The ability to watch six games live at once: heaven. Thank you, MLB.com.
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The ability to watch six games live at once: heaven. Thank you, MLB.com.
Posted by Jeff B. in Baseball | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
Charles Webb has written a sequel to his 1963 novel The Graduate:
"Home School" picks up the lives of Braddock and Elaine about 10 years on, living in upstate New York with their two children and trying to keep Mrs. Robinson at bay.
Random House said it planned to publish the book in Britain in June 2007. It has world rights to the novel, but has not announced a U.S. publication date. Stuart Applebaum, a spokesman for the U.S. division of Random House, said the publisher was still waiting to see material from the new book before making any decisions.
Paul Sidey, editor at Random House's Hutchinson imprint, said the book was "short, sharp and very funny. And there is a last hurrah for the mother-in-law from hell."
Early Vegas odds have Tom Cruise praying to L. Ron that he'll ruin the movie get the lead.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Television & Movies | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)
We have to wait a few more months for the most highly anticipated work of American letters in recent memory, a certain instant classic--remember, David Foster Wallace ain't got nothing on this woman's writing--but four pages of Dirty Blonde: The Diaries of Courtney Love have been released so that we can all bask in her literary glory:
Notes are written next to and over the memorabilia, such as this thought: "There is no such thing as girl love, because all cool girls are competitive c---s, which is worth loving in itself, so it's okay. Just don't pretend it's otherwise! Celebrate the reality!"
Other notes are less-than-celebratory, such as her realization that she is "a public figure unhappy with my share of the American dream. There can only be one reason for this. I am on drugs, and have the morals and mentality of a cartoon character. What did I want after all??" This is written next to a 1976 rejection letter from the New Mickey Mouse Club for "Coco Rodriguez" — a name she may have adopted while living with stepdad Frank Rodriguez. Since the show was looking for "youngsters who have exceptional singing, dancing, or musical ability, with a marked degree of performance experience," they told her she did not qualify, and as a consolation prize, gave her a picture of Mickey Mouse.
Sorry about the above. To get the taste of whatever you call that off your literary palette, you should head over to the Litblog Co-op for this week's discussion of our Read This! selection, Television by Jean-Philippe Toussaint.
Dawn Goldsmith's kids have all grown, but there's one thing that she can't let go of:
Now that I'm without wee ones, I pretend to go into the local bookstores to peruse the CDs, DVDs, and mystery novels. But in truth, I'm waiting for a chance to head for the children's books. There I stand and read as fast as I can until some child catches me and suggests that I buy the book or read at home. Yes, it actually happened when I was reading my favorite children's book of all time: "Click, Clack, Moo," by Doreen Cronin.
This is a nice sentiment, but I'm not sure I trust the corporate publishers enough to be arbiters of what is truly good much less care enough to do the work of pushing the best writers even when they don't see the $$$ in the end:
If books matter, if they are to remain different from packets of detergent, the ball is in the publishers’ court. Publishers, after all, still like to think of themselves as midwives to ideas and patrons of beauty. They do not want to be just another consumer trade. They still trail clouds of glory (albeit apologetically, tucked discreetly under the jacket during sales conferences). So publishers have got to find new ways to inform and fascinate the public. Perhaps they need to bring out fewer books, more carefully; certainly they need to expand publicity departments and work out ever craftier ways to use the internet and other media. Maybe they should club together for a national speech or TV network and do readings all day, every house having an hour to showcase the books it really rates. Maybe Amazon and downloadable e-books will finally give the high street a bloody nose.
And because I'm going to be a little lonely this week, my wife having boarded a southbound plane this morning to attend a shower being thrown for her (and Marlena), I plan on listening to nothing but bluegrass. Like the song "Nowhere to Sleep" from fellow Triangleinians Chatham County Line.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Load of Links | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Be sure to check out George Singleton's contribution to Largehearted Boy's Book Notes series.
