I had expected to run 2,000 miles in 2022, as I had the year previous, but I came up one run short. in the scheme of things, I’ll call this a success, but it is a reminder of those occasional days when I took an unanticipated day off because I “wasn’t feeling it.” Had I pulled myself out of bed on one of those days or stretched couple of runs one mile further, I’d have hit the goal easily. I didn’t track it carefully and so I missed the mark.
At the same time, no one cares but me so I’m choosing to let myself off the hook. Nice job, self! On to 2023.
I was skeptical at first about The Verge’s redesign, which sacrifices information density for information variety, but the bizarre shenanigans at Twitter this year have convinced me that Nilay Patel and company knew what they were doing. The new design has lots of opportunities for different types of posts, some of which are tweet-length and some of which are in-depth articles. A new post from Monique Judge that went up today is calling for all of us to come back to old-school blogging.
I gave up my Twitter account in 2022, so I’m going to heed their advice and come back to this 20-year-old blog that I have routinely abandoned over the years. I really, really want to keep posting as frequently as possible in the new year, because I do like to have a space to dump my dumb thoughts.
Looking back at my college years, it’s surprising to me that the class that has probably left the longest-lasting impact on my life wasn’t a part of my journalism major. To set the scene: I’m a freshman at the University of South Carolina Honors College majoring in, at the time, Media Arts. I was riding pretty high and feeling pretty cocky (pun only slightly not intended), having finished the first semester with a 4.0. This winning streak wasn’t to last.
In keeping with the adage that “pride goeth before the fall,” I was pretty sure that I could take on just about anything. Armed with this unearned self-assurance, I used my USC Honors College privileges to sign up for an English class intended for upperclassmen: American Detective Fiction. I figured I’d both knock out an English requirement and read a few fun crime novels.
The class was taught by Matthew Bruccoli and, being totally honest, he scared the shit out of me from day one. As you’d expect for the instructor of a college class, he had a deep sense of respect for the work he was teaching, and didn’t have a lot of patience for those who wasted his time. He was born in The Bronx and comported himself in class like a character from one of the novels we read – he would alternate between his normal, gravelly speaking voice and a boisterous outburst if something caught his attention or stoked his ire. He had an intimidating physical persona with a mustache like a New York cop and eyes that could bore through you if you rankled him.
He demanded a lot of us: we read about a novel a week and were expected to come to class thoughtful and prepared. He would get frustrated – often loudly – if we hadn’t asked ourselves the obvious questions. One lecture I’ll never forget had him yelling “Who the hell’s the Postman?” after we read James M. Cain’s “The Postman Always Rings Twice” which, spoiler alert, has no literal postman. He was rightfully stupefied that so many careless undergrads could read a novel without even asking ourselves what the title meant.
This is, I think, the entire reading list of the course, and it’s about as good an introduction to the genre as one could ask for. It’s been almost thirty years, and each of these books has its own special place in my mind. I can always find them easily from the “Used Saves” stickers on the spines from the USC bookstore.
The Maltese Falcon, Dashiell Hammett
Red Harvest, Dashiell Hammett
The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler
The Long Goodbye, Raymond Chandler
The Galton Case, Ross Macdonald
The Friends of Eddie Coyle, George V. Higgins
The Postman Always Rings Twice, James M. Cain
Killer on the Road, James Ellroy
In the same vein, we spent most of a class period talking about the famous Flitcraft parable in “The Maltese Falcon.” Why did Dashiell Hammett give Sam Spade a multipage monologue in the middle of the novel about an old case regarding a family man who, after nearly being killed by a falling girder, abandons his family and eventually finds a new one. Spade asks him why he left one family to go through the trouble to recreate the same life in a different place with different people. The answer: that everything is random, and that life can both take away and give in unequal and unjust measure. Flitcraft got used to girders falling, and then he gets used to them not falling.
“It was not, primarily, the injustice of it that disturbed him: he accepted that after the first shock. What disturbed him was the discovery that in sensibly ordering his affairs he had got out of step, and not in step, with life. He said he knew before he had gone twenty feet from the fallen beam that he would never know peace until he had adjusted himself to this new glimpse of life. By the time he had eaten his luncheon he had found his means of adjustment. Life could be ended for him at random by a falling beam: he would change his life at random by simply going away.”
