The "It's Only 5:30 For Me" Edition
ITEM! Manga round-up - and NARUTO is where it's at! Volume 11 was released this month and in its first full week on the shelves it has sold more copies in a seven day period than any other graphic novel this year. In fact, if we look at the Bookscan numbers for the week ending August 27th, we can see how NARUTO continues to dominate:
1. Naruto vol. 11 (Viz Media)
2. The 9/11 Report: A Graphic Adaptaion (Hill and Wang)
3. Fruits Basket vol. 14 (Tokyopop)
4. Death Note vol. 7 (Viz Media)
5. Naruto vol. 10 (Viz Media)
6. Naruto vol. 1 (Viz Media)
7. Black Cat vol. 4 (Viz Media)
8. HALO (Marvel Comics)
9. Fullmetal Alchemist vol. 9 (Viz Media)
10. Naruto vol. 2 (Viz Media)
So, only two non-manga titles - and one is a video game tie-in and the other is an historical singularity. Also, Viz takes up 3 of the top 10 slots - but it's worth pointing out that DEATH NOTE, BLACK CAT, and FRUITS BASKET don't have a heavy animated presence in the US at all - FRUITS BASKET is available on DVD, while the other two can't be found on US airwaves at all. What they DO have in common is that DEATH NOTE and BLACK CAT were both serialized in the US magazine SHONEN JUMP before being published in trades. So, there's still something to be said for serialization before being collected and sold in the bookstores - just not in the traditional comic book store format the US is used to. HALO, the only Marvel Comics entry anywhere near the top 10, wasn't serialized at all before its release.
Tell me more:
http://icv2.com/articles/home/9255.html
http://www.lovemanga.co.uk/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Cat_%28manga%29
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_note
ITEM! Along with the redesign of its website, TokyoPop is selling some of its newer and lower selling titles exclusively through its website - angering a few vocal retailers. TokyoPop defends it has an attempt to give special attention to titles that are, quite simply, getting lost on the ever-expanding manga shelves. Retailers (the independent bookstore types, not the chains) are calling it a betrayal of some of TokyoPop's most ardent supporters - some even saying they'll be hesitant to order new TokyoPop series, for fear that TP will simply yank them from the shelves at a later date.
TP has defended their position, saying that they've always been open to experimenting and finding new ways to reach their audience. Some retailers, talking to Publisher's Weekly, said that they never like it when publisher sell directly to their audience, and that the retailers will "remember it at order time." It strikes THIS reporter as a case of TokyoPop preferring to take the merchandising of certain books into its own hands - and the retailers feel a little stung.
Meanwhile, the new TokyoPop site itself looks pretty sharp. I checked out the blogs today and the first thing I saw was a fan gushing about VAMPIRE HUNTER D, a non TP title. Maybe not good for TP's sales, but they're definitely building a community of manga lovers.
Tell me more:
http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6368715.html?nid=2789
http://tokyopop.com/blogs.php
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Thursday, March 30, 2006
It might be a crackhead.
Dear lord . . . leprechauns in Alabama. There are so many bizarre things about this video, I don't know where to start.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Why, Garfield, Why?!
I have a cold and my throat is sore and when I laugh really hard it sounds high pitched like the Joker. Also, it turns out that when you take out Garfield's thought balloons it becomes a strip about a lonely dude who talks to himself:
Sometimes he yells at them.
More!
Sometimes he yells at them.
More!
Monday, March 13, 2006
Mostly About Valentine Victorious
So! I saw this play the other night and it was really good.
It's called Valentine Victorious, written by Nathan Allen and directed by Dennis Watkins, and it was put on by the House Theatre of Chicago. It's the third part of the Valentine Trilogy, a series of plays telling one story over three genres. This last part was a superhero tale set in 1930's Chicago--one of my favorite tricks of the play being the lights and shadows cast against the back wall to give the illusion of a cityscape, the underside of the el tracks, or the headstones of Graceland Cemetery, as appropriate.
I really liked the first play, San Valentino and teh Melancholy Kid, and not a small part of that like was because it dealt with cowboys. I really disliked Curse of the Crying Heart, being part two and concerning samurais, mostly because I didn't think it lived up to the promise of chapter one, or of the promise of the House. I was disappointed overall with the House's second season (of which Crying Heart was a part--we're nearly through season three now, for those keeping score). The House's first full year of shows--dealing with Harry Houdini, cowboys, space ships, romance, 3-D, rock bands, death-defying escapes, violinists, and love, love, love--was presented with a fistful of hope for the future. I know a few theater types here and there, and I'm the only one I know who really likes the House--but that's mostly because they get a little snobby about theater. When we talk about why I like the House, they shake their heads, look at the ground, and say things like, "You now, there's a tradition . . . and if you're going to do theater . . . man, there's just this tradition, and you have to know you're walking in the footsteps of that tradition."
