Liz’s Advice Blog

Dear Liz,
Did you move your blog?
-Portal Mirroria, OH

Yes,

And there’s a new post.  Come see what I’m talking about:
http://lizsadviceblog.typepad.com/lizs_advice_blog/

-me

dear liz,

i am trying to be a fiction writer but my fiction is riddled with problems. recently, i feel that my worldview is problematizing my fiction for readers, as they do not share it. it is as follows: i think children grow when they are set loose in the desert to play with zippo lighters and snakes and to expose their breasts through the fire doors of buses. i have expansive love for losers and misanthropes who are "doing fine," which is pretty damn good for this world and shouldn’t we all be so lucky as to be able to say we are? i also believe that breakfasts before funerals, haircuts from ex-lovers, and turkey hunts in our fathers’ dayglo vests are the holy stuff with which our lives are stuffed.

what’s my damage? -c.

Dear C.,

Your worldview is causing a problem for your readers, is it? You have readers?

I think your worldview is incredible. Your vision of cause-and-effect is wildly inventive. You couldn’t make up a philosophy more madcap, or is it madcapper? The insufferable Germans use the nonsense word weltanschauung to describe what you’re doing: creating a comprehensive conception or image of the universe and of humanity’s relation to it. A weltanschauung is an ambitious undertaking!  Most of them, if they are truly comprehensive, are likely to be misguided.

Your worldview is well-reasoned, iron-clad, as much as the pleas of any artist caught in his own web of lies.

What you’re doing is important. To humanity. So lay it on us.

Categorically, spinning fictions is what fiction does best. Everyone agrees fiction is the poorest art. Face it. Visual art has colors. Music, legally a drug in Thailand, has the unique ability to put us in a trance*. HOLD ON-I’m going to make this asterisk mandatory, so before you read the next line about the other arts, you’re going to have to look at the footnote here:

____________________________________

*Music is really the best art, and I’ll explain exactly why.

1) It was the world’s first observational humorist, Aristotle, who first noticed that we can close our eyes, not our ears.

2) The human hairs inside the ear can convey currents at 20,000 signals per second, whereas photoreceptors in the eye are so slow they can be tricked by movies played at 24 frames per second. And probably less for someone like you, C., who can’t even manage 20/20 vision. So the next time you want to watch a movie, try using your ears, four-eyes!

____________________________________

Continuing to the other arts… The theater, which includes T.V., has everything. If you are familiar with total theater, you could say that theater is a "total theater" …of the mind. T.V., a subset of theater, has the universal remote control. The internet has pornography. So as a writer myself, I have often wondered: what is unique to the art of writing?

It never takes me very long to answer my own mystifying questions. I agree, they are top-notch questions. I shall save you the trouble of thinking this one through, C., because it could take days. Days we don’t have. I’ll write it here. Although not that sentence, this one: The art of writing has the unique ability to be boring and wrong.

I mean, think about it! What is a novel? The good ones are inextricably told from inside the mind of someone single-minded and wrong-headed. Crazy misanthropes who think they know how other people think! Considering the resourceful habit you have of describing the way you "see" things, well, you’ll fit in just fine here.

The best thing fiction has going for it is the ability to mimic the boring, wrong things that float around your head when you’re tryin’ to chillaxitize yourself. Can’t fall asleep? Try looking at porn on the internet. Tried that? Didn’t work for you either? Try reading a book. Now, can you hear any voices inside your head? That’s what I thought. The melodious, insightful voice on the page has hijacked your docile mind.

So, C., when you are turning your diverting musings into stories, when your head is in the clouds with child burn victims who charm snakes, when you are miles away from a sober assessment of life, in your enchanting fantasyland of deserts teeming with cactus-to-cactus public transportation, you, C., the Plato of Williamsburg (Plato being the Louis CK of Athens), you, C., are Doing Your Job. That’s a term we use here in THE UNITED STATES OF AMER-I-CAN-DO-ICA.

So you have an incredible worldview! Go on, have one. Kudos. It means accolades.

It’s Greek,

-me

Hi Jeff,

We should hang out more.  Why aren’t we better friends?

I think most people are confused by good and evil.  Why are they at odds?  (in the Upanishads, they are at evens) White is traditionally the pinny color of good, and black is evil.  Why?

Macro Capture the flag (mCTF) is very similar to the kind you played in gym class.  Not identical.  When good and evil began playing mCTF, it was the colors that decided which side to play on.  (orangutans are orange)  It was totally mutual, actually, like friendster, both sides had to agree.

Wait, why aren’t we friendsters?  You’re a tough guy to get to know, Jeff.  Hey, Jeff.  Hey.  Can you get me another beer?

A lot of other stupid idiots (you’re not the only one) wonder how come everything in life fights and argues.  It’s all one big, complicated game of CTF. 

