noche buena

The desert is a beautiful place when there are clouds and rain. That is the irony of this valley. Whatever happened to discussions of different styles? Not genres, just styles. For example how would you describe my style? Yes, whatever happened to a simple discussion of styles in new novels, around and around--not the Christmas tree--but the dinner table?

In the morning silence I look out over a nursery or two. I think of the families living there in trailers or little portable houses. I think of the field workers. I think of all the pool cleaners here in this valley: can we stand one more pool cleaner? How about one more rock or stone layer? With a big white pickup truck, and a shaved head, and a long ugly goatee (that looks like the hair under my arms tho less nice), little blue eyes, short and muscular but overweight and muscle bound?? How about another "landscaping" crew... you know, they cut your lawn, that's it? Or how about the real estate people, but should I say people or sharks? Lying is a virtue for those people.

Then I suppose there is the community college folks: older, some very old, so old you are thinking, is there no retirement anymore? People who want to die at work, do they think that therefore the college will pay for their burial? Ha. This group is slightly disheveled, a little confused, unsure of the year, but well versed in the art of digression.

Like our friend Pamuk's novel, the Black Book, one big digression linked together almost carefully with good transitions, I guess. Dreamy, poetic.

Yes, so then, there is the composition instructor, who when he has 90 essays to grade, stalls and stumbles until he finds a way just to grade the first and last sentence. Done.