Can I Share a story and a photograph about my first time traveling abroad?

Leading up to my trip to Beijing in 2009 I’d seen tons of headlines that talked about how Beijing was quarantining travelers who had a temperature right at the airport. I couldn’t help but wonder, would I be quarantined? Did that mean being confined to an international hospital? A hotel? A local hospital? Would they speak English?

It was easy to focus on all the negatives…

I was nervous on the flight, something that wasn’t helped by the passenger next to me who told me he designed the landing gear and we’d be the last to die if something went “wrong”.

Really, guy? We’re flying over the arctic circle…

Every time I thought about the word “quarantine” I pictured 28 Weeks Later. You get quarantined to keep from infecting others, right? But in the movies the people who get quarantined usually have some life-threatening infection.

There were a handful, maybe 3, other people on the plane who were coughing constantly throughout the 14 hour flight. Surely being confined to a plane with other sick people put us all at risk of creating something more sinister than Swine Flu. Maybe Swine Flu Version 4.0.

When we got there it hadn’t really hit me that I was on the other side of the world yet. I was still worried about being “cleared” to enter the country. I handed my passport to a woman with neatly bunned up hair wearing a surgical mask. Then I walked through the temperature gauge just like everyone else. No trouble.

The next thing I saw took my breath away.

It was the airport. I immediately felt awe struck at how beautifully laid out it was, how symmetrical, shiny, open and majestic it felt walking through.

Here’s a picture:

I was on my first trip outside of the United States, save for Canada, at the mercy of a foreign country, its people, their customs, their food, and their government. I couldn’t just go back.

This view was exactly what I needed to ground me. How could you not want to write a story about this place?

Just wanted to share because, while Shitty Beijing Bike is fiction, it was inspired by the majestic beauty of the real China I spent 4 months in!

Will Ruff is currently working on completing his book Shitty Beijing Bike. Which if you’re interested you can be apart of the focus testing he’s putting on right now by visiting the following the link: http://shittybeijingbike.launchrock.com and subscribing. 

The post I Was Afraid to Cough At Beijing International Airport appeared first on Rookerville.

In the title story of Tom Perrotta’s new collection of short fiction, Nine Inches, a high school teacher chaperones a dance, and his job is to separate any students who might be slow-dancing a little too closely. Because of a school-sponsored event that got out of hand a year before, all students are required to obey the eponymous “nine inch” rule—they have to stay at least that far apart from each other at all times. The teacher is given a length of yellow measuring tape, but refuses to use it when he spots two seventh graders dancing to Snow Patrol at the end of the night, “clinging to each other in perfect, almost photographic stillness,” and can’t bring himself to break it up. Rules of decorum in a manmade society seem so arbitrary, and never more so than in the face of something as primal as the urge to share the animal warmth of those around you.

That’s a theme that runs throughout all of Perrotta’s ten stories in Nine Inches. Indeed, that’s a theme he’s been exploring since his first book, the totally underrated and seldom-read Bad Haircut[1]. Perrotta’s adept at setting characters in the ennui-laden land of suburbia, where once-passionate citizens have tamed and tranquilized themselves into monotonous existences. Perrotta’s view of suburbia has always been bleak, the deck stacked a little too obviously: everyone moves there because they never questioned whether they shouldn’t, and as a result they all end up trapped and longing for a better life. It seems unfair to just assume that no one ever bought an SUV and a three-bedroom house because they wanted to—because that itself was their (totally valid) dream[2].

Consequently, Perrotta’s best characters here are the teenagers, who certainly may despise the suburban hellhole in which their trapped, but also 1) haven’t chosen to be there, and 2) suffer from boredom rather than ennui, which makes all the difference. These characters also fit nicely into the theme mentioned above, i.e. not understanding etiquette when it conflicts with their raging hormones and changing minds. In “Senior Season,” for instance, a football player named Clay gets a brain injury and has to sit out. His friends can’t fathom his newfound inability to enjoy sports or parties, and his girlfriend moves on to the guy who took his position. Clay wants to join his friends—or rather, he wants to want to join them, but can’t gather up the energy, and can’t understand why he has to keep all of these feelings in check. Likewise, the young girl, Jessica, in “Grade My Teacher,” finds it (rightly) unfair that her older sister is pretty and popular while she seems to have been cursed with extra weight. And the aforementioned teenagers in the title story won’t even listen when their teacher tells them to break it up, “as if they had no one to answer to but themselves.”

All of these characters are touching and real, and we feel for them, mainly because they don’t feel like gimmicks. They’re heartbreaking because they’re still young, still yet to be graduated into the barren world Perrotta describes. Maybe that’s the other reason the teenagers work best here, what makes each of their endings so bittersweet: we know they’ll leave this hellhole once they turn eighteen, but we also know they’ll return to it when they get desk jobs later on, the only difference being that this time they have only themselves to answer to.

To say that what Perrotta does in these stories is a gimmick would be ungenerous, because the “gimmick” is that he continually draws portraits of two seemingly disparate people, then gets them to realize each other’s humanity. It’s a nice sentiment and it’s actually saying something substantial—that the commerce and comfort we seek in everyday life has blunted our ability to step outside our comfort zones and discover people who aren’t like us—so it’s not a gimmick. Still, there are ten of these stories, and their narrative rhythm gets familiar pret-ty fast, and by the time you get to the home stretch you’re hoping that at least one of them is going to surprise you with its plot, rather than just with its characters.

In Perrotta’s defense, he tries to find new avenues to reinforce that whole comfortable living=fear of leaving comfort zones=living in a private bubble=never connecting with strangers theme. One avenue that pops up again and again here is technology[3]. People google themselves, a sad ex-musician looks up chords on Youtube, recently-dumped teenagers look at Facebook statuses of their girlfriends and posted pictures of wild times at college, an unpopular teacher looks herself up on a site called Grade My Teacher, etc. It happens so often that it must be a deliberate choice, and it works kind of, at least thematically. But, not to be unkind, it also gives you the what-a-shame feeling you get when one of your favorite authors is obviously past his prime and doing what he can to stay hip[4].

But Nine Inches is worth a look. Perrotta’s more of a novelist than a short fiction writer, it’s true[5], but that’s not to say his short fiction isn’t worth reading. The prose can get a bit pedestrian, but that’s because he’s dealing in pedestrian people, often uneducated or at the very least willfully ignorant of their own situations, so it makes sense that they have trouble articulating themselves. And anyway, the accessibility of the language makes for a quick read, a welcome change from the dense and purposely opaque New Yorker fiction so often jammed down our throats.

The post Fear and Loathing in the Northeastern Suburbs appeared first on Rookerville.

Patrick Wong

9/10

The full title of Roger Lowenstein’s book is “When Genius Failed: The Rise and Fall of Long-Term Capital Management” (2000). It takes us through the origins, history, and demise of the prominent hedge fund in the 1990s, Long-Term Capital Management. The fund is well known for a few reasons. First, it is comprised of some of the best minds in business which includes traders from the very successful Arbitrage Group at Solomon Brothers, elites in academia, and Nobel Prize winners. One of the Nobel Prize winners is Myron Scholes who is more known for his role in developing the Black Scholes formula that is used to value options. The partners of the fund are well respected in the business world. However, it is a gift and a curse. The fund is very successful in its early years. Unfortunately, the arrogance of its partners, due to their successes, is a main reason the fund accumulates large positions that eventually lead to its downfall. While the fund keeps its strategies and positions completely secret, other large financial institutions eagerly provide Long Term Capital Management (“LTCM”) funding for its business because of blind faith in the reputations of the “geniuses” that run the fund and the big returns earned in the years leading up to its collapse. Consequently, the hedge fund becomes too big to fail. Eventually, a large number of major banks reluctantly bail the fund out at the direction of the Federal Reserve in order to prevent a collapse of the financial system in 1998.  Lowenstein is thorough in describing the credentials and successes of the individuals that run LTCM. He also does an excellent job detailing the decisions and atmosphere of LTCM that lead to its demise. The most fascinating parts of the book are when LTCM desperately tries to secure capital from external investors to save it. Although you know the outcome, Lowenstein does an excellent job depicting the events so you feel you are a part of the mad scramble to save LTCM.

