tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8149191709430375412012-02-14T20:50:56.704-05:00Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.comBlogger1871100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-11908207179717332032012-02-14T20:41:00.002-05:002012-02-14T20:50:56.732-05:00

First day of shooting Swifty Lazar: Agent extraordinaire.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-78657650052718448892012-02-11T23:56:00.002-05:002012-02-12T00:04:43.271-05:00

1. I'm in the back seat of a car heading from New Orleans to Florence, Alabama. I'm twelve years old. I have a Walkman and headphones, and I'm listening to Whitney Houston's first album, on cassette tape. I stare at the cassette cover. Listening to the music--her voice--I flip the cassette case in my fingers, opening and closing it as the car sails along the highway. Whitney's face, her white

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-55551693006009339722012-02-02T00:39:00.000-05:002012-02-02T01:18:53.927-05:00

I'm not a fan of sci-fi books. Not true. I am not a fan of sci-fi books asterisk. +++ Asterisk: Most sci-fi books are terrible. +++ For my birthday a few months back, a friend gave me a copy of Robert Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land. Here's what the book has to say about itself, on the cover: Here is Heinlein's masterpiece--the brilliant spectacular and incredibly popular novel that

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-44187651911063489342012-01-08T22:33:00.000-05:002012-01-08T23:06:18.465-05:00

I'd forgotten how fun it is to write crackpot letters to the editor. The following is in response to this. Early in January, 2004, my boyfriend and I left Alabama to live in New York City. We didn’t consult John Locke or Thomas Aquinas. We did, however, secure a U-Haul. I read Larry Clayton’s recent op-ed with some interest (not a lot of interest; just a bit of interest), and I admit the

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-23162654038579834152011-12-25T02:05:00.002-05:002011-12-27T02:58:56.031-05:00

Hello, friends and family! Wow, it's been a year, amirite? Dictators out or dead, Osama bin Laden caught, the protests all over the world, and the final shot of this season's 'Breaking Bad'! As we all know, a year goes by fast! There's no stopping it--a year begins whether you want it to or not, and keeps shooting forward with little regard for anything. A year is like a bad joke--it doesn't

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-51653977965464612732011-12-07T21:43:00.001-05:002011-12-08T01:53:39.221-05:00

Inspired by teacher-friends who are currently bitching, via Facebook, about their students' midterm essays. The Anti-Narrator and His/Her Place in Literature When God wrote the Bible, He did not write it. He guided it. So it is true of The Catcher in the Rye, a book supposedly written by a guy named Holden Caulfield, but in reality written by one JD Savinger. Just like God, Savinger channels

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-22935486908234559332011-11-14T02:14:00.001-05:002011-11-14T12:25:58.994-05:00

The opening prelude to Lars Von Triers' new film, 'Melancholia,' is kind of stunning. The movie, I think, is about depression. I mean, with a name like 'Melancholia,' and a plot involving the end of all life in the universe, it would have to be about depression, right? 'Melancholia' takes its name from a planet that [spoiler alert!] smashes into Earth. The only person in the film remotely

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-76855848690426569612011-10-31T21:37:00.000-04:002011-11-01T03:07:30.977-04:00

Today, between vital votes on wars and the economy (ha!), the US House of Representatives took time out to vote on the reaffirmation of our country's slogan, which, surprisingly, is not 'You deserve a break today.' Also surprisingly, it is not 'E pluribus unum'. Wanna know what the official motto of the United States of America--a country founded on religious freedom--is? It's this: "In God We

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-89288863968501413012011-10-21T01:11:00.000-04:002011-10-21T02:36:58.265-04:00

Here's a quote from Diane Keaton about her relationship with Woody Allen: "Most people assumed Annie Hall was the story of our relationship... What matters is Woody’s body of work. Annie Hall was his first love story ...However bittersweet, the message was clear: Love fades. Woody took a risk; he let the audience feel the sadness of goodbye in a funny movie."  'Love fades' is a line from

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-46036059305562022712011-10-18T01:12:00.000-04:002011-10-18T01:30:54.898-04:00

Zuccotti Park, where the actual occupation of Wall Street is going on, was once known as Liberty Plaza. Liberty Plaza was very near to the former World Trade Center Towers which collapsed on 9/11/2001. Maybe you've heard of those towers? Like everything in America following 9/11, Liberty Plaza lost some liberty. Brookfield Properties bought the land shortly after the collapse of the Twin

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-71686793299880852272011-10-06T02:56:00.004-04:002011-10-10T20:43:00.679-04:00

"Follies" is a musical by Stephen Sondheim and some other people. It had a run on Broadway before I was born. It is currently having another go at the boards. A revival. When it hit Broadway in 1971, reviews were as mixed as pancake batter--clumpy and uneven. The critics who hated the show admitted it had moments of brilliance, and the critics who loved the show allowed that it had flaws. It

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-3320092151809391512011-09-12T01:54:00.003-04:002011-09-12T02:47:51.258-04:00

9/11/2011 People who never saw the Towers love them. Two striped oblong boxes, with foundations bending and sweeping like cathedral windows, at the end of Manhattan. Manhattan's underbite. Manhattan's fangs. The buildings were ugly in the sunlight. Silver and glass and not much to look at. At night, though, those fangs were stunning. Those two oblong buildings lit up the water at the end of

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-53664505107989410822011-09-02T18:21:00.011-04:002011-09-04T03:21:36.908-04:00

9/7/2001 People who never saw the Towers love them. Two striped oblong boxes at the end of Manhattan. Two majestic pillars lifting the city skyline. Thing is, though, those two buildings were ugly. It's true! They were Manhattan's underbite. Aside from their height, nothing about the Towers was notable. "It would have been terrible if those Al-Qaeda guys had knocked down either the Chrysler

