Author Archives: Bryan Hilson

Let’s Get Serious

Photo by Ananian

*September fades into October and with it any last traces of the frivolity and mindlessness of summer. We make our last fart noises of the season and then lock away childish things inside the vacation home that is our immaturity. When the temperature drops and the leaves change and Jean-Luc Godard has a new film coming out, the time has come to get serious.

Time to reengage the intellect and flex the brain, challenge ourselves away from the intravenous drip of unreality, from the quick easy morphine shots of J.D. Robb and “Sing Your Face Off.” We are no longer glazed doughnuts passively gazing through the cellophane window of our doughnut box. We are thick, layered pastries out of our cages; we are thinkers and we are brooders; we start using semicolons in our sentences, and that can only mean we are getting very, very serious.

Seriously.

No, really. For example: I’m getting serious and putting on my business hat with one novel and my deep sea diving gear in the creation of another. And of course continuing to work on my treatise concerning the vagaries of quantum foam theory.

How about you? What are you getting serious about this very serious Fall season?

*Hooray, we’re back online! BryanHilson.com settled its case with Internet and has been reinstated on the World Wide Web. And all of us here are getting along famously with our new intern, Irwin Chattendale. When he’s not bored with the Kim Kardashian: Hollywood app or writing “Outlander” fan fiction, Irwin makes a mean cinnamon raisin bagel breakfast sandwich. Great to have you aboard, Irwin!

There Will Be No August Blog Post

Ask A Revolving Door

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Photo by Tony the Tiger

Dear Revolving Door:

Imagine my surprise when I logged into Facebook recently and my news feed was chock-a-block with photos from my “friend’s” stomach stapling after-party, and I wasn’t in any of them. And why wasn’t I in any of them? Because I wasn’t even invited! And I’m the one who told her she should have the surgery in the first place!

Of course my “friend” didn’t post the photos herself. It was a few other so-called “mutuals” who got their hands dirty, tagging her and splattering her all over Facebook like all those annoying ads lately for skinny pills.

So should I confront my “friend” and express my feelings of hurt and confusion and basically WTF, or just leave passive-aggressive comments on all the photos? Like, guess I’ll never know what it was like to bitch about the appetizers being liquefied just so Darlene could enjoy them. Or, would I have been so rude to attend with an exposed mid-riff when the guest of honor’s stretch marks are probably visible from outer space?

“Friend”less In Fitchburg

Dear “Friend”less In Fitchburg:

Imagine your surprise when you logged into Facebook recently and your news feed was chock-a-block with photos from your “friend’s” stomach stapling after-party, and you weren’t in any of them. And why weren’t you in any of them? Because you weren’t even invited! And you were the one who told her she should have the surgery in the first place!

Of course your “friend” didn’t post the photos herself. It was a few other so-called “mutuals” who got their hands dirty, tagging her and splattering her all over Facebook like all those annoying ads lately for skinny pills.

So should you confront your “friend” and express your feelings of hurt and confusion and basically WTF, or just leave passive-aggressive comments on all the photos? Like, guess you’ll never know what it was like to bitch about the appetizers being liquefied just so Darlene could enjoy them. Or, would you have been so rude to attend with an exposed mid-riff when the guest of honor’s stretch marks are probably visible from outer space?

Dear Revolving Door:

My boss has this annoying habit of looking past me when I’m talking to him and following up on the stuff he asked for, like the quarterly earnings report for the IceVise and whatever.

My friend Crystal in HR told me he doesn’t have a medical condition or anything and I’ve never seen him do it to anyone else in the office. And it’s not like I’m the one with a medical condition, like elephantitis, or a soul patch. I’m not even a mouth-breather. But something weird’s going on. How do I confront somebody who won’t even look me in the eye?

Invisible Man

Dear Invisible Man:

Your boss has this annoying habit of looking past you when you’re talking to him and following up on the stuff he asked for, like the quarterly earnings report for the IceVise and whatever.

