A New Raid On The Inarticulate

A Eulogy For My Grandfather

2009-10-02T15:35:00.005-05:00

Although not an official eulogy, I wrote this for my grandfather' funeral, which took place last evening. It's the first thing I've written in a little while that isn't driven by academia, and I think it's worth posting.

Last quarter at DePaul, I was fortunate enough to read Gilead, a 2004 Pulitzer-prize winning novel written by Marilynn Robinson that I wouldn’t have encountered otherwise—at least not by this time. It’s an epistolary novel told from the perspective of John Ames, an approaching-80 rural Iowa pastor facing a terminal heart issue. He is transcribing his thoughts on theology, philosophy, and life with the hopes his then seven-year-old son will read it once he reaches early adulthood.

During this March as I was reading John Ames dwell upon his impending death, I was acutely aware of my grandfather’s struggle with cancer. John Ames writes to his son that “Adulthood is a wonderful thing, and brief. You must be sure to enjoy it while it lasts.” My grandfather never shared these words with me, but he didn’t need to. He lived them.

I rarely remember seeing my grandfather not donning a wide grin and speaking kindly to everyone around him. (Then again, I didn’t see him drive all that often.) As a young, inquisitive boy, I relished the times he would loosen his dentures and let them protrude from his palate, giving the illusion of a jaw he could unhinge. My brother and I would plead for this little parlor trick every time we saw him at his house on Edina. He always obliged.

As my brother and I grew older, our grandfather watched and approved graciously as we continued our educations, became car owners (and watched Jared earn the title of most-vehicles-simultaneously-owned-by-a- Butts, or maybe anyone in Lake County), pursued our passions, started our careers, and came into our early adulthood. He applauded as we faced and conquered our challenges; he offered sage advice as problems arose.

And I can’t help but wonder if, while facing his own mortality and maintaining a positive demeanor, he shared some of the thoughts that John Ames passed on to his young son. Thoughts that are a message for us. John Ames tells his child:

I have been thinking about existence lately. In fact, I have been so full of admiration for existence that I have hardly been able to enjoy it properly. As I was walking up to the church this morning, I passed that row of big oaks by the war memorial—if you remember them—and I thought of another morning, fall a year or two ago, when they were dropping their acorns thick as hail almost. There was all sorts of thrashing in the leaves and there were acorns hitting the pavement so hard they’d fly past my head. It was a very clear night, or morning, very still, and then there was such energy in the things transpiring among those trees, like a storm, like travail. I stood there a little out of range, and I thought It is all still new to me.

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all some apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us.

Children think they will grow into it and understand it, and I know very well that I will not, and would not if I had a dozen lives. That’s clearer to me every day. Each morning I’m like Adam waking up in Eden, amazed at the cleverness of my hands and at the brilliance pouring into my mind through my eyes—old hands, old eyes, old mind, a very diminished Adam altogether, and still it is just remarkable.

I firmly believe that my grandfather focused on the beauty and wonder of life as he faced its end. And I’m beyond grateful that we shared one last Christmas with him at my father’s house. And that my younger cousins could have a Christmas with him. I—and I think I can speak on behalf of my brother and my cousins Danny and Cori—didn’t realize the importance of our childhood Christmases with our grandparents as they happened. Christina, James, Julian, and Kimberly, you were fortunate to spend a Christmas with your grandfather in the place he started his family while he was cheerful and lucid—it’s a fine memory that I hope you’ll cherish and recall when you think of him.

A few months later, his cancer exacerbated. Sometimes in life we’re only put in the position to react, not act. Not all circumstances are conquerable; some we can barely mitigate, yet I saw my grandfather maintain his grace. He was courageous, in the way that Hemingway defined courage as grace under pressure. But the effect of his cancer became evident, and, for the first time, a line of T.S. Eliot poetry resonated deeply: “His wings were no longer wings to fly / But merely vans to beat the air.”

