Thunder of Wade

The fate of books that I’ve read and didn’t like is a pile in my library that I’ll eventually take with me on a trip to Half Price Books to trade in for some paltry sum.  Paltry, I tell you. My reasoning is that someone else might enjoy them – so putting them back in “the system” and getting a little back to try other books makes sense to me. 

Never have I ever added a book so quickly or throughly to that pile as I have for “Dhalgren” by Samuel R. Delany.  

Consider this my book report for the worst book I have ever read.

I preface this by saying I’ve read two other books by Delany and thoroughly enjoyed them – Empire Star and Babel-17. They were both clever and thought-provoking.

I approached Dhalgren with interest – a mysterious city and a nameless protagonist on an adventure seemed like my cup of tea. 

But, as I found, nothing mattered.

The nameless protagonist does finally remember his name – or so he thinks.   But no one cares and there’s no revelation as to why he couldn’t remember and suddenly did. He doesn’t use it going forward and no one ever calls him by his real name.

The second moon that appears in the sky one night has no explanation and is glossed over.  A second moon, mind you. As is the sun that appears at night – but it may or may not actually be night and anyway no one knows what day it is.

The chain he wears with prisms on it – and is hesitant to talk about – turns out to have no special significance.  There are literally miles of the stuff in a warehouse that is never mentioned again.

The gang he joins – and is made the leader of for no reason other than he shouted once – has no purpose or motivation. The holograms they wear have no explanation.

There is misogyny, racism, and sexual violence throughout the story – but it’s gratuitous and doesn’t advance the plot or really mean anything to anyone.  Though, really, I had trouble finding a plot to advance.

The poetry that the protagonist writes may not have been written by him at all and people either like it or don’t like it.   Which can be said about any poetry. 

Even the central mystery of the weirdness of the city – what caused it, why are directions so random, why do some buildings burn but are undamaged – is never addressed.  Things are weird and that’s it. And where does the food come from? No one knows or cares.

In the end, the protagonist  – called “Kid” through the whole novel even though he’s an adult – leaves the city and hands off his fancy bladed weapon (that he never uses and cuts himself with by accident several times) to someone else entering the city. 

And that’s it.   Roll credits.

The only thing I found remotely clever took place on page 672 (in the edition I read) when Kidd repeats the name “grendhal” (as: grendel) and realizes the syllables should break differently as Dhal-gren.   I actually had a little bit of hope that it was going to tie into a larger mythology, but no, it’s dismissed immediately like everything else.   Couldn’t even get the spelling right…

800 hundred pages I read, hoping for something clever, something thoughtful, something meaningful. 

Denied. At every turn.

I pulled the bookmark from the pages as I closed the cover for the last time and added it to the pile.

And then, I looked it up on Wikipedia just to see if I’d missed some underlying plot or to learn why it was so well reviewed.

Much was given over to the non-linear approach – where the end mirrors the beginning.  I found that to be heavy-handed and obvious – and was done to much better effect in Empire Star.   

Some notably luminaries in Science Fiction liked it and others were…less kind.

“I must be honest. I gave up after 361 pages. I could not permit myself to be gulled or bored any further.”

-Harlan Ellison

“Dhalgren is, I think, the most disappointing thing to happen to science fiction since Robert Heinlein made a complete fool of himself with I Will Fear No Evil.”

-Darrell Schweitzer

In response, Delany has speculated that:

“a good number of Dhalgren‘s more incensed readers, the ones bewildered or angered by the book, simply cannot read the proper distinction between sex and society and the nature and direction of the causal arrows between them, a vision of which lies just below the novel’s surface.”

Oh, Oh, Sammy.  I didn’t like it because I didn’t get it?  Oh, if only I was a little bit smarter.  Oh woe is me.   Woe, I tell you.

Ass-hat.

A man goes to a city. He does things. No one cares. Then he leaves. 

Eight hundred pages.   Eight. Hundred. Pages. 

If I wasn’t so violently opposed to book burning I’d toss this one in the fire pit.  But, no, I’ll trade this in at Half Price Books to get something out of it.  But I might put a warning on a post-it note on the inside cover:

“Just…don’t,”

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays I work from the office – but still need to come home at lunchtime to let the dogs out.  I will sometimes stop at McDonald’s on the way and eat lunch with the dogs before heading back to the office. 