Your friend Crystal in HR told you he doesn’t have a medical condition or anything and you’ve never seen him do it to anyone else in the office. And it’s not like you’re the one with a medical condition, like elephantitis, or a soul patch. You’re not even a mouth-breather. But something weird’s going on. How do you confront somebody who won’t even look you in the eye?

Dear Revolving Door:

My grandkids from my son’s marriage don’t seem to understand it’s the polite thing when someone gives them a gift to send a thank-you card afterwards, even if it’s a month later. I would love a homemade card with their crayon scribbles all over it (as would my husband Jerry if he weren’t deceased), but it’s bad enough that right now I’d settle for their mother writing their names in a store-bought card with a nice sentiment already printed inside.

I’d say something to my daughter-in-law if I knew she wouldn’t take it the wrong way and start “forgetting” to invite me over to Thanksgiving, and my son being so busy lately at the macaroni plant, I’m hesitant to bring it up with him. Should I address it casually in conversation with his wife’s parents, see if they receive thank-you cards?

Gosh, I don’t want you to think I don’t forgive them every time another birthday rolls around and they clear shelf space in the play room for yet another toy from Nanna Beryl, while my sad little mailbox only knows bills, coupons for something called Black Angus, and my Widow’s Digest. I do love my only grandkids to death and squeeze them just so tight tight tight whenever I get to see them!

But I worry about their future if they don’t learn these things now. What should I do?

Grandma In A Pickle

Dear Grandma In A Pickle:

Your grandkids from your son’s marriage don’t seem to understand it’s the polite thing when someone gives them a gift to send a thank-you card afterwards, even if it’s a month later. You would love a homemade card with their crayon scribbles all over it (as would your husband Jerry if he weren’t deceased), but it’s bad enough that right now you’d settle for their mother writing their names in a store-bought card with a nice sentiment already printed inside.

You’d say something to your daughter-in-law if you knew she wouldn’t take it the wrong way and start “forgetting” to invite you over to Thanksgiving, and your son being so busy lately at the macaroni plant, you’re hesitant to bring it up with him. Should you address it casually in conversation with his wife’s parents, see if they receive thank-you cards?

Gosh, you don’t want me to think you don’t forgive them every time another birthday rolls around and they clear shelf space in the play room for yet another toy from Nanna Beryl, while your sad little mailbox only knows bills, coupons for something called Black Angus, and your Widow’s Digest. You do love your only grandkids to death and squeeze them just so tight tight tight whenever you get to see them!

But you worry about their future if they don’t learn these things now. What should you do?

Summer’s Guilty Pleasures

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Photo by Judy Zechariah

Hooray, summertime is here! And what is summertime good for? Sun and fun and maybe an indulgence or two. An extra scoop, one more cocktail, a quick stroll down Low Brow Street. What’s a little junk food for the body and the mind going to hurt? We’ll make up for it after Labor Day, right? If we make it to Labor Day alive, that is.

Here’s hoping and here’s my Summer Guilty Pleasure To-Do List. Do you have one? Share it with me!

Bryan’s Summer Guilty Pleasure To-Do List

Movie: “Slow Motion Explosion VII: San Diego Zoo 3D”

Beach Read: I Just Ripped My Bodice; No Seriously, I Ripped It Pretty Bad

TV Series: “Matlock Undead”

Concert Festival: Swamp Music Acid Nightmare 2014

Dessert Topping: Sugar-coated sugar sauce

Dessert Topping for my Dessert Topping: Dexedrine

Adult Beverage: Coors Factory Recall ‘87

Catch-Phrase: “Talk to the hand because that’s my face right now SWAMP MUSIC ACID NIGHTMARE FESTIVAL!”

T-Shirt: I’m With Stupid…Melvin J. Stupid, And He Said He Put Me On The List. Don’t Give Me That Look, Check It Again Smart-Ass!

