Today in a disc golf tourney I lost by one stroke (tying for 2nd). This spleened me. I felt like ice crystals crunching. The most interesting thing of the day was on hole one, a bowling ball nestled against the tee sign. On the ball was a message that read FOR MARC STONE. I haven’t seen that on a D golf course, and I’ve certainly never seen a disc golf disc in a bowling alley.
Since I haven’t been able to run and road race (Achilles–don’t ask), I have missed the usual outlet for my competitive nature (not to mention irritation, insomnia, depression, ETOH long-time, a tendency to fling my children into the air). So 2nd really did make me feel like splinters, like a dog getting smaller. I hovered a little black cloud over my head all afternoon. Well, to take the high road, THIS GUY WON:
Blog Thingys I’ve Read Lately That Were Interesting:
1.) Blake Butler riffed on the MFA. This could, at another time, probably be a catalyst post, could probably send a segment of the blog-world/writer-world into a back N forth, a bit of spiraling friction, but most likely will not, now. There’s too much kinetic energy/newish sparkly things going on, and Blake’s post was a bit distracted, a bit anecdotal. Know why? Because dude has some sparkly stuff going on! His heart was good for the topic, but the timing was off.
Blake was like the time this woman cut my hair, semi-badly. She had always cut it well before. What gives? I’ll tell you what gives. She talked the whole time about her new fiance. In her head, this guy. In her hands, my hair.
How does this analogy work? What new thing for Blake? Uh, wake up peoples…
No Colony getting stronger like a thumping flower.
Novella coming out on Calamari.
Also he shaves now.
2.) As a professor, I like stories about parents who buy extra houses next to the college their children are attending. Wow. Stay close now, parents. Follow those kiddies, if you know what’s best and have never understood even one aspect of normal child (or adult) development.
If my parents followed me around all of my life, I would not be writing this blog (unless they let you blog from prison). Thank you Tenured Radical.
3.) Any post by Poker Grub is fascinating. He is simply (and never simply) the most honest addict I’ve ever known. Also he takes photos of his food. Who does that??
The other day I was blog scrambling and came across someone saying we should have a ban on writing about Kafka. (I would link the blog but I honestly forget where I read this.)
That got me thinking…
SIX THINGS WE SHOULD NEVER WRITE ABOUT AGAIN
1.) Wine glasses.
2.) The moon. I am sick of seeing the moon as a polished coin. As a lamp. Or some seashell thing about a crescent moon. Tides, too. No more tides, since they are influenced by the moon. No faces compared to moons. No earrings like moons. No dangling. I’m sick of dangling. Either stick to something fully, or just tumble off–cut the dangling bullshit. No full, blue, new, quarter, gibbous, disseminating, dark-side-of, or October moons. No more fucking moons! Period.
Hey, do you want to know what moon I was born under?
(Also eliminate lunar)
3.) Whales (you hear me, Tao Lin?)
4.) Apartments. I am fatigued of stories, poems, essays set in apartments. For now on, any apartment reference should have an instant FIND and REPLACE. You can set MS Word to a default to simply REPLACE apartment with a series of various improvements.
“Jeff had a face like black ore. I wanted to have sex with him so he came over to my Armadillo and I poured him a vat of wine and we did.”
“I am pure now. Emptied out. All existential. There is nothing but lost coins, splotched paint, and loneliness on the floors of my baby’s arm.”
“In Manhattan, you’ll find no kitchen in your lichen.”
“Wow,” I said, taking it all in. “Now this, this is the Carpathian snow-melt of my dreams”
5.) kids with sippy cups and shotguns. You sick bastards, why do you people keep writing about kids with sippy cups and shotguns? What’s next, a frecking photo? You get your own son and position him next to a shotgun, a sippy cup, and hell, why not, throw in a Subaru–ha, ha, you alliterative nothing. You fiends. You sick, sick, communist bastards. I don’t even get the point…
What? Oh, never mind.
In the news…
1.) In yet another Hemingway hangover, author carries around “large capacity” firearm.
2.) Bloggers really want to write books not these blog things.
3.) Author says Babe Ruth was black.
4.) Yet another writer “dies in despair.”
5.) Americans watched more TV when the writers were on strike, not less. Writers of the world, please go mirror. Everyday, look right into that sweet void.