Lowenstein’s book starts with the beginning of the career of John Meriwether, the founder of LTCM. Meriwether, also known as JM, starts his career in the Arbitrage Group of Solomon Brothers and becomes a rising star quickly. At the time, most Wall Street banks are hesitant to hire from academia. However, Meriwether comes from academia and believes there is an advantage from bringing in the brightest minds from the country’s top universities. When Meriwether has a leadership position, he recruits some of the best minds in academia. Some of his key additions to the Arbitrage team are Eric Rosenfeld, MIT-trained Harvard Business School assistant, Victor J. Haghani, an Iranian American with a Masters degree in finance from the London School of Economics, and Lawrence Hilibrand, who had two degrees from MIT (Lowenstein 11). With these intelligent men under his command, the group builds models based on historical bond prices. From their perspective, prices will always converge to their historical averages over time although there may be volatility in the short run. Accordingly, they have complete faith in relying on the models. If a position loses money, the traders simply increased their position even more as their models predict that the prices will return in their favor for a large profit. While there are fatal flaws to the strategy that come into play later, it is a strategy that is very successful for the Arbitrage Group.

Under Meriwether, the traders in the Arbitrage Group spend all their time together including personal time outside of work. Moreover, the group is very secretive and basically an entire entity separate from the rest of Solomon Brothers. Lowenstein does an excellent job depicting these characteristics and how the traders basically worship Meriwether. Meriwether’s reign at Solomon comes to an end in 1989 when one of his traders submits a false bid to the US Treasury to gain an unauthorized share of the government bond auction (Lowenstein 19). Consequently, the top leadership of Solomon Brothers is forced to resign due to the scandal. Although Warren Buffett steps in as the interim CEO and tries to find a way to keep Meriwether as he generated the most money for the firm, the trader is under Meriwether’s supervision. Consequently, he resigns as well.

In 1993, Meriwether has the idea to create a hedge fund that will replicate his Arbitrage Group at Solomon Brothers. For this purpose, he creates LTCM. Moreover, he wants LTCM to be much bigger with much larger fees. Like the Arbitrage Group, the fund’s strategy is to find “nickels”. In other words, it will look for trades with small profits. However, it will use leverage to multiply small profits into large profits. On the other hand, it puts the firm at risk if rare events occur that will result in magnified losses. Nevertheless, the risk is disregarded as models show that such event is highly unlikely.  Of course, he also poaches his former traders from Solomon Brothers which include Rosenfeld, Haghani, and Hilibrand. He also brings in Harvard’s Robert Merton, a leading scholar in finance, and Myron Scholes, an economist who helped derive the Black Scholes formula. In the words of Lowenstein, Merton and Scholes are the economics version of “Michael Jordan and Muhammad Ali” (Lowenstein 31). An interesting part of the book is when LTCM goes on “road shows” to raise capital. It has trouble as it is secretive about its strategies and will not reveal them to potential investors. Lowenstein does a good job detailing the process and rejections from well known business men. The first rejection comes from Warren Buffett. Nevertheless, their individual names and reputations eventually win over investors from everywhere and the fund is able to raise an impressive $1.25 billion.

LTCM is very successful and continues to attract capital as investors fight over its business. Nevertheless, Lowenstein does an excellent job outlining the factors that will lead to the fund’s demise. First, there is a lack of strong controls or oversight from Meriwether over his traders. Specifically, partners Haghani and Hilibrand are able to enter any large positions they want despite protests from others at the fund. The massive success of the fund makes its partners overconfident in its abilities. As a result, they start applying their models to areas outside of their expertise, such as equities and mergers. A great example in the book that illustrates the above flaws is when Haghani enters into a trade for the equity of Royal Dutch/ Shell that is ten times the size of the same trade entered into by Goldman Sachs. Regardless, the fund experiences tremendous success. First, a troubled Solomon Brothers is sold for $9 billion to symbolize LTCM surpassing it in every possible way. Moreover, its partners Merton and Scholes win the Nobel Memorial Prize in Economic Sciences. Lowenstein points out an interesting quote from Merton after he learns of the award: “It’s a wrong perception to believe that you can eliminate risk just because you can measure it.” It foreshadows the downfall of LTCM.

However, the success breeds more arrogance. The partners take out huge loans to invest back in the fund. As such, much of their wealth is tied into the success of LTCM. The fund receives so much capital that there is not enough good investments for it to purchase. Instead of remaining selective, LTCM decides to enter into riskier investments with Brazilian, Russian, and Danish bonds instead of refraining from making additional investments and thus turning down investors. These additional factors add on to the causes of the spectacular fall of LTCM. The problems begin with Solomon Smith Barney’s Arbitrage group selling its positions. As LTCM has similar positions, the flood of the positions into the market causes the market price to drop. The details during the rapid decline of LTCM are fascinating in the book. In a month, the fund’s capital drops to $1.5 billion, losing 6/10 of its $4 billion capital. On a single Friday, it loses $553 million. The main cause of the losses is that the fund built up massive, undiversified positions. In addition, the only diversification it has is geographical. It basically holds the same trades in different geographies. In addition, LTCM fail to realize that the economy is global by the late 1990s. Consequently, the problems of one economy are not exclusive and affect the economies around the world. The Asian economic crisis and the Russian default on its bonds in 1997 and 1998 spread to the economies around the world and all of LTCM’s positions. In the end, the geniuses of LTCM fall victim to not following the simplest principal of investing and arbitrage, diversification.

In my opinion, LTCM’s scramble to acquire capital to stay solvent is the exhilarating part of the book. While I know the end, I cannot stop myself from feeling like I am a part of the drama and wondering if LTCM can secure investors to save itself. Even in their darkest hour, the partners of LTCM remain arrogant. For example, they offer publishing moguls, the Ziff brothers, to cut their fee, but only for 3 years, in return for their investment (Lowenstein 167). However, there is no mercy on Wall Street. When a financial institution is in trouble, especially for a group as arrogant as the LTCM partners, the other financial institutions will execute trades to make profits and accelerate the demise of the troubled entity. While Goldman Sachs and its CEO John Corzine come in to “aid” LTCM, it also makes money at the same time by executing trades that hurt LTCM. Eventually, LTCM requires a bailout. One of the interesting moments is when Warren Buffett offers a lowball offer of $250 million to purchase the hedge fund then infuse $3.75 billion to stabilize LTCM. In the plan, $3 billion of the capital infusion comes from Buffett’s company Berkshire Hathaway. Moreover, Buffett only gives a short amount of time for the offer to be accepted. Naturally, the offer is rejected.

Of course, the Federal Reserve is forced to help in the situation and convince 14 major banks to bail LTCM out with $3.5 billion or $250 million per participant in exchange for ownership of the fund. While the other financial institutions are hesitant, they eventually cave as allowing LTCM to fail would cost them even more money as the fund had significant trades with everyone. As such, LTCM is deemed too big to fail as its bankruptcy would cause significant losses throughout Wall Street and threaten the entire financial system. Lowenstein does an excellent job describing the logistical nightmare of getting so many financial institutions to agree to the bail out. It requires the approval from 14 different Board of Directors and significant legal work to finalize the agreement. Hilibrand is the last individual to sign. He is in tears and reluctant but Meriwether is able to pull him aside and convince him it is for the greater good of the financial system.

Lowenstein’s “When Genius Failed: The Rise and Fall of Long-Term Capital Management” is excellent in depicting the epic collapse of LTCM. It is a fascinating story for any reader and a must read for anyone in the field of finance. The key takeaways I have from the book are the dangers of overconfidence, blind trust in reputations, and overleveraging. No matter how intelligent you may be, overconfidence is a problem. The partners of LTCM are the best in the field. Nevertheless, they enter into massive positions without true diversification. In addition, they move away from their core competency in fixed income. Their success in it gives them a false sense of security and confidence to try their hand in equities and mergers. If “geniuses” in a field can fall victim to overconfidence, anyone can and one must remember to stick to his strengths and perform proper due diligence before making important decisions. Another danger is having blind trust in other people based on reputation. In the words of Lowenstein, “Ironically, only a very intelligent gang could have put Wall Street in peril. Lesser men wouldn’t have gotten the financing or attracted the following that resulted in such a bubble.” (Lowenstein 218) LTCM’s investors did not understand the fund’s strategies. Moreover, they did not even have a clue on how leveraged it was until the collapse. Consequently, a lesson from this story is to not blindly invest unless you understand the strategies and agree with them. The final peril is leveraging too much. It is not a problem when the economy is doing well. However, there will be times that economic conditions are strained and overleveraging can cause a firm to fail. Unfortunately, Wall Street does not learn its lesson from the fall of LTCM in 1998. Ten years later, another financial crisis takes down a couple of Wall Street’s giants. The biggest casualty is the bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers. In an updated version of the book, Lowenstein adds a great epilogue to comment on the most recent financial crisis and the lessons not learned from the collapse of LTCM. He makes a great point in noting that the bailout of LTCM may have encouraged financial institutions to leverage believing that the government or others will bail them out in the event of a possible bankruptcy. As such, Lowenstein does a brilliant job linking his story about LTCM to current events.