Their meaning being that the House somehow isn't, I suppose. But I think the House acknowledges that tradition in the best way you can, but taking the bits you like, changing the bits you don't, and taking a whole lot of other bits from other stuff. The House uses vaudeville, movies, comics, pop culture, everything they can get their eyes, ears, lips, noses and hands on. And I like that, even when their shows aren't perfect.
But with season two--and with Crying Heart--I felt that they were mostly treading water. I should exclude Cave With Man from that statement, which opened their second season, because that's one of the best plays I've seen them do. Cave was a play that operated almost wholly within its own invented language, which was fun and interesting to get your head around. And (at least the performance I saw) opened with the audience taking part in a drumming, beating, clapping ritual that made you feel like you were seeing some THEATER, man. It was a fun show. But Crying Heart, and Dave DaVinci Saves the Universe after it, didn't do anything new for me. When the House was clever in these two plays, it felt like they were doing it for clever's sake, as opposed to the sake of the play and the folks seeing it. I felt the same way after their third season opener, The Great and Terrible Oz.
But! Valentine Victorious puts them back on a track that I appreciate. I don't know if they do it consciously or not, but they seem to have one "gimmick" every play--magic tricks or 3D or wire-fu or something--and the trick this time worked a lot better than some others. Even with the Rocket Man, which I adored, the 3D seemed out of place and tricksy for the sake of it--but in Valentine, the House used oversized comic book panels during one scene that really called for it. It accentuated the scene and accomplished something that would have otherwise been absent. When this trilogy began I was excited about the use of music--the Trick Hearts have accompanied every performance of the Valentine Trilogy since it began, with the lead character (always played by Nathan Allen, except for a brief spell where he broke his hand during Valentine's run) singing and occasionally playing guitar. With San Valentino, I thought the music would match the genre somehow--but it seemed like that idea was abandoned after part one. Valentine offered a nice opportunity to bring that back with some period-inspired songs, but except for one particular sexy number sung by Carolyn Defrin, it was the same old heartache-rock. Maybe it's just a matter of taste, but for the most part I wanted to get back to the play this time around.
The dialogue was spot-on and snappy and the outfits evoked the feeling of comics and pulps without making the actors look unintentionally silly. I don't entirely understand what happened in the climactic scene--it's a battle between Valentine and his arch-foe, the Black Skull--but I think I worked it out on the bus ride to Pick Me Up after the show. But even that hiccup wasn't enough to throw the piece as a whole off-track. The show was a fitting end to the Trilogy and even, I dare say it, shows the House's growing maturity.
(Well, now that I think about it--the Trilogy's love story, mostly between Valentine and a girl who dies in part one, might need a little more closure. Or maybe it was a choice to keep that unspoken, in which case that's fine by me.)
It was a fine show put on by some fine folks, and if I'd known it was going to win my heart back I wouldn't have put it off until closing night. They close out their third season with Joe Meno's new play, written by Joe and based on his upcoming novel, The Boy Detective Fails. I think it starts in May. Also, they have a swell blog up at .
It's called Valentine Victorious, written by Nathan Allen and directed by Dennis Watkins, and it was put on by the House Theatre of Chicago. It's the third part of the Valentine Trilogy, a series of plays telling one story over three genres. This last part was a superhero tale set in 1930's Chicago--one of my favorite tricks of the play being the lights and shadows cast against the back wall to give the illusion of a cityscape, the underside of the el tracks, or the headstones of Graceland Cemetery, as appropriate.
I really liked the first play, San Valentino and teh Melancholy Kid, and not a small part of that like was because it dealt with cowboys. I really disliked Curse of the Crying Heart, being part two and concerning samurais, mostly because I didn't think it lived up to the promise of chapter one, or of the promise of the House. I was disappointed overall with the House's second season (of which Crying Heart was a part--we're nearly through season three now, for those keeping score). The House's first full year of shows--dealing with Harry Houdini, cowboys, space ships, romance, 3-D, rock bands, death-defying escapes, violinists, and love, love, love--was presented with a fistful of hope for the future. I know a few theater types here and there, and I'm the only one I know who really likes the House--but that's mostly because they get a little snobby about theater. When we talk about why I like the House, they shake their heads, look at the ground, and say things like, "You now, there's a tradition . . . and if you're going to do theater . . . man, there's just this tradition, and you have to know you're walking in the footsteps of that tradition."