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-34543678105362383212011-08-29T23:11:00.009-04:002011-08-30T01:55:18.849-04:00

I watched Waffles--our Dachshund--snapping at bubbles floating around him like they were fairies. Like they were dandelions. Waffles bared his teeth. He jerked forward, planted his forepaws onto the hardwood floor, and snapped down so hard the click of his teeth could be heard a room away. Then he jerked his body up, stretched out his neck, stretched open his mouth, and snapped down again.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-81626209899124057122011-08-23T21:59:00.011-04:002011-08-24T01:29:26.813-04:00

Harmonium. I have not one profound thing to say about Kurt Vonnegut. True. I adore him, and I am as unashamed of my love for Vonnegut as Eva Braun was of her love for Adolf Hitler, as Vili Fualaau is for his love of Mary Kay Letourneau. There's no need for profundity. There's no need for justification. +++ Two weeks ago, Greg and I did a quick turn around town for our anniversary. Ten years.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-83533956718045552112011-08-06T01:17:00.009-04:002011-08-06T03:15:09.226-04:00

I'm not gonna ape Vonnegut's style for this entry. Really I haven't tried to ape Vonnegut's style for the previous two entries--it's just a sad fact that I write like this now.I write as if I'm trying to ape Vonnegut's style.Even worse, I talk like this. I don't just write this way. I don't just write as if I'm trying to be Vonnegut--I speak in very terse, sometimes long and winding, sometimes

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-32138845065447880372011-08-04T15:48:00.003-04:002011-08-04T16:28:07.403-04:00

Listen: Marc Mitchell has come unstuck in time.He once had lunch with someone--this was years ago--who wrote reviews and articles and assorted miscellanea for The New Yorker. The someone, a man twice Marc's age, said this to him: You're a good writer. If you ever want to go to Bread Loaf, I'll write your rec.Bread Loaf is a writer's colony. Bread Loaf works like this, according to their website:

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-81183110726084111112011-08-03T00:36:00.006-04:002011-08-03T01:34:09.349-04:00

Here's the thing: Greg, the love of my life, the fire of my loins, etc., is reading a Vonnegut book. I didn't ask him to read Vonnegut. There are a lot of things I've asked him to do over the years, but I've never done that.I asked him to watch a Woody Allen movie. He did.I asked him to open up our relationship. He did. We both got crabs from a guy from Mobile.I asked him to move to New York. He

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-49830702794622204182011-07-26T22:35:00.009-04:002011-07-27T03:24:40.374-04:00

It lasted about a month. The relationship.Our last date was tonight. He took me to a poetry slam, and I should have known it was our last date because he participated in the poetry slam. Meaning, of course, that he spent most of his time on stage, or backstage, or anywhere other than at the table where I sat alone, nursing random drinks while not smoking (smoking is forbidden in New York in

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-87143477615506718992011-07-13T00:44:00.009-04:002011-07-13T02:21:58.193-04:00

Not gonna give the background for this post because it's a dull background.Do your own googling. Draw your own conclusions. Do the research, figure out the allusions, read the book, gripe, whatever.There's a scene from Joseph Heller's book, Catch-22 (and btw, Heller originally intended to write about Catch-17, but was afraid people would associate it with 'Stalag 17,' and then toyed with the idea

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-65754409111098270562011-06-25T12:36:00.007-04:002011-06-25T14:13:01.316-04:00

Last night--I'm sure you've heard by now, but just in case--the great state of New York decided they liked it, and they put a ring on it. They legalized same-sex marriage.It's been a long walk down the aisle here in NY. The Assembly and the Senate have voted on the issue quite a few times, but like a skittish bride or a reluctant groom, never made it to the vows. Last night, there were vows.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-10185154972442338072011-06-22T01:16:00.019-04:002011-06-22T21:16:13.249-04:00

There's an ersatz campaign to convince the Pulitzer people to award The Onion a prize. And ok yes The Onion deserves a Pulitzer. Lesser things have won one. Greater things have not.Ira Glass--the host of This American Life--posted a video online supporting The Onion's Colbertesque campaign to win a Pulitzer, as has Tom Hanks, Arianna Huffington, Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili, Paul

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-33461358046015188762011-06-02T20:12:00.008-04:002011-06-02T22:02:30.073-04:00

This is not a post about Representative Weiner. Of that I am certain.Well, I mean, I might mention Weiner at some point--I do live in NYC, and he is a pretty big topic right now.You know that painting by Magritte? The one with a pipe and the caption, "This is not a pipe"? Only it is written in French, so the caption actually says, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe". You know the painting, right? Hell,

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-59675570476669549782011-05-06T19:35:00.015-04:002011-10-25T20:25:30.576-04:00

Update: In case you're confused what this story is about, let me clarify. On 9/12/2001, Elizabeth Taylor, Michael Jackson and Marlon Brando fled New York. US airspace had been shut down, making it impossible for them to fly. Reports indicate the trio rented a car and drove as far as Ohio. Reports also indicate that both Jackson and Taylor grew increasingly annoyed at Brando, who insisted they

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-68428943843240122472011-05-02T18:43:00.008-04:002011-05-02T21:22:40.687-04:00

I've long given up asking people to refrain from calling Ground Zero "Ground Zero." As inaccurate as the term may be, that is what it will always be called. I might as well go on a crusade convincing people to refrain from calling Elvis "The King," or Shakespeare "The Bard."I could get better results if I tried to convince people to refer to the Sun as "that big flamey ball thing in the sky."My

