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Greg Bardsley

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Low-functioning individuals

I like people who like me

What can I say? I guess I’m simple and small: I like people who like me.boxing_poster_low_res1

I also like people who like my writing.

So it goes without saying that I was thrilled to learn that badass crime novelists Victor Gischler and Anthony Neil Smith judged my forthcoming story, “Headquarters Likes Your Style,” tops in a recent fiction contest. The story took top honors for longer reads in Out of the Gutter’s “REVENGE Fiction Contest,”  which bills my story as “a sharp and hilarious piece about office cubicle tensions that end in catastrophe.”

I offer Jordan Harper, who won in the shorter-read category, a big slap on the back. I also offer back-slaps to the other cats whose work will appear in this edition. I can’t wait to read their stuff.

You can read some color on the contest results here and pre-order your copy of Out of the Gutter here.

A mixed-breed, far from home

Last week, I went to a really nice place. I went to Scandinavia.

More specifically, I went to beautiful country of Finland for too short a time — two days and two nights — as part of a video project I’m producing. In short, it was the farthest I’d ever gone from my native California, and the signs of it were everywhere. This place was green in late June. It had street names like Pohjoinen Makasinkiinitu and Kaisaniemenkatu. I got lost, and loved it. The sky was blue at 11 p.m. The brunettes had blond roots. I felt like I was perhaps the only person in the greater Helsinki metropolitan area with Mexican-American blood. It was a pretty special feeling.

My time in Helsinki, followed by two days in London, also presented a chance to learn a little more about myself. Some things I learned:

I only speak English — One would think I had realized this much earlier in life. But it wasn’t until Helsinki that I realized just how pathetic my monolingualism is. Maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe I was thinking my two years of high-school Spanish made me something more than I was — a simple man who can’t pronounce “Vuorimiehentie” to save his life.

I smile a lot — Of course, people over the years have told me I smile a lot. My mom says I was a big smiler right from the beginning. I guess I can’t help it. And hell, what’s wrong with smiling? … Well, apparently, in Europe, my level of sidewalk/bar/restaurant smiling is just plain weird. On one occasion, a Finnish man gave me the international sign for “cut it” — wagging his flat hand at the base of his throat — as I smiled at him with an open mouth. … I never was able to cut off the smiling.

People don’t like Americans — Now, I have known this, too. But again, there’s nothing like experiencing it firsthand to truly understand what it really means. And what does it really mean? People don’t like us. They don’t like our over-smiling, they don’t like our brash confidence, they don’t care for our down-home ways, and they don’t like our politics (I kept telling everyone I’m for Obama). Of course, not everyone felt this way (case in point, the Finns), but I got the message loud and clear in London.

So now I’m back, and I have to admit I’m smiling like there’s no tomorrow. And I’m doing it with a new appreciation for all the great things that make us, as Americans, so unique. I’m also smiling with the realization that, at the rapidly ripening age of 41, I’m still such a babe in so many respects, with so much more to learn about myself and my country. Looking forward to it.

Some things never get old

Some things in life never get old. For males, it’s bathroom humor.

I will admit it. I’m not immune to the stuff. It can still make me laugh. It can make me laugh hard. And if all the bathroom-humor-oriented movies, books, stories and web sites out there are any indication, I am not the only adult with this weakness.

But now I have two sons. And there are times when, as their father, I really shouldn’t be laughing and pointing and nodding and even tearing up at their potty humor (namely, when at the dinner table or in public). But sometimes it’s damn tough, and I find myself forcing a straight face as I tell them to cut that out, you don’t talk about poo-poo sandwiches at the dinner table. And there are times when even my wife fails to keep from laughing at what our 3-year-old son Dylan has come up with.

Which, of course, causes Dylan to beam with pride — fortified by the laughter of his audience — as he resolves to dive deeper into his potty-humor repertoire.

For Dylan these days, songs, monologues, jokes and games centered around “poo and privates,” as he calls his subject matter, never lose their luster. He just can’t get enough. Case in point: This weekend, the boys were wondering how many days have passed since they’ve been born. I worked out the math, and they were fascinated. Then Jack wondered how many days have passed since “prehistoric bugs” roamed the earth and even offered his best guess: “Three million, two hundred, fourteen-thousand, twenty-five trillion and seventy-two katrillion days.”

I turned to Dylan. “And what’s your guess?”

Dylan takes a deep breath. “I think its been two-four-ten pee-pee-pillion, one diarrhea-rillion and one poo-poo-pillion days.”

I stared at him and bit my lip, fighting the urge to grin, thinking, Ah, to be three again.

Plotting to “upper-deck”

Long ago, my sister told me about a truly grotesque and depraved “activity” — an activity that attracts only the most emotionally stunted and lowest-functioning individuals from the depths of civilization’s sewage system.

I never forgot about that activity. In fact, I wrote a story about it.

Today, this activity is at the heart of my short story, “Upper Deck,” which is included in the debut edition of the resurrected Plot with Guns crime magazine. And I couldn’t be more happy. Nor more honored.

Anthony Neil SmithDuring it’s previous five-year run, Plots with Guns earned its reputation for running award-wining crime fiction by anyone from Duane Swierczynski to Charlie Stella to Scott Wolven. And today, in its new form, the first edition achieves a wonderfully off-center, slightly artistic but never-pretentious persona — and I love it. Crime novelist Anthony Neil Smith wants to populate his quarterly with “contemporary transgressive/noir fiction,” and I think he might be on to something.

So I’ll admit it — I’m tickled, I’m thrilled, I’m honored. And yes, I’m a tad giddy to have “Upper Deck” included.

Now go check it out. … And let me know what you think.

Plots with Guns cover

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