Their meaning being that the House somehow isn't, I suppose. But I think the House acknowledges that tradition in the best way you can, but taking the bits you like, changing the bits you don't, and taking a whole lot of other bits from other stuff. The House uses vaudeville, movies, comics, pop culture, everything they can get their eyes, ears, lips, noses and hands on. And I like that, even when their shows aren't perfect.
But with season two--and with Crying Heart--I felt that they were mostly treading water. I should exclude Cave With Man from that statement, which opened their second season, because that's one of the best plays I've seen them do. Cave was a play that operated almost wholly within its own invented language, which was fun and interesting to get your head around. And (at least the performance I saw) opened with the audience taking part in a drumming, beating, clapping ritual that made you feel like you were seeing some THEATER, man. It was a fun show. But Crying Heart, and Dave DaVinci Saves the Universe after it, didn't do anything new for me. When the House was clever in these two plays, it felt like they were doing it for clever's sake, as opposed to the sake of the play and the folks seeing it. I felt the same way after their third season opener, The Great and Terrible Oz.
But! Valentine Victorious puts them back on a track that I appreciate. I don't know if they do it consciously or not, but they seem to have one "gimmick" every play--magic tricks or 3D or wire-fu or something--and the trick this time worked a lot better than some others. Even with the Rocket Man, which I adored, the 3D seemed out of place and tricksy for the sake of it--but in Valentine, the House used oversized comic book panels during one scene that really called for it. It accentuated the scene and accomplished something that would have otherwise been absent. When this trilogy began I was excited about the use of music--the Trick Hearts have accompanied every performance of the Valentine Trilogy since it began, with the lead character (always played by Nathan Allen, except for a brief spell where he broke his hand during Valentine's run) singing and occasionally playing guitar. With San Valentino, I thought the music would match the genre somehow--but it seemed like that idea was abandoned after part one. Valentine offered a nice opportunity to bring that back with some period-inspired songs, but except for one particular sexy number sung by Carolyn Defrin, it was the same old heartache-rock. Maybe it's just a matter of taste, but for the most part I wanted to get back to the play this time around.
The dialogue was spot-on and snappy and the outfits evoked the feeling of comics and pulps without making the actors look unintentionally silly. I don't entirely understand what happened in the climactic scene--it's a battle between Valentine and his arch-foe, the Black Skull--but I think I worked it out on the bus ride to Pick Me Up after the show. But even that hiccup wasn't enough to throw the piece as a whole off-track. The show was a fitting end to the Trilogy and even, I dare say it, shows the House's growing maturity.
(Well, now that I think about it--the Trilogy's love story, mostly between Valentine and a girl who dies in part one, might need a little more closure. Or maybe it was a choice to keep that unspoken, in which case that's fine by me.)
It was a fine show put on by some fine folks, and if I'd known it was going to win my heart back I wouldn't have put it off until closing night. They close out their third season with Joe Meno's new play, written by Joe and based on his upcoming novel, The Boy Detective Fails. I think it starts in May. Also, they have a swell blog up at .
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Part Three: Coach Carters Speaks of Huks
The most important thing that happened in Oklahoma City was that we received, and then carried across 20 states, a box of 60 knives, most of which were sharp and deadly, some of which were illegal. The most interesting thing that happened in Oklahoma City was this:
Coach Carter sits us down at night. We've eaten, we've showered, we've washed the stink and dirt of our past lives from our shoulders. Coach Carter says to Jack, he says, "Lots of people will try to tell you lots of things. When I was on the base--I was still a kid, still a teenager, but I would hang out with my older brothers, who were already signed up--they used to tell us, and I mean the CO's used to tell us, that the Huks were bad guys. Now the Huks were the army, the, uh, the military part of the Philippino Communist Party. And they'd tell us, don't you go wandering out there in the woods, because the Huks will grab you and take you off and you won't be seen no more. And sometimes that was true, but what you find out is there's more to anyone than what your CO will tell you.
"There was this one night when I was out runnin with the older boys and we found ourselves in this one bar where the American servicemen would hang out. And one of them, an airman, he took a liking to one of the Philippino girls. They were at the bar and talkin close and whisperin and kissin a little, and one of the boys who worked there--one of the Philippino boys--he started getting real mad, because he liked to figure that this was his girl. And she told him flat out, told him, 'No I'm not,' and that was good enough for her and good enough for the airman, but it wasn't good enough for this boy. He raised a fuss, pointin and yellin at these two, but as he was in a American bar, he didn't do much else. He wandered off and we figured that was that.