Fortunately his suffering wasn’t elongated, and he died before enduring too much. He had his wife by his side as he went gently into that good night. All of his children and the majority of his grandchildren were able to say goodbye, each in his or her own way, before he left. And, although I don’t intend to raise one child above any of the others, he and my grandmother had my father’s house, medical knowledge, and unlimited charity to aid them through everything. I’m confident Grandpa was indescribably proud to have you as a son, Dad, just as I am indescribably proud to be your son.

As usual, I’ve gone on for a long time. And I’ve said everything I wanted to say. But how could I possibly close without quoting someone else, you ask? I can’t. I’d like to share a small passage from T.S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding.”

We die with the dying:

See, they depart, and we go with them.

We are born with the dead:

See, they return, and bring us with them.

I’m glad you’ll bring me with you. Goodbye, Grandpa.

The Dabbler's Dilemma

2009-07-23T20:00:00.002-05:00

My dearth of posts can be attributed to a simple problem: I don't know what to write about.

If this blog were devoted to a cause, idea, or trend--no matter how somber or silly--I'd have a framework to write within. But devoting this blog to anything specific presents its own problem: I'm not an expert in anything.

I dabble. A little literature. A little politics. A little weight management. (A soupcon of life updates.) Unlike some of other bloggers, my dabbler's dilemma impedes my blogging abilities. I feel aimless, not liberated.

Perhaps it's time to kill off The Raid and create a blog devoted to something. Probably weight loss. I'm not an expert, but I have a good track record.

I can't be the only one with the dabbler's dilemma, can I?

Summer Reading

2009-05-06T22:00:00.007-05:00

My summer runs from June 8 - September 10, roughly. That's when I take a well-deserved break from grad school. And that's also when I can fill a number of evenings and some weekends with non-required reading. "Non-required reading," though, is a bit of a misnomer (and pejorative) for me. Why? Well ...

I've always enjoyed "the books we have to read" for class. It's not a requirement; it's an opportunity. (Granted, some of them have felt akin to requirement, not opportunity.)
For future writing and literary studies, some of these selections may be required.

But I digress. So, here's the list of the books I plan to read over the summer. Who knows how many I'll get through.

The Middle of the Night - Dan Stolar. I've taken two classes with Dan Stolar at DePaul and really appreciate his thoughts on fiction--the new stuff, the classic stuff, the peer stuff, and my stuff. So, why not see what he has to offer?
The Torrents of Spring - Ernest Hemingway. After finishing this "first" novel, I'll only have one unread novel left in his corpus: Across the River and Into the Trees.
Stories from The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine Stories and Uncollected Published Stories - Ernest Hemingway. And then I'll have read every Hemingway short story published in Papa's lifetime.
The Gunslinger - Stephen King. A recommendation from former professor and good friend Michael Kapper.
Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert. Many call it the first modern novel. It was, at the very least, an integral part of a hilarious Woody Allen short story.
Oblivion - David Foster Wallace. After reading "Consider the Lobster" and a short story of his in class, I'm interested to read a full collection of Wallace's short stories. I don't think I'm quite ready for Infinite Jest yet.
Jesus' Son - Denis Johnson. Johnson's another contemporary fiction writer I hear so much about and have zilch exposure to.
Moby Dick - Herman Mellville. Yup, I've never read Moby Dick.
Jane Eyre - Charolette Bronte. And I've never read any Bronte.
The Second Treatise of Government and A Letter Concerning Toleration - John Locke. I try to fit in some non-fiction and philosophy every year aside from what I read--or haven't been reading as of late--in The Atlantic. I'll let Locke count as both, well aware I'll take some flak for it.
Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman. I've read "Song of Myself," but it's been too long.
O Pioneers! - Willa Cather. You really didn't think I'd limit myself to one Modernist, did you?
The Complete Stories - Flannery O'Connor. "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and "Good Country People" just aren't enough.

Maybe you can read about my progress on jessebutts.com, a secondary summer project.

Run Like the Wind...y City

2009-03-29T20:04:00.004-05:00

Not bad for my first race, eh? (Working for 10 -minute miles next year.)

Goodbye, "Job Search" Label

2009-02-07T22:41:00.002-06:00

Happy to report that I've found contract writing work for a small communications company on the North Side of the city. If they like me and my work (and have enough work to go around), there's the possibility of more work--and, dare I write, full-time employment--beyond the end of March.