Then go out and buy a copy of Singleton's new collection Drowning in Gruel. I highly recommend!
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Music | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
The above drawing could easily represent what I think has taken over inside my head. I woke up Sunday morning with that godawful pounding pain behind my eyes that foretells a few days spent in a fetal position under covers hoping that someone will sneak into my room and end it all with a club to the top of my skull. No such luck. The headache lingered through the remainder of the three-day weekend and didn't start letting up until late last night after I dosed it with some mystery pill offered to me by my pal Lucina.
The pain is what I get for making such ambitious plans for Sunday and Monday. I hoped to get through a good chunk of the overdue reviews. I recounted again on Friday and I'm up to thirty-eight finished books that I've yet to add to my minireview project. I guess it's time to employ drastic measures now that I've let my best chance to play catch up get away without producing anything. First thought: quit reading until I've made a dent that way I won't add to the growing stack. Second thought: don't post anything but reviews for the next few weeks. Third and most reasonable thought: do what I can do. And I forgot to mention that compounding the untenable situation is the fact that the notes that I took for all of the books I read while still living in San Diego seem to be packed away and safely stored in a 11x15 shed in far northeast Raleigh, more than likely under boxes of other items that I wish I hadn't packed away or at least wish I had easier access to them.
Anyway, the image above is actually an illustration by Mark Haddon (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) for one of his children's books. Seeing the illustration in this Guardian profile led me to Haddon's site where much more of his artwork can be seen. From the profile:
Haddon has always had butterfly tendencies, but without the superficiality that implies: as a child, he was sure he was going to be a paleontologist and read encyclopedias instead of novels before opting to study English at university. He remains a skilled mathematician, but insists he "drops a lot of zeroes and is then plunged into the abyss". He is considering one day writing a book on the philosophy of consciousness, yet quickly adds it will take him about a decade to figure out how to do that. He mentions three times in one hour that he has written five "unpublished and unpublishable" novels and only learned to draw after "many hours of doodling".
But while this self-deprecation is all very well, one does need a chunk of self-confidence to create anything for public consumption, let alone so many different things. Haddon admits to "a mix of outrageous self-belief and constant self-criticism", but typically manages to play up the latter: "I always thought I'd eventually learn how to draw really well and, despite constant evidence to the contrary, I just kept on trying. If you're too good at anything you don't have to think about the process, whereas I feel like I spend my life with my head under the bonnet, trying to understand how everything works."
Despite all this talk of taking a break from writing, he has just finished a screenplay about a boy plotting to kill his brother, who has Down's syndrome ("It's actually quite uplifting"), and is going to the National Theatre studio in September to write a play, a prospect that excites him because of the potential for disaster.
"Writing's never really good unless you run the risk of making a complete arse out of yourself," he says, letting slip an anticipatory grin. "The reaction to Curious Incident was incredibly benign, so I'm sure there are a few people out there, sharpening their knives, hoping that I make a complete fool out of myself.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Did anyone--besides Michelle--know that Rainn Wilson, aka Dwight Schrute on The Office, is married to writer Holiday Reinhorn? Or that he has a pit bull named Harper Lee?
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Television & Movies | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBack (0)
While reading an obituary for actor Paul Gleason, best known for his role as Principal Richard Vernor in The Breakfast Club, I came across this sentence: "Gleason decided he wanted to become an actor after watching Elia Kazan’s 1961 movie Splendor in the Grass together with his friend, author Jack Kerouac." I couldn't let this go without a little research, so the vast Google archive gave up the source of the friendship through half of a cached article in Orlando Magazine entitled "Jack Kerouac & The Boys of Summer." It seems that while Kerouac was in Orlando hiding from friends and the public he took to hanging out at an Orlando baseball field where Gleason was trying to make it as a professional baseball player. After a while, the two became friends:
Kerouac and Gleason shared several common bonds. Both were standout college football players, Kerouac at Columbia University and Gleason at Florida State University. After a few drinks, the men reverted to their college days. “We used to get down in the dirt and go one on one,” Gleason says. “Sometimes we didn’t stop until someone drew blood.” They also shared a deep admiration for the baseball player Kerouac always referred to reverently as “Number 9”-Ted Williams.
