Obsessions

The overexamined life is worth living

First things first: you must read this article on eBay executives who tormented two journalists for years, from sending them live spiders to trying to break into their garage to put trackers on their cars, because of their reporting. Two execs are going to prison, and the CEO will hopefully be bankrupted by a civil suit lodged by the couple that the suits terrorized. It’s so rare that people like this serve any time, so get your catharsis while you can!

That’s all the good readin’ I got to share this week.

At some point I took the pop science discovery that “humans regenerate their cells every seven years, so you’re a different person” to heart. I’ve written before about how I’ve defined myself differently at stages of my life, going from a fighter to a writer, let’s say. And this year, I felt the urge to cocoon myself and pupate, shedding my burger-chomping bon vivant exoskeleton and emerging as a crunchy granola adventure type who just returned from a morning mountain bike trail ride, which I could not have imagined myself doing a few months ago.

Warning. I have also ordered a GoPro.

We don’t change all our cells every seven years. According to this article, our skin and gut change much faster, our bones can take a decade, while our heart and brain cells don’t completely regenerate at all. Which may account for some lifelong obsessions that I never shed with my skin, as I discover another of my own incarnations.

I got the idea of cataloging my obsessions from poet Chris LaTray, who I mention often; if you don’t read his newsletter, you ought. Some obsessions are less serious than others, but it’s helpful to know what your obsessions are. Some of mine are at odds with each other! The unexamined life, and all that.

Proper Hydration

I drink like a camel. Unfortunately, I do not have a camel’s hump, much less one’s bladder, so when I’m on one of my explorations, whether in the woods or the city, I am constantly returning nitrogen to the soil in the form of ammonia. Long before water bottles were a thing, I was slurping from the garden hose and watering neighborhood trees. And I believe it is healthy to continually flush the poisons from the body in this manner, and I will expound at length on its health benefits, like Dr Kellogg would about his five enema a day regimen. If you haven’t been introduced to why we eat roughage for breakfast and the cereal maven’s anal obsessions, please read The Road to Wellville by T.C. Boyle. (I’m no Kellogg, but I highly recommend the Hello Tushy bidet.)¹

Hiking and Nature

I’ve always liked critters. My earliest memories involve our cat giving birth to a litter of kittens in the basement, and seeing them inside the birth sac. And watching a beekeeper knock down a hive of bees that were swarming in our yard. (I also remember my tough-guy Dad hiding behind the kitchen door and waving at me to come inside, because he was too scared to come outside and carry me in.) The earliest books I read were on nature and biology; I read the Reader’s Digest Guide to North American Wildlife until it fell apart. My father liked fishing, so I learned to fish, and joined the Cultural Appropriation Corps: the YMCA Indian Guides. (They are called Adventure Guides now). I had a pet anole lizard that I fed mealworms and captured insects. I never got into camping, but I enjoy hiking and seeing wildlife. I saw a few whitetail does and a six point buck this morning on the bike trail. I once wanted to hike the Appalachian Trail, but books like A Walk in the Woods and Wild convinced me that a day hike is enough to satisfy me.

Cars

My grandfather “Abby” had a 1973 Mustang that he bought when he retired from driving trucks at the quarry.² I think that metallic green road monster was what turned me on to cars; that and the children's books by Richard Scarry. I mean, who wouldn't want an Alligator Car?

I learned to drive on that Mustang, and I’ve owned several models myself: a 1979 that I drove in high school, silver 1965 convertible that I bought in college, a blue 1989 5.0 liter that I wrapped around a tree, and a white 1993 convertible that I drove everywhere from backroads in Virginia where I blew my springs, to moving Sarah from Brooklyn to Harlem, to delivering 50 bales of a Minneapolis music magazine that I wrote for. Sometimes I regret selling that one more than the ‘65.³

Now I drive a Subaru Outback Wilderness, which is just as much fun in its own way. I wish it were a hybrid, or even an electric. I’m still stupefied that I drove a a Benz A class SUV that got 55mpg ten years ago in Scotland, and American cars struggle to get 30 miles per gallon. I love driving, but I know it’s one of many things we’re doing to make the planet less habitable. I’m fine taking public transportation, and I’ll drive less when we finally embrace it.

