Save the Hips!

Hello internet, I'd like to invite you to save this doggie's hips.

Her name is Ava, and she has severe hip dysplasia. That's an expensive surgery and the owners are trying to raise money to get her taken care of. And it's the holidays. AND LOOK AT HER FACE.

Please help if you can.

TGIFSGRSFTRG!

Thank God It's Friday So Go Read Some Fiction That's Really Good.

Death of the Superman by Melanie Griffin @ New Dead Families-- I'd like to see this as a graphic novel, illustrated by Frank Miller/Klaus Janson:

"Betty Page disappeared behind a three-quarters-height wall reinforced with battlements of stacked books. Hers was the only other cubicle lit up at this point in the work cycle, but even the dormant desks looked like spillover from half a dozen uniquely stuffed minds. All except mine—Artie’s—a flat desert of public school wood. I looped my voice recorder’s strap over my neck and pressed the red button as I went out to fill the void."

WHERE IS MY GOVERNMENT, AND OTHER POEMS.

Summer is over. So is September. What gives?

The esteemed Gordon Highland has a collection of shorts coming out soon, called Submission Windows-- here's the link: http://gordonhighland.com/words/short/

I've been poking around "The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis." I started it while sitting on the beach a couple of years ago-- it's not really a beach book, you know? And so I got distracted. Know what other book I took to the beach that year? "Naked Lunch." Didn't get too far into that one either. I don't know why I just didn't take a book on French law, you know? Something light and engaging.

The following year I took Steinbeck's "The Pearl," which was an excellent beach book-- easily consumable in one afternoon, and not too heavy. Once that was I finished, I read most of "Things Fall Apart." That was a good summer of beach reading.

But "Naked Lunch"-- I don't know. I mean I'll probably read it someday, but not on the beach.

Anyway, why am I talking about the beach? Because it's October and I have to believe that in spite of the pox that is this infernal GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN that beaches and human rapture still exist out there somewhere beyond this veil of uncertainty; I have to believe there is a land where humans can be free to visit national monuments and observe Mei Xiang the panda and her baby via the internet, as is our God-given right to do.

By the way, here's what you get when you attempt to visit the NASA website:

Due to the lapse in federal government funding, this website is not available.
We sincerely regret this inconvenience.

For information about available government services, visit USA.gov.

Why do you think that is? Was NASA seriously paying minute-to-minute on their internet domain, or are they just being prickly? They could at least put up a picture of some stars and have a MIDI playing "Dream  Weaver."

6/22 - 7/22 is up at Gone Lawn.

I've got a new one now live over at Gone Lawn #11. Read! My thanks to guest-editor-possibly-now-permanent-fixture, the mighty Yarrow Paisely.

Gone Lawn # 11

Blueprints.

If you've been at all thinking about reading Ryan Boudinot's "Blueprints of the Afterlife," I suggest you get to that immediately. What an insane wonder. What a hilarious misery. What an endlessly twisty rabbit hole.

Some of the elements of the book didn't resolve themselves fully in terms of the narrative-- as promised, I didn't care. They were evocative of the whole. They needed to be there. I would talk about them so as not to be cryptic, but that would be unfair to prospective readers.

It's the kind of book that's been in my head for days after finishing. I'm eager to read it again.

To The Raccoon That Keeps Eating My Garbage.

I know I'm sending mixed messages by continuing to leave unprotected bags of garbage outside while attempting to use two strategically placed deck chairs to kind of present the vague visual insinuation of a barrier, but obviously something needs to change. We can't go on this way. Last night was bad-- guacamole and tabouleh salad. And I don't know why you need to shove the expended Blu cigarette cartridges down in between the deck boards like that; it seems unnecessary and insulting. We both know this situation can't continue. It is evident that no feeble arrangement of deck chairs is going to be sufficiently unwelcoming as to keep you (or your rampaging raccoon family) away; the missing bin will need replaced. I acknowledge my culpability in enabling these crimes and promise you, you will find no more easy scores.

My remaining question is one of curiosity: what exactly is a raccoon's natural diet? Aromatic cartons of almond milk are not commonplace in the wild. Wikipedia informs me that your diet consists of 40% invertebrates, 33% plant foods, and 27% vertebrates. Which classification does a bread bag smeared with bacon grease fall into?

Vacation.