Later in life, Gleason turned to writing poetry. I can't find any Internet evidence of his verse but it would be interesting to see if Kerouac's pomes were an inpiration for Gleason's writings.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Television & Movies, The Beats | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
In the Observer, DCoup talks about his new book JPod:
I have to say, JPod was a bon-bon, a treat to myself. A treat to write: a happy, pleasurable write. And writing is, for the moment, the only thing getting me through the days. If I didn't have it I'd go on glue or something: I'd implode and explode at the same time. It's a need. When it goes, it's not so much writer's block, it's more raison d'etre block; I can't much see the point of anything. I lost it for a bit after JPod. I've got it back for a new one I'm working on.
And just why does he write?
The reason I write is because I have lain awake, worried about unemployment, or having unemployment dreams: I'm suddenly back in that apartment down there, no job, lots of worries. And I don't think that will leave me: I hope it won't, ever, because it is the one thing which gets me through. And also the notion of stopping, giving up: the notion of disengagement is repugnant. There's this newspaper in Florida where they take out all the bad news. That means you subscribe to something which says, simply: that's it, all over.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Just as I was readying a post proclaiming my utter fatigue thanks to a week of spreadsheet organizing and MS Project learning--not to mention the Braves playing in the Pacific time zone--along comes a press release from the good folks at Oxford American announcing what looks to be another great issue. They're calling it The Best of the South. First, look below for details of the issue, then hit your newsstand and buy a copy. How can you pass this up:
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
A loyal reader sends word that a Kerouac drawing (above) is up for bid at eBay. This is the same auction that will feature his 29 volume set of the 1911 edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, among other things.
The Nick Cave penned The Proposition hits theaters this weekend. The Phoenix has the scoop:
Compared with other items in the Cave œuvre — notably his 1989 novel And the Ass Saw the Angel, with its “embranglement of words” — The Proposition relies more on image than language. Its characters are tight-mouthed, tending to disregard speech in favor of a quick squint at the simmering horizon. The exception is bounty hunter Jellon Lamb: John Hurt wheezes out paragraphs of Elizabethan floridity while capering drunkenly in his shack at the foot of the hills. “Once I started writing the scene in the shack, it went for fucking ages, there was way too much of it and they kept having to cut it down, unfortunately, ’cos it was a great performance. . . . He’s just this overeducated dog that’s living out the back of beyond.”
Tom Wolfe continues to be the high priest of The Church of What's Happening Now. His new book will focus on immigration.
Dwight Gardner reminds me that I need to reread Erskine Caldwell's "greasy hairball of a novel" Tobacco Road:
Certainly readers in the South didn't see anything comic about Tobacco Road. While it was published to generally strong reviews, Southerners mostly deplored it. They thought of Caldwell the same way they thought of Faulkner: as a regional traitor, a writer who exposed them as primitives. Tobacco Road was banned for decades in high-school libraries in Caldwell's home town. The local police chief said that if Caldwell ever came crawling back, he'd run him out of town on a rail.
The obstacle that most blocks a book from new readers now is the lack of visibility. With more new titles being published in one year than were written between the dawn of civilizationa and the start of the 14th century, even the best new books can have difficulty in making themselves known to readers. Today, it's often harder to notice neglected books than it is to find them.
And so this site attempts to correct this problem. With over 1,000 titles listed, perhaps it will be a little easier to notice--and find--these neglected books.