This past week, I was lost in thought on the drive and missed my exit.  I had a hurried bit of time with the dogs and decided to pick up lunch on the way back and eat at my desk.  Which I don’t like to do, but was pressed for time.

I pulled into the restaurant and went to the kiosk inside to order.  It’s usually faster than the drive-thru and it’s easier to check on the correctness of the order without holding up the line.  With my order complete and paid for, I moved near the counter to wait for my number to be called.  One of the staff members gave myself and another patron our cups and I went and got my drink while keeping an ear out.

With drink in hand, I went back to the front and waited.  The guy that had ordered when I did got his food and left.  Two more guys ordered and they…both got their food and left. 

One guy apologized.

I’m deeply polite and patient to a fault, but this was getting out of hand.

I managed to get the attention of a harried manager and asked if my food was ready since I’d been waiting a while. I was still very polite.   She asked what I had ordered and I told her and gave her the order number. 

I could see into the kitchen and my number was clearly absent from the pending orders.  I heard her tell another staff member to re-order the food from my order.  The staff member slowly made her way to the counter and asked what I had ordered.  I gave her my receipt – with the date/time and amount paid – and she re-entered the order as a “promo”.  At least they didn’t try to charge me again. 

She gave me the new receipt along with the old one – though I don’t know what I was going to do with that and I waited a bit more.

I then heard the manager tell another employee to go ask me what size fries I had ordered. Which is odd, since they had redone the order and it should be on a screen or ticket somewhere.  They came over and asked me and it had been so long since I ordered I had to look at the receipt to be sure.

They went away and a little while later I heard the manager tell the employee to take me the bag of food.    

The employee brought me the food, handed the bag to me, and walked away.

And that was it.   No, “sorry for the wait,”  No, “sorry for the wait, we gave you more fries or a cookie,”  No, “sorry about the wait, here’s a coupon”

Just…nothing.

I stopped at a table on my way out to check the order.  It would have been icing on the cake to have gotten the wrong order but it was correct. 

As I walked to my car and drove back to the office, I tried to figure out what I had done wrong or where my order had ended up.   

I guess they figured I was going to be a dick about it and the manager wanted as little to do with me as possible.  I get that, I guess, but any kind of acknowledgement would have gone a long way.

The plain hamburger ended up tasting faintly of onion.  

And the fries were cold by the time I got to the office. 

It was the most unhappy of meals.

I may have mentioned before that I have an irrational fear of a problem with my taxes.  That I’ll make some kind of mistake, get audited, and get sent to federal prison for the rest of my life.  

The odds are against that, but they aren’t quite zero – no matter how simple my taxes are. The forms and rules are designed to be complicated and I always get so frustrated. 

So, I’ve been taking them to a well known and large company for several years now – working under the assumption that if something does go wrong, I’ll have a large company potentially on my side.  Better than just me vs. the IRS, I reasoned.

Jim and I had been filing our taxes separately since we got married – his job changes made his taxes more complicated than mine.  Last year we decided to file jointly and while that went okay, his former employer hadn’t taken out enough for taxes and we ended up owning a bit. 

This past year, Jim had a tax bill from the city where he used to work, but it was an error.  He had already paid, but was told to keep the next installment’s paperwork and see if he could get it back.   I put the paperwork in a folder – carefully labeled – and we both kinda forgot about it.

For the taxes this year, I gathered up all the paperwork that said “Important Tax Information” as soon as it came in and put it in a folder. 

The pre-scheduled appointment snuck up on Jim and he asked me to reschedule while he reviewed his paperwork.  I called the office and got routed a few times before an A.I. picked up.  With some difficulty, I navigated the menus and got the appointment canceled. 

The day before it was supposed to have happened, I got an email with “Oh, sorry you missed your appointment – it happens.”   I rolled my eyes at that.

When Jim was ready, I made the new appointment online with the same person we had seen last year. 

So, on that Saturday in March, we went to the appointment with all our documents in tow.  I had ignored all the “upload your documents” emails – not willing to do any more work for the money we would be paying – and it was the first step they did when we got there. 

