Clothing Exchange In Jail Part 1

Maybe you're reading, maybe playing cards with your cellie, maybe simply staring at the ceiling envisioning all the food you will eat when you get out and trying to stave off sleep, when the lights turn on and the squawking voice comes over the intercom: "Get up, get ready for clothing exchange. Strip your mattress, empty your box, clear your table. Socks, towel, and underwear in hand, standing at your door. DO NOT leave your cell until an officer tells you!"



And thus it begins: clothing exchange in the Salt Lake County Jail. That thrice-weekly event which elicits sighs and groans from the most hardened inmates; something that is unarguably necessary yet exasperating due to its 11:30-12:00 PM scheduling; something by which all inmates measure the passage of time.

Depending on how far you are from the first few cells you sit up with some degree of alacrity, hop to the floor, and remove your chones while standing behind the footboard of the bottom bunk. You pull off your bedclothes, pausing to untie the sheet covering the mattress, then flip the mattress up against the wall. After piling sheet, blanket, etc. at one end of the bunk you pull out your box and begin to arrange its contents - or simply dump it - at the other end (if you've been incarcerated for more than a month or two, this takes a while). Then you wait for the fuzz.

Bubble Burst

Last week, having finally made the gut-wrenching decision to finally sell the first edition For Whom the Bell Tolls I wrote about in a previous post (bought for two dollars, worth 5200, etc., etc...), I journeyed downtown, stopping at Ken Sanders Rare Books on the chance that they might quote me a higher price than Sam Weller's. I waited in the entrance for the proprietor, but when Mr. Sanders made his appearance he immediately dashed my hopes, shaking his head and telling me that this was a Book of the Month Club edition, rather than the actual first printing from Scribner's. He told me that if it retained its dust jacket it might fetch 50-80 dollars but without is not worth more than ten. Slightly panicking but still calm, I left the shop figuring that, as Weller's had quoted me the original estimate, I still might be able to pick up a few grand there. I hurried the two blocks west and headed straight for the used-book buyer. The man I'd spoken with previously, to my chagrin, wasn't in and a rather stodgy woman walked up to the desk. A few head-shakes and broken dreams later I was back on the street, book in hand.

The funny thing is I'm still debating whether to sell the book or not. Part of me wants to simply be rid of it and its depressing daily reminder of my credulity, but the rest of me argues that it was still a great find, and two dollar Hemingways don't fall out of the sky. As I wrote weeks ago, for good or ill it will probably remain on my shelf. But, with my five-thousand dollar insurance option and great thrift-store find story nullified, the only consolation I take from this episode is that no stray deviant blog reader (or former cellmate) will break into my house to steal the book. Small potatoes indeed.

On Beauty

I read lots of books. And most of them I like. But yesterday I finished reading On Beauty by Zadie Smith, and it gave me the most enjoyment I have had reading in a long time, and I recommend it to anyone looking for a book that is both meaningful and affecting.

The main premise of the book is relatively straightforward - portraying the ways in which the Belsey family (Howard, Kiki, and children: Jerome, Zora, and Levi) deal with the affair Howard had shortly before the novel begins. This is the common thread that runs through the novel, and Smith delves fearlessly into describing the some of the most complex (and often contradictory) emotions that accompany such situations. At the same time she pursues the each main character, and some others, down developmental paths that, while often unusual, are always well-established and very relatable, very human. And precisely because of this you are able to sympathize with all the main characters to some degree, which is the main reason the novel has such a real feel to it. She presents all these separate and intermingling storylines in such a way that, instead of making the novel seem hopelessly tangential, draw the plot together and give it a vibrancy it wouldn't have without such expostition. Race, politics, religion, academia, gender identity, love/lust, betrayal, expectation, even benign Oedipus/Electra complexes are dealt with deftly without drawing too much attention to the fact they're being dealt with or preaching an overriding message. And that's where the real strength of the novel lies. One of the most important factors in creating worthwhile fiction is what you don't write, and Smith is able to paint beautiful pictures without extraneous words.

Basketball

Tonight I played in a Mormon 'ward ball' basketball game. Though not technically a member of the religion anymore the rules (and need for participants) are loose enought to allow anyone who musters the energy to show up at the gym to play. I didn't play particularly well but we still won, and I'm presently basking in the glow a win brings - along with the endorphin high. By no means am I a 'jock,' but I really love sports and all they give us; I just don't understand why do many 'intellectuals' deride them as something that is childish and beneath them. Don't misread where I'm going with this; I'm not about to launch into an anti-intellectual tirade as I consider myself rather intellectual, but some of the most admirable human traits are found in sports -especially team sports. In these, unselfishness, dedication, and sacrifice - not to mention the odd pairing of humility and self-confidence - are necessary for success. Why denigrate such practices simply because they don't involve analytical cerebral activity you think is worth pursuing (which they do - just a more applicable analysis than is typical)?

I apologize to those who will read this blog. It's extremely random, not very relatable to most things in our daily lives, and short. But I'm feeling eerily content with my life right now, and it's the only thing I could think to write about. I promise that more meaningful posts will come, just give it time and realize that there is worth and beauty in even the most seemingly mundane things we do.

Hope can be a Campaign Platform

Recently a good friend of mine said (in reference to Barack Obama's presidential bid), "I'm sorry, but 'hope' isn't a viable campaign platform." At the time I felt that statement held a lot of truth, that there wasn't as much substance behind all the warm and fuzzy rhetoric coming from Obama's camp -though I still supported him- as from some of the other candidates. I was confident Clinton would be the next president - still am to some degree - and was rather content in reflecting on that prediction. I still think she would far outperform any of the Republican candidates, but I now find myself becoming severely depressed at the thought that anyone but Obama will take the next Oath of Office.

I'm a fairly big political geek and read various blogs regularly, but normally forgo reading the incredibly shallow and short-sighted comments that follow each. Ironically it was in one of these comments that I read the most relevant and revelatory political analogy of the current race. The analogy likened the current (at the time) Democratic candidates to the three who were struggling for the nomination in 1968: Hubert Humphrey, Bobby Kennedy, and Eugene McCarthy. The sheer aptness of this statement bowled me over. Clinton, like Humphrey, is clearly the establishment candidate who - though undoubtedly well-meaning - would basically kowtow to special interests and be only marginally more progressive than the Republican candidate. Edwards, like McCarthy, is a man with undeniable integrity and impressive progressive credentials, but who lacks both the charisma and the innate campaigning instinct to overcome a varied, chimerical opposition. Obama is the closest thing we have to Bobby Kennedy, whom many people think was even more politically gifted than his older brother.

I'm supporting Barack Obama because, as cliched as it sounds, he's exactly what this country needs right now. He probably won't be able to end all the petty meanness and anger that are everpresent in Washington, but he's the one who has the best chance of making America a country to be proud of again. This election isn't about black or white, male or female, republican or democrat; it is about hope for a better tomorrow. Let's get there together.

VOTE