Capture the flag is in our DNA.  It’s in our Mitochondrial DNA.  It’s in the DNA of the Wendy’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich you are eating.  My pinny is orange.  I can’t wait for gatorade and orange slices.

P.S. Voting can’t make anyone good.  But, voting can grow hair on your chest and make you grow bold.

Dear Liz,

OMGWWSSUA,

Tell her to be quiet. It’s a nice way of saying the same thing, in what is known as a euphemism. You might have heard your grandparents saying it to your great uncles and aunts.

Or you could use a minced oath, i.e. shush up. I owe my ladyhood that my mother would correct me as a girl, "Eliz, You mean shush up."

OK, Recap: You want your friend to shut up, but if you tell her, she may not like you. So, Tricky: you want your friend to both like you and shut up. So, what I would do is Jujutsu the friend.

You’re not going to stop her from complaining, but you can be ready for the next whine-out with counter-discourse; yield to your opponent’s force to unbalance her.

I’ve done the requisite R&D and prepared a refulgent reaction palette for you to play with. Now, we wait.

1) Ask problem-solving questions to bring "the Complainer" (a personality type coined by Dr Bramson) back to the reality of the problem. - Coping with Difficult People by Robert Bramson

2) Gently prod "the Donkey" personality type with reassurance, i.e. "It’ll be hard to find another job, but we’ll all support your brave choice." - Dealing with Difficult People by Roberta Cava

3) Tell "The Whiner" type, with incremental force, to take a vacation. See if you can work in the phrase "Go away!" - Dealing with People You Can’t Stand by Dr. Rick Brinkman

4) Wait to catch the oblivious "Bellyacher" type claim that she is not, in fact, a whiner, record her on your cell phone’s voice message function (something like "I’ll never complain again"), and play it back to her every time she complains. - 201 Ways to Deal With Difficult People by Alan Axelrod

5) Gently prod "the Blamer" type, forkwise. - Since Strangling Isn’t an Option by Sandra A. Crowe

6) Get overly angry at hearing about her job. Curse her coworkers and boss. Tell "the Gloom Sportie" you’re going to go in to her job and complain yourself. - The How to Easily Handle Difficult People Handbook by Murray Oxman

7) Suggest to "the Whine Sportist" she needs to take her mind off work, so you’re going to go out and have a drink, and she’s not allowed to talk about work. - Dealing With Difficult People by Christina Osborne

Tell "the Whine Sportiste" she’s a complete idiot. - The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Getting Along With Difficult People by Brandon Toropov

9) Give "Type 5" a stake to the heart. - Emotional Vampires by Albert J. Bernstein

These are all real books,

Me

Dear Liz,

How come some people in Washington, DC don’t know how to act? Moreover, how come some people run round like slave times just ended?

Thomas Claylumbian Heights, DC

Dear T.C.,

I enjoy fielding the big, tough, vague questions as much as sixth graders enjoy hitting a life-sized teddy bear using a science book as a bat when they have a substitute teacher. That’s why I got started in substitute teaching. It is a craft. Miss Stevens, it was right down the line! Great, one more pitch and then we’ll begin class. Hey guys, guys that was two pitches guys, why would you guys lie to me? Guys!

Of People in Washington

More often than not, Dwayne Yurman can be seen in a natty suit and tie, showing upscale condos to top buyers hoping to turn their great credit into negotiation gold. "It’s like a flee market!" according to Yurman’s manager at RE/MAX and RE/MAX and Son. But on several days of each retail week, 44-year-old Yurman takes a day off, puts on a Lincoln beard and runs around Washington, DC, leading one of Natalie Zanin’s acclaimed Historic Strolls’ jogging tours. (Customers may choose to run, in-line skate, or walk fast.)

Historic Strolls began in 1998 with a couple of costumes and a rubber chicken and one chicken rubber. Today it has over twenty hard-working, fast-acting actor/guides. To make the cut, each actor must finish a ball-busting 10k run interspersed with monologuing sprints. A formality that every applicant thus far passed, the test nevertheless elicits painful vomiting at its conclusion. (The race is in broadly historic costume and obligatorily conversational.)

In "Undiscouraged! The Civil War: The Jog," Dwayne Yurman recreates the erstwhile sixteenth president, Lincoln. Yurman’s tour lasts five hours, during which, he takes his countrymen all ’round his city, Washington City of the 1860s. Leading an historic tour requires a dedication to character surpassing that of any other job. Actor/guides forgo paper coffee cups, unavailable in the 1860s, during their routes, which begin and end at one of 11,000 city Starbucks Coffee locations. Actor/guides manage to scrimp turn-of-the-century caffeine conventions, requesting that baristas pour espresso into cupped hands belonging to members of the group. Their courtesy is rewarded by discounted tours and two good, old-fangled bonuses, a revolving mystery history perk that can include chickens, rubbers, and Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol themed coffee hands.