Source:

Lowenstein, Roger. When Genius Failed: The Rise and Fall of Long-Term Capital Management. New York:

Random House, 2000. Print.

The post When Genius Failed Review appeared first on Rookerville.

Score: 8/10

Leigh Montville’s The Big Bam: The Life and Times of Babe Ruth (2006) is a biography of George Herman Ruth, better known as Babe Ruth. Without a doubt, the Babe is the most mythical player in the history of baseball. He is baseball’s first superstar. In my opinion, he is clearly the greatest player of all time. While it is debatable whether he is the greatest hitter of all time, he was also a top left-handed, power pitcher at the beginning of his career. As such, no other player in the history of the game has ever been at the top of the game as a hitter and a pitcher. In addition, no one has dominated the sport as Ruth did as he was able to outhomer entire teams by himself revolutionizing the game. In addition, he hit 714 career homeruns in an era when “The balls were not made for homeruns. They also were scuffed up, roughed up, spit upon, and used for as many as 100 pitches in a game”. More importantly, he may have saved the sport of baseball. Although the “Black Sox” betting scandal could have destroyed the credibility of baseball as a sport, Ruth’s unthinkable feats made fans forget about the scandal. Consequently, it is nearly impossible for any other player to surpass Ruth’s on the field accomplishments as well as match his importance to the sport. Babe Ruth’s is nothing less than legend. His nicknames include the Bambino and the Sultan of Swat. Yankees Stadium is known as the House that Ruth Built. Even the Boston Red Sox 86 year Championship drought, known as the Curse of the Bambino, is attributed as punishment for trading the greatest player of all time.

Despite his legend, Babe Ruth is a very flawed human being. While I do not conclude that he is a terrible person from the book, he is definitely immature. Ruth is a big kid and has absolutely no control of himself. Ruth is a big man that loves food, alcohol, and woman in excess. In terms of food, Babe likes steaks uncooked and large. Of course, he is best known for his love of hot dogs. He could eat six to eight at a time and even ate them during the games. Even when eating is banned on the bench, Ruth sneaks in food. He also loves alcohol and going out every night, which puts him at odds with his managers. Ruth is also a womanizer and is known to hire prostitutes. There are rumors that Ruth was with as many as six or seven women in one night. As such, he is not at all faithful to his first wife, Helen. An explanation for his behavior is suggested years later by his granddaughter, Linda Tosetti. She is convinced that Babe had ADHD similar to her brother: “That was the way my grandfather was. He always was moving. That’s how he could eat so much, drink so much, and not be affected. He needed the energy. He would just burn it all off. That’s why he would stay out all night. He couldn’t sleep, didn’t have to sleep.”

Another one of Ruth’s flaw is his temper. When his teammates make poor plays behind him, he “grumbled loudly”. He also complains when umpires make calls against him. At the beginning of one game, he is actually ejected after walking the first batter, rushing the umpire, and punching the umpire. Interestingly enough, the pitcher that relieves Ruth gets the next 26 batters out after a caught stealing and is thus perfect for the length of a full game or 27 outs. Nevertheless, Ruth only receives a $100 fine and nine-day suspension for punching an umpire. If a player did what Ruth did today, it would be completely unacceptable. He would be suspended for at least the rest of the season. Moreover, he does not have any respect for small men and a couple of his managers with the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees are small. Overall, Ruth is a very selfish person due to his childish tendencies. When he does not get his way, he whines and threatens to quit. He also gets into many contract disputes over the course of his long career. Again, he threatens to quit if the team does not give in to his salary demands. Keep in mind that there is absolutely no free agency at the time and that teams have complete power over a player if they wanted to impose their will by forcing players to take their contract terms or go home. Nevertheless, Ruth gets most of his demands due to his stardom. With the media scrutiny today, I highly doubt Ruth could have survived. The press would destroy him for being selfish and greedy. In all honesty, I do not know if I can stand Babe’s behavior if I he played today. Then again, I could get over it he puts up his production for my team.  Nevertheless, the media is very different in Ruth’s era. Instead of tearing down heroes, the press in Ruth’s time goes out of its way to protect the image and reputation of American heroes.

As Monteville writes his biography in 2006, there are not too many sources he can go back to in order to get original content. As such, his biography is mainly comprised of material from other books that have already been written about Babe Ruth in the past. Nevertheless, it is an excellent and thorough compilation of Babe Ruth’s career and personal life. It is a great read if you want to learn about the greatest baseball player of all time. While I gain a greater appreciation and admiration for Ruth’s legendary accomplishments on the field reading Monteville’s The Big Bam, I also get an understanding of Ruth’s struggles and failings as a human being.

The book begins during Ruth’s childhood although there is not much information about that period in his life. He grows up in Baltimore at St. Mary’s Industrial School for “Orphans, Delinquent, Incorrigible, and Wayward Boys” after his parents give him up. Eventually, his feats on the St. Mary’s baseball team catch the eye of Jack Dunn, the owner of the Baltimore Orioles. At that time, the Orioles are a minor league team and eventually sell Ruth to the Boston Red Sox in the Major Leagues. With the Red Sox, Ruth develops into a top left handed starter as a power pitcher. 1916 and 1917 are his best season in as he has win loss records of 23-12 and 24-13. In 1916, his ERA is a league best 1.75. Moreover, the consensus best pitcher during Ruth’s era is Walter Johnson. In 1916, Ruth is 5-0 against Johnson in their head to head matchups. Ruth stretches it to 6-0 by winning their first matchup in 1917 before finally losing to Johnson. On the other hand, Ruth loves and wants to hit. However, the Red Sox new manager, Ed Barrow, in 1918 wants Ruth to stay a pitcher. As in every era, pitching is the key to baseball. Even today, great starting pitching is the most valued commodity in the game. Moreover, great left handed pitchers are even rarer. As such, Barrow knows it is against common sense to switch his best pitcher to a starter.

However, the United States entry into World War I depletes the Major League rosters. Ruth avoids fighting in the war as he is married, head of household, and thus farther down on the draft list. With the depleted rosters, Ruth gets more opportunities to hit. Monteville does an excellent job detailing the atmosphere at the time of war. The public criticizes anyone who is not a part of the war process. For baseball players, it believes that any person that is able to play baseball should be able to fight in the war. Moreover, the government issues “work or fight” dictating that a male either works in a war related industry or fight in the war itself. As such, there is uncertainty about whether the baseball season will be completed. Eventually, the season is shortened and the World Series of 1918 is played in September in order for its players to comply with “work or fight” as soon as possible. As such, the Boston Red Sox beat the Chicago Cubs in the World Series. As we know, it is the last championship for the Red Sox until 2004.

Of course, the biggest trade in the history of baseball is the Red Sox trading Ruth to the New York Yankees in 1920. The owner of the Red Sox is New Yorker Harry Frazee. An interesting statement made by owner Frazee is that “the best part about Boston was the train ride back to New York”. Somehow, I do not see the people of Boston reacting too well to the owner of the Red Sox making such a statement today. When Frazee faces financial issues, one of the main reasons he trades Ruth is the inclusion of the money received from the Yankees in the deal and a $300,000 loan extended to Frazee by the Yankees owners. Part of the money received in the deal is used by Frazee to fund his theater interests. Many years later, his theater investments yield the Broadway hit No, No, Nanette that makes him millions of dollars. While the story over the years has been simplified to Frazee trading Ruth for No, No, Nanette, there are a lot of legitimate baseball reasons for trading Ruth. Before the trade, Ruth is in a contract dispute with the Red Sox and is deemed a greedy athlete. As noted before, he is also a very temperamental and selfish as a teammate. For these reasons, the Red Sox have valid justifications in believing they could be a better team without Ruth despite his talents. In theory, they can take money Ruth would make and disburse it to multiple good players that are more team oriented. However, that supposed plan never comes to fruition for the Red Sox.