Goodbye, Illinois Department of Employment Security dole. Hello, earned income.

Novel Concept

2009-01-21T17:47:00.001-06:00

My final project for Narrative Strategies is submitting a polished draft of the first chapter/part/installment of a novel. Probably 10 or 20 pages. Now, you're probably thinking Jesse, you don't dress nearly artsy enough to write a novel. That's true, but the professor wouldn't accept it as an excuse.

So, I've pondered what the hell to write about. And thus far I can only think of the setting: employees at an amusement park. No idea about character, plot, etc. I tried to watch a story set in an amusement park, but it fell flat and I thought, at the time, it wasn't worth resurrecting.

Now, what could happen at an amusement park ...

25 Things

2009-01-20T02:16:00.000-06:00

From Facebook to Blogger, here are 25 random "facts" about me:

1. As a child, I hated having an androgynous name. When I complained about it, my mother informed me there are a lot of men named Jesse. (There really aren't.) The clincher: I was named after my Aunt Jesse.

2. A lot of people are anxious about growing older. I look forward to it--with, of course, minimal reservations--because I feel younger and more energetic than I ever did when I was young. And hell, I started losing my hair at sixteen anyway.

3. I actually don't know that many words, and that becomes more apparent every time I pick up a new novel for class or the latest edition of The Atlantic. If I encounter a word I don't know, I look it up. That's how you build a vocabulary; it's not innate knowledge.

4. Yes, I have some loose skin, and I'll probably get more. I would only consider surgery if it were fully covered by my insurance. It doesn't bother me that much.

5. I'm honestly surprised when people can't tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi. They're so distinctive.

6. While J. Alfred Prufrock measured out his life in coffee spoons, I've delineated mine in Excel spreadsheets.

7. I think I would have been more at home in a school more like Kenyon or Dennison. Who knows if I would have gotten in, though.

8. I can't imagine living in the suburbs again (barring Evanston or Oak Park).

9. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "The Strength to Love" is one of the most convincing Christian texts I've ever read.

10. I imagine my difficulties with growing up in a fundamentalist church and home will resurface in much of my fiction and other writing.

11. I love that Caroline is very critical and can explain her standards. And can explain why a movie, book, or piece of art in question doesn't live up to them. There's more than that I love about her, of course, but it's definitely up there.

12. I'm ready for the inauguration to be over so the honeymoon will end and the presidency will get into full swing.

13. In the year-plus I've lived in my apartment, I've never had food delivered.

14. I didn't enjoy my childhood. Too fat and too many rules.

15. If I had to do it again, I would publish a picture of two men kissing on the front page of The Chimes. Call me hubristic, but what people labeled as controversial or sensational in 2005, they'll call bold and visionary in 2055.

16. I'm annoyed when people give smart-ass answers to idiomatic questions. (Like "Do you have the time?" "Yes.") Come on, exercise some cultural literacy.

17. I'll probably always be remembered as the guy who lost 200+ lbs. I'd much rather be remembered as a great novelist, short story writer, or something along those lines, but we can't pick what people will choose to remember. And I'm beginning to think it's not that bad of a thing to be remembered for.

18. A few books really have changed my life, or at least the way I think about my life. They include A Farewell to Arms, The Sun Also Rises, The Four Quartets, and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

19. Dr. Griffith once awarded me the smartass-English-major-of-

the-year award. God, I wish I could put that on a resume. (I wrote the best quip to his error on a grammar test. That quip: "It's OK. You went to state school.")

20. I don't know what I'll do with my master's in writing and publishing. Write? Publish? I just know I wanted to learn more and am enjoying it immensely.

21. I didn't like shopping for clothes much when all I could wear was the hodgepodge shit at Casual Male B&T. Now that I can shop at major chains, I do and somewhat enjoy it. But I'm still very distressed when people are judged by their clothing. I also don't care for the assertion that someone who's artsy or intellectual can't shop at Old Navy.

22. I have a helluva lot of respect and admiration for my brother. He's intelligent, charismatic, and hilarious. And he can do something useful with his hands.

