tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70260131753009670012024-03-13T11:56:18.910-04:00Coffee-fueled. Addle-inspired.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-16901750082134703712014-06-03T08:30:00.000-04:002014-06-04T06:53:57.688-04:00Sketch: Three Sentences
I
After thirty years of loneliness, the dreamer packed up his belongings and spent his savings on a house in the countryside, far away from most civilization with a luxury bed and breakfast as its intent, and so he set about this new life of pastoral simplicity, through eight months he renovated this hermitage by himself.
II
Yet as the second guest did not show, as instead the cobwebs Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-11086513908852252012014-05-29T09:30:00.000-04:002014-05-29T09:30:01.128-04:00Sketch: The Berlin Coloratura
This happened several years ago, on one of my stays in
Berlin while I was there on adjunct work, attached to the University of __ on
research that had me from morning to night in the library with only enough
recovery time to scrub the dust from my fingertips, which is to say I needed my
sleep on this particular stay, in fact I was sorely despondent when I did not
get my sleep and in fact would Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-39152134129503382152014-05-13T08:04:00.001-04:002014-05-13T08:08:32.190-04:00White Room Transcript: The Book TourQ: But you've mentioned that the internet has made us all the interrogator.
A: [...]
Q: But that's because of the ease by which the material can be come by, by which I mean it's research.
A: [...]
Q: But doesn't that suggest that information itself has become a form of currency? But of course I mean it always has been one.A: [...]
Q: But that doesn't me we can't all have some control-A: [...]
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-24011275847135842812014-05-08T22:54:00.001-04:002014-05-08T22:54:23.306-04:00Sketch: Snow and TuskAt the same dinner reception I happened on a professional
speaker, a man who had gained a certain amount of notoriety and amassed a
comfortable fortune applying the philosophy of becoming to the world of
advanced technology. In fact the reception was held in part in his honor. By
the time he and his assistant arrived we well into our cordials, and as he
removed his coat he let it be known he was Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-70168929444066393452014-05-06T10:30:00.000-04:002014-05-06T10:30:02.952-04:00Remainders, or the empty vesselsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-9547980802444338922014-05-03T20:16:00.000-04:002014-05-03T20:18:38.828-04:00Sketch: Dinner PartyI was at a dinner reception several years ago when I found
myself next to a documentary videographer. A lifelong pacifist,
he shot primarily industrial films, videos meant to prevent accidents
when working around the gauges and digitized monitoring systems that
represented the bulk of contemporary machinery. As the night went on, he told
me about some of his earlier works, about his first forays Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-79405280858077424132014-04-29T11:00:00.000-04:002014-04-29T11:00:08.680-04:00Sketch: The Broadway BeaconOne day, as I was digging my way through even more coursework, this time in a seaside town along the Maryland eastern shore, some locals told me the story of two boys, twins, who had stopped going to school and began building a tower from anything they could find and re-use, old rakes and broom handles and wooden deck chairs and planks from doors and broken ladders and the blue-hued tops of desksAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-73920830111051475972014-04-28T08:30:00.000-04:002014-04-28T08:30:02.376-04:00Sketch: Cat NamesIt wasn’t until the day after my grandfather’s funeral that I remembered this story, having nothing to do with his death but rather the infection that had laid me low, at rest in my bed in cold sweats. While traveling, on a bus because it was all my youthful budget would allow, I met a man who had just been let out from prison. He had served his sentence, that his time was up and so was moving toAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-53986851854751305032013-07-29T20:22:00.003-04:002013-07-29T21:42:06.451-04:00On the revelation of the Ostmark BellApparently, it wasn't just hyperbole:
The bishops...will be followed--with measured tread, as they say--by the Gauleiters, the SS officers, and the members of the Blood Order. And these will be followed by the National Socialist Catholic population, I thought. And the music will be played by our National Socialist Catholic band. The National Socialist salvos will be fired, and the National Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-52262719472930108312013-07-17T12:30:00.000-04:002013-07-17T14:20:42.066-04:00The Hans piece, part oneI'm still in the throes of revising, but here's the first section. Because I'm angry, because I have things to prove, I might post more. But it won't be complete, and I would really like readers for when it's done. Drop me a line.