When Ruth joins the Yankees, they allow him to completely transition away from pitching and become a full time hitter. Consequently, Ruth begins hitting homeruns at historic rates and becomes the biggest attraction in baseball. Attendance records are broken due to the excitement of watching Ruth hit homeruns. Monteville notes an interesting fact in that a spectator at the Polo Grounds died of a heart attack due to the excitement of watching Ruth play. Moreover, pitchers are intimidated by the Babe. In one story, Red Sox pitcher Allan Russell suffers a slight stroke and his doctor concludes that the stroke is due to anxiety caused from facing Ruth. Most importantly, the fans’ excitement over Ruth’s feats may have saved the game of baseball. In 1919, the White Sox throw the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds, which is known as the “Black Sox” scandal. Due to the events of the scandal, baseball has a lifetime ban for anyone who gambles on baseball. The reason for this unforgiving penalty is that your sport dies if the results are not credible in the eyes of the fans. While the scandal could end baseball, the fans are too preoccupied with following the Babe’s amazing accomplishments. While a World Series can be fixed, there is no way to fake Ruth’s majestic homeruns.

In 1921, Ruth carries the Yankees to their first World Series against the New York Giants in the last best of 9 games World Series. Due to jealousy over the phenomenon of Babe Ruth, the Giants ask the Yankees to move out of their stadium. For this reason, Yankee Stadium is known as the House that Ruth Built. Nevertheless, the stadium will not open until 1923. Moreover, the tension between the two teams add to the hype of the 1921 World Series as it is also between two teams in the same city. In addition, the media names the Yankees lineup “Murderor’s Row”. While the Yankees take a 2-0 series lead, the tide turns when Ruth is injured in the second game. As such, the Giants rally to win the next 5 games to win the series. As Ruth lives in the era way before the mega millions contracts of today, baseball players, including Ruth, go on barnstorming tours around the country to make additional income. However, baseball prohibits participants from the World Series to participate in the offseason tours. The reason is that it did not want players to restage the World Series in the offseason as to confuse fans on who the real winner of the World Series is for each individual season. Nevertheless, Ruth thinks he is above the game and disregards the warnings of the commissioner. As baseball could not allow any person to be above the game, Commissioner Judge Landis suspends the violators, including Ruth, for seven weeks. If the great Babe Ruth is not above the game, no one should believe himself to be above it either. It is a precedent baseball needed to set, especially after the “Black Sox” scandal. Despite the long suspension of its best player, the Yankees make it back to the World Series in 1922 but lose again to the Giants.

In 1923, Yankee Stadium is opened. Accordingly, Ruth hits the first homerun in the history of the stadium and does it against his former team, the Boston Red Sox. The Yankees would also go on to finally beat the Giants in the World Series in their third attempt. History only remembers Ruth’s greatness as a Yankee. However, there are a lot of rough patches. As noted before, Ruth loves staying out late and often misses curfews. In 1925, Yankees manager Miller Huggins fines him and decides to suspend him for the rest of the season due to missing curfews and repeatedly being late. After Ruth is contrite and apologizes to the manager, the suspension is rescinded. Nevertheless, this story highlights the need for his managers and his teams to treat and control Ruth like a child. One of Ruth’s on the field blunders I find unthinkable is during the 1926 World Series against the St. Louis Cardinals. In the deciding Game 7, the Yankees are down 3-2 in the bottom of the ninth inning. After Ruth gets a walk, he gets caught trying to steal second to end the World Series. If today’s media was around at that time, Ruth would have been completely crucified 24/7 on sports radio for months if not years for such a terrible decision.  He is fortunate to have not played in today’s environment. Nevertheless, the Yankees also incorporate rookie first basemen Lou Gehgrig on to their team during the 1926 season. Gehrig will be an all-time great player in his own right. Together with Ruth, they form the greatest middle of the order combination in the history of baseball.

In the middle of his career, Ruth’s abuse of his body begins to catch up to him and affect his performance negatively. As such, he eventually hires Artie McGovern to train him. McGovern is unrelenting in forcing Ruth to work out regularly. As such, McGovern is Ruth’s personal trainer. Another significant figure in Ruth’s turnaround is his mistress, widow Claire Merritt Hodgson. After Ruth’s first wife Helen dies in a tragic fire in Boston, Ruth feels a lot of guilt for how poorly he treated her. Nevertheless, Ruth marries Claire shortly afterwards. As a result, Claire is instrumental in controlling Ruth’s excesses and forcing him to live in moderation. Through the efforts of McGovern and Claire, Ruth is able to regain his top form. In 1927, Ruth finally accomplishes the great feat of hitting 60 homeruns in a single season. To make things more interesting, he duels teammate Lou Geghrig in one of the most epic homerun races in the history of the game. A comparable comparable one is between Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle in 1961 when Maris hit 61 homeruns to break Ruth’s single season record. Both of these homerun races are between teammates and between two Yankees. One of the best chapters in the chapters in the book is when Monteville details the seesaw homerun battle between Ruth and Geghrig during that season. Moreover, the 1927 Yankees are considered to be one of the best teams in history. In the fabled story, the Pittsburgh Pirates lose the World Series in 4 straight games. However, it is often said that they lost the Series before it even started when they were completely overwhelmed after watching the Yankees, especially Ruth, take batting practice. The Yankees also repeat as World Series Champions in 1928 against the St. Louis Cardinals in a 4 game sweep, avenging the loss in 1926. For the 1928 World Series, Ruth hit .625 and also hit 3 homeruns in the deciding 4^th game. Ruth’s accomplishments in 1927 and 1928 solidified his position as the best player in the game.

In 1929, the stock market crashes and starts the Great Depression. Nevertheless, Ruth decides to hold out for an $85 thousand salary as compared to the $80 thousand salary the Yankees are offering him. Oblivious to the ridiculousness of his position during such a trying, economic time for the country, Ruth accepts the offer quickly once someone explains to him the country’s current situation and admits he had no idea. In my opinion, it is another example of how Ruth is immature rather than a bad person. Nevertheless, Ruth still complains about his salary in the next few years citing that the Yankees are not affected by the Depression. Ruth’s run as the top slugger in the game runs till 1932 when he is surpassed by Jimmie Foxx for the homerun title. While Ruth hit 41 homeruns, Foxx hit 58. In Monteville’s words, “Although the drop-off in the Babe’s numbers wasn’t great, the symbolic shift of coming in second in both categories was huge. The inventor now saw someone use his invention better than he did.”

Of course, no Babe Ruth biography is complete without telling the story about his “Called Shot” in the 1932 World Series against the Chicago Cubs. In the series, there are excessively nasty feelings between the two teams. Former Yankee shortstop mark Koenig joins the Cubs midseason after their shortstop Billy Jurges is out for a season after being shot by a scorned lover. Despite Koenig’s contributions to the Cubs in getting to the World Series, they only vote him half a share. As such, the Yankees constantly rip the Cubs for being cheap and the Cubs fire back. In Game 3 of the series, the score is tied 4-4 in the fifth inning. After the count on Ruth goes 2-2, Ruth points to center field to signal that he will hit it to the spot for a homerun. As such, he hits the very next pitch for a homerun and is laughing and mocking the Cubs infielders as he rounds the bases. The Yankees would go on to sweep the series in 4 games. I have heard many theories about the moment. One of them is that Ruth is actually pointing to the scoreboard to say that it is only 2 strikes and he still had one more left. Monteville points out that Ruth may have been pointing at the centerfielder and implying that he would hit the ball down the centerfielder’s throat. On the other hand, Monteville notes that the best evidence that Ruth did call his shot is when the Cubs hit him with the baseball the next game. Regardless, Babe Ruth is the ultimate showman and maintains that he called his homerun for the rest of his life. Consequently, it becomes mythical over the years.