23. I really hate all the food associated with Christmas. People just don't need to buy, prepare, and eat that much food. I understand it's a celebration, but isn't there a line between celebration and gluttony?

24. I love this Christopher Hitchens quote in a review about Edmund Wilson: "Anyone who has ever tried to digest The Da Vinci Code, for example, or the Left Behind series, will know that bad writing, aimed at a subliterate audience, is actually much more difficult to read than anything by Borges or Kundera."

25. I tell people I like to write, but I rarely do. I need to change that.

The Last Christmas Letter

2009-01-05T21:33:00.006-06:00

While perusing the arcana in the Miscellaneous child folder of My Documents, I stumbled upon a few Christmas letters dated from 1999-2001. My mom usually wrote the drafts, with the exception of 2001, and I typed them, formatted them with appropriate Word Christmas borders (poinsettia, in this case), printed them, and helped her stuff them into Christmas cards.

There's a reason we stopped sending Christmas letters after 2001. A 2002 Christmas letter would be too painful--my mom would have had to write that she and my dad were in the midst of their divorce.

As I reread the 2001 Christmas letter, which my dad volunteered to write due to beaucoup free time a hernia operation afforded him, I noticed a number of small predictions and familiarities weren't fulfilled or had changed. My mom no longer works for the same employer (she started with that company in 1974), teaches Sunday school, sings in the worship team, or helps assemble layettes for the Waukegan chapter of Catholic Charities (she doesn't go to that--or any--church anymore). I did end up going to one of the colleges I was considering, but ended up with a double major in English literature and professional writing, not a BM in music technology. My brother has remained more steadfast in interests and careers, but he wound up with an associate's in automotive sciences rather than attending trade school and is starting college again in hopes of transferring to a four-year school and earning a BS in mechanical engineering. And my dad is no longer a deacon at the church (he, too, wavers between doubt and apostasy like my mom but would never vocalize it), a per diem respiratory therapist to pay the property taxes, or trying to "drop some weight and get in shape."

These little things are just that: the little things. Not everything will turn out how we thought it would seven years ago, thank God. It's to be expected. But I can barely relate to that 17-year-old morbidly obese boy who typed up the last Christmas letter while chastising his father's poor writing and lamenting his mother's flair for banal jokes and appending exclamation points and interrobangs to statements that didn't even deserve print. [Case in point: "She continues to teach Sunday school, ages 2-6 (is she crazy, or what!?) and still sings periodically with the worship team."]

But everything big is different now. Sometimes it's unreal, unfathomable that I was raised in--spent 70% of my life in--a conservative Christian home with all immediate family members living under one roof, denizens of the very house my mother was raised in. That I came from a family where pre-marital sex and cohabitation were clearly in violation of God's word and ended up in one where both parents lived (or are living) with a boyfriend or girlfriend. And now there isn't Christmas--there are two Christmases. Two birthday dinners. Two Thanksgivings. Just no anniversary.

I don't yearn for the past. My parents are in better relationships now. I like to tell people that "Stay together for the kids" has its flip side: two unhappy parents and however-many children feeling remorse that their parents remained unhappy and amorously unfulfilled because of them. (OK, you got me--I'd never say this to a seven year old, but I maintain that seven year old may start to think like me by 27.)

The 2001 Christmas letter was the final goodbye you didn't realize you had until hindsight kicks in--akin, but not remotely as painful, to saying something curt to a loved one before a tragic death. Extended family and friends, I'm sure, heard a biased version of our family disillusionment second-hand. Granted, none of us was in a state to come together and write a 2002 Christmas letter that summed up the fall and offered a few words of wisdom about the complexity of marriage and family. That type of closure is only something you can get away with in fiction. (And yes, maybe it'll be something I can get away with in my own fiction.)

The experience forced me to recognize that you can't control nonfiction. The characters do whatever they want, and the plot marches on. It's just your narrative that's yours--how you describe what you see, what you feel, what it makes you think, and what, if anything, you're going to do about it. I, after years of anger, sadness, and genuine existential crises, made my peace with life after the 2001 Christmas letter.