{via}
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Load of Links, The Beats | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
Let me first say that I do not now nor have I ever watched American Idol. Well, I may have seen it on a few times while walking through the den and stopped long enough to see a few episodes. Not that I believe for a second that it's beneath me or that my reputation would be tarnished if I admitted to being a fan of the show. I just don't have the time in my schedule to dedicate an hour to televised karaoke (woops, slipped). That said, I do know through the AI expert in my house that Taylor Hicks will be competing for the coveted spot of American Idol tonight. After doing a little research on the younger, less hairy Michael McDonald, I'm going to be pulling for him to win. Here's why:
And to think, those are just the things I know we have in common. Both of us being Alabamians, there's a damn good chance we could be related (think branchless trees). Either way, SoT wishes Mr. Hicks good luck tonight. Don't let that snobby little rich girl with obvious connections beat you. Win one for the 'Bama.
Posted by Jeff B. in Hell in a Handbasket | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)
Dear Mr. Wyn: I submit this as my idea of an appealing commercial cover expressive of the book. The cover of "The Town and the City" was as dull as the title and the photo backflap. Wilbur Pippin's photo of me is the perfect On the Road one...it will look like the faceof the figure below. J.K.
Kerouac's idea never made it to cover, as you can see from the Kerouac Book Cover archive.
Gilbert Sorrentino, who passed away last Thursday, made some interesting points about the Beats in this 1994 interview:
The beats can only be understood as a single manifestation, in the fifties, of the general dissatisfaction, among young, unknown artists, with the given norms of art then in ascendance. They have been distorted out of all reality by the popular media, probably because they make "good copy," but they were no less distorted at the time they emerged. Some of them did good work, some not, but that is the case with all "movements." That they were especially iconoclastic is an idea that will not wash, when one considers the remarkable innovations, the formal attacks on the norms of literature present at the time, by such writers as Olson, Creeley, O'Hara, Spicer, and so on. Strangely enough, some of the most compelling beat writers are more or less forgotten now -- Ray Bremser for one, and then, of course, there is Irving Rosenthal, whose single book, long out of print and almost impossible to find, Sheeper, is perhaps the most elegant single work to emerge from that era. To talk about the beats without acknowledging these writers is to assume that the propaganda about that era is the truth about that era. This is all further complicated by the historical blurring that occurs when non-beat writers are lumped in with beat writers, when we are told that such writers as Amiri Baraka, William Burroughs, Michael McClure, even Gary Snyder, are beat writers. That's like saying that Raymond Roussel was a surrealist. Again, to understand the beats, you have understand the general cultural ferment that was going on in the arts in the fifties, the restlessness, the boredom, the unintentional comedy of an era that proffered Randall Jarrell as a very important poet and that valorized Robert Frost to the detriment of William Carlos Williams.
Interesting that he makes the claim that Burroughs isn't a Beat writer. Earlier in the interview, he discussed Burroughs and Naked Lunch saying, "Burroughs is a legitimate artist, but he is not as good as his admirers think and he is nowhere near as bad as the people who have never read him believe. Of course, Naked Lunch, is the text that most people read, while the rest of Burroughs more or less languishes, even though his trilogy, The Soft Machine, The Ticket That Exploded, and Nova Express are his best books. But Naked Lunch appeals to the juvenile mind that wants to think of it as the crazy work of a really crazy guy full of smack and writing in a daze--Burroughs as Rimbaud on heroin!" {via}
Not Beat or book related, but I have to ask: Can you name me one festival/concert that could possibly be worse than this one?
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, The Beats | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
I wish I knew the amount of money (adjusted for inflation) that I spent as a kid on baseball and football cards. I had boxes upon boxes stacked up, cards organized by teams, checklists kept, deficiencies noted. My mom, always one to pick up on her kids' burgeoning habits, would buy me packs by the armload and every spare cent I could lawnmower into my pocket would go to keep Topps from hitting bottom. Then all of a sudden, I quit. Tired of the hassle of keeping up with the Brian Williamsons on the world; tired of getting cheated out of my J.R. Richards and my Bruce Benedicts; tired of trying to pry that stale piece of gum off the fat back of Bob Horner.
Not even for Author Trading Cards will I go back.