Bruccoli had great stories about the authors we read, some of them from personal relationships he had with them. He loved Ross Macdonald as perhaps the best modern purveyor of the genre and thought James Ellroy had pushed a little too far with “Killer on the Road,” even though we read it anyway. He loved the flawed heroes, the femme fatales, the sweaty villains and the twisty plots; he taught me to love them as well.
Given his gruff demeanor and the material we were learning at the time, I was surprised to learn that his truest and deepest literary love appeared to be F. Scott Fitzgerald. He told a reviewer once that, after reading “The Great Gatsby” for the first time that he had been “reading it ever since.” The man had extraordinary taste in writers, and it was infectious.
The class put an end to my brief 4.0 run – I ended up with a C+ that I fought hard to earn. He wasn’t nearly as impressed with me as I was with myself, and that’s something at 18 I needed to learn: how much I had left to learn and how much richness there could be even in “throwaway” pulpy crime fiction.
The reading list for the class is a who’s who of many of my favorite authors still today. I love crime fiction, and I owe that to him.
Dr. Bruccoli died in 2008 after teaching for 40 years at the University of South Carolina. I took his class in the spring of 1992 and our paths crossing was, like the falling Flitcraft girder, purely my random good fortune.
I did email him around the turn of the millennium, somewhat at random. His class was on my mind that day, as it frequently was. I knew he wouldn’t remember me – I was a wholly unremarkable and unimpressive student in a long teaching career – but I wanted to tell him that his class had an impact on me as a formative part of my education. He responded quickly and graciously and sent me a copy of a recent book for which he had provided a foreword – James Gould Cozzens’ “By Love Possessed” – and it has a permanent place on my shelf.
I’ve broken my 2018 goals into six areas — running, writing, working, personal, development and extracurricular — where I believe that I can make focused, tactical improvements over the coming months. My focus, as much as possible, is on specific areas where I find myself wanting to grow and modify my behaviors, either by doing more or doing less. A broad overview of the goals I’ll be tracking is below, but I’ll be writing more specifically about them in the days to come. I’m not sure I can pull off all of this, but why not aim high?
Train steadily throughout the year
Run the Snickers Albany Marathon on March 3 (hard)
Run the Georgia Publix Marathon on March 18 (easy)
I’ve had this blog in various permutations now for the past 20 years. I started clontzville.com back when I was in graduate school as an early experiment in personal Web publishing and have come in and out of it ever since. As for the name, an email broker had, unbelievably, already bought the domain name clontz.com to sell email address to what must be an unbelievably small number of Clontzes who wanted to be [theirname]@clontz.com. That said, I have rented the firstname.lastname@example.org email address from said email brokers for the past two decades, so maybe I’m the idiot here.
Anyway, this blog has been various things for me over the years. The first version was built on the jankiest imaginable content management system that I built to learn Perl, wherein I posted stupid quotes and pictures and hot-takes on movies I’d seen. Y’know, blog stuff. Then it was for posting links to various Web crap I was working on, and, later, it became a WordPress-backed baby picture resource back in the days before social media made that irrelevant. Most recently it was an ill-tended marathon training blog that was read by users numbering in the single digits. Two years ago I just repointed it to my @clontz Twitter feed and let the blog go.
So why restart it now?
In short, it seems like the time. I’m not as young as I used to be and I have some goals I want to hit in 2018 and beyond. I need goals and metrics to strive toward, and if I’m not open about them, I’ll just let them lapse and die, and I really don’t want to do that. I want to write more, to run better, to talk less and build more, to be a more open manager at work and to be more in touch with myself and my family. I want to learn things — to meditate, to finish the things I begin, to keep in better touch with friends and family. I want to qualify for the Boston Marathon.
I’m going to fail at some things (I’m looking at you, Boston), but I’d like to be open about what I’m working toward. I’ve made a list of 2018 goals that I’ll post subsequently, the tracking of which is really what this blog is all about. I want to do better, to be better and to fail better, and I think that this is the right place to do it, here where I started 20 years ago. I’m aiming for what Ray Dalio calls “Radical Openness,” which may be interesting to no one else but me, which is fine. If someone else finds it useful, so much the better.