Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
My Other Blog, Return To Sender
This is a post from my other blog, Return To Sender. I give people self-addressed, stamped envelopes, and they send me something in the envelope. I scan it in and post it. This one is a kitten collage. If you want, I'll send you some envelopes.
Art Directed By The World
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
My Resume (with an accent over the e, so it sounds like a hard a)
Me. In the house.
Short Version:
- Grew up.
- Went to college. (Cum Laude; Creative Writing/Literature major; Seattle University)
- Went fishing in Alaska. (Commercial; Bristol Bay; Sockeye Salmon; 2 summers)
- Got married.
- Moved to Atlanta.
- Went to the Creative Circus for Copywriting; interned twice.
- Email me at cavin.ross@gmail.com; call me at 505-250-0602.
Long Version:
Turns out there’s really not much to add that anyone would care too much about. I mean, there are many, many things I could write about. I’ve read Ulysses, for instance. But my experience is that people who enjoy sitting and gloating about things like reading Ulysses are rather boring individuals. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a feather in my cap; I just prefer to keep that cap tucked neatly away in my closet. Even now, by simply mentioning that I’ve read the book, I feel like I’ve betrayed myself – like I’m bragging. Perhaps it’s the middle child in me. Perhaps I just prefer listening to others before I jump in and talk about myself. But I would say the truth is simply that I prefer the genuine to the contrived, and nothing is more contrived than me telling you what to think about me on a resume. Besides, I’d probably be lying anyways.
A Short Story
New Baby Products
Neal and Betsy always laughed with each other when they drove by the New Baby Products sign. When they first moved to Birmingham, it seemed like everyone laughed at New Baby Products. At the restaurant where Neal bussed, all of the waiters had their own carefully crafted jokes about the place. Some of them were about the sign, with its predictable baby blue type and pink baby. Tim, the leader of the waiters, would guffaw like he did and say "it's like they're saying, "we have something for every baby. Every Crack Baby!" The other waiters laughed, but Neal just bussed in the background.
The next year, New Baby Products wasn't as funny. Birmingham got colder than Florida. Betsy looked thin and pale. She was so pretty when they left Florida. Now, even when Neal tried to joke about New Baby Products, Betsy just looked away. One time she said, "Neal, they sell cheap baby clothes. People need cheap baby clothes. It's not funny. It's sad."
Neal said, "We'll never have to shop there."
Neal started to think of his grandfather, and the bib he wore before he died and was too old to chew properly. They couldn't afford to place him in a home, so they bought him a bib. At twelve, Neal never considered where the bib came from. It was just a bib. Now he recalled the cookie monster graphic on it, and how his grandfather spittled on the cookie monster. Neal's mother wiped the bib now and again, but the spittle would often grow too heavy for the bib and drip down onto the grandfather's shirt and crotch. Grandfather would swipe at it, but eventually it sat where it fell, stagnating until Neal's mother came to wipe it away. Neal saw it all out of his peripheral vision. He didn't like his grandfather's spittle. It was easier to pretend it wasn't there.
Friday, January 2, 2009
A Short Story, Sans Punctuation
SINKING SHIPS
When the boat began to tilt I was worried xenophobic and briefly sad but shortly thereafter I panicked in thought only and then went into the routine of putting on my survival suit and helping where I could but there was no thinking of what I was doing as though my body no longer needed synaptic instructions
It was not good for me to realize this as if thinking about not thinking made my actions more difficult my arms heavier and my eyes weary like the way what seems to be a perfect meditation is ruined by an erection and when this happened longing set in
My feet chafed against the thick rubbery interior of the suit where were the plastic bags why were there no bags in the feet they were supposed to be there to help my feet slide in and why was our boat sinking what irresponsible move had been made and were there no other boats around to help us
They could not because the tide was too fast and the sandbar too near and no ships could get in now and briefly again I thought of something that perhaps I could stand on the sand bar but then I knew that the tide ripped faster here than anywhere in the world a fact which I relayed proudly before to friends and family because after all what is a creative writing major doing fishing in Alaska but trying to experience something unknowable to nearly everyone and thinking that war is necessary for a writer but wars are so much sadder than they used to be and this could have replaced war but only had I survived
It did not seem that I would live as the boat now lay forty five degrees to the water and continued to tilt still further quickly but seeming slow
My attention shifted again and my body returned to autopilot and I thought of first times of various things from my first sad sexual encounter to the first time I met my wife and the first time I realized that family is a good thing and how good it was to know new friends like me in some ways but also different in good ways
Then I felt like Icarus and began to feel queasy from flying to high beyond where I could reasonably reach
I had thought I could write like someone great
I believed that I needed this but war is overrated
Despite what Hemmingway said
It was beyond me though and still I am waiting to hit the water but at least I made it high enough so that it will feel like concrete and I will bleed everything into the sea
When the boat began to tilt I was worried xenophobic and briefly sad but shortly thereafter I panicked in thought only and then went into the routine of putting on my survival suit and helping where I could but there was no thinking of what I was doing as though my body no longer needed synaptic instructions
It was not good for me to realize this as if thinking about not thinking made my actions more difficult my arms heavier and my eyes weary like the way what seems to be a perfect meditation is ruined by an erection and when this happened longing set in
My feet chafed against the thick rubbery interior of the suit where were the plastic bags why were there no bags in the feet they were supposed to be there to help my feet slide in and why was our boat sinking what irresponsible move had been made and were there no other boats around to help us
They could not because the tide was too fast and the sandbar too near and no ships could get in now and briefly again I thought of something that perhaps I could stand on the sand bar but then I knew that the tide ripped faster here than anywhere in the world a fact which I relayed proudly before to friends and family because after all what is a creative writing major doing fishing in Alaska but trying to experience something unknowable to nearly everyone and thinking that war is necessary for a writer but wars are so much sadder than they used to be and this could have replaced war but only had I survived
It did not seem that I would live as the boat now lay forty five degrees to the water and continued to tilt still further quickly but seeming slow
My attention shifted again and my body returned to autopilot and I thought of first times of various things from my first sad sexual encounter to the first time I met my wife and the first time I realized that family is a good thing and how good it was to know new friends like me in some ways but also different in good ways
Then I felt like Icarus and began to feel queasy from flying to high beyond where I could reasonably reach
I had thought I could write like someone great
I believed that I needed this but war is overrated
Despite what Hemmingway said
It was beyond me though and still I am waiting to hit the water but at least I made it high enough so that it will feel like concrete and I will bleed everything into the sea
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