Archive for August, 2008

My Bio

Sunday, August 31st, 2008

Some of you may or may not know that I’ve recently written my first story for the Greenbrier Valley Quarterly, a local interest magazine. I have not actually seen a copy of the magazine, or if I have, I don’t recall reading it. But I like the publisher, a guy named Josh Baldwin, and I’ll probably read the next one since my name will be in it.

Anyway, Josh asked me to write a bio for the magazine, to go along with the story. His guidance on the bio is that they are usually less serious, even “cheeky.” So I sent him two, and offered to let him pick. Here they are:

Edward J. Pluchar is a recent transplant from Chicago who finds the mountains of West Virginia to be a more fitting habitat than the unending plains of the Midwest. In fact, Ed would have believed he was switched at birth with an Illinois baby if he didn’t look so much like his purportedly biological father. In the end, this physical likeness may not be as compelling as the case made by Ed’s unnatural proclivity for splitting wood.

Edward J. Pluchar may or may not have your wallet. Best to check right now to see if your wallet is still where you think it is. Interestingly, Ed has a special talent for placing things back where he found them to within 1mm of their former location in any given direction, with a maximum rotation of .15 degrees. He also manufactures US and EU currency and at least 37 styles of personal checks. You might say to yourself, “Well, if he can manufacture counterfeit currency, why go to the trouble of stealing my wallet?” Best not to think about the sort of books being checked out under your name.

(The last line has been edited per a recent flash of brilliance).

Sugar

Wednesday, August 20th, 2008

I went on a tour of “green” buildings in Chicago today, which was informative and engaging.  Glad to be walking around the city rather than sitting still in a room for a day.

Anyway, because our group was fairly large, we frequently split into two groups to tour a building.  At one particular building, I was in the second group, and we were told about the Starbucks across the road.

Well, everyone goes to Starbucks.  I decided to go, also, and see what was available.  I settled on an Chocolate Banana Vivanna drink, with a shot of espresso.

Now, every couple of years I try coffee, since the time of my grandmother’s funeral, when I was about 9 years old.  It’s a combination of curiosity - so many people are crazy for the stuff, why shouldn’t I like it? - and the fact that my tastes have changed in other areas - I first enjoyed a banana when I was in college, after years of staunchly refusing them.

I didn’t intend to “try” coffee today.  I thought the drink would be like those sweet, coffee flavored drinks you buy at the convenience store.

Ewwwck.  How can anyone drink this stuff?  So bitter, with no redeeming flavor of any kind (even with a banana in it!).

So, I began a search for sugar.  After enough sugar, I knew I could better tolerate the $5 cup-o-grimace I was carrying around.  But wouldn’t you know, people don’t leave sugar out at low-income residences?

Fine, I’ll wait until the hotel.

I get back, and slowly, I realize what a ridiculously funny question I’m asking…

“Do you know where I can get some sugar?”

Only one person took advantage of the joke.  A man, sitting next to a big, sweet woman, nodded his head toward her.  She blushed and tried to answer my question, which led to results - the bar.

So I have to ask Mr. Happy, apparently of Eastern European descent who probably hasn’t had any fun in 20 years, for some sugar.  No joke for him, but funny for me.

The drink still sucked, after I dumped 2/3 of it out and added three sugar packets.  Where’s Marcy?

Sometimes it’s too much fun…

Monday, August 11th, 2008

Excuse a bit of self-indulgence, but I think most people who read this will find it funny - the headline and first paragraph from an article to be published this week.

Rainelle Council Properly Disposed for Littering Ordinance

By Edward J. Pluchar

When Rainelle physically transferred their ordinances from one book to another, somehow an ordinance against littering went missing. Discarding the ironic possibility that the old ordinance has itself become a piece of litter, Council approved the second reading of a new littering ordinance on Monday, August 11.

And now, a real poem.

Sunday, August 10th, 2008

This is “Manifesto:  The Mad Farmer Liberation Front” by Wendell Berry.  The lines in bold were my favorite after the last read-through.

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

There’s something here…

Wednesday, August 6th, 2008

I saw a picture of a 4 year old boy, who is now 9 years old or something like that, which inspired this poem. It’s not quite there, but there’s something here.  (I am unable to break the lines where I want to, so I have inserted forward-slashes (/) to indicate these breaks).

Ode to Potential

A sweet face

Well-rounded baby fat

A momentary smile

Revealing peace not often found/

What will become of such a spirit?

What struggles will try him?

What will the unexpected blessings be?

Which dreams will he choose?/

But potential can be a lover

Who suddenly won’t dance

Potential can be a hypochondriac

Who can’t make up his mind./

Already that sweet face

Has lost some baby fat

No sweet and simple imagining

Could possibly be fulfilled./

And still there must be something there

To grow women from girls

Captivating and driving,

sometimes grand and sometimes fatal

It lays in wait and there will spoil,

unless dynamism be infused.

Sweetness

Saturday, August 2nd, 2008

This can refer to either a noble, deceased NFL running back

Or the hilarious name for one of Colbert’s sidekicks. I can’t stop giggling about that.

The Scoundrel

Friday, August 1st, 2008

Eugene McKenzie is the former mayor of Rainelle, WV. Talk to almost anyone in that town and you will find that “Geno,” a name spoken with either deliberate informality or ironic affection, or both, is synonymous with “scandal” and “crook.”

The best word to describe Geno, I would argue, is “scoundrel.” Both “scandal” and “crook” are valid, and accurate in their way; yet scoundrel suggests a hint of genuine affection, the sense that one never condones a scoundrel’s actions, yet many find cause to be on casual terms with the scoundrel.

The man walks with a cane, and can be pleasant to talk to. I interviewed him on the night of his primary defeat for re-election, and he expressed very little bitterness (much was expected) and even showed a little deference to the democratic process (none was expected).

