Daniel Silva can bite me
On our way back from the beach a few days ago, we found ourselves mired in what the kids today call "hella bad" traffic, provided that by "today" I mean circa 1994. I got slightly panicky when the only decent music station in the entire world launched into a 20 minute block of commercials (gotta pay for the "40 minutes nonstop" somehow).

I could feel my wife stirring in the passenger seat. I saw it coming. We only have four dial presets on our factory-cheapest minivan radio. She was going to send us into Avril Lavigne/Sarah MacLachlan purgatory that is Star 98.7, the station that released Ryan Seacrest and all his cheesy lameness upon the world.

Thinking fast, I jabbed a finger out and hit a button--any button. And there we were on NPR. Normally I avoid NPR while driving as my sleep-driving skills have atrophied somewhat since I grew out of taking impromptu road trips to Vegas (OK, I never really did that, but it used to be conceivable at least).

Being NPR, they dropped this maddeningly, absurdly focused "feature" report on us: it's a series (apparently) about "Artistic Spaces" where they talk to artsy types about the spaces they work in.

My hands immediately started shaking from the involuntary rush of adrenaline that surged through my body in anticipation of this report.

I was disappointed. As I may have mentioned, Pops is a failed writer. I say "failed" because it sounds more finite and complete, like it's behind me. Truth be told, I am currently in the midst of a long, drawn-out process of writer-failure. I guess it would be appropriate to call me a Failing Writer. Yes, now I want to kill myself immediately instead of next week.

The point is they were featuring some guy called Daniel Silva (check out his website complete with the obligatory picture of the dorky writer in a leather jacket). And Danny goes on and on about how his space is sacred and it's part of his routine where he comes down every day at the same time to do his writing in private and how it's like a job and how committed he is to it and how his family all jumps out of his way in order to make it easier for him.

I shrugged off the discussion about sea-grass green carpet and off-white walls inspired by villas on the Mediterranean. But here was this guy coming on my radio in my car calling me a lazy, useless bastard. Rubbing it all in my face how he has "discipline" and "focus" and all that other stuff. And in front of my wife and kids, too.

Look, my computer has two functions: 1) Video game platform. 2) Um... there was a second one, I know it... tip of my tongue... OH YEAH! Everything else. This second category includes bill-paying, e-mailing, this ridiculous blog, porn surfing and (if there's any time left over) writing. The list is not by any means comprehensive, either.

The only hard data point you should take away from above paragraph is 1) Video game platform. This is the single greatest impediment to progress for all human beings ever in the history of time. Or at least in the history of time that includes video games. Before that... God, I don't even want to think about it.

But it occurs to me that perhaps what all those preachy, pedantic, snore-inducing, sanctimonious do-gooders on TV talking about the dangers of videogames are right. Maybe they are nothing but a unproductive timesuck turning us all slowly into isolated, insulated, carpal-tunneled morons one beautifully rendered polygon at a time. I've been playing alot of Grand Theft Auto III lately (still haven't finished it), so the proof will be if my unending string of laziness is punctuated by an otherwise unexplainable spree of carjacking and random violence. Fingers crossed.

But the good news is I watch way less TV than I used to. So score one for the Parental No-Fun League Advisory Council or whatever those groups are called.

In closing, one more thought about this Daniel Silva person: hey, if this guy is so smart and wonderful, how come I've never heard of him before? Maybe if pulled the discipline-stick out of his ass, he'd be more successful. Sure he'd never have gotten a book written, but at least I wouldn't have the impression that he was a total douchebag.

If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 6.8


Pops

- posted by Pops @ 12:53 PM