According to his coworker, a graduate of Tisch School of the Arts at NYU, Dwayne Yurman is notoriously difficult to get close to. His mother relates that she "once had to go to an open house just to ask him what he wanted to eat for supper, ziti or what. No. it wasn’t an open house. It was a tour. I thought I was at an open house, but he was wearing a Lincoln beard and we were outside. I didn’t like it, what I saw and heard, because it was difficult to stand in one place for very long. Dwayne can’t act. I gather, someone else probably told you first. That’s the worst part of it. Doesn’t know how."

Yurman’s signature method is by most accounts a brave attempt. With no formal training, he is the only non-actor in the program. Yurman won over his hiring summer intern with a rambling and affectionate knowledge of the Civil War during a 10k time finished in under two hours. At the start of his interview, he had said he’d appeared in television commercials, but later admitted to embellishment. He then claimed he had been a reenactor on America’s Most Wanted, also false. A fellow Historic Strolls guide and recent émigré from 1776 Philadelphia, Alex Juarez had nothing but praise for the troupe’s elusive Lincolnian: "It is amazing what [Dwayne's] doing. [He] just really likes the time period."

In his own words, Dwayne Yurman says, "It’s a dream come true. That a white man could play a black Lincoln."

Seriously stop playing bear baseball, or you guys will be visited by three monologuing sprints,

-Me

Dear Liz,
Why is the uranium market so illiquid?
-Phillip Old Man’s Apartment, NY

Dear Phil,

Back in November of 1985, Doc Brown was forced to broker with Libyan terrorists to power his flux capacitated DeLorean.  Though he was trading plutonium, uranium fuel bundles aren’t bundles easier to trade.

As Phil points out, everyone is aware that the uranium market is not liquid.  No one says it is.  No one makes that mistake. 

But why?? 

For one thing, it’s not traded in a commodity exchange, it’s bought and sold by crazy, wild-eyed old scientists for time machines, so there are scant speculators ensuring liquidity.  Sometimes, the buyer may be a kid who shows up asking questions about this Sports Almanac, and if that ever happens… he’s going to unhinge the market and unravel the very fabric of space-time.

A commodities exchange would attract market makers, hedging uranium without handling it, increasing market stability.  We‘d all want to get in on it.  Enron never traded uranium.  Nobody mentions that when they talk about Enron.

Why aren’t there uranium futures contracts? 

I don’t know. 

This may be the narrow view.

Listen, I’m an insider.  I call uranium U when I need to make a point and I’m short on time.  I say, U needs to be like the other markets.  U needs an exchange.  It’s like drugs.  If you legalize drugs, only law abiders will have drugs — where law abiders applies to drug possession.  The point is, we will all have some.  So someone (Phil: you) should take preliminary measures and call People magazine or US magazine saying U is a fun shade for spring 2007. 

Back to uranium futures.

Yellowcake is a fun cake for spring,
-Me

Dear Liz,
How do you get over the grossness and dirtiness of your partner’s past relationships?
Sincerely,
Addie Massachusetts, MA

Dear Addie,

How do I get over it?  I think what you mean is how does one get over it, and that is what I will outline for you.

It is my policy to fight feelings with feelings, and if need be, fire. 

Begin with guided imagery.  In a seated or reclined position, relax every muscle in your body.  Say "thank you" to each of your 206 bones.  Apologize to your 360 orifices.  Do this mentally, with the orificial equivalent of your third eye.  Clear your mind.  Are you relaxed?

Imagine a room.  It can be any kind of room you can visualize.  This is your room.  Now–you are stuck with it.  But since you are stuck with it, enjoy your time there.  You owe it to everyone.

There is a chair in the room that is the exact shape of the real chair you’re in.  Look at it, and as soon as you do, transport yourself into the chair.  It is magical and it will conform to your body in exactly the way you predict.  Now relax in your chair in your mind.

Your relaxed mind is capable of doing amazing things.  It is now possible for you to imagine the best memory you have from all of your past relationships.  Search yourself for this memory.  It floats into your head when you are lonely, or when you are alone and in full acceptance of life.  The memory is pure pleasure.  It is the best time you have ever spent with another person, or at least the most intense.  The memory makes all your pains worthwhile.  Because of it, you look back on your relationship with gratitude, among whatever other conflicted emotions you may stew. 

Take some time to enjoy this.  What textures can you feel with your fingertips?  What smells can you regain with your gray matter marbles?  Whenever you are ready…

Imagine your ideal partner.  She can be the partner you now have, or one you would rather have.  She walks in the door and says, "I can see what you’re thinking.  You are projecting it all over the house, dumdum."