This is the running joke--i.e., the Hans Story--that has existed between Sophie and me for quite a few months. It exists after the break, and it's coming to a close Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-79997201447130368882013-05-09T19:00:00.000-04:002013-05-09T19:00:01.544-04:00Sketches, May 9 - In the tone of BernhardOn the 14th of August, already suffering from a pulmonary infection that the doctor had said might not be remediable, I joined my ex-mentor for a trip along the Dardanelles, by sea, in fact, against my doctor's wishes and much too soon for any such engagement or activity, but keeping this in mind although weakened from the same infection I joined him at a disregard for any spreading, for he had Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-77578518280510232612013-05-08T21:17:00.002-04:002013-05-08T21:46:06.177-04:00Sketches, May 8 - In the tone of MarksonThey showed up on a boat, as I have said, a rowboat--or maybe a dinghy--as I recall the method of conveyance was not nearly as important as its conveyees, the boy hamfisted, the girl peeling from a sun-induced rosacea, as the spinnaker flapped useless against a feckless breeze.
She was 12, he was her brother and thus older.
As it was, I had lost track of the days, or weeks, I had been adrift, Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-14237774522506196052012-09-13T20:01:00.000-04:002012-09-14T01:10:43.077-04:00And so we punk[Ed. note: The following was written for the NPR project Three Minute Fiction after research uncovered that the winner of this installment would receive publication in The Paris Review as well as being read on All Things Considered. Essentially an experiment in microfiction, the task was to create something that could be read in three minutes, about 600 words, on a topic of the guest judge's Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-81185463827088225382012-06-27T11:41:00.000-04:002012-06-27T12:20:50.601-04:00Experiments in Film ReductionismIt's a dirty secret that the most frequently visited posts on this blog are the ones that feature my thoughts on film: White Ribbon, Tree of Life, Drive. Which is sad, because I've realized that I'm not a very good film reviewer. Either those thoughts are slight, in passing, or just a one-off that essentially means nothing to anyone anywhere. As a nascent cinephile, I find this disheartening.
SoAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-81473699145826237692012-06-23T21:45:00.000-04:002012-06-23T21:45:00.808-04:00Greatly ExaggeratedThe problem with spending this much time away from posting is that it is, much like a distant, lapsed friendship, always difficult to find the point to start. Do we talk photo shoots, Stanley Cups, Arthur Danto? Or maybe the TV show Werewolf, finding the right lump charcoal, replacing the turntable I left back in SF? And what exactly is it with my obsession over learning Hungarian anyway?
Life, Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-74788910885054702212012-01-21T11:37:00.001-05:002012-01-21T12:13:08.853-05:00Two American TraditionsOwing to the fact that I'm an Army brat, allow me to indulge in two very American traditions. Football and the Armed Service.
The football season is winding down now, coming upon two huge contests between the 49ers vs. the Giants and the Ravens vs. Patriots. And if you're a homesick soldier roasting in the desert of Kuwait, pining for the roar of a TV and the brews being passed toAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-22512415845639931492012-01-06T18:48:00.000-05:002012-01-07T04:50:23.919-05:00A Return to Charm CityIf this was home, I had lost my frame of reference.
The Jones Falls still roared alongside, but above it were new buildings of glass and concrete, I assume erected as a visible showing of progress. They blocked the twin overpasses -- my only landmarks upon embarking from Penn Station, and so it was after ten years away, standing on the crest of this hill in the city of Baltimore, with the line Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com3Baltimore, MD, USA39.2903848 -76.612189339.1920723 -76.7701178 39.3886973 -76.4542608tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-52417450583346157062011-12-22T10:30:00.001-05:002011-12-23T03:16:59.251-05:00Videos, in wet socksI'm going to keep this brief as I'm currently standing (sitting) in a half gallon of NYC's vaunted public water, borrowing as I am from an old Army trick for breaking in jump boots.
