State of the Chief
I've been painstakingly vague about myself in this journal, which is stupid. Let's lay it all out. Let's get naked.
My name is Michael. I'm 30. I'm a straight white male writer who grew up in a whitebread suburb of Boston. I have an Irish-Catholic upbringing, and my family is all Irish as far back as the geneology can be traced.
I got a pretty good education, though I never felt I could afford grad school. I was an English major. My thesis was on Samuel Beckett. I was fortunate to spend a year in Ireland in college, during which I backpacked a bit around Western Europe, but for the most part I haven't really seen as much of the world as I'd like to. I hope there's still time. I lived for seven years in New York City, which is a lot like seeing the world.
I lived in Austin for a while and became convinced that Texas is the greatest state in the Union. I did get to see portions of the U.S. on a cross-country road trip, and found myself overwhelmed with love for this country, right alongside big big rage at the mistakes we've made, are making. I am a patriot, and a Massachusetts liberal, and W. can put that egg in his shoe and beat it.
I met K. in New York through mutual friends. We've been married for about three and a half years. She's amazing and a great Mom for our 19-month-old daughter Fiona.
We live in Northfield, MA. For money I work part-time from home doing research in the real estate executive search industry. K. works four days a week at a real job vaguely related to public health.
For work I've been a telemarketer for a chimney sweeping company, a "Regional Denim Manager" at various Gaps, a disposable temp, a cashier at a hardware store, a "campus patroller" for the Security Dept. at college, a child wrangler for a young understudy on Broadway, an office manager for a trio of Broadway producers, and an editorial intern for an astronomy magazine.
My passions in life have always been in music, words, and theater. All the things I've ever wanted to do with myself have been in one of those areas: writer, publisher, editor, playwright, actor, rock star. These days I've given up on theater for various reasons, after calling myself a playwright for about a decade, and I am presently trying to write a novel. I could pretend I have a thousand hilarious working titles in mind, but right now I'm calling it The Garden of Noise. You can't steal that from me really because it's already stolen from somebody else, but all the same, please don't all call your next books The Garden of Noise or I'll have to revert to one of my arduously constructed "funny" titles.
I spend my days being a Dad first, a husband next, a researcher third, fourth is my role as Chief Operating Officer, Chief Financial Officer, and Director of Human Resources for our household (K. is President, CEO, and Director of Design and Development). There's scant space left over for matters of spirit or art or extended friends and family, but every day I try to pay the soul some mind.
A disproportionate amount of my waking life is spent listening to and contemplating music. I get itchy if music isn't playing somewhere. It's not that I dislike silence; I revere it. But music is an improvement on silence, and I thirst for it. I've written a little music in the last 15 years. I'd like to write more, if the space opened up for it.
I don't post here as much as I'd like. And when I do post, my writing tends to be jokey and insincere. I reach for the bombast and exaggerated image over the quiet truth nearly every time. I write here as if I'm shouting loudly at a party. I'd like my writing -- here and elsewhere -- to take the form of an intimate conversation, not a speech or stand-up routine. I spend a lot of time making half-assed jokes in this journal and in yours. The truth is that I actually learn a lot about life from your collective words, and many of you I really care about. Who knew such a thing would be possible.
That's as much of me as I could type out in 45 minutes. Now I'm off to the dump. Howdy, y'all.
My name is Michael. I'm 30. I'm a straight white male writer who grew up in a whitebread suburb of Boston. I have an Irish-Catholic upbringing, and my family is all Irish as far back as the geneology can be traced.
I got a pretty good education, though I never felt I could afford grad school. I was an English major. My thesis was on Samuel Beckett. I was fortunate to spend a year in Ireland in college, during which I backpacked a bit around Western Europe, but for the most part I haven't really seen as much of the world as I'd like to. I hope there's still time. I lived for seven years in New York City, which is a lot like seeing the world.
I lived in Austin for a while and became convinced that Texas is the greatest state in the Union. I did get to see portions of the U.S. on a cross-country road trip, and found myself overwhelmed with love for this country, right alongside big big rage at the mistakes we've made, are making. I am a patriot, and a Massachusetts liberal, and W. can put that egg in his shoe and beat it.
I met K. in New York through mutual friends. We've been married for about three and a half years. She's amazing and a great Mom for our 19-month-old daughter Fiona.
We live in Northfield, MA. For money I work part-time from home doing research in the real estate executive search industry. K. works four days a week at a real job vaguely related to public health.
For work I've been a telemarketer for a chimney sweeping company, a "Regional Denim Manager" at various Gaps, a disposable temp, a cashier at a hardware store, a "campus patroller" for the Security Dept. at college, a child wrangler for a young understudy on Broadway, an office manager for a trio of Broadway producers, and an editorial intern for an astronomy magazine.
My passions in life have always been in music, words, and theater. All the things I've ever wanted to do with myself have been in one of those areas: writer, publisher, editor, playwright, actor, rock star. These days I've given up on theater for various reasons, after calling myself a playwright for about a decade, and I am presently trying to write a novel. I could pretend I have a thousand hilarious working titles in mind, but right now I'm calling it The Garden of Noise. You can't steal that from me really because it's already stolen from somebody else, but all the same, please don't all call your next books The Garden of Noise or I'll have to revert to one of my arduously constructed "funny" titles.
I spend my days being a Dad first, a husband next, a researcher third, fourth is my role as Chief Operating Officer, Chief Financial Officer, and Director of Human Resources for our household (K. is President, CEO, and Director of Design and Development). There's scant space left over for matters of spirit or art or extended friends and family, but every day I try to pay the soul some mind.
A disproportionate amount of my waking life is spent listening to and contemplating music. I get itchy if music isn't playing somewhere. It's not that I dislike silence; I revere it. But music is an improvement on silence, and I thirst for it. I've written a little music in the last 15 years. I'd like to write more, if the space opened up for it.
I don't post here as much as I'd like. And when I do post, my writing tends to be jokey and insincere. I reach for the bombast and exaggerated image over the quiet truth nearly every time. I write here as if I'm shouting loudly at a party. I'd like my writing -- here and elsewhere -- to take the form of an intimate conversation, not a speech or stand-up routine. I spend a lot of time making half-assed jokes in this journal and in yours. The truth is that I actually learn a lot about life from your collective words, and many of you I really care about. Who knew such a thing would be possible.
That's as much of me as I could type out in 45 minutes. Now I'm off to the dump. Howdy, y'all.