The appointment went okay – the preparer was okay, though she tended to drop her voice for conspiratorial whispers that neither of us could really follow. 

As this was going along, Jim remembered the document we had set aside – but neither of us could remember quite what it covered.  We decided to suspend the filing until we could locate that document and reschedule. 

Before we left, though, we got the bad news that Jim’s new employer hadn’t taken nearly enough out for taxes and we would owe a good chunk of money.

The preparer was maybe a little too enthusiastic about that – though I told Jim it just meant that he’d had a little more in his paycheck over the past year. 

We gathered up our paperwork and went to go get lunch.

When we got home we found the paperwork and on Monday, I called the office to reschedule the appointment.  No one picked up and after a bit, I got an A.I. again.  I tried to schedule the appointment and it was going poorly.  At one point I asked to talk to a human and it responded, “I know you want to talk to a human, but you’re really better off leaving a message for your tax preparer,”

I was not expecting that level of snark from an automated phone system and hung up.  Grumbling, I headed upstairs to the computer to schedule it online.  While I was working on that appointment, I got a call back from a different office – other than the one I had called.  Apparently, if you call one office and it doesn’t pick up, it tries to transfer you to another office – and when that fails, it gets you to the automated system. 

I explained that I had trouble with the automated system and was redoing the appointment online – but thanked the human for the callback. 

I got the appointment scheduled for 6 pm on Friday. 

On Tuesday of that week, I got a call from the office while I was driving and didn’t pick up.  They left a message that their office was closed at 6 on Fridays and that they had rescheduled for 5 pm.  Since Jim works until 4:30, that wasn’t going to work well.  That evening I asked Jim if we could do Thursday at 6:00 if that was available – or when on Saturday if it wasn’t. 

Wednesday morning I called their office again and got routed to some other office.  I was a little confused, but they were able to reschedule us from Friday at 5 to Thursday at 6:00.    Later that day, I got a call again from the original office to confirm and it was all very confusing. 

You should have seen all the automated emails I got.

We got to the appointment in plenty of time on Thursday and got the extra form scanned.  As we were reviewing and wrapping up, it came time for the signatures.  One of the items to sign was a form that gave our consent to share our tax information with various international subsidiaries. 

Which seemed dumb and we wanted to decline.  And while we could, technically, it also meant that we couldn’t use the digital signatures.  (I think that the preparer had never had anyone actually decline and didn’t know what to do.)

So, we had to manually sign the rest of the paperwork and got a fat stack of paper to take with us – as well as the return we had to manually send in for the city and the voucher to include with the payment for the federal taxes.    The paltry refund from the state would go to my checking account and the city would send Jim a check based on that extra form. 

We gathered up all the paperwork, paid less – somehow – than what we paid last year, and were on our way.

I got the email and text messages that our federal and state returns were accepted in short order and now we wait for the rest to be done. 

It’s an awful-on-purpose process, but it’s done for the year. 

And, so far at least, I haven’t been brought up on tax evasion charges. 

So, bonus.

Ever since my college days, I’ve taken night-time solo walks to clear my head.  The fresh air, the quiet, and the solitude seem to help.

I can chalk up my white-male-privilage to never being afraid on my walks and never being questioned.  Whether it was around campus or around my neighborhood, I could walk until I was tired or had sorted out whatever was bothering me.

The neighborhood where we live now is a maze of quiet streets.  No sidewalks and few lights, but safe enough from the cars, I guess.  If I want a purposeful walk, I can travel about a mile away and reach the post office or the local Target.  I’ll sometimes compose my daily haiku on these walks.

And while I don’t mind the heat or the cold – or even the snow – it’s miserable to walk any distance in the rain. 

The past few…well, pick a unit of time… have been difficult.  Work has been stressing me out and I can’t seem to let it go.  There’s so much uncertainty with…well, pick a unit of size…and I’m just worn out by the effort of not dwelling on things. 

So, I’ve needed my night-time walks, but the last few times I’ve tried it has started to rain not long after I had set out.  Instead of a peaceful trip, I’m trying to dodge puddles in the dark and constantly adjusting the hood of my jacket so I can see and still keep the rain off of my head. It stops being useful quickly and I just give up and go home.    And then I’m still miserable and tense that I’ve been “thwarted” by the weather.