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-89938605954434345402011-04-30T16:37:00.009-04:002011-04-30T18:48:03.473-04:00

There've always been regional disasters. And then recovery. In 2007, the city of Greensburg, KS, was leveled by a tornado (that's a picture of Greensburg). A year later, the city was well under recovery, using green energy. From a Smithsonian article in 2009: Governor Kathleen Sebelius heard that Greensburg was planning to rebuild green. At a Topeka Statehouse news conference, she announced, "

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-71582909249824622992011-04-20T00:09:00.011-04:002011-04-20T03:26:03.362-04:00

I just read an interesting news piece from my hometown paper, and thought it needed improving. Especially since the original link has been taken down.Naked Man Charged with Burglary By Tom SmithSenior Staff Writer Published: Tuesday, April 19, 2011 at 5:00 p.m. Last Modified: Tuesday, April 19, 2011 at 5:04 p.m. [I assume

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-55187436099159257122011-04-11T19:35:00.006-04:002011-04-11T20:37:25.555-04:00

During my freshman year of high school, fresh off an assigned (and traumatic) reading of Elie Wiesel's Night, I was presented with a choice: Ayn Rand or Kurt Vonnegut.True! I was literally presented with a literary choice. A friend, a young woman my age with bushy brown hair and a wealthy pedigree, mentioned that she was reading Atlas Shrugged. Since at the time I was toying with heterosexuality

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-24652607973282706902011-04-02T21:04:00.010-04:002011-04-03T01:09:52.156-04:00

Here's what I learned from my family-owned business: some bosses really want to take care of the people making them money, and some people are just interested in making money.The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire centennial was last week--on March 25, 1911, 146 garment workers died in a terrible industrial accident. The workers died either by jumping to their deaths, or by the collapse of

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-22910582378243926792011-03-31T18:48:00.017-04:002011-03-31T20:52:36.957-04:00

Betty White, seminal overexposed veteran of the small screen and near-nonagenarian, has emerged from her temporary (three months, was it?) seclusion to announce a new show. She'll be pranking old people, for our entertainment, on NBC.I adore Betty White, but the past year or so has made me wish she'd take up knitting (temporarily!) because at 89 she's almost as omnipresent as Kardashians and

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-85429925649352710712011-03-28T19:23:00.007-04:002011-03-28T22:32:03.542-04:00

While I'm generally opposed to 'My Significant Other Is So Wonderful' posts, sometimes one needs to publicly, and unambiguously, declare the wonders of the person one chooses to spend a life with.Why is it sometimes needed? I don't know. Why do people insist on asking themselves rhetorical questions, then answering them? Who knows. But the fact remains: sometimes a 'My Significant Other Is So

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-67139496471822850182011-03-22T21:57:00.026-04:002011-03-22T23:45:50.030-04:00

Here's the pitch, okay:We're in a dirty, chaotic marketplace in India. There are monkeys. There are street vendors, lots of billowing fabric. Brown people in turbans. A fakir coaxes a snake out of a basket. Think "Raiders of the Lost Ark," okay?The camera settles in on a family of Americans from Alaska. How do we know they're from Alaska? They're incredibly white. Also, they're wearing

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-5689937752906366312011-03-20T20:58:00.006-04:002011-03-21T09:43:26.679-04:00

True story: During the fifth grade, Ray Carpenter would knee me in the balls every day.He'd do the knee thing after lunch.Ray Carpenter was blond, with blue marbles for eyes, and he was fleshy without being fat, like a Michelangelo sculpture. He was a slab of plaster, ill-defined."Hey Marc," he'd say."Hi.""Not gonna hurt you today," Ray'd say.I'd relax."How did you like the meatloaf?""I didn't

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-4479557259567710672011-03-14T20:55:00.014-04:002011-03-15T00:57:11.786-04:00

I don't remember what year it was when I first heard Dave Eggers talk about his little brother, Toph. I remember where I was--I was cleaning a ceiling fan in my apartment on Irvine Street in Florence, AL--and I remember that Eggers was discussing Toph in a segment for 'This American Life.'I remember standing on a very shaky chair that was set on a very fluffy mattress, and chunks of dust were

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-91389758737772305172011-02-26T20:44:00.020-05:002011-03-03T02:09:27.618-05:00

"I don't want to plummet to my death," I said while standing in an unreliable elevator surrounded by hundred-pound boxes. Moving a friend from one apartment building to another.Before I explain just how inappropriate my comment ("I don't want to plummet to my death") was, let me describe the elevator. Context is everything.The elevator was in an old building, a building so old that when it was

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-23922830696516852432011-02-15T21:39:00.008-05:002011-02-16T01:50:24.198-05:00

Here's the first paragraph of a blog post written for LA Weekly about CBS correspondent Lara Logan: "Breaking news: South African TV journalist Lara Logan, known for her shocking good looks and ballsy knack for pushing her way to the heart of the action, was brutally and repeatedly raped while a crowd of 200 celebrated the February 11 resignation of 30-year Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak."