"We wound up later at this other bar--that was how we'd do it, and you know how it goes, we go from one bar to the next--and it was more of a, you know, a native bar. It wasn't tense or nothin, but you know, the scales were tipped a bit. And this airman is there and he's still kissin on this girl, and this cook shows up, this boy from the last bar. And this boy shows up again--we were all sitting at the back of this bar, and the boy he comes walking in from the front. He picks up a bottle, just a half-full bottle of beer from someone else's table, and he's walking from the front of the bar to the back, and at every table he passes he's giving that bottle a smack. He takes two steps, and whack-whack, he tries to break the bottle. He takes two steps, and whack-whack, he tries to break the bottle. Now I'm watchin this, but the airman and the girl, they don't see nothin yet. And I figure I'll say something when he gets close enough, but meanwhile I'm just kinda freaked out, because this guy's still comin, takin two steps, and whack-whack, he's still tryin to break this bottle. And then he's just about there to our table, and I'm just thinkin I'll have to say somethin, and the boy just happens to be passin by this table where a Marine is sitting and talking to his girl. And this boy lifts up his bottle to whack it on the table, and this is the one where it's going to break, you can just feel it, and the Marine reaches out without even looking up, just reaches out and takes the bottle right out of this boy's hand, and sits it down on the far side of him, and this boy don't even notice, he's still walking. And the Marine keeps on talkin to his girl, and this boy takes two more steps, and then he's standing right there in front of us, only he's by hisself and he's got no bottle and the lot of us stand up, the airman and my two brothers and me.
"And this airman's man. So we push this boy out of the bar, the four of us and this girl watchin, and we got this boy surrouned in the street. And the airman's just about to pound on him while we're watchin on when we're hit in the eyes by these headlights, and it's these MP's, shown up right out of the blue and about saved this boy's life. They ask if everything's okay, and we say sure, and this boy runs off and we go back to our beers, and I have a feelin that this is going to get ugly before it gets better.
"So we decide to go to this third bar. We split up in different cabs and the guy driving ours is Pham--he's a Huk, he and his twin brother are both Huks, but they're good guys. We'd run into them from time to time and talk and be friendly. So they're driving me and my brother to the next bar and we tell Pham about this boy who's been following us around. And we tell Pham, and we're a little drunk by now, we tell Pham that this guy might be trouble, and without us even asking a thing about it, Pham tells us that he'll take care of it. Well, we don't think much more about it and we get to this new bar--it's darker and drunker than the rest, and things are a little tense from the get go. So we're there, me and my brothers and the airman and the airman's girl, and sure enough, the boy shows up a few minutes later. And he's staring us down and the airman's about had it and he shouts at this boy, 'all right, we're gonna do it now or we're not gonna do it at all,' and the boy says they're gonna do it now. So the two of them head out the door, and then one by one my brothers and me see these other guys walk out the door behind them, these Philippino guys, one after the other, like ten, fifteen guys. So we don't even say a word, we just know we gotta go out there or our airman's gonna get it bad. We figure he's still gonna get it bad, as many of them went after him, but at least we'd get it bad right beside him. So we go out there, the three of us, and we're all pushed up ahead and into this circle of mad as hell Philippinos. They got us surrounded and we're back to back to back to back, and they're yellin at us about takin their women and all this shit, and they're gettin out knives and bricks and all that, and I'm just thinkin, hoo boy, this one is going to be bad. But we walked right into it, so we're going to take it, but we're gonna take some of them out with us.
"And then we hear this hootin and hollerin from behind us, and to the side of us, and from down this side alley comes Pham in his taxi. And he cuts his lights off and he's got about ten guys crammed into this little car of his. And then another taxi comes from the other side, filled with another ten guys, and then from all the other alleys and sidestreets these guys come runnin, I mean there's about thirty or forty goddamn guys that comin runnin out, and they're all Pham's friends, and they're all goddamn Huks! And all these boys who were surroundin us, just scatter. I mean they are gone.
"Except the boy who started this trouble in the first place. The airman's got a hold of his collar, and Pham comes up to us and slaps us all on the back and shakes our hands, and boy we were so glad to see him. And we tell Pham this was the son of a bitch causin us so much grief, and Pham puts him in the back of his taxi cab and him and his friends all drive off. Me and my brothers and our airman figure this was as good a time as any to head on back to the base. And that boy who was followin us around, and causin us all that trouble? After he got drove off by Pham in his taxi cab? We never saw, heard, or smelled of him again.
"We never asked Pham about it. But what it goes to show you is this--sometimes the Huks were all right."
NEXT: Cowboy Hats, Regular Fries, and I Think They Thought We Were Gay.