Yes, I stood in the shower with new leather boots on. Not jump boots.
And now I'm reliving the punchline to the old Army trick: I get to wear them, my feet soggy, sopping, until the shrink and fit is molded Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-51639745851898103922011-12-02T11:31:00.000-05:002011-12-03T00:34:47.052-05:00randomly generated moments of reflectivityI am writing this with a bit of a cough, so please excuse this and my relative lack of coherence, if it happens. A three-dots post:
One. With the death of Patrice O'Neal, I'm remembering my only story involving the guy. (Great comedian, btw, in the few places I saw him -- he was the flamer on Arrested Development, although I remember him as a regular on the earliest iteration of PoliticallyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-33992020209463433542011-10-05T14:16:00.001-04:002011-10-05T14:26:00.830-04:00Subjects, or the Mailbag1. Crazy girls gone wilder. [Ed. note: The writer of this blog does not condone the exploitation of the mentally disaffected, nor should they be used in a suggested reboot of a once-ballyhooed reality series "Survivor: Lizzie Borden All-Stars."]
2. Scare people with your tool today. [Ed. note: The assumption and accusation that he in any way resembles Michael Myers or O.J. Simpson or Freddie Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-77703779177857983902011-09-05T16:48:00.002-04:002011-10-05T09:31:04.751-04:00Berkshire Mountain High[Ed. note: This will be the ultimately unfinished start to a failed post, ruminations on the now long-done Labor Day weekend trip that spared me the shootings that hit my neighborhood (and which surprised no one).]
I.
It was upon the fourth or fifth passing of a car dealership that I turned to my navigator-cum-lady-companion and said "This is what America looks like." We were driving along Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-83505327408029972722011-08-29T21:34:00.012-04:002011-11-08T12:24:09.902-05:00Cue the Song for the Harbinger as a SwanAnd what if it did start with a song? What if the Earthquakes, hurricanes, the incoming pandemonium portending an eventual apocalypse portending what, what, what exactly? What is it if it's not a feeling of comity through shared victimhood over the sacrosanct power of Nature over all? Or God's creatures and dangling shits, the skyscrapers as subtle re-envisionings of the Towers of Babel we line Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-90501101726668705232011-08-17T05:19:00.001-04:002011-08-17T05:21:58.243-04:00beach battle imbroglioI'm writing tonight, so forgive anything that might happen, as this is happenstance from calling out (again) from work and essentially fearing to co-exist. I will also warn you, I'm sitting around, snipping my rollies and marveling at the shapes that I can make with the smoke.
Basically, be ready for the "Notes from the Field" post that this is:
Rick Perry. A blast. I mean, can the guy be more Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-31839215013792061012011-07-12T18:29:00.000-04:002011-07-12T18:29:52.274-04:00The Butterfly and Satan's BackwashThe thermometer cracked today at 92 degrees. Which in common parlance means that the air outside was thick, like being suffocated under a down comforter while a fire rages on the floor below [Ed. aside: in my earlier times, I would rather naively assert that the masses would assert their distaste for global warming through pursed, smiling lips, en route to sand-draped shores and ocean breezes.]
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7026013175300967001.post-58344978889194179452011-06-21T12:33:00.000-04:002011-06-21T12:33:53.445-04:00The "Charlie Rose Goes to the Movies" PostItem 1.
As usual, David Denby nails it. Excuse me: Denby. Nails. It.
So cut to the scene, Friend Daniel and I outside the Sunshine Cinema, me with requisite twig, Daniel having just emerged from el bano. After watching The Tree of Life.
Me: Just go with me on this one. I need to say the words, and then either back down or back them up. But I need to test the words out.
Daniel: And we haven'tAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16170993641811705523noreply@blogger.com3