I am now officially on vacation. Here's my to-do list:

1) Select a color to paint the bathroom. I'm not talking about actually painting the bathroom, because I hate to feel rushed. But I will definitely pick out that color and probably buy the paint, because buying a thing feels like commitment even if you don't plan to actually start doing the work itself. It's an easy high, buying something at the hardware store. I'll probably also select the least crusty paintbrush from the shelf in the garage and lay it next to the can of paint, so it'll be like on deck. Progress!

2) Decide whether I'm staining the deck this year. That's right, deciding something is on my to-do list. It's like I'm my own congressional committee.

This is exciting!

3) I need to finish Moby Dick. I mean really. I'm embarrassed at how long it's taking me to read this. It was the first (and only) thing I downloaded onto my Kindle, which I got for Christmas. As a result I feel like the Kindle is a technological platform exclusively designed to provide readers with 21st century solutions for avoiding Moby Dick.

4) Mow the lawn. No committees for this one-- just hard labor. My lawn is small but would make an excellent endurance course for fresh-faced army recruits.

5) I saw this video on YouTube of a teenage girl playing Van Halen's Eruption. I suddenly felt woefully underaccomplished as a guitarist (which I am). I'm gonna learn some new tricks. then I'm gonna make a YouTube video and I'm gonna destroy your minds. (I'm not doing any of this.)

6) Arrested Development! I almost forgot! The rest of this list is suddenly looking pretty pale.

eBay, etc.

I like that my eBay feed now contains such items as a bust of Kraven the Hunter and rare Krokus posters.

What else is new? I've got a new short coming out in a few weeks at Gone Lawn, and a few more percolating out there in the Submittable ether; I'll post the links if/when stuff happens.

Not much else happening, of note. I am reading the following, simultaneously, at a laughably slow rate of speed:

Moby Dick, or, How I Learned Every F***ing Thing There Is To Know About Whales And You Can Too
The Greatest Show on Earth (Richard Dawkins)
Blueprints of the Afterlife (The first chapter was sort of gross but kept me going; now it's flat-out excellent. I don't know if it'll all tie together. I don't care if it does, honestly. It's hilarious. Ryan Boudinot needs to teach a class on how to have fun writing. Ryan! Teach that class. Although maybe he doesn't have fun writing at all, that's presumptuous. But it sure seems like he does.)

Fog Gorgeous Stag and a Shitty Breadbox.

My copy of Sean Lovelace's latest book "Fog Gorgeous Stag" has arrived from Amazon, along with a completely unacceptable bamboo breadbox that appears to have been kicked all the way to my door. That would imply that Lovelace's book was also punted into my hands. Indeed, it is slightly dog-eared.

I know there are probably more artist-friendly ways of purchasing writing, but I had an Amazon gift certificate that was burning a hole in my imagination.

Your next question is doubtlessly why I spent part of my gift certificate on a breadbox. I was trying to be a grown up. My typical mode of bread storage is to place it in a large bowl beneath the fruit until it is slowly compacted into dense, inedible bread balls. Why beneath the fruit? Because fruit gets plucked up on-the-go. I can't be moving bread all day to get at the bananas.

I'm returning it (the breadbox) and buying what I originally had in my cart: Atomik Aztex by Sesshu Foster and Flame Alphabet by Ben Marcus. Ben, Sesshu-- I'm sorry. What an indignity. I bought a shitty breadbox instead of your words, and now we're all paying the price. At least I'm making it right.

Aside from all that nonsense, I am looking forward to digging into some Lovelace.

Exit series live @ Hobart.

My Exit series is, uh, live at Hobart. Many glad tidings this day. Read!

Unsupervised.

I am home alone, and, having completed my nightly Wii "workout" (which somehow partly consists of joggling my hips slightly while doing maddening math problems), and having let the dog out the correct number of times to prevent feces from appearing on my floor, I have decided to undo all my joggling/jiggling with some whiskey, and a list:

RECOMMENDED COMIC BOOK/DRINK PAIRINGS

A quick caveat: I have recently started collecting comic books again. I have many fond boyhood memories of riding my mountain bike with friends, traversing miles and miles of rugged Pennsylvania terrain and economic blight to spend our $10 allowances in the comic book shop across from the steel mill downtown-- weird place for a comic shop, yeah? Except that I guess virtually everything was across from a steel mill, or an abandoned steel mill, or an empty lot where there once was an abandoned steel mill-- only to face the task of carrying our purchases without incident that same (suddenly terrible) distance home. I don't know why we didn't take backpacks. Were we stupid? We were stupid. There was about an inch of superfluous paper bag on your parcel available for gripping, and you typically curled this around your handlebar and held on as best you could, attempting to keep the comics as stable as possible while peddling home-- uphill! How did we not acknowledge the return trip was virtually all uphill?-- while taking as few risks as you were able. Because you don't bend comics. $10 doesn't grow on trees, and comics are AN INVESTMENT, as I like to tell people. If you hit a curb weird or got a little too ballsy coming down a steep hill and felt you were going to take a spill, you put your body between your comics and the road, and you tweezered the gravel out of your knees later.