I wonder how far I would have to walk to really feel better?  To let everything go and just feel a little peace?

Pretty damn far, I’d guess.

I had a memory pop up on facebook today.  It only showed the comments, but by those I could tell what the missing content was – a link to my blog and a post about losing Jeff. 

I didn’t get much done at work after that.

I hadn’t forgotten, not really, but those memories were muted enough that I hadn’t really thought about him or what happened in quite a while. 

I went back and read the posts again from March of 2012 and realized I’d forgotten a few of the details.  Nothing earth-shattering, but just a reminder why I write in this blog – that memory is an imperfect thing.

Work was stressful today and I had tasks that followed me home.  It’s the problem with being connected, I guess.

And everything remains…well, terrible.  I know people are in much worse situations than I am, but I get no schadenfreude from that.  

So, I’m going to have an early dinner and get my chores done.  And then I’m going to bed.  

I know it’s not mentally healthy, but I’m tired of my own thoughts and a few hours of oblivion would be welcome. 

It started with a monkey.

I was asked to update a profile picture for an employee and what they submitted was a horizontally aligned image (off to a bad start) of the employee…with a live monkey on their shoulder. 

There was no amount of cropping that could have removed the monkey and the alignment didn’t give me a lot of room to work.  I did my best – informing the department of the problem with the alignment making for a very small image.  And suggesting that the department members could participate in a free “headshot” event for professional photos.

I realized that my own profile picture could stand to be updated/more professional since I was wearing my favorite (at the time) hat.  It was a nice hat and a good photo, but could be more professional.

So, I participated in the headshot event and got a great picture taken – and added that to my own profile.

A few months later, that same department had a new photo submitted for a new employee.  In this black-and-white photo (again, off to a bad start) the male employee was shirtless with his arms raised.  Except you couldn’t see his arms as they were covered by a looped length of clothes dryer vent pipe.  

This one I managed to crop to something more reasonable, but it was still…odd.

Recently, I got asked to help with another new employee – in a different department. The first photo was square (bad starts all around) and the background had been removed – but not well.  It was just this person’s face and then white space to the edge.  It was too small to work with and I asked that they submit a new one.

The next one looked like they had found the photo they liked – though a little too close up – and set that as the background for their phone.  Then, they took a screenshot of that image – including the date/time, the gallery open, the location and battery level – and sent that image over. 

I responded back to the department with the issues that no amount of photoshop could fix and provided notes on how they could get a better profile photo.  Those were all ignored and they simply said someone was going to take a photo of them and submit it. 

Version three was a .heic file (really?) and was gigantic.  They were outside next to a railing and were making hand gestures that I assumed were sign language.   They also weren’t centered in the photo and while I was able to crop and resize this down, one of their hands was hidden.  

I had to ask the program director if the new ‘one-handed’ sign was still appropriate and they confirmed it was.  So, that one was done.

The next two employee photos were one that was too small, but scaled up okay-ish.  And the other was not centered and looking over their shoulder in a ¾ turn.  I’m not sure I could have moved like that to have my photo taken that way.

A third did an “over-the-shoulder” view – but with her shoes highlighted hanging down her back by the laces.  Sigh. 

Today – and what prompted this post – was a colleague that I’d known for years and was asking me to upload a new photo for her profile. 

And she had gone overboard with the filters – to the point where she looked like she was a badly generated A.I. person.  The whites of her eyes were a little too white and a little too perfectly balanced. Her hair was a little too perfect and her skin a little too smooth and a little too even. 

She had “uncanny valleyed” herself. 

(The Uncanny Valley is a term used to describe an image that is between “not at all a person” (i.e. cartoon or puppet) and a photo of a real person.  The almost-but-not-quite-a-person freaks humans out almost universally, but no one is quite sure why.)

 I know she had gone through some medical treatments that had impacted her hair and that she’s more self-conscious about her appearance as a result, but as glamor shots go, it was over the top.

I cropped and resized this anyway and she was pleased with the update.

It’s strange to see the variations from the standard that people are submitting.   My new rule of thumb is: “Would you go to an important meeting – like an interview or performance review with the president – looking like you do in your profile photo?”