I'll never come downstairs and see both of my parents in the living room again, my dad snoring on the recliner with his dress shirt unbuttoned and my mom playing Freecell on the Packard Bell. But I do get to see my parents in relationships in which they're both happier, even if it meant more unhappiness for one than the other, and a lot for the kids.

My dad closed the letter with a short paragraphs about 9/11 and the following salutation, "Well, I’m getting writer’s cramp and I can’t think of much more to say so… God bless all of you and your families and remember to pray."

Remember to pray. I wonder if any of us do now.

Run, Fat Boy, Run

2009-01-02T10:38:00.004-06:00

I've registered for my first 8k (or any type of race for that matter), scheduled for late March.

Good thing I bought some running shoes with some of my Christmas money.

T.S. Eliot Predicts Global Housing Crisis

2008-12-20T10:26:00.003-06:00

And he did it in 1940:

In succession
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
...
Houses live and die: there is a time for building
And a time for living and for generation
And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane
And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots
And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.

-"East Coker" - The Four Quartets

Gov. Paterson Proposes Sugary-Drinks Tax

2008-12-18T13:35:00.001-06:00

Well, at least he's proposing something to combat obesity.

500 Words About Hot Flashes

2008-12-13T09:56:00.002-06:00

I happened upon an interesting writing job a few days ago that requested I write 500 words about hot flashes. Seriously.

The only instructions were "The funnier, the better!" So, here's my attempt at 500 humorous words about hot flashes. As always, enjoy.

Good afternoon, everyone. Unfortunately, I’ve called this emergency press conference under unfavorable circumstances.

Top scientists have discovered something more troublesome than our tough economy, the threat of terrorism, or our precarious infrastructure. It’s been dubbed “hot flashes,” technically known as spontaneous infernonic episodes, a side effect of menopause that debilitates our hard-working women, our mothers—those who take joy in nothing else but cooking our meals, washing our clothes, and keeping our houses clean.

Dr. Walter D. Peterson, a top researcher at John Hopkins University, has observed that some women who’ve suffered from hot flashes have literally forced their husbands to turn on Lifetime during the midst of Monday Night Football, even when their husbands’ favorite teams are playing. In the most extreme cases, these women have left dishes piling in the sink, forcing men to sacrifice time from their hobbies—and their secretaries.

While I thought fixing economic policy would be my first priority when I will become president, I have to shift priorities. And now I’ve created the Promulgation of Spontaneous Infernonic Episodes Knowledge Office, or PSIEKO, to provide Americans with the information they need to combat the consequences of hot flashes. In addition to PSIEKO, my administration is developing a new Cabinet-level agency, the Bureau of Infernonic Correction and Healing. When these entities combine, PSIEKO BICH can help women manage hot flashes through medication and therapy and reaffirm their invaluable roles as servants of men.

As I looked at my Cabinet, I saw someone who knew the importance of PSIEKO BICH, understood the gravitas of PSIEKO BICH, and had, herself, overcome the hardship of everything PSIEKO BICH seeks to destroy. Although she originally agreed to serve me, a man, as Secretary of State, I can’t think of a better woman than Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton to lead this initiative.

Senator Clinton’s passion for eviscerating hot flashes from this great nation is unprecedented. In fact, we were speaking yesterday, and she said, “Barack, I know many pundits and politicians find me abrasive and headstrong, but let me tell you something. I’m going to work so hard on this issue, people will say ‘Hillary doesn’t just run PSIEKO BICH, Hillary is a PSIEKO BICH!’” I have full faith that Hillary will not just lead PSIEKO BICH, she will become a PSIEKO BICH.

Now, I know what you’re all wondering: What does her husband think? Well, I spoke to Bill yesterday, and he said, “Barack, buddy, you go ahead and post Hillary to this auspicious position. I’ll be just fine without her.” And let me take this moment to assure the American people that I’d never appoint a woman to a Cabinet position, or any other job, without first receiving her husband’s consent.

I’ll now take questions from the media to help them better educate our citizens about hot flashes, their devastating effects, and how PSIEKO BICH, under Hillary Clinton’s superb leadership, will serve as the death knell for this crisis.