Stay within your peaceful place.  Affirm yourself.  Say, "Addie, It’s my mind and I can think about what I want to.  It’s none of your business what I did, and I cannot change the past."  Do not fight yourself.  Accept your images, your memories, your joy.

Now, your ideal partner runs to the sink to throw up because seeing your past makes her feel gross and dirty. 

Calmly point out that she can never be happy seeing your memories.  If you had no past, she’d think you were pathetic.  There is no past that she’d happily welcome into her genius mind, not lest your last girlfriend were a cartoon character, not even lest.

Imagine her, yelling, yelling.  And whereas at first you may have felt guilty and sorry for her, now you would do anything if she could only get over it.  It’s not worth it, you tell her.  (Of course, what you mean is, it’s not worth it to you.)

Now ease back into consciousness.  Slowly become aware of your surroundings …gravity …the difficulty of breathing …the stress your boss and loved ones put on you …all the things you forgot to do today …how much money your classmates are making …the expectations you had that didn’t materialize …the fatalism of realistic expectations …and the impossibility of ever achieving satisfying closeness with anyone.  Consider underwriting a quarter life crisis.  Breathe in tension and negativity.  Breathe out your childish idealism.

Fighting firefighting fire with firefighting firefighting,
-Me

Dear Liz,

I have a very independent 33 year old daughter who lives in Washington, DC.
She recently became engaged to be married. She wants to have the wedding in the DC area. She feels if she has it in the Gloucester area where I live and she grew up the wedding will be less about her and her fiance, Justin and more about what her families want.  I would like to have the wedding in the Gloucester area as I would like to feel that I am hosting a wedding for my much beloved daughter and her fiance.  If we have the wedding in DC I may  feel like just one of the guests. Assume for the purposes of this question we are paying for the wedding equally.
Your wisdom as always would be appreciated, Soloma.
-Papa of Kate, Gloucester of the Sea

Dear Papa,

See, this is you: "I am worried it won’t be special for both me and the two people who have a special love, which we will be gathered together to witness."

-me

Dear Kate and Justin,

This is you: –clicks–>

-me

Dear Readers,

Marriages are arduous, internecine endeavors where no one benefits.  They are manned missions beyond the sun that go through the sun to get there.  They are like a journey ten thousand leagues under the sea.  It’s fine institutions.  I love marriage.  I’m very nuptual, I just have a problem with organized consanguination.  It seems like people today are just marrying marriage.  Just to get high.  It feels so good to know two people so in love. 

For my dance dollars, I like Hot Chip,

-me

P.S.  The wedding should be at a third party’s location, where nobody lives.  Yeah! I’m going to cut the wedding in half!   And you each can get a piece of it.  Separate weddings for church and state.  Americans don’t have enough choice of candidates.  You’re not supporting the troops.  Have the wedding on youtube.  Have the wedding in the Green Zone. 

Dear Liz,

Can you send me a jumble on Sunday?

-Andrew Queens, NY

-

-

Dear Andrew,

Claro que no!  I mean, I can. I won’t though.

-Me

Dear Liz,
I am writing to you, a Freudian, for guidance. I had a dream last night. Can I tell you about it?
Maria N. Andover, MA

Oh, honey,

If I were you, I would never tell people my dreams. Nobody wants to hear your dreams. While they may fascinate you to no end, you can rest assured they are dull, dull, dull.

Last night I dreamt that Stephen Colbert was on a TV show stage saying he was "this close to getting the role of Michael Bluth" on Arrested Development. Then it all started to go down hill. He started gesticulating wildly and saying he "needs" to be funny, and then he started insulting the host of the show.

But before that, I was on an airship where it was very difficult to get a drink. On the airship, everyone (including Henry Winkler) promised me drinks, but it was the hardest thing to actually get one. I finally gave up and started walking to the front stairs, because I had prescient knowledge that the ship was going down.

I knew the safest place to be on a crashing airship was the front stairs. After the crash, I just walked outside onto a city street.  It was the upper west side of Manhattan. I ran the blazes away. I ran past school kids. I sought out the least populated streets. An SUV with tinted windows followed me.  There were three SUVs.

Some guy got out from one of them and chased me to the ground and pinned me. He shown some light in my eyes and took my picture. Then he took a picture of the picture. He was like, "that’s beautiful."

He put me in the SUV, where I met two kids.  They were a teenage girl and a kid. The guy was kind of like an official. He said my powers of intuition were insanely keen. I was a prognosticator mutant, or so I gathered. 

The kids wanted some Burger King. I said I knew where one was, but we’d better go another way, to avoid the giant airship crash that’s blocking traffic. 

They looked at each other like, "Here we go again," because they were so amazed by my prescient knowledge.

You could pay someone to listen to my dreams,
-Me