Hence the lack of a sweet hat for me. 

Lacking the authority to enforce, well…anything, I can only do my best to fit these entries to a standard and encourage employees to attend a headshot event. 

Especially the woman with the monkey.

Eleven years ago, my friends and I started talking about a trip to Canada. I’d never gotten a passport, but there was time enough before our tentative plans to do that.   It turned out to be closer than I would have liked since I had to request a copy of my birth certificate from Illinois – and then submit that with my application. 

I tend to be a nervous person when it comes to paperwork – especially something as important as the passport – but I carefully worked my way through the forms and attached one of the worst photos I’ve ever had taken.  I’m pretty pale, but this one had me so washed out I could have blended into a snowbank. 

But, I did everything right and got the documents submitted – then began the long wait to get the actual document.  

By the time it arrived, we’d decided we weren’t going to go.  But, I figured it would be helpful later on and it was – I used it to get my driver’s license updated when the needed ‘extra ID’ to verify.

I stored the document in my lockbox and mostly forgot about it. 

Fast forward to last week when I was talking to a neighbor about…well… the state of things in the country and he mentioned that he and his wife applied for passports recently.  Just in case.

This prompted me to check on mine and unfortunately, it had expired in 2024.  Time flies, I guess.   While it’s no longer valid, it was close enough in time that I could still renew it – instead of having to start over.  

I looked into doing this online, but this required creating an account and that didn’t seem as safe as I would have liked. I opted to use the “form-filler” tool to generate a PDF and print out the application.   I went over it three times to make sure everything was correct before firing up the printer.   Again, nervous about making a mistake.

(This is the same reason I pay to have my very easy taxes done. I’m convinced I’ll make some kind of error and commit tax fraud and go to federal prison for 70 years. )

Last evening, I went to Walgreens to get a new photo taken.  The process was easy – if a little pricey – and I had my photos in hand at the right size in a few minutes.  There was also an option to have them emailed to me, but what I got was the un-cropped original photo.  I’ve taken selfies that were closer to regulation. Sigh.

Today, I wrote out the check, got out my old passport and headed to the post office to get everything mailed in – along with a check for $130.  Given the importance of the document as a citizen, that seemed pretty steep, but it was worth it to me. 

The clerk at the post office commented it was a “popular zip code recently”.    I guess lots of folks are thinking this is a good thing to have just now. 

So now I’m home with my receipts and time.  Provided nothing else goes awry in the federal government, I’ll have my new passport in 4-6 weeks.

It’s funny looking back at the old passport and the terrible photo.  I was a different person 11 years ago and a lot has changed in my life.  I’m actually pleased with the new photo – though Jim did ask if they let me see the photo before they printed it.  Which could have been taken as an insult, but I just thought it was funny. 

I don’t have any travel plans, but it will be nice to have that piece of mind.

Just, you know, in case.

Two of our friends had tickets to an Art Auction for charity – but were both sick and unable to go.  We were offered the tickets with promises of a good time and good food.  

Jim didn’t want to go at first.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, but decided that I should.  Politics had been getting us both down and it looked like the Department of Education was going to be shuttered – and what it meant for someone that worked in Higher Ed was to be determined, but likely bad.  I felt like going into hiding to wait for the worst, but thought that going out into the world was going to be good for me.

I talked Jim into it and the next day we arrived at the venue right on time – with a PDF of the transferred tickets queued up on my phone. 

Our names were on the nametags at the check in – along with our bid numbers.   Though, neither of us were really interested in buying any art.

We made a loop through the venue to check things out and decided on eating first, then checking out the art.   The first stop was the pasta bar where you picked your protein, veggies and the type of pasta – and the chefs cooked it made to order.  It was fun and delicious. 

We found a spot to eat at a standing table and had a nice conversation – with no politics.  Jim finished his meal first and I stayed at the table while he scoped out the desserts.

He came back with a plate of goodies and gave me directions for my own foraging. I actually gasped when I saw the table of desserts and loaded up a plate.  I also accidentally got coffee – the carafe was labeled “hot water”, but I just rolled with it 

We ate our dessert and talked about how we had been looking for people we might know and how we kept almost recognizing people.  We finished our dessert and went around to look at the art for auction. 

