Archive for the 'Uncategorized' Category

It’s good to be home. I came home and cleaned my kitchen and got a new phone to replace the one I busted on a wall in Boston. At home I found ten roses and a lot of work. I read a book and excavated my pores.

Items and events:

Lots of Hobart doings in the mighty Northwest. I’m looking forward to catching Aaron read with Mary Miller and Kevin Canty in Portland. I’ll report on my own readings out there shortly. Some good stuff also happening in Chicago and L.A. for Hobart.

There’s a killer on the loose in Austin. Barton Springs is supposed to close for repairs. A Houston woman stole a rental car from an Avis and disappeared.

I’ve been talking large about Molly Springfield’s Translation for a minute but I finally found it online so you can actually look at it. On first glance it looks like photocopies of Proust, but look closer and you will find that they are each drawn with graphite and it took two years to do. The very process conjures up feelings of the sublime.

See the short story “Valentine” by Stacy Muszynski if you’re curious about how to write deftly in voice. Writing from a child’s POV is like writing about dreams; not everything should be apparent. While you were reading this paragraph that story just snuck into your house.

It started yesterday, when I saw a picture of Rob Lowe online. Then, I saw Rob Lowe on television. The other people in the room swore it was not actually Rob Lowe, that it was someone else. But it was Rob Lowe.

Today I see Rob Lowe in a coffee shop. He wears an gold onyx ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He wears dark-wash blue jeans and a crisp blue shirt. He is talking to an older man with a crew cut, like a coach. Rob Lowe crosses his legs at the knee and holds his hand to his neck as he listens. He looks very interested in what the coach is saying. A tan leather billfold peeks above his jean pocket.

Rob Lowe holds his hand like a spider on the table. He makes the spider walk across the table towards the coach. The coach’s elbow is on the table and he moves it away from Rob Lowe’s hand, which is a spider. The spider wears a gold onyx ring around one of its thick legs.

I look over again to see that Rob Lowe is standing! He has is back to me and both hands on the table. The onyx winks as people pass, oblivious to the fact that Rob Lowe is here. Rob Lowe’s back under the blue shirt is broad and strong. The shirt is cornflower blue. His skin is tanned light leather, the same color as his shoes. I am very interested in what Rob Lowe is wearing, more interested in what he is wearing than the fact that he is Rob Lowe, best known for his role as Sam Seaborn on The West Wing. It is three in the afternoon and Rob Lowe is drinking a Guiness.

On the way to the bathroom, I walk very slowly past Rob Lowe to listen to what he is saying. He says, “And your guy,” then something I can’t hear, then “otherwise.” He is writing on a slim notepad. On the return from the bathroom, I see the coach is wearing a Bluetooth headset. This means he could be talking to anyone, at any time. I wonder if Rob Lowe is uncomfortable with the power this gives the coach.

Rob Lowe shouldn’t be uncomfortable, because he has a power that others do not. Rob Lowe is really interested in a career in geology. Rob Lowe learns how to parasail in the Gulf of Mexico. Rob Lowe experiences your emotions before you experience them. Rob Lowe made you this cup of coffee. Rob Lowe says the kids are alright. Rob Lowe has the power to be Everywhere.

I wrote up a long post about online education, reviewed it carefully, and decided that I ought to be careful about what I post on a public blog. I posted it as a note on Facebook instead; check it out if you are interested in my deep and conflicting thoughts on the subject.

Much excitement across Austin this week for SXSW. I’ve never been one to seek out a lot of new music on my own, but I learned about a handful of artists that are doing a lot of interesting and pretty stuff. Among my favorites is Dawes, a foursome out of Los Angeles. Amazing vocal power and a drummer who looks like a young fellow but is incredibly talented. The band seems to realize this, as they gave him three or four drum solos back-to-back at the end, which I thought was fun to watch but made for kind of an uneven set.

Anyway, I’m no music critic. Here’s a Dawes video, which makes it look like they’re just nice California boys who enjoy setting off sparklers and ritually sacrificing hipster girls.

Back to staring dully out the window when I should be catching up on work for the week. I’ve been tasked by various parties with writing a playlist for the book and a list of my top ten favorite novellas. More on this later.