Ya Blew It!

I've read a measly 42 books out of the targeted 45 for my yearly Goodreads challenge. I am an illterate bastard and should be executed.

If I fudged to include all the comic books I also read this year, surely I could say I technically read an equivalent word count; but that is the coward's way. I am a failure. I always knew.

But listen, the end of this year was nuts. I got a new job, got extremely ill with some flu-like malady, endured the usual Thanksgiving and Christmas chaos, and got MARRIED. So. I had some stuff going on. I'm not trying to excuse myself, but really. I HAD SOME STUFF GOING ON.

Still, 42 books feels extremely good-- even if a few of those were graphic novels. It was a good reading year. I have no regrets.

You know what screwed me up? Well, other than December's madness? "Love in the Time of Cholera." Slowed me waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay down.

Anyway, now that this is a wrap, I've decided that while 2014 was the year of volume, 2015 will be the year of SIZE. The year of White Whales. The year of anvils, the year of Sisyphean drudgery, the year of carrying cinder blocks under each arm in the hot sun and quietly waiting for vultures to devour my entrails.

It begins with "Gravity's Rainbow." A book I purchased in 2001 or so, a book into which I have, so far, only ever managed to penetrate 20 pages or so during any given attempt before passing out from exhaustion. This year, the legacy of failure ends!

More to come.

Bookmap.

In the home stretch of my Goodreads challenge for the year-- looking at the grid of books, it's strange to realize how distinctly it has mapped out the year. There is a snapshot of my life that coincides with each title in the list, and as my eye skips over them it's sort of like watching an abbreviated time lapse  of my life that is a little disconcerting.

For example, looking at the cover of "Candide" reminds me of how drunk I was the night I started reading it. It was an accident. I was on vacation and grilling on the porch. We had a museum trip planned the following day, but when the morning arrived-- after struggling through a bath and attempting to convince myself that I could not only drive us all to Pittsburgh, but remain erect and coherent in a museum for the ensuing afternoon-- the decision was made to postpone the trip. One of my better decisions. A really solid move. And so I spent the afternoon watching Justice League and trying not to disturb my hangover. I might never again be able to crack the spine of "Candide" without feeling woozy. Still, it's important to remember that this is the best of possible worlds.

I finished "The Girl in the Flammable Skirt" in a doctor's office. I was getting x-rays done of my hands. The doctor was a very handsome fellow. He had nice pants. Shiny. I guessed that he played racquetball.

I read "The Divine Invasion" in the lobby of Flynn's Tire, getting my third flat of the year repaired. They had strawberry hard candy in a bowl and watery coffee.

I like this collage of waiting. It helps me remember my life but it's also a little terrifying. Time, and that.

5 Yelp Reviews by Jesse Bradley.

Here's another humdinger:

"The altitude asks questions we won’t answer, even when the wind assists as an interrogator; loving you here is a clandestine activity. We refuse to become reels of film waiting to start."

Isn't that the kind of passage that sends you cartwheeling toward your chosen writing interface with hope in your heart and champagne bubbles exploding in your nostrils?

Over yonder @ Spork Press.

5 Yelp Reviews by Jesse Bradley.

New Dead Family Member.

My short "Meaningless Gifts" is up over @ New Dead Families. Check it out, and thanks for reading.

What else is new? I'm reading "Kiss Me, Judas." I think I've lost my taste for "gritty." I mean, everything's gritty nowadays. (Spits tobacco over railing, reclines into rocking chair). What I mean is WHY CAN'T THERE BE WHOLESOME FAMILY ENTERTAINMENTS FOR THE FAMILY.

(Gazes into medium distance.)

Storm's a'comin.

NDF9

 

 

On "The Maury Povich Show" by Joshua Wheeler.

I just wanted to link this quickly, because 1) It's amazing, and 2) I read it a while ago and just spent 20 minutes trying to track down where I'd seen it. And I finally found it by Googling select phrases I could remember from the text in combination with other key words. It took a while. (You'd be surprised how much Maury Povich content is on the internet. No you wouldn't.)

So here it is, preserved for all-time so I can read it whenever: an endlessly wonderful short work by Joshua Wheeler over @ PANK called On "The Maury Povich" Show. Especially fond of the first section, which would make an excellent line dance to be performed at weddings.

Halfway-ish.

Halfway-ish through this year's reading challenge. It's so weird, but keeping track of the books I'm reading is lending them a snapshot quality I was missing out on before-- like, I remember clearly sitting in the lobby of Flynn's Tire reading "The Divine Invasion" while I waited for them to repair my third flat of the winter. I was breaking a strawberry candy in my teeth. It was dark outside and the phone was ringing a lot and I felt bad about being there so close to closing, as if I might offer to make do on a completely flat tire until a more convenient time to repair it could be found.

That's time I would not have otherwise remembered.

I remember reading "Lord of the Flies" and telling my girlfriend where I was in the book-- had really just started it, as Piggy was being introduced-- and seeing the look on her face at the mention of his name and realizing things would not turn out well for Piggy. As if I couldn't have guessed that anyway. I mean his name is Piggy.

This is a good project.

Major Inversions by Gordon Highland-- Free Audiobook!

Gordon Highland's novel "Major Inversions" is free at the moment to the next two responders over @ Goodreads. All he asks in return is a review @ Audible.com once you're finished. And a ham sandwich. (He's not really asking for a ham sandwich, but I thought I'd try to sweeten the deal for him.)

Be quick about it, only two left.

Listen to Major Inversions by Gordon Highland-- FREE!

45.

I am going to attempt to digest 45 books this year, as foolishly made public on Goodreads. This is good, though, as dealing with failure builds character. I routinely hit inert patches in my reading, as sometimes it's hard to find a minute to relax. And sometimes it's hard, in minutes of relaxation, to not play Call of Duty or otherwise stare into space, noodling on the guitar and watching it snow and wondering if noon is too early for a glass of whiskey.

What time is it anyway?

[glances at stove]

I suppose I could've just looked at the desktop. Maybe I'll write a screenplay. This is a good start, right?

[A MAN is seated at a table. He turns and furtively glances at the stove.]

I read online today that a hacker somewhere hacked into a person's refrigerator and used it as part of a botnet. I'll refrain from wondering why a refrigerator needs internet connectivity and instead lay claim to the idea of sentient appliances. YOU HEAR ME, INTERNET? MINE. If I see a Tom Cruise vehicle next year about sentient appliances-- actually I think this is already a movie. Pulse? I'll look it up.

[A MAN furtively searches for a plot summary of the movie "Pulse"]

"An intelligent pulse of electricity is moving from house to house. It terrorizes the occupants by taking control of the appliances..." Okay, so, similar. I wonder why I remember this movie, I've never seen it. One of those video store memories that gets lodged into your brain as a kid-- like the cover of "Earth Girls are Easy," a masterpiece in the form, obviously.

Martone.

Michael Martone by Michael Martone
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A game of hide and seek where the reader is "it," and where Michael Martone chooses the most whimsical of hiding places. I'm sure there is truth here beyond that which is philosophical, but it hardly matters. Even when the author spins out such ludicrously banal biographical notes as the one that recounts an abridged history of ex-wives, ex-pets, and the accompanying oddball living arrangements (such as having resided for a time with his second wife in a remodeled congregational church), only to wind up an amateur archaeologist on the slopes of Vesuvius-- all this and more in roughly two pages-- Martone's fictional biographies are somehow warm and earthbound. For all its inventions and disguises, this collection of vignettes is never unduly fantastic. Even when Martone transforms into a giant insect in a riff on Kafka, the result is very human.

My first (literal?) foray into the author.

View all my reviews

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!