Thank you for your time, and God bless America.

But Probably Not For Rod

2008-12-10T15:53:00.003-06:00

(Taken in the Thompson Center.)

The Governor's Call Update

2008-12-09T10:45:00.000-06:00

Maybe he will call for bail money.

So, What's Blogging Like?

2008-12-08T20:59:00.002-06:00

In a long essay about the subject, Andrew Sullivan thinks it's a little like jazz:

There is, after all, something simply irreplaceable about reading a piece of writing at length on paper, in a chair or on a couch or in bed. To use an obvious analogy, jazz entered our civilization much later than composed, formal music. But it hasn’t replaced it; and no jazz musician would ever claim that it could. Jazz merely demands a different way of playing and listening, just as blogging requires a different mode of writing and reading. Jazz and blogging are intimate, improvisational, and individual—but also inherently collective. And the audience talks over both.

The reason they talk while listening, and comment or link while reading, is that they understand that this is a kind of music that needs to be engaged rather than merely absorbed. To listen to jazz as one would listen to an aria is to miss the point. Reading at a monitor, at a desk, or on an iPhone provokes a querulous, impatient, distracted attitude, a demand for instant, usable information, that is simply not conducive to opening a novel or a favorite magazine on the couch. Reading on paper evokes a more relaxed and meditative response. The message dictates the medium. And each medium has its place—as long as one is not mistaken for the other.

In fact, for all the intense gloom surrounding the news-paper and magazine business, this is actually a golden era for journalism. The blogosphere has added a whole new idiom to the act of writing and has introduced an entirely new generation to nonfiction. It has enabled writers to write out loud in ways never seen or understood before. And yet it has exposed a hunger and need for traditional writing that, in the age of television’s dominance, had seemed on the wane.

The Governor's Got My Number

2008-12-03T14:29:00.001-06:00

While talking to a friend about a possible jessebutts.com, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned my head and saw Gov. Rod Blagojevich.

Silly him, he asked me how I was doing in this economy. When I told him that I lost my job about three weeks ago and that I worked in marketing and technical writing for a software company, he asked for my card and said, "Hey, let's see if we've got anything open for Jesse here. He's a computer guy," to a member of his envoy.

I'll update you when I receive said call. But moral of the story: never doubt what can happen or who you'll run into at your neighborhood coffee shop.

Why I Shave My Head

2008-11-27T21:39:00.007-06:00

As if I needed any reminder of how bald I was by 20, here it is:

Yuck. The goatee was fun, though.

"It Makes You A Marketing Rep"

2008-11-25T22:25:00.010-06:00

Because I needed a tetanus shot to release my registration hold at DePaul, I visited my long-time GP for the immunization. I expected a pain in my arm, I didn't except spiritually infused career advice.

As I was leaving, I ran into a member of the church I attended from birth up to a few weeks before I enrolled at Capital in 2002. Let's call him Don. We recognized each other instantly, and began exchanging pleasantries and discussing condensed versions of our lives since we'd last seen each other roughly six or seven years ago.

He's got new a new grandson, retired about a year and a half ago, volunteers regularly--all things I'm happy for. As I was discussing my life, I brought up that I was laid off just a little over a week ago. At that time, the receptionist verified that she'd fax my updated immunization record to DePaul, and I was on my way out the door. Then Don lightly tapped his left hand on the waiting-room chair next to him.

So I sat down, knowing Don liked to talk. He then told me to focus my job search not on what I want, but on what God wants for me. He continued that I should pray to know God's will for my career; that I should "let go" of the past pain I'd experienced--in our brief conversation, I made no mention whatsoever of my parents' divorce, childhood morbid obesity, etc.--and believe in God's love; that I should accept that my raison d'etre, in this life and the next, is to honor God. Having not been proselytized in quite a few years, I thanked him for the sage advice and reiterated that I did have to leave (which I did).

That pat on the chair signified that Don had transformed from a person to a marketing rep. I can't take credit for this analogy; it comes from my favorite movie, The Big Kahuna. The plot involves three marketing reps sent, mostly against their wills, to Wichita, Kansas to convince a high-level executive that their line of industrial lubricants are what his business needs to flourish.

