The new Diagram 8.6 is out and I would like to add to the longstanding Blogger/Writer tradition of mentioning a lit mag you should read, you know for all the great writers, the verve and “screw the man” crystal sentences of cocaine, etc., for your personal enrichment, higher cause, cough, cough…; and then casually dropping the fact I am in the issue.
(Typing this, I get nostalgic for blogger neurotics, for example Blake’s circle jerk post)
Read your Regis Philbin knitting secret pump here:
(I would kick this guy’s ass in a road race, but then I am very, very fast.)
Matt Bell has a year in review that was very close to the letter my relatives send me around Christmas explaining how a sunshine of silver coins actually follows them in a halo about their non-receding hairline. The kids are AWESOME! The job, AWESOME! Also they get great laid pretty much daily and to various partners, all witty and beautiful and clean and with the circus behind the eyes, but in a safe way.
Matt, I have a mortgage the size of Oprah, unsymmetrical ears with that wrinkle in the lobe that suggest high risk for heart disease, a tiny urge for fermented grain (s), a serious question about whether I live my life for a higher purpose than the pale visage I have to wake to in the mirror on Tuesday, and a dog that has recently chewed my camo Doc Martins and my RATT Videos From the Cellars DVD: The Atlantic Years (now confetti).
I kid, I kid. I like Matt, admire his work, and his year has been outstanding. Ever since I have writer-blogged, I have been inspired to do more, to read more, write more. Matt’s year is an excellent template for anyone, and a testament to how much hard work is involved in writing even one decent word, much less a sentence, and so on.
80 books? Jesus Christ.
As for successful writing, Gordon Lish says, “I see perseverance, application, industry, assiduity, will, will, will, desire, desire, desire.”
Matt gets it, folks. Put ass in chair! Write.
I consider this story one of the best I read in 2008.
I sat in a deer stand tonight and FROZE MY ASS OFF. I am a runner, scrawny. A hawk screamed over my left shoulder and several flocks of Canada (not “Canadian,” people) geese V’d their way overhead, always an oddly religious sighting. Honk, honk.
Sometimes a cut corn field, the stubble ruffling in the wind, is God.
Tuong Ot Sriracha is a Top 10 Hot sauce. Seriously. This is saying something since I own and/or worship hundreds of hot sauces. To not have this sauce in your crib would make you dead as disco, without the white suit. Seriously (this said twice for, uh, emphasis), you have black pepper, a corkscrew, and crinkly packages of red condoms in your apartment, right? GET THIS SAUCE. We have a word for such things: STAPLE.
Somebody emailed me recently and suggested a place for nachos in Chicago during AWP week (mid-February, 11-14–anyone going to AWP, join me for nachos [Blake already in]).
Dorados on Lincoln Square!
I’m not even linking, you might have noted. I flamed the flying monkey who emailed with this suggestion and cooked her bones with hollandaise sauce on white bread. We aren’t eating any nachos at a fucking French/Mexican fusion place. Fusion? That means you’re so stupid you pay someone to open your wine bottle. To sniff the cork. No thanks.
Later, I’ll have a list of the nacho places I will visit. Again, join. I promise wit, lies, and dreadful conversation.
For a slow scream of nachos across a yellow bridge.
For gold triangles.
For Kurt Russell eating nachos in that cool bar scene of Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof.
For baseball park nachos.
For sour cream.
For kawakawa peppers.
For all those worlds of salsa.
For Jimmy Eat World front-man Adam Lazarra who says, “We tried to eat nachos every single day. I have no idea why — maybe to unwind from being on the road for so long — but we would eat nachos every day. Oh, and I got some caps put on my teeth. And I got a haircut.”