I stopped collecting for a long time. Not sure why. Money I guess. And time. But since the Marvel re-launch I've been checking stuff out and dragging my old boxes out from storage and have compiled this painfully abbreviated and utterly anticlimactic list of RECOMMENDED COMIC BOOK/DRINK PAIRINGS:

X-Factor #1 (1986) / Miller Lite -- Because your X-Factor #1 is not worth as much as you vaguely hoped it might be-- and because it's also sort of bent somehow-- you need a beer that's plain and doesn't raise your expectations, yet still offers a bit of enjoyment if you can just get over the fact that your X-Factor #1 is somehow bent but whatever.

Amazing Spider-Man #66 (1963) / Alasia Moscato d'Asti -- Because this comic is in great shape, and while it's not like a key issue or anything, you're happy with the shape it's in. And Alasia is like champagne basically. For celebrating. Also, Mysterio seems like he would drink champagne to me, this is like a double-dipper.

Tales of Suspense #47 (1963) / Whiskey -- Because this comic is worth like a couple hundred bucks if somebody's dog hadn't chewed on it. Whatever.

END BLOG. I'm tired. And drunk!

Let's Force Caleb J. Ross To Read Harry Potter.

Now this is how you raise money-- by agreeing to do unpleasant things.

Caleb is raising money for the March of Dimes, and he's doing it by enrolling in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a page at a time. For every $2 he receives in donations, he will read one page from the first book in the series, and record his thoughts, which are likely to vacillate between ennui and hysterical disgust. Why does Caleb hate wizards so much? Was his family attacked by an evil wizard when he was a young child? Or is he just over-compensating for being a Muggle?

From Caleb, on his literary self-flagellation for charity:

"Most years I just beg people for money, but this year I figured I would merge the fundraising efforts with my nerdy video-making hobby and my nerdy reading hobby. I've come up with the Force-Caleb-To-Read-Harry-Potter-A-Thon. Basically, the idea is that so many people say Harry Potter is such a great series (one I've never intended on reading, and have no desire to read, by the way) that I'm trying to leverage that passion for the sake of raising money for the March of Dimes.

For every 2 dollars I receive in donations, I will read 1 page of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone. At the end of each week, I will tally the donations, read the appropriate number of pages, and then record a video where I will offer my thoughts on the book so far.

I've made a video outlining the entire project HERE.

To donate, simply go to http://cjrlit.com/potterbaby, all lowercase. Any amount of money helps.

The deadline for donations is APRIL 28th!"

This is for a good cause, people. And it will be funny. Give if you can.

As of this post, unless I am mistaken, it appears $386 have already been raised. That means Caleb will be left dangling at the climax of the book-- don't let this happen.

And a final note to Caleb, should he happen upon this entry-- I've read the first two books in the series. I didn't hate them, but I wish someone would've paid me $2 a page.

Revisiting Favorites-- Bone Hotel by Yarrow Paisley.

Did I ever post this? It's one of my favorites I keep coming back to. Other than being haunting and capturing the summary liquid horror of a nightmare-- the logic of which we are appalled to find somehow recognizable-- I feel this story is extraordinarily efficient. Read, enjoy: Bone Hotel by Yarrow Paisley.

Exit Series to Appear In Hobart.

Very happy to announce my Exit series will be appearing in Hobart on the web in March. More than happy really; besides being full of amazing fiction and poetry, Hobart is in my opinion one of the more physically attractive web journals out there. A real looker. If Hobart were a person, it would be Gina Carano-- beautiful, block-jawed and possessing inalienable control of its space. I digress. Just check it out. Peter Berghoef has a great poem over there called "With Dogs in My Heart."

www.hobartpulp.com

Pear Noir! #9 -- only a few left!

Only a few copies left of Pear Noir! #9! Exclamation point! Order Pear Noir! #9 now!

Pear Noir! #9

I am pleased to have my short "Holistic Memoir, ToC" appear in the upcoming Winter 2013 issue of Pear Noir!, now available for pre-order. Issues are limited so snap one up while you can:

www.pearnoir.com