Ruins

As you can tell from my Pine Barrens gallavantery, I love exploring ruins and old places. I think this began with exploring the industrial detritus of northern New Jersey. I grew up next to the site of Hoffman-LaRoche, the inventors of Valium, and ITT Avionics, which built radar jammers and the like for fighter planes in the Cold War. One generated anxiety over the end of the world, and the other sold the soma to assuage it. And they both had disused buildings that I loved to ride my Huffy bike around and explore. There was an abandoned Alcoa paint factory to poke around in, and the dumping grounds along the Passaic river. This love of what humanity leaves in its wake has led me to the ruins of Pompeii, the earthworks at Poverty Point in Louisiana, neolithic tombs in Denmark, ring forts and dolmens in Ireland, Hadrian’s Wall, Mary King’s Close in Edinburgh, and various urban explorations like Brooksbrae in the Pines and the Dana Commons in the Quabbin. Tell me something’s old and falling apart, and I’ll stick my head in there.

Knives

I used to collect coins until my collection was stolen by movers as a kid, but before that I collected knives. Mostly because my Dad gifted me a Western M-49 Bowie knife and mounted it on the wall with a plaque, to piss off my Mom after the divorce. (I too am sensing a pattern with my obsessions…this is therapeutic). It looked a lot like this one:

I always carry a pocketknife, and I have a dozen or so that I rotate through. My favorites are handmade by bladesmiths. I rarely cut more than packing tape off a box, or clean my nails, but it’s good to have one. Every car always has a Leatherman multitool in it, in case I need a screwdriver or pliers. My collecting has tapered off, because I just don’t feel the need to have any more; I would really like a Scott Sawby folder, because he designed his own locking mechanism, and they look pretty snazzy. But they cost as much as an iPhone, and the only app is Final Cut Pro.

Books

I can’t deny this one. I try not to collect books, but sometimes I just have to have a certain book. Books were always treated with respect by my Mom, who taught me to read, and introduced me to authors like Ogden Nash, Stephen King, John Irving, Don Winslow, and Elmore Leonard. That led me to the library, where I would take out books on Foxes and Jupiter and Survival—this was the ‘80s, and we all thought we’d have to live in the woods off of slugs and wild acorns after Reagan got us into World War III—and I’d keep them until I couldn’t renew them anymore, return them, and check them right out again, reading them over and over. To the point that when my 5th grade teacher asked us to write an eight page paper over a weekend, I whipped out my Eraser Mate pen and composed mine on the fly, on the subject of the Antlers of North American deer, before the period was over.

Nowadays I rarely re-read a book, as I’d rather read something new. But I do collect nice editions, now and then. Folio Society, when they are on sale. A favorite is their edition of Sappho’s poems in translation by Anne Carson: If Not, Winter

Other interesting designs always catch my eye. One of them is The Secret Lives of Color by Kassia St Clair; truly a lovely book to read and hold. I’m not so sure about Around the World in 80 Trees and Around the World in 80 Birds, but they are still lovely to read. New Jersey Fan Club: Artists and Writers Celebrate the Garden State edited by Kerri Sullivan is nicely designed, a simple square that’s pleasant to hold. Megalith: Studies in Stone is another similar design. I’m not sure why I like square bound books, but I do. The Edward Gorey books are done a disservice if you read them in the Amphigorey collections; they are made to be in your hand, like scenes and subtitles from a silent film. I’ve been reading small books, and sometimes they get better design than others. The Blue Fox by Sjón is one. And if you didn’t know how much work goes into binding a book, this How a Book is Made article with videos by the New York Times will delight all you fellow book lovers.

1. It’s $99 and even a klutz like me can install it without causing much flooding. Your butt will thank you.

2. You can learn the origins of his nickname here.

3. My father had a Corvette that he got in trade for not fucking his boss’s wife, but that’s another story. In fact, it inspired “Hot Road Heart,” which you can read in Life During Wartime and Other Stories.