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-37760408489703040102011-02-08T22:15:00.016-05:002011-02-09T01:54:09.651-05:00

The table: bottle of beer, bottle of beer, glass of wine, and glass of cranberry juice. Four plates of chicken cordon bleu. A bowl of roasted asparagus. A bowl of roasted potatoes. Four forks, four knives, four napkins, Eight male forearms resting against the four edges of the table.A pause in conversation. Four mouths twisted into silence. Eight eyes trained on the food.(Two dogs, a large one

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-55811997338084184112011-01-28T19:10:00.008-05:002011-01-28T21:16:10.496-05:00

When I tell someone I was a weird kid, I never get a look of surprise, but of relief, as if that person is thinking, "Oh thank god, he's aware of it."How weird is up for debate. To crib from Tolstoy, every child is weird in his or her own special way. But I submit to you that I was a uniquely weird child. I constructed a shrine, of sorts, to the blown-apart memory of the Challenger crew.Perhaps '

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-83671425360499217312011-01-25T22:37:00.014-05:002011-01-26T00:06:01.091-05:00

Ah what the hell. Yes it's sexist, and apologize, but it seems to me that Bach is not unlike Alex Forrest from 'Fatal Attraction.' I hope Bo has his own private security detail to prevent him from ending up in a pot of boiling water. Reload for updates10:41PM Teapartynation.com: Some random guys are wandering around in front of the camera, unaware they're on a live feed. GIANT video picture,

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-8882035809367136962011-01-25T20:43:00.026-05:002011-01-25T22:24:50.926-05:00

I might crap out, but I'll liveblog the State of the Union for a bit. Reload for occasional updates.8:44pm C-SPAN: Action shot of Obama and Michelle hopping into the limo-tank. Greg reminded me there's a pint of the President's blood stored in the limo. I wonder what it's like to drive around with an extra pint of your own blood. Also, note from neighbor, who took Waffles out for a walk while we

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-35092639083215334582011-01-24T20:23:00.009-05:002011-01-24T22:15:42.686-05:00

[Editor's note: A few more lost entries of Reagan's diaries have come to light. As always, dates have been redacted for national security reasons. Any hint that Reagan might have suffered from anything other than pristine logic during his two terms would undermine all governmental actions in the next century.][Date redacted]In the hospital because some young man loved Jodie Foster too

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-7039257841233573552011-01-17T19:51:00.017-05:002011-01-17T21:23:28.909-05:00

Editor's note: These are lost entries in Reagan's presidential diaries. The dates have been removed for security reasons and for legal reasons. For more information about Alzheimer's Disease, go here. For more information about insane leaders of the people, go here.[Date Redacted]Did the State of the Union tonight. Looking out at all those Democrats reminded me of the orgy I accidentally attended

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-7127775662031051202011-01-14T00:20:00.004-05:002011-01-14T00:36:23.449-05:00

Here's part 2.This is the final part, btw.3.They were moving. Tu knew they were moving because he could feel the cab hitting every bump, every pothole, could feel every turn the cab took.His eyes were closed. Tu’s eyes were closed because it made him too sick to watch the city crawl past.The driver. Eyes open.They were slowly progressing along the edge of the island now, the edge of the nameless

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-76704159033060065242011-01-11T16:41:00.005-05:002011-01-11T16:59:48.810-05:00

Here's part one. This story, btw, is a total cannibalization of a story I wrote years ago, with an old woman in Tu's place.2.Tu leaned his forehead against the cab door’s window. He watched the city slide past as if it were a film strip, the segmented sidewalk a series of frames. This shot: piles of garbage bags awaiting pickup. This shot: a naked tree scratching at the sky. This shot: a homeless

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-28196976975361273692011-01-10T14:45:00.000-05:002011-01-10T14:46:27.553-05:00

1.Tu lurched down the sidewalk of a nameless city. It was after a party and well after midnight, so that the residual alcohol in his blood and the pale orange glow of the streetlights distorted his vision just enough to make the sidewalk rolling ahead of him appear to vibrate.The usual hum of the city during civilized hours had died away. Instead there was the thud of his pulse, the sighing of

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-34724812327060034912011-01-06T21:06:00.009-05:002011-01-06T21:24:25.203-05:00

Right. So. You've probably seen the video of the homeless guy with the Don Pardo voice by now, and you're probably very happy for him. Yes? Yes. Guy with a druggie past who fell from grace and lived on the streets for decades, lost his family, lost his future, suddenly gets a second chance.Two days ago, Williams was panhandling in Columbus, OH, which, I imagine, is very low on the list of major

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-8248897437373293382010-12-31T20:01:00.015-05:002011-01-01T01:37:53.598-05:00

Earlier this year, which is a year on its last legs and limping toward 2011, I was walking down a street downtown. Rushing to meet the curtain of a play that didn't actually have a curtain. It was a cold evening, but there was still light in the sky so I'm gonna guess it wasn't the early dark winter months. It was probably mid to late March.I don't remember the name of the show.What I do remember

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-31080544244923274822010-12-25T23:52:00.011-05:002010-12-26T04:08:55.490-05:00

Donny and Marie. At the Marquis Theater.First off, both Osmonds are stunning performers. Not necessarily great performers, but stunning all the same. They dance modestly, they have bland but strong voices, they wear clothes well, and they know how to work a crowd. Also, they look good standing in front of giant brightly-lit screens, posing in silhouette. Not everyone can pull this last talent off

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-3781225143782067612010-12-23T01:20:00.003-05:002010-12-23T09:23:55.793-05:00

Managed to finish this before Christmas, which is kinda surprising. Here's the previous entry.The first day back was the worst. Joyce greeted him. Her elf costume was draped over her forearm and her elfin face was stripped of purpose. She was a woman born to play an elf. Carl could not imagine her frolicking on a beach or strolling into a supermarket.Joyce was stooped over herself inside Santa’s

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-64283191869272947422010-12-20T18:39:00.006-05:002010-12-20T19:40:57.208-05:00

Stave 1 is here.Carl had many regrets. One cannot live long in this world without acquiring a few, and do not believe anyone who claims otherwise.Carl's primary regret, the one late at night that needled at him as if he were a sampler, was walking out on Tangie and her mom several years ago. On a night in midsummer when Tangie was a young girl not much older than Irene, Carl had gotten up from