Although Ruth is clearly on the decline after the 1932 season at age 39, he is still a star and has a few more moments. First, he hits the first homerun in the first All-Star Game in 1933. Next, he decides to pitch in the final game of the 1933 season. Against the Boston Red Sox, he pitched scoreless baseball in the first five innings before completing the game for a victory. As Monteville notes, “It was a remarkable achievement – 39 years old, stepping in from the outfield to pitch a complete game – probably as remarkable as “the Called Shot” homer of a year earlier.” Nevertheless, Ruth’s playing career does not have a happy ending. Ruth believes that he should be a manager but the Yankees have no interest in the idea. As such, they devise a plan with the Boston Braves to trade Ruth. The Braves want to acquire Ruth as a sideshow to sell tickets. As the Yankees no longer want to deal with Ruth’s ego at his advanced age and diminished skill, they need to find a way to get Ruth off their team without public backlash as he is a hero. As such, the Braves agree to lead Ruth on by putting suggestive wording in the trade agreement that implies they will make Ruth manager. On the other hand, the Yankees would pretend that they cannot get stand between Ruth and such a great opportunity. The plan works and Ruth is duped into jumping at the trade thinking he will finally get the manager job he covets. Of course, Ruth figures out the trick too late when he plays for the Braves. While it is a nightmare situation to end his career, he does have one great moment with the Braves as he hit 3 homeruns in a single game to end up at his final career total of 714.

Ruth never gets a manager job after he retires as a player. After years of getting his way for so long because of his superstardom, he is just not willing to start at the bottom of the managing totem pole and work his way up. He has a sense of entitlement and wants things handed to him. When he is finally ready to accept lesser managing jobs in the minors, it is too late as teams are no longer interested. In retirement, he is also not treated well by the Yankees. While other teams give Ruth free tickets to their games, the Yankees make him pay to attend a game in the house he built. The reason is probably due to the team’s resentment of having to submit to his poor attitude at times and contract demands over the years because they had no other choice because of how great of a ballplayer he is. When he is no longer that great ballplayer, they throw him to the curb. Without baseball, Ruth has a difficult time in retirement with golf being his only solace. At the end of his life, he also develops a very painful cancer behind his nose and dies a very painful death as it spreads across his body. Overall, it is a very sad end of a legendary life.

While I cherry pick some of my favorite parts of the book, there are countless more great stories and details in Monteville’s biography of Babe Ruth. Some of the better parts of the book I did not go into much detail on is the barnstorming tours, his gambling and trips to Cuba, the deterioration of his relationship with Lou Gehrig after an incident with Gehrig’s wife, Ruth’s appearance at Lou Gehrig’s Day when the first basemen announced he had terminal ALS disease, and his relationship with his second wife Claire. Similarly, Monteville does an excellent job elaborating on Ruth’s development of a player on the Red Sox and the feuds he had with his managers on the Red Sox and Yankees. Monteville’s The Big Bam is a thorough account of Babe Ruth’s life and career. I recommend it to anyone that wants to learn more about the greatest baseball player of all time.

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Living in New York you always get the benefit of designated reading time.  My commute to work is roughly 30 minutes, so with doing that everyday I tend have some time to finish a few books here and there. I’m big on balance so if it’s an emotional roller coaster of a book, I’ll probably couple it with a graphic novel that I’ll read simultaneously.  These days everything is getting turned into a movie, so sometimes its nice to know the source material.  I go back and forth depending on what book it is whether it’s better to have read it before the movie or after. Sometimes it’s nice just watching a movie and thoroughly enjoying it without having to think, “man, the book was better.”  I normally don’t pedal my books and try to get everyone to read them, but in the past few years I’ve built up a good reserve of books that I think make for a decent list. So here goes nothing.

Books I’ve Read Recently:

Beat the Reaper, By Josh Bazell:  This books awesome.  And without trying to spoil too much of it, I’ll only offer to key points.  One; it’s about a doctor with a sordid past that leads to some great action and drama.  That’s it, that’s all you’re getting out of me in terms of plot.  Two; by reading this book I officially read one of the most beautifully tragic sentiments I’ve ever read.  I don’t want to ruin it, but the sap part of me, which takes up about 73% of my body weight give or take, had to pause and admire what was really being said.  It’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard one human say about another, even if they are fictional characters.  Rumors have this being turned into a movie pretty soon with Leonardo DiCaprio taking the lead as the doctor, and honestly I hope it happens.  It will be great.

Ready Player One, By Ernest Cline: I’m pretty sure it’s common knowledge by now, but Will Smith was the first pick to play Neo in the movie franchise The Matrix.  He turned it down to do the Wild Wild West.  This is important because his reasoning made sense.  Without every seeing the movie, or find someone that’s never seen it, and try to explain to them what it is.  And when you do you’ll realize how insane and non coherent it sounds.  I bring this is up cause this is how me telling you about this book would come off.  At best I can tell you it’s a dystopian future, based around an online living environment… Wait this is starting to sound like The Matrix.  It is not, trust me.  Just know it’s a ton of fun, filled with a ton of nostalgia.  If you’re a gamer, you’ll love this book, if you’re not, you’ll still like this book and if anything it might help you understand your gamer spouse or significant other a little better.  This one is also slated to be put on the silver screen.  I have no idea about the details just please don’t ruin it.

Slam, By Nick Hornby:   I’m well aware this one isn’t flying under anyone’s radar and also that I probably caught this train late, but it was damn good.  It’s about a youthful kid, who loves to skateboard, essentially getting his youth taken away, by even more youth.  He has a chance encounter with one girl in his whole life and as we all know, accidents happen.  What got me with this book, was just the real unromantic view for which Hornby paints this sort of situation.  It’s salvaged with some easy sentiment of how special new life can be.  No it’s quite real in its attempt establishing real emotions to having your youth essentially taken from you.  And oddly enough I found myself envious.  It was one of those moments where given one life, and one chance at everything, I of course want to take the smart route and wait, and plan these sort of things, but given the choice of 3 lives to lead, I’d probably choose early fatherhood as one.  There’s a beautiful struggle in it all and a bond between those parents and that kid that’s unique to that situation.  You did it together and you conquered what seemed unconquerable. Where if I was to have a kid now there’s just no suspense.  The kid would be fine. I would be fine.  I don’t know. Hopefully that makes sense.  Read it, see if you agree.

Apathy and Other Small Victories, By Paul Neilan:  This book is a great inbetweener.  By that I mean great to read in between two heavier books you plan to read.  It’s really short, which works for its style.  It’s a raunchy, humorous tale about a degenerate.  It falls in line with books like “Choke” except it’s mindful enough to know to make it quick.  The asshole guy, with nothing to gain or lose is only funny for so long before he becomes annoying.  This book never reaches that annoying state.  It’s short, it’s funny, and worth the week it’ll take you to read it.

Rook, By Daniel O’Malley:  I just finished this book about 5 months ago.  It’s awesome.  It’s X-men meets Bourne Identity, meets X-Files.  Seriously, I said it was good.  Not that this should miraculous at this point in history, but it’s protagonist is a very strong heroin.  This is one I certainly hope makes it to the cinema reel, if not for anything else, at least to give what I think is a wonderful female role to aspire to.  She’s not depicted to be dainty, or unrealistically proportioned and yet still carries a ton of attractiveness in her character.  By the end of the book I was in love with the lead.  Read this its way fun.

I have some more books and graphic novels to share, but for now I’ll leave you with this. There are two books I’m dying to get to read soon.  One is the “I Wear the Black Hat”, by Chuck Klosterman, as it’s a dissection of the current state of pop culture and our infatuation with anti heroes, which is something I find very intriguing as well.  The other is “Save the Cat”, by Blake Snyder.  Allegedly the writer  exposes the blueprint to any and all successful Hollywood movies.  He removes the blindfold and reveals some interesting tropes and clichés you might not have been aware of.  I’ll share my thoughts once I do read them.

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Oh it’s the week of Ted McLoof.  We’ve been fortunate enough to have some back logged short stories of his.  Hope you enjoy.  This one was originally posted in Gertrude, Spring 2011. 

