Merchant Irony Productions

Last week I struggled mightily to fit nearly two hours of interview material into an 1100-word music feature. I used to get 1400, but the race to use less space is on at Phoenix New Times. Indeed, my editor Chris O'Connor told me that it might not run at all, because he was getting pressure to cut his column inches even more drastically.

Monday, after dropping Sami and Andrew off at Phoenix's Sky Harbor Airport and visiting Joe and Eva in Tempe, I found my way against all odds to the club where he had planned to check out a local band. I bought him a beer for his editorial patience and listened to him describe the new order at the paper.

I fear that my time of getting published in Phoenix New Times is coming to an end. I need to work on my book. And Chris will probably use his precious column inches on people who can write more regularly than I wish to write.

But, if I'm on my way out, I at least get to head out the door with a feature on one of my favorite bands, Camper Van Beethoven. I'm really looking forward to the Tucson show.

Nothing

We watched The Never-Ending Story story, which is based on Michael Ende's Die Unendliche Geschichte, a book I've heard praised by many.

The film itself is high on concept and low on production values. Why is it that movies from the 80s look especially bad these days?

I saw the film several times in Germany as an exchange student, late in 1987 and early in 1988. Because my German wasn't good enough to understand all the dialogue, the film seemed cooler than it does now in English.

Skylar seemed to like parts of it, but was scared of the "creature of darkness" -- the sort of wolf that populated my own pre-school nightmares -- and impatient with the framing narrative.

She's getting a cold, though, so that might be a mitigating factor.

I had to incorporate elements of the film into my bedtime story for her tonight, though not the "creature of darkness."

She asked for the creeping Nothing that is the real cause for alarm in the plot -- the realm of fantasy is being devoured by people's inability to dream or wish -- but I didn't give it to her.

Maybe that's because that part of the film hit a little too close to home.

I feel that Nothing these days. It's all around me and inside me.

I have no five-year plan, no one-year plan, and few plans of consequence for the weeks ahead.

I don't dream -- literally or metaphorically -- much anymore. And I can barely muster up the energy to wish for even mundane things.

Is this simply the result of growing up, as the plot of the film seems to suggest?

Or is there a more specific problem?

I know one thing: I feel like I'm trapped in a never-ending story these days.