Jake Parkinson

Today I am 25. I am a quarter-of-a-century old. At my age, F. Scott Fitzgerald had published "This Side of Paradise" two years prior. I've barely managed to get a few poorly-written articles on the now-discarded pages of a few SLC-based rags. (Think I could have crammed a few more meaningless-but-slightly-annoying modifiers in that sentence?) There is little evidence that things will change by the time I hit the monumental and eye-opening two six. People say 40's the stinker, but to me turning 26 without publishing a masterpiece is monumental a sign that you’re a loser as getting a swirlee on the first day of junior high. Maybe I should just stick my head in the shitter now, plunge it in there deep and see what my brown mop catches on it's way in, around and out. It's all about the journey after all, isn't it?
Speaking of journeys, last night I put together a list of the 25 people who have had the greatest influence on my life to date. I made the list and invented a project to complete before this date next year. I want to write an essay, story, poem or dance choreography that defines my experiences with these 25 fabulous people. I will post them on this site and send a printed version to those who made the list. I'm sure the list will change before I finish it so I don't want to post it right now.
Once again, Happy Birthday to me.

Posted by jake at 04:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So I wrote a story for City Weekly on Terry Tempest Williams. It wasn't brilliant. It wasn't going to win me, or the paper, a Pulitzer. Catalyst editor Greta deJong called it "nice." I agree in the "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" definition of the term.
This week City Weekly published a letter from Skola Pomodi mocking my writing ability, more specifically the perceived lack of ability. Jake Parkinson "took a compelling story about one of the most interesting and controversial figures in Utah today and managed to make it fall flat on its face." The letter continues: "If you want a free lesson (and thank God it was free!) in how not to write an article, read Jake Parkinson."
When I first read Pomodi's comments I felt sick. It sucks to get ripped in a public forum. Then I realized the hack had reverted to a terrible cliche to explain his (or her) point that I can't write.
Maybe I can't, but I hope Skola Pomodi falls flat on his assface.

Posted by jake at 11:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My brother Jerod stood idly by while his wife, Anne Frederickson, pushed this 7 pound 9 ounce rat through the tunnel of life. After a 21-hour struggle, Hyde Maxwell Parkinson took his first breath of sterilized hospital air on Nov. 23, 2004, at 11:02 p.m. EST.
I have 26 nieces and nephews from AnnMarie’s fam damily (she’s the youngest of nine), but Hyde is the first nephew from the knotted branches of the Parkinson's side of the family tree.

(I'm trying to figure out how to post a picture of the bed wetter as well, so stay tuned.)

Posted by jake at 11:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)