{via}
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)
I donated all of my energy to Microsoft Project yesterday. I'll be giving most of my time to that program the next few weeks as I try to figure out if it's a worthwhile application for what I need. That means little joy expected for at least eight hours of my every weekday. Expect a lot of posts full of "highlights" like this one until things stabilize:
John Grisham gave a commencement address to some high school students in Little Rock. He told them that they should prolong their college years as long as possible. However, the most important pertinent part of his message was his admitting that he doesn't belong in the pantheon of great Southern writers: "I'm a pretty good storyteller who happens to live in the South," he said. "I've sold too many books to be taken seriously as a literary writer."
Looks like the Duke lacrosse scandal has cost the school more than just its reputation. It appears noted scholar Houston A. Baker is leaving Durham for Nashville. He has been highly critical of the Duke administration in recent weeks.
The St Paul Pioneer Press profiles Gary Amdahl, author of a nice new collection of short stories called Visigoth. (My overly overdue review should follow in the coming weeks.):
"This is an experiment, to some extent, on my part," Amdahl explains.
"I was thinking about (poet, essayist and critic) Randall Jarrell's idea that 'story' can be anything — anecdotes, poems, true, false. I wanted the world to see my best work, regardless of genre, so I presented some fiction, essays and novellas to Milkweed as a collection. The essays and stories complement each other. They have the same themes and style. I guess I would have preferred to make it clear that a couple of pieces were essays. But we went ahead with the idea we would call the whole business stories."
"He's a man's man, he's a ladies' man and, even at 83, he's a very sexy man...Personally, I think he's one of the great sex symbols of the 21st century...It's never too late, Norman!"--Anjelica Huston hearts Norman Mailer, and she made it known when presenting him with the Los Angeles Library Literary Award last Thursday.
"Maybe 30 years ago," responded Mailer.
Princeton's Firestone Library has purchased an invaluable archive, considered to be one of the most significant acquisitions in decades:
Inside the folders are correspondence from some of the greatest poets of the 20th century -- formal, almost imperious letters typed in blue ink and signed by T.S. Eliot, postcards scrawled in William Carlos Williams' arthritic, post-stroke handwriting, letters signed in meek, careful print by the demented Sylvia Plath.
They are part and parcel of The Hudson Review's singular literary archives, more than 250 boxes of manuscripts, galleys, letters and journals penned by the magazine's writers that were acquired by Princeton University's Department of Rare Books and Special Collections last week.###
Ever wondered where some of Mississippi's legendary writers, musicians, athletes, activists, and politicians are buried? Wonder no more.
I love it when academics justify those age-old arguments we all have had after a few tokes on a water bong. For instance, check out this study (rather large pdf file) on what factors lead to people's choices for "worst song ever." According to the researchers, "Achy, Breaky Heart" was cited most often as being that song. {via}
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, Load of Links | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Can't she just go back to writing children's books?
Posted by Jeff B. in Madonna Causes Cancer | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)
You would think that someone so enamored with with Americana, with writing, with art, with the Beats, with culture in general, would have made numerous trips to New York City. Not the case for me. Last week marked my first time there other than a layover or two at JFK. I'm sure like most people going to New York for the first time, I had my preconceived notions of the place. I probably bought in to some of the myths. You know the ones I'm talking about: people are rude, city is dirty, everything is expensive. Frankly, I didn't know what to expect and really didn't care one way or the other. I had training for my new job and I had a big, wonderful, amazing city all around me. Once there, it was time to take it all in, good and bad, as much as I could in one evening in Manhattan.