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-80672132134062860262010-12-20T01:21:00.005-05:002010-12-20T01:43:16.525-05:00

Definite trilogy. Not that anyone is clamoring for it, but I'll return the other serial later on--this new series is definitely three parts.Carl was nearly sixty. His liver was failing in the way most things fail: slowly, unnoticed. His back hurt. His knees hurt. Last week, he’d gone to a doctor, and the doctor told him, “Carl, you’ve the body of a twenty year old if that twenty year old died in

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-43241987104657961042010-12-13T20:01:00.006-05:002010-12-13T21:07:47.073-05:00

Random thing:First, I'm hesitant about writing too much about this, because the emotions are still raw and upsetting for the victims, and I care about them too much to want to risk causing them more pain. But I'm also a compulsive over-sharer with a weak will, and while I'm determined to exercise restraint (something I seldom exercise--my restraint muscle is atrophied to the point that a two year

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-82786748152286487252010-12-11T18:52:00.008-05:002010-12-12T12:20:07.080-05:00

It wasn’t that I hated dogs. I just wasn’t fond of them. When I was growing up, my dad would acquire a dog--a collie, a mutt, a shar-pei, a boxer, a lab--and we’d keep the dog for a few months, then give it away. Over and over. I’d get attached, then the dog would be gone. After a while I lost the ability to bond with dogs.A few years ago, Greg began hinting that he wanted a dog. He hinted in a

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-392143273087756792010-12-10T22:32:00.000-05:002010-12-10T22:33:17.474-05:00

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-23824779146953477752010-12-07T02:11:00.006-05:002010-12-07T02:49:53.680-05:00

Racigan’s Very Long Night Part 1: Because it is bitter, and it is my fartDonnie Racigan could do two things well: eat Gil’s food and pass gas. He was equally appreciative of both talents, and enjoyed showing off both talents as often as he could.“It’s a compliment,” his wife Gil used to explain to horrified dinner guests. “He eats, then he farts. The eating is his statement and his fart is the

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-4813646376993285792010-12-04T00:44:00.015-05:002010-12-04T01:53:28.061-05:00

Here's the final part of this thing. There'll be another section, but this part of the story is done.So! Part ten. Part nine is here.Part ten: Rural Silence“You’re going East, right?” Officer Racigan pushed the gun deeper into Agatha’s forehead. “If you were headed the other way I wouldn’t give a shit.”Agatha continued to wonder why the direction, and not the contents, of her car mattered to the

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-19106735443010467572010-11-30T22:10:00.006-05:002010-12-01T02:02:20.493-05:00

Part eight is here. Part nine: Direction, not speedThe thing about being on an open road is that it is an open road: open to possibilities, limited in direction.Agatha, in her stolen Taurus, drove along a highway in Ohio and it stretched out before her like a prophecy--so straight and sun-baked that nothing was unpredictable. She could foresee each dip. She could anticipate each hill. The signs

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-55624368087397915952010-11-30T03:54:00.010-05:002010-11-30T05:14:55.343-05:00

Yeah, I'm so going there. Here's part seven.Cobble's Monologue“In the beginning was the word,” Cobble began, “and the word was ‘Fuck.’”Elena nodded. She dropped into the chair hoping her hips would stop burning.“‘Fuck’ was the proper response. Grandma.” Cobble dropped to one knee, took Elena’s hand in his. “You didn’t know this? You didn’t notice it happening?”She was in her chair, which was

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-58037568183391104442010-11-29T03:24:00.005-05:002010-11-29T04:10:42.357-05:00

Here's part seven. Part six is here.Agatha Guzman was just outside of Dubuque, Iowa, in a stolen car, chewing the fingernails of one hand while steering with the other. Today, she had killed three people--two with a gun, and one with her bare hands.Agatha was driving a 1989 Taurus, and there were two corpses in the back seat, strapped upright like crash-test dummies by seat belts. The corpses had

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-40051798554408662152010-11-16T19:16:00.005-05:002010-11-17T02:59:40.746-05:00

Here's part six. Part five is here.Part Six: Terrible Swift SwordElena sat quietly in her green chair, magnifying glass poised over a particularly memorable passage of Great Expectations. She was unaware that she’d read the passage at least five times in the past ten minutes, delighting in Dickens’ description of Miss Havisham over and over again. Unfortunately for Mrs. Guzman, sulking around a

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-31105798364339813212010-11-13T14:43:00.006-05:002010-11-13T15:08:31.474-05:00

Jesus, this may never end. Part four is here.Part Five: DoneElena took a step forward, into her hallway. She was still thinking of the sugarless coffee sitting blandly on her semi-clean kitchen counter, and of the book she’d read a dozen times but would be surprised, yet again, at its conclusion.The air in the apartment was stale. It had been months since she’d last opened a window to let in

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-91226005771451936442010-11-10T22:23:00.008-05:002010-11-11T01:08:48.633-05:00

On the ‘Today’ show, which is still on believe it or not--I guess the unemployed are good for the economy by keeping daytime television workers in business--Kanye West recently apologized to former president George W. Bush for making Mike Myers extremely uncomfortable during a live Hurricane Katrina fund raiser.The fund raiser, which featured a variety of celebrities performing, manning phone

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-1975171766030790582010-11-07T12:46:00.003-05:002010-11-07T12:56:07.065-05:00

Looks like it's a five-parter. Here's part three.Part 4: NarwhalThe narwhal tusk was beside a fireplace in the room where the unicorn tapestries were hung. The tusk was long, and it was elegant--a sharp spike, a deliberate point, an answer to the question ‘why’.James and Cobble entered the room. They were making their way through the Cloisters castle.“Narwhal,” James said.“What?” Cobble asked.“