Disneyland

By, Ted McLoof

When I was sixteen I still hadn’t grown breasts, but I had already fallen in love for the first time. Beneath that flat chest beat a heart to be reckoned with, and Penny, the girl I’d fallen for, was hell-bent on doing just that. We didn’t do much—just made out in my car a few times, in the school parking lot at night so that no one would know—she told me a thousand times if she told me once that she wasn’t a lesbian, that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing really. She broke my heart, and I was convinced that this would be my fate: I would be facing an entire lifetime of pain like this, and no one would ever love me. These were the thoughts I had when I was sixteen. It was that kind of heartbreak, and I was that kind of sixteen-year-old.

All this is to say that I never normally would have asked my father for advice. I hadn’t before and I haven’t since. But the timing was right: not only had I just been hurt, but this was also two years after my mother kicked him out, and he was pretty dutifully trying to rebuild his life. During my once-a-month visit to his walk-up apartment, with its steel, paint-peeled door and its fifteen locks, I decided to take a gamble. He had just come back from a run and still had his red-white-and-blue sweatband on, was still wearing his torn Umbro shorts, red-faced with beads of sweat pooling at his temples. I took a chance and asked him, Dad, if you could offer me any sort of advice about women, what would it be?

You had to be frank with dad. He didn’t like to beat around the bush and when you did he pretended not to understand your point. This was how my mother usually spoke to him, at least. She told me this was how you had to speak to men. I learned a lot, it seems, about men and women in those years, during the battle of the exes.

I actually don’t know if I’d ever told him I was gay before that. That sounds weird, I know, but Dad was like that. Conversations with him were like cat-doors: subjects sort of wandered in and out at their own free will, it seemed, and you never knew whether they’d left the house for good or whether they’d come back, mysteriously, five pounds fatter.

In any case, he didn’t seem all that surprised, and it didn’t occur to me at the time how odd his response was; he didn’t shut his eyes or pause for a beat or even stroke his goatee as he often did when he was thinking deeply. Instead he just sat down on the chair—with no concern whatsoever for the stain his sweaty shorts might leave on the seat, odd for him—across from me, wiped his forearm across his face, put a hand on my shoulder, and spoke:

“Lynn. There’s not a lot I can tell you about women. I’m only good for them for a short time. I’m very much like milk in that way. Milk isn’t a necessity, but it always seems like one when you’re about to buy it, and it’s good at first, but it has a very specific expiration date. Just a few weeks. After that it’s no good anymore. Actually, never mind, Lynn. Ignore that. That’s a terrible metaphor.”

He didn’t mean metaphor. He meant simile, but I got what he was going for. He paid for two-thirds of my SAT classes because he never went to college himself and thought I “had something.” I didn’t like pointing that out, though, so I didn’t bother correcting him.

“Here’s what I’m like, I think: Disneyland. That makes more sense, because milk is at least practical, and there’s an infinite supply of it, and what good it did you is gone after it expires. It changes, is what I’m saying I guess, in reality and not just in the mind of whoever buys it. Disneyland, though. That makes more sense.”

I was supposed to be going to a friend’s party that night and I glanced quickly at the clock to see how much time I’d have to get ready. There would be girls there.

“I’m very good for women for a one-month stretch. I‘ll bring them flowers, and I’ll write them notes, and I’ll tell them I love them and that I need them and that I can’t picture my life without them and all of the other silly things people say to each other when they’re falling in love. Women need this sometimes, to recharge their batteries, to let them know that they’re worthy of being loved.”

I told him that made sense, and that I didn’t understand: why just a month?

“People work their entire lives. Work kills them, it wears them down. They like to take trips for this reason: it’s not to see the sights, or to experience this place or that one. It’s because they need to get away. They’ll decide one day that they need to go to someplace like Disneyland: someplace fun, someplace that doesn’t feel like it belongs in this world, the opposite of what they know. This is not a simple decision. They’ll take weeks to research the costs, how far they’ll have to travel, when it might fit workably into their schedules. But finally, they’ll take the plunge and go. Life is getting the best of them and their curiosity is piqued.

“They have a lot of fun for a while when they get there, and wonder why it is that they don’t live in a place like this, or visit more often. They ride the rides and eat the food and buy the souvenirs. We went to Disneyland once, your mother and you and I. Do you remember?”

I said I didn’t. I was three.

“Well, you loved it. We all did. There are classier places to go on vacation, I know. You can go to Paris, or Prague, or London. These are places with a rich cultural history, any sort of history, they’re places where you can learn about much more than the place itself. At Disneyland, though, you can’t learn about anything but Disneyland, but that doesn’t matter because for the time that you’re there, you don’t want to learn anyway. You left your common sense at home. And this is probably why a month is too long, among other reasons. This is the point I want to get across to you. Eventually they all realize that this isn’t life, that they have to get back to what passes for the real world, that you can’t live in Disneyland. There’s nothing permanent there, or nothing worth permanence. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

I nodded. The party was in an hour and I still had to shower and put on the new dress I’d just bought. He nodded back but didn’t hug me, as I thought he might—Dad wasn’t a hugger but he wasn’t a shoulder-patter, either, and this seemed like a time for him to act unlike the version of himself he’d been so strict to present to me my whole life. He got up and grabbed a Gatorade, one of the only items in the kitchen, from the fridge, downed it in one lift of the bottle to his lips, and walked upstairs to his room without a word. He stayed in there the rest of the night and I had to walk to the party.

I didn’t think much about what he’d told me (my asking him was what kissing me had been to Penny: just a lark, really) and had fun with my friends that night. I got a girlfriend only a month later, whom my mom liked but who never met my father, broke up with her just before college, dated several more women and lived with one. Almost all of these women except Beth lasted for only a month, and yet curiously I never thought of my father’s advice after any of them. I haven’t thought of it at all, in fact, until this morning, just after Beth moved her stuff out. What I thought about wasn’t so much what he’d told me, but instead what my mom said to me when I got home from the party later that night.

Dad says he’s like Disneyland, I told her, and when she rolled her eyes and asked why, I told her the gist of what he’d said. She responded by telling me that he didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, but more importantly she told me that it was true, in a sense, that my dad was like Disneyland. He complains about women only loving Disneyland for a short time, she said, when the real problem is that Disneyland doesn’t love anybody back, by which I think she meant that Disneyland loves everyone equally.

The post Disneyland appeared first on Rookerville.

Resident author and brilliant wordsmith Ted Mcloof gives yet another published short story.  This one originally appeared in Hobart, November 2011 http://www.hobartpulp.com/web_features/the-second-person.  But it’s just as good today as it was then.  Enjoy.

The Second Person

By, Ted McLoof

You are a good-looking man. You know this because people tell you all the time, sometimes out of nowhere. You assume that people don’t get told that all the time unless it is deserved. You have been told that your face is reminiscent of a not-as-nerdy Jake Gyllenhaal’s, a compliment that you have come to understand is very flattering. Very flattering indeed. However, it is your body that is your prime aesthetic achievement. You have been blessed with a naturally attractive frame, broad shoulders, strong legs, a toned chest, everything in proportion. You are happy like this.

You like to think of yourself, of course, as above these superficial compliments. You are aware that there is more to people than appearances. When your head occasionally gets too big (metaphorically, of course; your actual head is an ideal shape and size for the rest of you), you try to concentrate on the fact that no one has ever called you funny, or intelligent, or charming, or kind. Your last girlfriend told you that she thought you ought to read more, and so you went to the library and took out all three Twilight books and The Da Vinci Code. She said that didn’t count. Your sister once called you incisively witty, but you suspect that she was being facetious. It’s not that you are unfunny, or unintelligent, or unkind. You are simply average in all of these areas—painfully average in several—and it is this inward averageness that allows your outward beauty not to get to you. Or at least it helps. Kind of. Wait. Shit. Have your looks gotten to you? Ah, fuck. They have. You cannot help it. You start to think that maybe your looks are all you’ve got. You decide to join the gym in order to keep in shape, just in case.

You go six times a week. This seems excessive at first, but you begin to really enjoy it—it gets you out of the house, after all, puts you face-to-face with people. You become a regular, and know the other regulars by name. You drink Vitamin Water and Creatine and eat power bars and egg whites. A pretty girl named Ashley begins to look at you on your twelfth visit, and you often look at her. You become minor friends with Ashley. She asks you in your fourth week if you’d like to join the Saturday program, where beginners learn how to lift, and you spot them. She actually asks you that without asking for a resume or anything. That’s how good looking you are. You say yes, even though you do not know the specifics of the job; most specifically, you have no idea what the job, like, is. Are spotters expected to know what weights people should be lifting, according to their size and gender? You do not know. Ashley is very pretty. You say yes on the spot.