The young, naive rep, Bob, unknowingly encounters the big kahuna and talks ad nauseum about Jesus, rather than business. The big kahuna gives Bob a business card that will get him into an invitation-only party. Knowing Bob's the only one who can get into the party, the two senior reps send him into the trenches, instructing Bob to inform the big kahuna about their industrial lubricants and request a "brief, very brief meeting" to discuss business opportunities. Bob goes, but he, again, discusses Jesus, not industrial lubricants.

Bob informs the senior reps he was just being a "real person," and some things are more important than business. They inform him that when you're on the clock, Jesus is not more important than business. Phil, the closet philosopher, provides a brilliant explanation of why Bob is not a real person:

"It doesn't matter whether you're selling Jesus or Buddha or civil rights or 'How to Make Money in Real Estate With No Money Down'. That doesn't make you a human being; it makes you a marketing rep. If you want to talk to somebody honestly, as a human being, ask him about his kids. Find out what his dreams are – just to find out, for no other reason. Because as soon as you lay your hands on a conversation to steer it, it's not a conversation anymore; it's a pitch. And you're not a human being; you're a marketing rep."

Danny DeVito delivers these lines unbelievably well:

While I was acting like a human being, Don was acting like a marketing rep. And although I found the pat on the chair a little insulting--as if, in his eyes, I was a child who needed a father-son moment, not a young adult worthy of equal peer treatment--I cordially complied.

When I discovered that Don's religious beliefs took precedence over our relationship and my situation, I wished I hadn't. I'm open to conversations, but, for the moment, I'm closed to pitches.

A Proposal to Weight Watchers

2008-11-23T22:34:00.004-06:00

Last Friday I was laid off. It's provided time for introspection in personal and professional matters. I plan to post thoughts related to my job search under the aptly titled label "Job Search."

Because I have the time, I decided to follow up on my last post. So here's my letter to Weight Watchers that attempts to convey why they should hire me as a spokesman. Enjoy.

I’m not your average 24 year old, and I think losing over 200 pounds in fewer than two years using Weight Watchers Online for Men proves that.

And now that I’m searching for jobs due to a recent lay-off, I don’t want to settle for something that pays the bills. I don’t want to make the next job the so-so one. I want my next job to be the great one, the one that shows people it’s completely possible to lose more than 45% of their body weight while working, raising kids, studying, and living day to day. I want my next job to give me a daily sense of accomplishment that I’m actively combating America’s growing obesity rates.

Does this job exist? Unfortunately, no. But I think it can make quite a handsome profit for the company willing to take the chance. I think that company is Weight Watchers, and I think the job is its new national spokesman.

So, why should you consider such an audacious proposal from just another successful Weight Watchers member? Two words: Jared Fogle. “The Subway Guy,” a normal person who lost a remarkable amount of weight without anyone’s help, bolstered Subway business astronomically. Jared and I have a lot in common. We’ve lost more than 200 pounds. We’re living examples that it doesn’t take bariatric surgery, personal trainers, or hours out of your day to lose half of yourself. At one point we couldn’t shop for clothes at normal stores, couldn’t fit comfortably in chairs, couldn’t exert ourselves without sweating profusely in seconds. Yet we lost significant weight and discovered how radically different our lives could be—how radically different our lives are now—by altering our diet and exercise habits.

But we’re notably different in a crucial respect: Jared lost his weight eating at one restaurant, day in and day out, eating the same three meals, day in and day out, and denying himself any food that varied from his regimented lifestyle, day in and day out. I haven’t.

I’ve eaten at McDonald’s, Uno’s, and my neighborhood Chinese restaurant while losing weight. I’ve made exercise a regular part of my routine while working and going to graduate school, both on a full-time basis.

Although BMI guidelines suggest that I have roughly 60 pounds to lose until I reach a healthy weight, choosing a spokesman who has lost 200+ pounds and will allow the nation to watch him lose his final pounds shows WW members and prospects what they can achieve and what remains to be accomplished. They can see the almost-finished product, just as they will see themselves in their weight-loss journeys. It’s a message of achievable realism, not unattainable idealism.

