances in the newsroom. But this time around, I didn’t care. I opted for comfort expecting the work day would drag on well into the night.

So I put on my angry jeans, thinking: “F**K IT!” And I laced up my Keens in a rage, thinking: “My finances suck. Gas prices will soar again any day now, and we’ll see more layoffs before the holidays arrive. Congress bailed out the banks with a big side of pork, all on the backs of taxpayers. … I’M NOT VOTING FOR A SINGLE INCUMBENT TODAY. NOT ONE. I DON’T EVEN CARE.”

And I meant it. At the time…

Down to the wire, though, I didn’t exactly follow through on that threat. I couldn’t stomach the alternative in a couple of those contests, and in others, I did think there was something to be said for experience.

So much for change, huh?

Whether Barack’s been your guy all along, he’s all of ours now. And I really want to be wrong about him, but we’ve been in this space before… all fired up, demanding action, healing and the affirmation that thousands have not died in vain. Look how that played out.

I’m a cautious optimist at heart, and there’s no denying Obama has uplifted many corners of the nation. But right now, I can’t see how we’re banking on anything more than catch phrases and charismatic speeches — very well-funded ones.

Here’s hoping his actions speak louder… and cost less.

—

Just so you all don’t think I’m a total cynic, I wanted to post a link to this music video, which I’m sure is well on its way to becoming very overplayed. But, crap, that man can really rally the masses. And if nothing else, after years of Bush’s bumbling sound bytes immediately on the heels of Bill’s “Southern charm,” it will be nice to get some real sophistication back in the Oval Office.

And just for fun, there’s this and this, too.

Cheers.