Posted by Jeff B. in Ramblings, The Beats | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
I'm back in North Carolina but still recovering from the trip. So much information to take in and process. So while I get my Carolina heels under me, I give you something to enjoy, something to leave you scratching your head (or someone else's if you're not careful). I give you the Cut-Up Films of William Burroughs:
Following this brief exposition of what was to come, in The Cut Ups, instead of rendering Burroughs' writing, [Antony] Balch reinterprets it as a pure cinematic technique. After Towers Open Fire, Balch was to film a 23-minute silent documentary of Gysin and Burroughs at the Beat Hotel in 1961, the Muniria Hotel in Tangier and the Hotel Chelsea in New York in 1963. The film was to be entitled Guerrilla Conditions. The subject matter can be compared to Towers Open Fire as parts of Burroughs' novels and documents of his life at that period. It also contains several sequences that are rumored to be Balch's attempt at filming The Naked Lunch, an ongoing project that was eventually shelved as appropriate financing could not be raised. Guerilla Conditions was in fact never realized, but the footage was shot and it became the basis for The Cut Ups.
The Cut Ups was conventionally edited and then cut into four approximately equal lengths. It was then assembled into its final state by taking one-foot lengths from each of the four sections that were cut together with mathematical precision — 1,2,3,4,1,2,3,4 etc. Variations to this structure occur randomly when a shot change occurs within one of the already edited one-foot lengths.
Posted by Jeff B. in Books & Writers, The Beats | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
I think that's going to be all for me. Thanks to Jeff and both of you readers for the confidence and eyeballing.
Technorati says this blog is worth $0. I should've checked Tuesday. At least it's not in the hole.
For all your childlike devotion, here's a little favorite that *will* be playing on the iPod tomorrow.
Posted by georgekaplan in General | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)
I'm starting to get exhausted with this blogging stuff. Since I'm winding up, I thought I'd just throw a muffin-basket together for yas.
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While looking around for info on some (small, lap)dog-food commercial I saw that used Magnetic Fields' "I Think I Need A New Heart," I stumbled upon the news that Portastatic will be providing a live score for "The Unknown" at the Seattle Film Festival. Pianos are being de-tuned as we speak. More info here. All I can say is : cool!
Mac McCaughan also scored "Looking for Leonard," a Canadian film (Molly Parker!)* that's had few, if any, opportunities to be seen by us Shatner-stealin' Mexico-touchers.
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With all the disappointed reviews of "The Da Vinci Code," the worst news, to me, is that it was produced by John Calley. I think Will Blythe is the John Calley of fiction. Or vice versa. I could listen to either one talk forever. I especially enjoy Calley in the (admittedly in-house) Kubrick thing. You know, the one narrated by Tom Cruise.
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I may be opening up Pandora's can of sleeping dogs here, but the one thing from the WB thing I neglected to mention was his comment that he, as editor, preferred his non-fiction to be done by fiction writers, as he saw them better able to tell/see stories. When I had the GW as my instructor in grad school, I mentioned that I was considering a 3rd semester genre switch - when the GW realized it wasn't poetry I meant but non-fiction, the look I got told me WB isn't the only one who believes that. Not sure where I stand, but I sure as hell didn't bring it up with my non-fiction classmates.** What do you guys think?
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Tomorrow is Game 1 of the Eastern Conference finals. I had to ratchet back to one $eat becau$e of the price and I hope my superstitions are debunkable, because the $eat I was given for round$ 3/4 is where I sat for the awful Montreal blowout.
And here's hoping The Arcade Fire doesn't pop up on my iPod during the shuffle tomorrow. That happened the days of Game 1 Round 1 and Game 4 Round 2. The uncivilized would say it's because a portion of all sales of Funeral go to the purchase of Hurricanes tickets.
(and there's even *more* info on the Seattle Portastatic live scoring at that last link, if you scroll down a bit)
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If you've ever wanted to build a replica of The Stanley Cup ( and who in their right mind hasn't?), here are some instructions (pdf 848 kB).
Can't find the instructions for the Stanley Cup costume for babies.
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*if you ever hear of anyone arrested for camping outside a Molly-Parker-window, shouting "Why do you linger?!" it's probably me.
**Until now, I guess.
Posted by georgekaplan in General | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
I was assaulted by this in a recent shipment from cisco.