With a strong background in writing and communications—ranging from journalism to marketing to currently completing a master’s in writing and publishing—I can articulate the hope and tools for weight loss Weight Watchers provides.

If you’d like to be in the Jesse Butts business, feel free to contact me at this e-mail address or [phone number]. And to see what else I’ve accomplished while losing 200+ pounds, I’ve attached my resume for your reference.

Jesse Butts
WWOFM member since 1/7/07

Career Opportunities

2008-10-28T15:07:00.002-05:00

I originally posted this essay on a WeightWatchers.com message board that I read and participate in from time to time. To see comments from those readers, click here.

Considering I'm 24 and in grad school, "What do you want to do with your life?" remains a pretty relevant question. I've entertained a number of career paths--magazine editor, freelance writer, professor, or probably some combination of them all--but I've just recently considered parlaying my weight-loss success (and continuing journey) into a paycheck.

I don't want to become a nutritionist, personal trainer, or Weight Watchers meeting leader, but as I am a writer by trade and education, I'd like to use that combo as a catalyst for a career. I'm going to take a few classes that involve writing personal essays or creative non-fiction, and I plan to make my weight-loss journey the focus for all of them.

Once they're written, I'll submit them to various magazines, hoping they're published and will, in turn, catch the eyes of the larger media. Then, who knows where it could go. I'd love to write more on the topic, be interviewed, give lectures, and perhaps get into a political realm where I could help shape policy for schools and government as a consultant or advocate. (I won't discuss those ideas here as they're off-limits according to the ground rules.)

Part of the reason I've considered such a path is that I see a void in weight-loss "literature" (Lord knows there are plenty of books) and grounded, engaging spokespeople. I don't see a lot of intellectual debate about public policy or deep exploration of obesity issues, and I haven't read anything that's akin to creative non-fiction (like something Joan Didion) or contemplative essay (a la Annie Dillard).

I've learned that if I work hard enough for what I want, I usually get it. Granted, I never wanted something so ... lofty, but I don't think it's not worth pursuing. And I know even if I could make a living off of it, it probably wouldn't last forever. But I'd love to feel that I'm helping people and doing it in a way that uses my talents and my accomplishments.

Let's just hope Jared Fogle hasn't taken all of the wind out of the weight-loss-career sails.

He's Got My Vote

2008-10-19T18:18:00.003-05:00

It's just a shame that he's not running for anything.

Colin Powell's recent appearance on Meet the Press reminded me just how much I've always respected and admired this man. (Yes, even as he propelled the Bush's Iraq agenda forward--and especially when he referred to Bush's neocon cohorts as "fucking crazies.")

Look at how great he is starting around 3:45:

Now that's presidential material.

Real-Life Weight Loss And The Biggest Loser

2008-09-25T09:32:00.003-05:00

Losing 205+ lbs. in 20-or-so months doesn't translate into interesting television. At least that's what the major network execs must think. Placing obese and morbidly obese Americans into a controlled environment completely removed from work stress, family, and most importantly, individual choices, gets ratings. Commendable ratings.

But I've always had issues with The Biggest Loser approach to weight loss, mainly for the reasons listed above. Rather than dive into my own polemic, I decided to solicit the opinions of others who've lost significant weight or are in the process of doing so. So, click here to see what members of Weight Watchers Online's Guys on a Diet message board think about The Biggest Loser. You may be surprised.

(Incidentally, my starting BMI was at least 10 points higher than this season's heaviest contestant. This brand of weight loss isn't the only solution.)

Dancing Days Are Here Again

2008-09-24T14:59:00.001-05:00

Happy National Punctuation Day.

Going Semi-Active

2008-09-14T19:24:00.002-05:00

As if I didn't update this blog sporadically enough, I've now got grad school to contend with (in addition to my full-time job). Hopefully I'll manage a few posts before Thanksgiving break.

The Agnostic/Atheist Vote--Up For Grabs?

2008-08-26T07:46:00.004-05:00

After the goings-on during the first night of the Democratic National Convention, it very well may be.