Great essay by Kent Nussey in Brick about writing and the meaning of success: Big Two-Hearted Supermarket
I am in love with this site: Common Errors in English. I love especially that he picked up on my one my pet peeves: PIN number/PIN. PIN means PERSONAL IDENTIFICATION NUMBER! So when you say “PIN number” you are adding an extra number! When I hear news anchors say “PIN number” it drives me to distraction.
poem for 6.1.05:
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
by T.S. Eliot
(note: today is the anniversary of when this poem was first published)
I don’t know what got me thinking about them today but all of a sudden I was reminded of the satos–Puerto Rican street dogs–and the Save a Sato campaign. I used to live near a shelter that was one of the adoption points for satos on the mainland. Often when I was walking my own dog (also a mutt), I would meet someone walking a cute little dog, unmistakably a sato. They are lovely little guys, so happy to be clean and fed. Anyway, if you are looking for a new dog, definitely check out what these sweet dogs have to offer.
In many of the short story collections I have read, I find that one or maybe two (sometimes more, even) weak stories. In Roxana Robinson’s A Perfect Stranger, I found no weakness. I found gems. I found tension. I found the dusty beauty of life—all its anger and forgiveness, all its shame and reprieve.
What you find as you read these unflinchingly tense stories is that you love these characters for their flaws. You love them and want to see them to the end because when you get to the end of each story, you know you will be moved (and often you cannot wait to get to the end of the story just to relieve the clenching tension that has bubbled up in you through witnessing the events). And like Kingsley, a perfect stranger, when you find yourself home again, you will understand that life moves forward:
Inside the room Kingsley would take off his raincoat and drape it over the back of a wooden chair; he would bend over the mail on the table, and he would be once again inside the deep intimate space of his own familiar, mysterious, darkening life.
My dad brought me to see Jaws the summer it was released. After the movie, I remember how terrified I was as we walked from the spot where we parked our car, down the dark dirt road that led to our cottage. I felt Jaws everywhere–in the woods. And the next day, it took a great deal of convincing to get me into the lake.
To this day, there is always a tug of fear when I enter the ocean for a swim, especially at night.
And on this, the movie’s 30th anniversary, Martha’s Vineyard is celebrating with JawsFest:
In 1974, a group of filmmakers arrived on Martha’s Vineyard to make a movie, based on a popular best-selling novel. The movie – JAWS©. The impact of that film on popular culture and the entertainment industry is legendary. Now, thirty years later in celebration of the 30th anniversary of the filming of Jaws, the Martha’s Vineyard Chamber of Commerce will launch Jaws Fest, an annual 3-day event for Jaws fans from around the globe.
On more than one occasion, Allen and I have wondered if we shouldn’t start some sort of marriage therapy service that involves Sumo suits. We’ve never used them but when we get to one of those situations when neither of us is willing to back down, we have to wonder if things wouldn’t be easier if we couldn’t just strap on our sumo suits and have at each other.
Anyway, the current source of irritation (for me) is that Allen was completely, rigidly unwilling to listen to me that about the FACT that Weebles (an inferior toy!) are not synonamous with Fisher Price.
I KNEW that they were not the same toys. Fisher-Price toys were excellent. My sisters and I had the farm and the house and I had the Sesame Street version. They were outstanding toys. Made of wood, real quality. Whereas, Weebles were just sort of lame. So they wobble and don’t fall down. So what?
To be fair, I never played with Weebles. Never had any desire to. But Fisher-Price? I know Fisher-Price. And even though Allen is a decade older than I am and admitted that he never played with either of these toys, he was unwilling to listen to reason.
Which is why the Sumo suits are in order. In those Sumo suits, we become human Weebles. We wobble and we roll around but we don’t fall down, damnit. We are invincible.
failbetter.com has a new interview with Sam Lipsyte in which they discuss his recent novel, Home Land:
I’m definitely not interested in simply being shocking, not for any moral reason but because it’s a dead end. You’ll never be able to shock enough. There are moments of sexual humiliation and moments of terrible violence in this book, but they arise from forces set into motion by the narrative. If these events are disturbing there is also logic built into them, I hope. Like Oedipus taking out his eyes. Or Teabag getting teabagged again.
For the first time in a week, blue sky, sun, water receding. Thoe forecast calls for increasing clouds, more rain. We hope that is place, this micro-climate is spared.
The good thing about the rain is that there are toads everywhere and salamanders. You must be careful where you place your feet.
And the Gladiola bulbs I bought at the dollar store, sure to rot in the ground, are poking through, living. The lilies may well do the same if they could get some sun.
myfanwy collins 