But it’s fine, everything works out, as it always does for you. You are a natural, and you sometimes picture what it would be like to be a trainer at a gym as a full time job. You know it has a pretty limited shelf-life, and you would like a job that you can perform well into your sixties or seventies, you want somewhere to go during those days when you’re older, you want a purpose and a direction to fill your afternoons, you can’t stand the idea of wrinkles fucking up this beautiful face, arthritis filling these gorgeous hands, gray streaks peppering that phenomenal, thick red hair—you can’t stand the idea of this stuff happening and leaving you lonely. But that’s why you don’t think about that stuff. That’s what you tried to explain to that ex-girlfriend of yours—what the hell is wrong with people?

So let’s not think about it. Let’s get back to the Saturday program. Today’s session was interesting. They were doing construction on the main locker rooms. After the group’s regular workout, you all had to change in the family locker room, which is co-ed but has stalls for people to get dressed in. You became excited all day at the thought of Ashley changing in the same room as you, albeit covered by a curtain. You made a point to walk in the room with her. You realized too late that it would be awkward to transition from conversation to getting dressed, and panicked upon entering the room, with no idea how to cut her off.

“It’s been tough,” she was saying, because her parents have recently gotten divorced. “But I guess it’s better they do it now, when they’re retired and living their own lives, and have the time to really focus on the transition. Otherwise my dad might have done something drastic. He has,” she hesitated, “a lot of pills around the house.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” you said, half-listening, grateful that the pause in conversation finally arrived, “I put my dog’s pills in peanut butter. It’s easier for him.”

You felt that was a smooth enough parting line and pretended to look for your locker, even though you knew full well that you put your stuff in locker twenty-eight.

She stayed behind you for a few moments, putting her stuff away, and you kept your eyes on your locker. You did not know how to handle this part. When you no longer felt her behind you, and the scent of her sweat and Degree Sport deodorant and cucumber-melon shampoo was gone, you assumed she went into a stall to change. You waited a few seconds and then turned, subtly, to glance at the stall she went into. You noticed, upon doing so, that there was a slight opening in the space between the side and the front curtain, maybe three inches or so. Through this, you could only see the line of her body. You noticed automatically, though, that instead of seeing a head-to-toe pattern of flesh-clothing-flesh, you were looking at skin from top to bottom. It dawned on you then that you were looking at a side view of Ashley’s naked body: her angular shoulders, the toned small of her back, her untanned left butt-cheek, her hairless calf. You wanted to look away, but you had trouble. You worked out very fast that this was as close as was possible at this point in your friendship to seeing Ashley naked as you could get.

You began to fantasize, just a little. You pictured what it would be like to run your finger down this three-inch-wide, six-foot-long line of body. You wondered if she was ticklish. You determined that she was. You tried to picture your own body length against hers. You pictured snuggling but not sex. You wondered how the two of you would fit together while nakedly embracing, how she would smell and taste, and—that’s when she moved a few inches to the left, and you realized, to your surprise but not necessarily your horror, that this was not Ashley at all, that she went into a completely different stall and you had been looking at the wrong one the whole time.

You had been, you realized, looking at Joe, one of the other trainers, a muscular man who shaves his legs so that the tape doesn’t hurt them when he plays hockey. You did not want to change your train of thought, however, and so you started to think of how it would be to touch Joe in this same way, whether he would hold you or the other way around. Joe is not as tall as you, and so you figured you would hold him. You wondered if men’s breath smells sugary like women’s, or if it has a sour taste, a rawer one. You wondered about your wondering. You are not attracted to Joe or any other man in a romantic way. But Joe is good-looking. Not as good-looking as you, of course, but certainly enough to pick women up at bars without much effort.

Reminded of this, and still, keep in mind, looking at naked Joe, you pictured those women spending the night with him, you wondered about Joe’s technique. It wasn’t like you were wondering how his technique differed from yours, or that you were picturing him using this technique on you. It was more that you were trying to get an image of Joe’s body next to another one, an image of two figures lying silently side by side, sharing a thin white sheet as a blanket, pretzeled together in an effort to get as close as two separate bodies can, in an effort to dissolve into each other. You had trouble imagining this because, you realized, you couldn’t remember the last time someone did that with you, the last time someone cared so much about you that they needed you with them, by their side, every second of the night, even while unconscious. You could not remember the last time you closed your eyes at night, knowing that come morning you would open them and the skin of your dearest, touching you, would be warm.

A bit melodramatic, yes, but it was yours and it was real, and that’s why when Ashley walked behind you again, you were startled and disappointed. Not only was she fully dressed, but—weirdly even more disappointing—this mysterious thought pattern, the one with Joe, was broken and you wondered whether it could ever be that intricate again. Ashley told you you looked pale. You said something stupid, “thanks,” you think, but you can’t remember. You said goodbye and watched her ass as she walked out. That was when Joe slapped you on yours and told you you did well today, so well. That was when you began to think that you were not attracted to Joe at all, but rather to his compliments of you. Are you really that self-absorbed? you wondered. Are you really willing to re-imagine your entire lifestyle, morph the clichéd homoeroticism of men’s sports into something more, ditch the idea of Ashley and your ex-girlfriend and all they represent, simply because someone told you that you’ve done a good job? Are you addicted to attention?

That was when Joe grabbed his stuff and told you that you might need to put in a few extra hours at the gym this week, because your arms are looking a little smaller. You were more than a little agitated by this. You were frustrated, infuriated, irate. You wanted to punch Joe, to hit him in the nose to ensure that you would always be the handsomer of the two of you. You really, purely hated him, and you found yourself really enjoying this feeling, a new one to you, because it constituted some sort of depth, perhaps, so cemented have you been in emotional ambivalence and averageness until now. It was a feeling you could live with, like a whole other being, this feeling, and you wanted to live with this being-feeling because you are so, so lonely. All those people walking in and out of the dressing room, slinging their Adidas bags over their shoulders as they walked out in pairs, you watched them and thought about it—so, so lonely. And this feeling in your stomach, this very real, very righteous anger, this could keep you company, you thought. You concentrated hard on this feeling, felt the rage in your teeth, felt the blood in your forehead, the sting in your arms which, goddamit, weren’t looking smaller at all! Fuck you, Joe! you thought, You’re the one who’s been slacking, you hairless son of a bitch! This was good, this was pure. Maybe you’ll call up that old girlfriend of yours tonight and tell her about all of this, call someone, anyone, if only to remind yourself that all you need to do is press some buttons and someone, somewhere, will offer relief by saying, Hello.

The post The Second Person appeared first on Rookerville.

Ted McLoof is one talented guy.  Below is a piece he wrote for the Associative Press,  which is a literary publication(not to be confused with the associated press).  You can find the whole collection at their website.  Some really talented people on there. Definitely support your writers (http://www.theassociativepress.com/The_Associative_Press/Buy_Spring.html).  Well here’s another Rooker-made item, enjoy.

How to Start Again in Twelve Easy Steps

By, Ted McLoof

Download in PDF: TedMcLoof-How to Start Again in Twelve Easy Steps

(1) First and foremost: remember that you are a small man, a petty, petty man. Recall and appreciate the times—seldom though they may be—that you’ve been big. Cherish these, but keep in mind that, on the whole, you are a small and petty person. Don’t attempt to decipher why you’re like this. Make no attempt at locating the source of your small, petty nature. Accept it.

(2) When she calls, be happy. Relish the sound of the ringtone. Relish the sight of the blinking red light. Feel the relief, like the release of a sneeze, of these calls after months of silence. Keep this relief to yourself. Act casual as you answer. Choose your words carefully. Say “hey,” and elongate the word to two syllables. Do not follow it with “baby” or “babe” or “gorgeous” or any of the other names you’ve used with the women you’ve dated since the breakup.