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-71496058776127933332010-11-05T20:09:00.011-04:002010-11-05T22:07:55.281-04:00

Yes, I'm determined to finish. Here's part three of four. Part two is here.Part 3: DubuqueMrs. Guzman was home alone. Her husband had left her a few days earlier, and she hadn't yet gotten the courage to tell her daughter. Her daughter was at a college in Dubuque, Iowa. Her daughter was studying for finals.Mrs. Guzman did not want to burden her daughter with anything right now. Studying for

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-41203161677741788522010-11-01T20:58:00.004-04:002010-11-01T22:10:39.425-04:00

I'll preface this thing: I don't care if the Republicans take the House tomorrow. It's of little consequence to me. Pinky swear. I'll be disappointed, but I've long thought it might work in Obama's best interest to sacrifice the House for two years because it'll put the Republican obstructionist strategy front-and-center, and demonstrate how a consistent "Just Say No" strategy never works (how's

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-53458779793323350322010-10-31T17:21:00.008-04:002010-10-31T21:46:02.244-04:00

(Before Halloween, I'd hoped to finish that serial I was writing but the thing is... Jon Stewart ate my homework.)In elementary school, there was a mural, just outside my classroom, of an enormous atom bomb explosion with the words "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" bursting out of the mushroom cloud, along with the smoke and the fire and the whatever-else comes out of an atom bomb.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-66873172926666259352010-10-28T19:28:00.009-04:002010-10-28T23:00:23.372-04:00

Part one herePart 2: Sugar“Mrs. Guzman!,” Elena called out. “Hello! Can I borrow some sugar?”Elena faced down the tunnel of light, her left hand braced against the door jamb. She took a step forward.“Mrs. Guzman?”Elena hated the sound of her own voice. I wouldn’t answer me either, she thought.And she was not answered. It was so quiet Elena could hear the pulse of her blood darting through her

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-50486288101793045162010-10-26T20:11:00.014-04:002010-10-27T01:08:17.871-04:00

This is a long post. Very long. Longer than a blog post should be. It's also part one of four.Here's the plan: Attempting a Halloween story, because I love reading creepy things during October. Thought I'd try to write a creepy thing as well:Part 1: Maxwell HouseElena lived in Inwood in a five-floor walkup overlooking Inwood Hill Park, and had been in the same apartment for fifty years. Because

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-34656548933316480312010-10-24T14:38:00.009-04:002010-10-25T01:53:48.272-04:00

Let's do a history lesson. Fun, right?In 1994, I was a repeat-freshman at the University of Alabama. Sort of. I mean, I was enrolled there. I was registered for classes, some of which I attended. I had a dorm room--my dormmate was, no kidding, an epileptic Japanese exchange student who barely spoke English, and enjoyed watching video tapes sent to him from his parents.Here's what my roommate

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-15603278290129231702010-10-17T18:52:00.008-04:002010-10-17T20:51:48.404-04:00

Saw the new production of Angels in America (maybe I mentioned it a few thousand times?) this week, at the Signature Theatre, which is a very small space placed so far to the left of Broadway it's nearly in the Hudson River.Angels in America remains a remarkable work. It holds up well even though one of the central plot points centers around AZT, an antiretroviral drug that isn't as miraculous

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-33778224232675985332010-10-17T02:30:00.016-04:002010-10-17T05:16:14.315-04:00

So Saturday morning, dead asleep, I sat up in bed and told Greg some awful things.I imagine the scene must've been very Exorcist-like, with my eyes rolled back into my head, perhaps my head spinning around on my brain-stem, and, after the words, some pea soup shooting out of my mouth.Here's the thing: I don't remember saying anything at all. I don't recall anything other than deep, comfortable

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-53339352498205633942010-10-13T22:01:00.009-04:002010-10-14T01:30:22.902-04:00

Tony Kushner's Angels in America, part one. Second act. Scene 6. The year 1986. Reagan's second term. Republicans Approach.Martin: It's a revolution in Washington, Joe. We have a new agenda and finally a real leader. They got back the Senate, but we have the courts. By the nineties, the Supreme Court will be block-solid Republican appointees, and the Federal bench--Republican judges like land

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-18724320702995011892010-10-11T18:49:00.009-04:002010-10-14T01:45:29.246-04:00

Right, so today is National Coming Out Day, which means there are a lot of very interesting dinner conversations going on right about now. Or not. Who knows if Coming Out Day empowers anyone to come out?Anyway, not gonna bore you with my own coming out story--it was rather anti-climatic, not so much a grand finale as a grand finally, really.Someone asked me how it felt to come out just after I'd

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-33522619080602684132010-10-10T16:31:00.005-04:002010-10-10T19:25:05.842-04:00

At one point, on my back on AstroTurf, head resting on my bag, I looked away from the movie screen to glance at the sky. Not many stars up there, even though it was a clear night--very dark, yes, but the city lights overpower the stars (which is probably a contributing factor to the whole 'New York is the center of the Universe' feeling most New Yorkers have: when you can't actually see the

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-12182371820748473772010-10-01T22:58:00.008-04:002010-10-03T18:04:09.243-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen, please. There's no need to fear.True. Yes, true. I am a gay man! But you needn't place your handkerchiefs over your mouths, over your noses! There's no need to raise your canes, and please--I beg you--stop waving your hats at me as if I were a fly!I am just like you!(If you're feeling faint, an usher will help you out, so stop clamoring about like fish in a net.)Thank

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-84586535868578864102010-09-25T19:13:00.011-04:002010-09-25T23:49:55.883-04:00