And it was…okay.  There were a few nice pieces – mostly the photography – and some that looked like they might have come from a basement.  This included a painting that was 80% frame.  

There was also a painting of a very caucasian-looking indigenous woman that reminded us both of “white Jesus”.  

As we made our way around the tables, I saw a woman that looked like a co-worker that I’d only ever met on Zoom. I approached her, asked if her name was Heather and it wasn’t.  I apologized and said she looked very familiar and she explained she worked at Luigi’s and got that a lot.  Which might have been a thing if I ate there frequently.

A few minutes later, another woman put her arm around me from behind and said, “Dan, it’s good to see you,” 

When I turned to look at her, she let me go and said – “oh, you’re not Dan. But you are wearing the same color jacket. “

(I’m assuming that Dan is also bald.)

Shortly after that, we ran into some that Jim did know – though she couldn’t stay and talk.  

Having reviewed all the art, we went back and sat down for a bit – and I decided to try the Mashed Potato Bar – served in a martini glass with a choice of toppings.  I picked mushrooms and bacon and it was so fancy I took a picture of it. Jim got some fruit and warned me to not get carried away.  I’ve been known to do that at a buffet. 

There was a program starting and it wasn’t really interesting to us.  We slipped out quietly into the cold night and headed home.

And it was, indeed, what we needed.  We had some great food, we were surrounded by art-minded people and so-so art, and were out in the world.

Rather than staying at home doom-scrolling.  

My department at work has a hybrid schedule and we’re not all in the office on all days.  I’m always the first one in and will unlock the office suite and then my own office.  I keep my door open as I’m working and only close it when I have a meeting/call scheduled.

But, I’m the only one.  Everyone else keeps their door closed – or nearly so – throughout the day.  I was worried that it was me and that I was too noisy, but even when I pay attention to being quiet, it’s still an office of closed doors.   Oddly, this also means that I don’t know when someone is working remotely or in the office.  

And it seems…lonely.    While I like the option of working from home part of the time, I start to struggle when it’s too many days in a row.  I feel disconnected.

So when I’m in the office and I don’t interact with anyone, it starts to feel like I’m alone there.  I usually make an excuse to go out onto campus – usually for snacks – even just to interact with someone and to see other people In Real Life.

I remember when we first went remote at the start of the pandemic.  It was novel at first to be able to roll out of bed and not have to go anywhere, but that got old pretty quickly and I started to get lonely.  I can be an introvert, but only for so long. 

I was somewhat relieved when we started working with a hybrid schedule of some days in the office and some days remote.  It helped to break up the work week and was a good balance to convenience and connection. 

How strange that we’re not interacting much even when the opportunity is there.  I guess that isolation bothers me more than my co-workers. 

So my door is open, even if I’m the only one.  And I’d be delighted to have you stop by.

I drink a lot of tea.

Like, a lot.

Several cups a day, usually green, never with sugar, preferably with some kind of fruit flavor.

One of my favorite gifts from a few years ago was a wooden tea organizer box.  Since I only ever bought tea that I liked, opening it meant I would always have a cup I enjoyed. 

I used to have a ritual for each cup – specific time in the microwave or boiling on the stove, specific time for brewing, and specific amount of sugar. 

Now, it’s about an unspecified wait until the water boils and then a vague amount of time to brew.  Usually longer than most people – I like a strong cup of tea. 

And it has become a kind of calming crutch – it’s hard to drink tea angrily. 

For this past Christmas, Jim got me an advent box of different kinds of teas. Plenty of green, but a mix of different types and flavors.  Even with my tea habit, I fell behind with each day having two tea bags and me not always being in the mood for something experimental. 

I saved all the ones I hadn’t tried before Christmas and have been trying more exotic flavors.  And…I’m apparently picky with my tea. 

I don’t like rooibos.  Or chai.  Or, forgive me Jean-Luc Picard, Earl Gray.  Even if served hot. 

I’ve made a valiant effort, but they just taste like different types of shoes.   Weird, I know.

So, I’ve made a pile for Jim to try and I’m keeping an eye out for more teas to try – and to refill my tea box 

And with each cup, I breathe in the steam and savor – for just a moment – a little bit of calm and a little bit of peace.