Recreational Sport: The two-legged race where I’m ankle-cuffed to the machine they sell at Walmart that both draws your blood and feeds you liquid cheese intravenously

Serious Commitment Sport: The softball team that skips the game and drives straight to McSporty’s for fried chicken sticks and beers the size of windsocks

Vacation Spot: Global Warming Village – “We’ll Leave The Lights On For You…Forever”

Campfire Story: Man With The Hook Hand’s Botched Colonoscopy

Sunburn: Third Degree Equator Bake

Fast Food Restaurant: Risk Burger

Snack Food: Candy Toothpaste – Now With 38% More Whitening Frosting!

Unnecessary Surgery: Kidney rotation

Hobby: Checking off the items on my To-Do List while cackling with the bear driving us the wrong way on mountain switchbacks

And Now A Word From Our (Almost) Sponsor

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LA Times Festival of Books 2014 – What Struck Me

Ask A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopia

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Photo by oregonmildep

Dear Post-Apocalyptic Dystopia:

My great aunt recently died and left me her antique armoire, the same armoire that my sister had always commented on and pretty much coveted from the time she was old enough to care about such things. I told her she could have it but no, no, she said, Berta left it to me, all’s fair, right? Wrong. I can’t prove it but I swear the small but deep scratch in the cabinet door wasn’t there before the last time she and her family were over. I’m not saying it was her because she could have bribed one of her ingrate kids to do it. But I don’t know what to do. Should I confront her about it or just pay to have it fixed and never speak to her again?

CONFLICTED

Dear Conflicted:

When the Earth’s core temperature reaches 12,000 degrees Fahrenheit, dismantling the magnetic field and leaving the planet exposed to the Sun’s unfiltered radiation, the oceans will evaporate and the reserves of boiling oil beneath the crust will explode to the surface. Those still alive to see the great lakes of petroleum aflame will sing briefly of their vicious beauty.

Dear Post-Apocalyptic Dystopia:

My mom is soooo annoying!! I just know that when she dies she’s going to hell and somebody’s going to be standing over her shoulder like every second reading her text messages and saying who’s Evan? what’s that mean? why don’t I ever get the emoticon with the winky face?

4COL

Dear 4COL:

For the next century the few scabby but callused survivors and their descendents will tread ground as brittle as the graham cracker pie crust from the days of yore. They will search for a new water source with which to impregnate the stagnant soil. In the meantime they will learn to eat ash and wear clothes made of bone and hope.

Dear Post-Apocalyptic Dystopia:

Apparently it’s not common knowledge in today’s society that you don’t just plop yourself and your g.d. Macy’s bag in the middle of the escalator. If spending the day shopping for a juicer you’ll never use turns you into a mouth-breathing lunk, park it off to the right so the rest of us who aren’t slaves to automation can move past you on the left. Do you think it’s better to start a petition to change state law and require all public escalators have the rules posted, or should I just post them myself and write off the expenses on my taxes?

ESCALATING

Dear Escalating:

1,ooo years after the core and crust fires have erased the old, a new civilization is born. People are divided into colony-pods based on smell and ruled over by a tyrannical elite odorless class. A brighter future soon looms, however, when a headstrong young heroine from Mentholated Lint and a delinquent young buck from Forgotten Broccoli embark on a perilous search of the outer wastelands for the Missing Stink: the one entity that could unite the tribes and lead them in rising up against their scentless masters.

The Writing Life Is Not The Retired Life

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Photo by Angela George

Recovered memory in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…he said what?!

You kind of know me by now, right? Hopefully well enough to agree I’m not given to using this platform to launch self-righteous rants into the social media stratosphere. But this…this…trauma buried so deep until I saw an AARP commercial a few days ago…

Suffice to say if I had a craw (okay, we’ve all got craws that extend and retract-just give me a reason!) this comment from an otherwise affable fellow I met at a Christmas party last year would be nigh impossible for even a crawbar to remove:

“You’re a writer? Oh, that’s just like being retired.”

Um, excuse me?

Oh, I see, you’re saying writing isn’t real work. Writing is shuffleboard on a cruise ship. Putting “affable” and “nigh” in the same sentence comes as easily as stuffing one’s face with Fritos watching reruns of “Criminal Minds” on TNT. (Retired people do that don’t they?)