In the pilot episode of "Sopranos"--the pilot, btw, is titled 'The Sopranos,' which seems rather uninspired--the opening shot is of Tony sitting on a couch in the lobby of a psychiatrist's office. He stares at a small green sculpture of a thin, naked woman posed with her arms folded behind her head, her breasts jutting out a bit.The expression on Tony's face, as he stares at this sculpture, is

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-5008887686118497932010-09-23T22:22:00.010-04:002010-09-24T00:55:57.588-04:00

Something nice: Dan Savage, the columnist, has started a channel on YouTube aimed at helping gay teens survive their gay teens.The channel is called "It Gets Better," and is meant to show gay teenagers that life improves, that life isn't always high school drama and relentless teasing. The channel is meant to show that lots of gay people survive high school, survive college, go out into the world

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-39172227277942405262010-09-19T00:51:00.029-04:002010-09-19T06:27:31.295-04:00

It took me a month to finish Rick Moody's The Four Fingers of Death, a 800ish page tome based in part on a 1960s B horror movie. While I'm admittedly a very slow, methodical reader, a month for 800 pages is a long time.Never read Moody before. Had heard of him--The Ice Storm, for instance--but the reason I bought The Four Fingers of Death was because of a Vonnegut connection."In memory of Kurt

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-73666226897151425582010-09-11T16:20:00.001-04:002010-09-11T16:21:05.551-04:00

I wouldn't write this now. It's kinda terrible. But here it is:A few weeks before September 11, I was in New York City. Specifically, I was at the World Trade Center subway stop—my intention had been to be uptown at the Guggenheim Museum but being a tourist and a male, I was too proud to ask for directions. I had gotten on the wrong train.I’d like to say that I remember the Center, that I had

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-65826725737073297182010-09-11T00:59:00.010-04:002010-09-11T03:15:37.709-04:00

September 11th didn't exist as a date til the year 2001.Before 2001, the calendar went from September 10 directly to September 12. There was no September 11.Also, there were no wars nor religions. Before September 11, 2001, people were just people, and days were just days. And we moved in our singular ways thru these days, lacking knowledge or understanding of evil, and then September 11, 2001,

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-12808882171606877822010-09-07T22:37:00.013-04:002010-09-08T19:54:53.945-04:00

Three things before you read this entry:1) I'm breaking my own blog code by writing about family in a less-than-amusing way.2) I love my brother, and am very happy to have him in my life.3) People who prefer writing over talking are terrible people. It's very passive-aggressive to write instead of confront. Shame on me.Now, the entry:My senior year of high school. Parents still married. Two car

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-63958523792001221412010-09-05T18:10:00.009-04:002010-09-05T22:29:09.109-04:00

Greg yells this at me quite a lot: "But you're a progressive!"What he means when he yells this is that I should stop bitching about progressives' bitching. Usually, when he yells this at me, it means I've gone off on a tangent about how progressives are whiny, tantrum-prone dumbasses refusing to see beyond their immediate needs. Which means we've gotten into another political-based discussion

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-38615308218997997622010-09-02T20:26:00.015-04:002010-09-03T01:47:27.335-04:00

From time to time, usually in Midtown but not always, a piece of Manhattan is cleared out--bright yellow tape is strung up, cops are dispatched, and one block or another, or several, is closed to traffic. Buildings are evacuated. Sidewalks are vacated. Streets are washed clean.All the animals come out at night.This usually happens during business hours, while people are toiling away at workplace

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-86316790027517051392010-08-26T21:46:00.002-04:002010-08-26T22:29:36.163-04:00

[cont'd from this]Yeah. So I responded, "Don't engage. Just smile and not."I shouldn't have inserted myself into the discussion, of course, but I couldn't resist. No shame in it--Friend #2 was being a dick. And it didn't occur to me that 'smile and not' might seem like a typo for 'smile and nod.' Smiling and not smiling at the same time is one of my talents. Nodding comes hard to me.Friend #2

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-49590279274960815652010-08-26T20:22:00.010-04:002010-08-26T23:05:57.297-04:00

I don't encounter homophobia a lot. Certainly it pops up from time to time, but usually accidentally, like spilled soup on a tie, and just as silly looking.But I get ahead of myself. First, Facebook and the Internet.I've always been fascinated with the Internet. Seriously. I was introduced to the Internet, and BBSs, way back when. Convinced my parents to buy me a 2400 baud modem, a subscription

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-67938995723885860402010-08-23T21:29:00.008-04:002010-08-23T23:11:49.137-04:00

Once upon a time, seven years ago, Greg and I set out from northern AL, to install ourselves into a decent yet overpriced apartment on the upper west side of Manhattan (actually the location was Morningside Heights, but the realtor called it Upper West Side so.... whatever).We moved into the apartment with a then-friend. I'd known Adam--we'll call him Adam--for a few years, had acted in a few

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-6976006623341120212010-08-20T19:56:00.015-04:002010-08-21T03:21:57.422-04:00

4 months ago--maybe more, who knows--I bought a Kindle.A Kindle, for those who don't know, is a literature-delivery device, a small, white, flat rectangle with some cute buttons and a draconian interface. Surprisingly, it's not an Apple product. But it was certainly inspired by Apple design.The benefits of the Kindle: you can purchase most any book you want to read, ever, and then cart the entire

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-8085572921023963102010-08-17T21:32:00.021-04:002010-08-18T00:52:07.499-04:00

Hopefully this is just a random thing: The past 5 books I've read (slowly) have been death-related. Four of the books have been supernatural-death related. This is strange to me because I don't usually do supernatural death, when reading. If I'm gonna go death, I prefer it hyper-realistic. Like, I dunno, Crime and Punishment.Here's the thing: of the last five books I've gone thru--again, slowly--