(3) Listen as she speaks. Nod, even if she can’t see you doing it over the phone, as she tells you about her day; listen as she tells you about her friends who are engaged or married, or getting green cards or nose jobs; hear the words “nose jobs” and recall to yourself how, right after your breakup, you made the singular vow No More Rich Girls. Get sidetracked as you try to remember why No More Rich Girls seemed so important, why it seemed like the very nugget and core of everything that went wrong with you two last time, why it didn’t just get chalked up to a difference between her Burberry scarves and the holes in your sleeve cuffs or between your use of “killer” as an adjective and her use of “summer” as a verb; stumble upon the half-forgotten realization that it was less material and more a question of sensibility, she having led a life of safety and therapy and you having not ever had the time to dwell on every. single. thought. you had. because you were too busy at your after-school job helping your mother make rent. Most importantly, push these feelings down because after all, she’s apparently come to her senses and is now not only with you but presently, this second, as in right now as you’re thinking this, on the phone with you during her lunch break, which sounds like no big deal but is actually a huge deal because she only has a few precious minutes during the day, and she values her free time and frankly would rather spend it alone, collecting her thoughts and re-charging her batteries—as a matter of fact (please keep in mind) she’s still kinda on the fence about being alone in general, not just during her lunch break but during the remainder of her life, she’s trying on this relationship again like a sweater that feels comfortable but has gone out of fashion, she’s testing it out because she can’t tell if she wants to end up with anyone (let alone you) or if she’d rather live a life of solitude, and if the latter then she’s confused about whether that’s okay, which confusion  had a lot to do with your break up six months ago and everything to do with the earlier instruction not to call her “baby” or “babe” or “gorgeous” etc, and anyway, Important Tidbit: do not lose track of the conversation. Her story—about her linguistics class this morning, in which she learned about the human brain’s ability to compartmentalize several languages in its first two years — is coming to an end soon, and it will be your turn to speak.

Side Note: You’ll run into this problem often, so do not try to avoid it. Learn that it comes with the territory. Learn that this is what happens when you date someone you know well, someone with whom you have a long and complicated history. Do not expect that any conversation you’ll ever have again will be unencumbered by second-guessing and bifurcated thought processes. Think, but do not say, that you’d rather live this complicated life with her than a life of ease with anyone else. Realize that this is why you love her.

Here’s where it gets tricky: Love love love love—the steps are simple for that part. Refer here to step (1); remember that you are a small and petty man.

(4) Hear her say, “…which is weird because Gene speaks three languages, but when I told him, he didn’t get it.” Feel every inch of your skin tighten elastically around your bones at the single syllable, Gene. Look down and conceptualize this skin-tightening, your muscles ropy and tense and pulsing. Feel your teeth—this sounds difficult, and is difficult to describe, but rest assured, it will come to you. Feel your teeth. They’ll sting. But level your voice when you say, “Gene?”

(5) Realize too late that you interrupted her thought to say Gene? but don’t apologize now. It will upset the trajectory of the conversation. Note the pregnant pause that follows, and word it to yourself mentally (this is a pregnant pause). Listen to her break the silence, “Yeah, Gene.”

(6) Ask, “When did you talk to Gene?” and make no attempt to sound neutral; there is no way for that sentence to sound anything but small and petty.

(7) Hear—you will be able to, impossible though it may sound—her eyes roll as she says, “Why do you have such a problem with Gene?” Note that she didn’t answer your question.

(8) Say—mumble—growl—half under your breath—that in fact you don’t have a fucking problem with fucking Gene, and expect her follow-up remark, learned no doubt in rich-person therapy: “Then why do you swear every single time you bring him up? He’s just a guy. I liked plenty of other guys after you. Why is this one person such an issue?”

(9) Tread lightly, here. DO NOT lose your temper. Know that this is not an unwinnable fight—in fact, this potentially could not be a fight at all, just a conversation, even a progressive, pragmatic conversation that mends wounds that have been festering for six months, if you choose your words carefully. She will hear you out if you offer good common sense.

(10) Take a moment to answer the question, because as presumptuous and psychobabbly and invalidating of your totally justifiable feelings as it may be, you likely have not ever articulated its answer to yourself.

Why do you have such a problem with Gene?

Possible answer #1: Absorb yourself in the memory of the previous June, when this Gene asshole visited town. Recall the morning that you were walking your dog—the dog you’d bought together, but was then your responsibility and now both of yours again—in your shitty sweatpants and I just woke up hair and torn t-shirt; recall how hung-over you were from another in a series of whiskey-stained nights getting over her; recall the two of them driving past the dog park and slowing down just for a second; recall this prick’s face peering out from the passenger side window of her car, this prick in expensive-looking Oakleys and a muscle t-shirt (a fucking jock! what are we, in seventh grade? remember thinking); remember the honking of the horn and recall wondering about whatever stupid face you must have been making as the dog took a shit at that exact moment and this fucking asshole laughed and the car zoomed away, trailing echoes of asshole-laughter behind it where you stood. Conclude that this isn’t the right answer—just a moment, a memory, a horrible embarrassment. Think again.

Possible answer #2: Visualize the pictures that popped up everywhere, all over the internet, from that weekend he visited. Try to get the title of her photo album right—something stupid, some inside joke between the two of them, a joke so inside that you wondered why she was posting it publicly in the first place, unless it was just to piss you off; then wonder if that’s it, wonder if you’re mad because they tried to piss you off together. But dismiss this answer because, frankly, she was so over you at that point (you know for a fact) that there’s just no way you had that much to do with her motives. So,

Possible answer #3: Hear the ghosts of conversations from the first time you were together, posit that your reason for having such a problem with Gene is that you’ve been told not to have a problem with Gene before, you were told like a million times, in fact, were made to feel like a jealous irrational baby last time around for suspecting something might have been up with those two, were incensed at the fact that he booked his ticket to visit her like a week after you broke up, the body wasn’t even cold yet!, and then he shows up and they go to the fucking Grand fucking Canyon together for one fucking weekend and suddenly she’s in fucking love, note the frequency of your cursing here and suggest to yourself that maybe you’ve found the root this time, maybe answer #3 is just the ticket, the justification you could offer gladly and even calmly (so rational is this logic) but then conclude that this is a dead-end too because you know what she’ll say (she’s said it before, last June, when you totally overstepped your boundaries and forced her to talk to you about it), which is that love is a mystery and that feelings can develop where there were no feelings before, and feelings can die where once they were strong, and that we never know why we feel this way or when our feelings can crop up or stop dead, and so practical (if sad) is this truth that it will be impossible to refute—so don’t try—and further it will point towards and unearth some other pretty touchy subjects, namely what it was that made you two break up in the first place, and what it is that’s keeping you on such thin ice now: her total belief (see: fear) that if either of the two of you commit today then the other of the two of you will flake out tomorrow, her total belief (see: fear) that feelings are unsustainable and unpredictable and that there are limits to love.

And while you’re at it, (11) ask yourself: who the fuck do you think you are? Whoever she saw when you weren’t together is none of your business, really, so why don’t you get over yourself and recognize that people deal with these things in their own ways and just because those ways are different from your own doesn’t make them wrong, okay she isn’t perfect but you sure as shit aren’t either, and anyway it’s not like you’re some paragon of fidelity here, you haven’t exactly been living the last six months like a monk, staring at her picture every day, okay that doesn’t make her right but that doesn’t make you right either because the point is that no one is “right” in these things, what you really are is just two scared, fragile, confused people who happen to be in love. Open your mouth to articulate all this to her but get cut off when she says, “This is really hard, isn’t it?” Say, “Yeah, it is,” and feel your stomach, by pure muscle memory, brace itself for the break up, until she says, gently, “We’ll stay afloat.” Feel weirdly unsurprised by this, because hey, it’s true, and it’s said with love, and hell, it can’t be easy for her to be this big in reaction to you being so, so small, it can’t be easy for her to actually not make you feel small at all, to throw herself under the bus just to make you feel okay, it can’t be easy for her to do this every. single. time. you talk.

(12) So just temper yourself. Swallow it all down—it’s small, and therefore easy to swallow. Say, “Thank you,” but not “I’m sorry” even though you are sorry. Tell her that you’d better let her go, isn’t it almost time for class? Visualize her glancing at the clock as she says, “Oh shoot, good point.” Hear her say, “I’d better go, message me later.” Say, “Okay.” Hear her say, “See you later, T-e-d.” Hear the love in her voice. Admire her ability to maintain that love. Feel awed by the warmth of her weird and wild heart. You’ll stay afloat. You’ll stay afloat.

The post How to Start Again in Twelve Easy Steps appeared first on Rookerville.