Let me be clear: This isn’t a diatribe against retired people. I love retired people. But what that (recently retired) guy did, this reflexive move to equate writing with leisure activity, is something I’ve heard too many times and it just burns me up.

Writing can be done for leisure, it can be a hobby, but when pursued seriously requires as much if not more focus, determination, perseverance than any “real” job. Yes, it may appear illegitimate because it can be accomplished while wearing pajamas and often resembles staring blankly into space, but trust me and all the fingernails I’ve chewed down to the nubs, writing is a demanding vocation.

Now if you’ll excuse me I’ve got to go see a craw doctor so I can get back to my lawn bowling–I mean my manuscript.

Trust Me, Said The Unreliable Narrator

My Best Of The Best Of Lists 2013

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Photo by Gaetan Lee

An end of a year always brings out the Best of Lists, the Top This or That Thing or Moment Of The Year. Well, we’re no different here at bryanhilson.com, and out of the several lists I’ve collected here are my three favorites. Take these with you as we round the corner on 2013 and let them inspire you to great heights in 2o14. Happy New Year everyone!

Mabel Gorgonow’s Top 5 Leftovers of 2013

1. February 6, 2013 – Mother’s meatloaf, my mashed potatoes, and six hours of NCIS on the DVD machine (Imagine Mark Harmon between these two pieces of sourdough don’t you print that!)

2. May 11, 2013 – Half a pork burger and potato salad from Aunt J’s the other night with a Dad’s Root Beer and an US Weekly from the dentist’s office (Don’t worry, Dr. Singh, I brought it back!)

3. April 26, 2013 – Veggie lasagna, WITHOUT the cat hair this time (Gurgles you naughty tom!), latest Debbie Macomber, and the last seven Peeps from Easter Sunday

4. July 7, 2013 – Maggs’ cousin’s neighbor’s corn chip casserole and the rest of the red, white and blue fruit salad from the 4^th of July thingamajig. With a beer from Denny’s home brewing kit (made me pass gas with my mouth, I never) And poolside…(okay, you got me, I was in the bathtub. Bliss on a Tuesday night!)

5. October 19, 2013 – Salmon curry/brown rice deal the new internationals from down the way brought over for bridge club, and warm 7UP for the tummy ache (Dr. Singh, I’ll get you the recipe!)

Garrett (G-Heev) Heevall’s Top 5 College-Ruled Notebook Purchases of 2013

1. January 2, 2013 – Studio C Zip-It Premium 1-Subject Storage Notebook Blue 80 Sheets (Stores the Polaroids AND my brainblurbs – old school visual diary, yo!)

2. March 19, 2013 – Mead Five Star Fat Lil Notebook Lime 200 Count (Beat back a mugger with this bad boy and no coil snags. That Spiral Lock is no joke, yo!)

3. May 10, 2013 – National Brand 5-Subject Wire Notebook Marble Green 200 Sheets (Multi-colored tabs means I’m multi-tasking like a mother, yo!)

4. October 21, 2013 – Mead Cambridge Limited Pink 80 count (Breast cancer awareness month, yo, and G-Heev’s imprezzing the smokin’ cashier at Panera Bread!)

5. December 15, 2013 – Roaring Spring Maxim Notebook Navy 80 sheets (Yo, early Christmas present for myself, bummed no actual Maxim was init :P, but this durable presscard cover is DA BOMB!)

Donald Splot’s Top 5 “Sorry, You Have the Wrong Number” Calls of 2013

1. February 14, 2013 – “Hello, is this the Anchorage Rectal Suppository Factory?”

2. April 22, 2013 – “Father Brownen please, this is the mother of his child.”

3. June 9, 2013 – “Jerry?! I’m in an unmarked grave in El Paso!”

4. September 17, 2013 – “We regret to inform you that your new bride has accepted a better offer in Chattanooga.”

5. November 28, 2013 – “I had sex with your turkey while you were at church you lying son-of-a-bitch.”