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-7842370618122711532010-08-17T00:22:00.011-04:002010-08-17T10:21:54.574-04:00

There's an old joke. Two elderly ladies are at a religious service in the Catskills. And one of them says to the other, "You know, the sermon here is so terrible." And the other says, "I know. And in such small services."Well, that's essentially how I feel about religion: full of elderly and sermons and the Catskills, and it's all done with too little service.[beat]The, tsch, the other important

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-75030902293681210212010-08-03T18:47:00.029-04:002011-05-25T02:41:55.592-04:00

[This post intentionally without artwork]Ok. The Barnes Collection.In a nutshell, Dr. Albert Barnes, of Philly, had two passions: modern art and pissing off the elite. He spent years collecting the best works of Picasso and Renior and Cassat and Matisse and Cezanne and Monet and anyone else you can name. Then he took his magnificent collection, installed it into an enormous building, created The

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-38072199594536429752010-07-22T18:04:00.015-04:002010-07-22T19:27:42.894-04:00

Some years back, I was listening to an episode of "This American Life" centered around stories about Halloween. Host Ira Glass opened the show with a segment on a group of deranged lunatics who got together each week to watch an old television soap opera called "Dark Shadows."I hadn't thought about the show in a long long time, but as I listened to the lunatics deconstruct the show--"See, there

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-28426209573207305122010-07-21T19:01:00.016-04:002010-07-22T19:11:42.242-04:00

Recently, a friend announced, via Facebook (where else?) that he'd sold a satirical vampire short story. His exact announcement was something along the lines of, "After a three year dry spell, I just sold a satiric vampire short story. Is this death?"In response to his announcement, someone mentioned "the vampire craze will be over soon and we can all move on." Thing is, I don't think the vampire

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-5933431785792838332010-07-17T14:38:00.030-04:002010-07-18T17:26:54.795-04:00

First off, I've seen actors flub lines before--it's both the charm and the tension of live theatre to know the people running around on stage in front of you are human beings, and no matter how professional and rehearsed they may be, accidents happen. To bungle Fitzgerald: in live theatre, there are no second takes.A few years back, during a revival of La Cage aux Folles, the great Robert Goulet

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-48850547323589751402010-07-14T19:08:00.031-04:002010-07-15T00:49:51.975-04:00

In 2005, Mel Gibson granted a short interview with CBN.com to promote the kinder, gentler cut of his 2004 gorefest The Passion of the Christ. CBN is the parent company, founded by Pat Robertson, of "The 700 Club," a popular television series featuring insane people raping the corpse of Jesus Christ while complaining about gays and Muslims and abortions. Because of its subject matter," The 700

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-28496718622618686912010-07-11T19:30:00.006-04:002010-07-11T19:47:23.322-04:00

On a generic, iron-dull day in April, I saw Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, several weeks after its release. Saw it at the now defunct Metro Theater. A matinee. I went alone because none of my friends wanted to see The Passion, being either Jewish or atheist or in possession of their wits.Funny story about the matinee: I was sitting on an aisle, and on the other side of the aisle was a

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-87255989263545954052010-06-30T20:22:00.008-04:002010-07-01T00:21:15.408-04:00

Here's a video featuring "The 100 Greatest Movie Insults of All Time."Yes. Right. Okay, I'll concede that Rhett's "Frankly my dear..." response is probably the greatest single insult ever, and that Clark Gable's delivery of the line is perfect--just enough contempt, regret, resignation and dismissal.The rest of the '100 Greatest Movie Insults of All Time' is suspect, tho. Only one Groucho insult?

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-31983843587808435072010-06-23T20:55:00.007-04:002010-06-24T01:04:31.823-04:00

Last night, we went with another couple to see 'Toy Story 3.'One half of the Another Couple arrived at the theater first. I'll call him Errol, because why not. Errol was already on the second floor of the theater, near the giant windows overlooking Lincoln Square. He'd lost weight since I last saw him; he insisted he'd actually gained 7 pounds, so I wondered if maybe the light made him

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-53294591386793522982010-06-20T16:14:00.007-04:002010-06-20T18:09:32.283-04:00

I met Tom Ed Moore shortly before I met Greg; I found out later that Greg had known Tom Ed for a while.This was Tom Ed: a wiry, average-height man in his 40s, with a respectable amount of neatly-cut hair, red-rimmed glasses perched librarian-style on his thin nose, a playful Joker's smile, a nasal, long vowel prone voice, with the consonants dropped in like sharp daggers as an after-thought, and

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-54349413813570467332010-06-13T16:52:00.023-04:002010-08-04T20:20:23.462-04:00

Recently, for some reason, a status update of mine on facebook (I know, I know) resulted in a prolonged discussion (I know, I know) about Ronald Reagan. I think the original status update was something about Sarah Palin's boobs, so naturally one immediately thinks of Ronald Reagan.There are many on the left who do not like the guy, not one bit, and occasionally begrudge the guy the one thing he

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-814919170943037541.post-64349188161709171252010-06-08T21:11:00.019-04:002010-06-09T03:41:54.055-04:00

#24 Wal-Mart part 4Here's how I ended up at Wal-Mart even tho I long ago made a pact with myself (which is why I have bad eyesight and hairy palms) not to ever go to a Wal-Mart again: I needed a reliable location to pick up some Murphy's Oil and Armor-All, I needed to be quick about it, and I didn't want to go to more than one place to do it.So. Wal-Mart.I wasn't sure where to find Murphy's Oil.

MMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10121350441938716794noreply@blogger.com0