This is what's wrong with our country today - Dutch immigrants. Not the descendants of Dutch immigrants, like me, but, you know, recent Dutch immigrants.
Posted by georgekaplan in Hell in a Handbasket | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
It may be just shyness or a bigger, more general social ineptitude, but I often get in trouble, especially on first dates or other social test drives, by choosing statements to make me sound underwhelmed. I intend it as a form of ironic, dry, breezy wit. The others don't, by my experience, usually see it that way.
Woman: "We should get together again, sometime."
Me (smiling, I think): "You might be able to talk me into that, if I don't have anything better to do."
I think I should start winking when I do this.
I've tried to find a word for it, with no luck. Perhaps I'm giving up too easily but I want to assign a word to this. Hypobole. Whaddya think (about the word, not my skillz)?
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Some say this might could cause problems.
With slow, shouting English approved for first responders.
Posted by georgekaplan in General | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
Once upon a time, about 10 years ago, I went to a local conference that took place in Durham, and ended up in one of the coolest classes/events I've attended, although my appreciation has been amplified in retrospect.
Will Blythe, then still at Esquire, was there to speak about the short story and publication. What he did was only bring tons of copies of first pages of 15-20 submitted stories from Esquire's files, each with the author's info and, usually, the title blacked out. We would briefly read over them and then discuss, over the feedback of hearing aids, whether we would read on or move on. As you can imagine, in the span of an hour or so, people got rather impatient and picky. I think that was the point - a little role-playing exercise and I think it was kinda brilliant. Maybe not brilliant so much as memorable - I think a number of editors would do something similar, they just didn't have the same kind of stories available.
This was early on for me, but I recognized "Strays" and "The Birds for Christmas" by Mark Richard (there were 3 or 4 total) and maybe "Car Crash While Hitchiking." I believe the crowd was mixed in opinion most of the time, although now I'm pretty surprised how many stories weren't recognized by at least *someone*. DFW's "My Appearance" got trashed, I believe. Saul Bellow's "Something to Remember Me By" also, mostly done in by the original title "A Turntable, A Vortex."
There were also the usual examples of deer hunts and ghosts appearing on red-eye flights and Sgt Fury-type "barking."
WB also had many stories on which of these gems he'd passed on and which ones he lost to another publication. I'm afraid I wasn't taking notes - blogs weren't around then.
But I remember one exchange:
Attendee: "I'd pass on this."
WB: "Why?"
Attendee:" It reads like a bad Hemingway rip-off."
WB: "That's very interesting. It actually *is* Hemingway."
It was a rare unpublished story submitted to them. I believe they passed.
So WB's one of my heroes. I've seen him sometimes at my coffee place or around other spots in Chapel Hill. I have a first of David Leavitt's Arkansas at home, one that says "The Term Paper Artist" had originally appeared in Esquire. I could get my copy of Why I Write signed, but I don't know if I have the balls to hand Arkansas to one of my early literary heroes and ask him to sign it. I don't know if he'd find it very amusing or very not.
Posted by georgekaplan in Books & Writers | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Jeff already blogged a bit about the NC Festival of the Book thingy with Daniel Wallace and Will Blythe. One thing he didn't mention was my involuntary and potentially creepy "Yes!" I let out when WB listed Leonard Gardiner's Fat City as one of his favorite sports novels. Many author events have the guy that audibly agrees with everything said and I was concerned I had become that guy.
But that got me re-reading Fat City and I'm digging it even more (even with all the "should of" in place of "should've").
Here's a piece by Denis Johnson from 10 years ago. When the most-often recited writer of the 90s* talks about the book he himself recites, I think it's worth a look-see.
And if you know about Fat City but haven't read it yet - what's wrong with you? It's beautiful and it's even short. And if you think that no play-by-play of a sporting event can be a great read**, this could change your mind.
I'll be putting the Huston movie in my Neflix queue.
*if I were a bettin' man...
**I usually agree
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