But Geno’s cane fits his hand like an old weapon, ready to impart a physical blow or to amplify crankiness, according to his mood. It was not his cane that struck an infamous blow, though his crankiness could certainly be blamed. Leading up to the aforementioned primary election, the three leading candidates for the “People’s Party” met at Town Hall, accompanied by a journalist well-known for her hostility toward Geno, to discuss the convention rules. As the candidates entered an office through a glass door, Geno “accidentally” shut the door on the reporter (I suspect the blow was not only insulting but embarrassing – I think the reporter’s face may have smashed up against the glass door). Instantly he hyper extended every cord and cable of tension in the room, leading the candidates to denounce his actions in the strongest terms. The journalist, for her part, never let anyone forget the way Geno “attacked” her that day.

Pete Adams is the current Recorder and Treasurer for the town of Rainelle. He stands as tall as an average man and is built solid and thick. His booming baritone is temperate under most circumstances, but massive and unyielding in confrontation. The financial and social ills of his town surround him, nipping at him and looking to devour him. Even so, his 65 or 70 years have likely seen greater threats, allowing him to go about his work undaunted. Adams’ slightly unbalanced eyes seem to represent the vulnerability of ethical behavior, his willingness to do the right thing even when it means exposing Rainelle’s shades of ugliness.

Over the last few decades of Rainelle’s history, Geno, Adams, and the current mayor, John Hill, have alternated terms in the mayor’s office. Hill, in fact, officially unseated Geno, but for all practical purposes, Adams runs the town’s administration.

For a while, against expectations, Geno disappeared. Curious citizens and journalists attended the first few meetings of the current administration, anxious for any flare-ups from the outgoing administration. When none appeared, the crowds began to stay at home, until I was the sole journalist and only 2-3 citizens attended each meeting. One of those was Mayor Hill’s wife.

About a year after his defeat, Geno’s name surfaced again at town council meetings. While doing excavation work for a client, he completely revamped a town alleyway, which of course he had no right to do. Geno did not even have a permit for the work he was allowed to do until after he had begun, claiming that he did not know a permit was necessary. Adams found this excuse hard to swallow, since Geno had been mayor more than once. Council decided that Adams should confront Geno and have him correct the situation.

Another instance of the scoundrel Geno stirring up trouble after the fact of his mayorship requires a little bit of context. In a given municipality, at least in this area, there is a general fund, a water fund, and a sewer fund, the three major services provided by a small town. Each fund, then, requires its own account, which ought to be accessed only for the purposes of that service. In other words, the town provides citizens with clean drinking water; citizens pay the water company for this service on a monthly basis. All of the money collected from the citizens goes to the water company fund, and thereafter is used to pay water company employees, maintain and repair water lines, and so on. Thus, the sewage treatment plant cannot use water company funds for their projects – they depend on citizens’ sewer bills to cover their costs.

Geno, it turns out, took $25,000 from the water company and used it to purchase a building for the town’s administration, an expense that should have come out of the general fund. Not only did he essentially steal money from the water company, but he went a step further: He allowed the water company to rent one room from the newly purchased building, at a monthly rate of $450. To put it another way – Not only did he steal his brother’s bike, but he charged his brother $10/ride to borrow it.

Despite Rainelle’s financial troubles, Adams told council that he was embarrassed to ask the water company to keep paying rent on a building they bought, and thought the town ought to repay the money over time.

As Geno’s public sins mounted, the time came for the old scoundrel to appear before the new administration and make his case. Unusually, a police officer was in attendance for this meeting.

Rising out of his seat, Geno set his cane against his chair and made for council’s table.

“I appreciate being put on the agenda,” Geno said modestly. With 7 or 8 citizens behind him, you could almost hear people sniffing the air for a whiff of sarcasm. As Geno presented his three concerns, however, it became ever clearer that there was no sarcasm in his voice whatsoever.

Instead, the man known for expediency and his underhanded iron grip on Rainelle during his terms of office appeared sincere and calm. Adams addressed his first two concerns authoritatively, adding that a fine would be assessed for every day that passed before Geno returned the revamped alleyway to its original condition. Geno seemed to be in the wrong, and was nevertheless cooperative with the council’s wishes. In many ways it felt like the quiet before the storm, or better, the eye of the hurricane. Amid his propensity for verbal thrashing, for out and out destruction of civility, was an almost eerie calm.

Third and finally, Geno raised the matter of mowing the grass at one of his properties. As he tells it, the town notified him on a Thursday that the grass needed to be cut immediately. Geno hired a man on Friday, who cut his lawn the same day; he nevertheless received a fine on Saturday.

“I’m asking you, the council, if you think it’s fair that I was fined $620 when I had my grass cut the next day.” Pausing a moment, Geno continued, “I’ve been having health problems that wouldn’t allow me to get to it sooner.”

A peculiar thought settled in – the old scoundrel’s body is failing. Illness finally taught Geno some manners and, facing his mortality, he also was seeking to be peaceable with his enemies.

Adams explained that the ordinance was on the books, and that the citation essentially gives notice of the fine.

“Well, I just want you to know, I want everyone to know that I paid that $620. I’m not here to complain, just to talk about the facts. I paid that fine,” Geno said, gathering his notes as he turned away.

“For the record, Geno,” Adams interjected, “You didn’t pay that fine.”

“Yes I did,” Geno said firmly.

“You posted bond for the citation,” Adams explained. “That’s not the same thing as paying the fine.”

It seemed as though Adams’ words didn’t fully register, as Geno said again, “I paid the fine,” before walking back to his seat for his cane, then out of the town hall.

Ah, what a scoundrel - just when he appears to be a sympathetic character, Geno tries to put another deception past the powers that be. Or else, the old scoundrel really is fading.