Coach Carter sits us down at night. We've eaten, we've showered, we've washed the stink and dirt of our past lives from our shoulders. Coach Carter says to Jack, he says, "Lots of people will try to tell you lots of things. When I was on the base--I was still a kid, still a teenager, but I would hang out with my older brothers, who were already signed up--they used to tell us, and I mean the CO's used to tell us, that the Huks were bad guys. Now the Huks were the army, the, uh, the military part of the Philippino Communist Party. And they'd tell us, don't you go wandering out there in the woods, because the Huks will grab you and take you off and you won't be seen no more. And sometimes that was true, but what you find out is there's more to anyone than what your CO will tell you.
"There was this one night when I was out runnin with the older boys and we found ourselves in this one bar where the American servicemen would hang out. And one of them, an airman, he took a liking to one of the Philippino girls. They were at the bar and talkin close and whisperin and kissin a little, and one of the boys who worked there--one of the Philippino boys--he started getting real mad, because he liked to figure that this was his girl. And she told him flat out, told him, 'No I'm not,' and that was good enough for her and good enough for the airman, but it wasn't good enough for this boy. He raised a fuss, pointin and yellin at these two, but as he was in a American bar, he didn't do much else. He wandered off and we figured that was that.
"We wound up later at this other bar--that was how we'd do it, and you know how it goes, we go from one bar to the next--and it was more of a, you know, a native bar. It wasn't tense or nothin, but you know, the scales were tipped a bit. And this airman is there and he's still kissin on this girl, and this cook shows up, this boy from the last bar. And this boy shows up again--we were all sitting at the back of this bar, and the boy he comes walking in from the front. He picks up a bottle, just a half-full bottle of beer from someone else's table, and he's walking from the front of the bar to the back, and at every table he passes he's giving that bottle a smack. He takes two steps, and whack-whack, he tries to break the bottle. He takes two steps, and whack-whack, he tries to break the bottle. Now I'm watchin this, but the airman and the girl, they don't see nothin yet. And I figure I'll say something when he gets close enough, but meanwhile I'm just kinda freaked out, because this guy's still comin, takin two steps, and whack-whack, he's still tryin to break this bottle. And then he's just about there to our table, and I'm just thinkin I'll have to say somethin, and the boy just happens to be passin by this table where a Marine is sitting and talking to his girl. And this boy lifts up his bottle to whack it on the table, and this is the one where it's going to break, you can just feel it, and the Marine reaches out without even looking up, just reaches out and takes the bottle right out of this boy's hand, and sits it down on the far side of him, and this boy don't even notice, he's still walking. And the Marine keeps on talkin to his girl, and this boy takes two more steps, and then he's standing right there in front of us, only he's by hisself and he's got no bottle and the lot of us stand up, the airman and my two brothers and me.
"And this airman's man. So we push this boy out of the bar, the four of us and this girl watchin, and we got this boy surrouned in the street. And the airman's just about to pound on him while we're watchin on when we're hit in the eyes by these headlights, and it's these MP's, shown up right out of the blue and about saved this boy's life. They ask if everything's okay, and we say sure, and this boy runs off and we go back to our beers, and I have a feelin that this is going to get ugly before it gets better.
"So we decide to go to this third bar. We split up in different cabs and the guy driving ours is Pham--he's a Huk, he and his twin brother are both Huks, but they're good guys. We'd run into them from time to time and talk and be friendly. So they're driving me and my brother to the next bar and we tell Pham about this boy who's been following us around. And we tell Pham, and we're a little drunk by now, we tell Pham that this guy might be trouble, and without us even asking a thing about it, Pham tells us that he'll take care of it. Well, we don't think much more about it and we get to this new bar--it's darker and drunker than the rest, and things are a little tense from the get go. So we're there, me and my brothers and the airman and the airman's girl, and sure enough, the boy shows up a few minutes later. And he's staring us down and the airman's about had it and he shouts at this boy, 'all right, we're gonna do it now or we're not gonna do it at all,' and the boy says they're gonna do it now. So the two of them head out the door, and then one by one my brothers and me see these other guys walk out the door behind them, these Philippino guys, one after the other, like ten, fifteen guys. So we don't even say a word, we just know we gotta go out there or our airman's gonna get it bad. We figure he's still gonna get it bad, as many of them went after him, but at least we'd get it bad right beside him. So we go out there, the three of us, and we're all pushed up ahead and into this circle of mad as hell Philippinos. They got us surrounded and we're back to back to back to back, and they're yellin at us about takin their women and all this shit, and they're gettin out knives and bricks and all that, and I'm just thinkin, hoo boy, this one is going to be bad. But we walked right into it, so we're going to take it, but we're gonna take some of them out with us.
"And then we hear this hootin and hollerin from behind us, and to the side of us, and from down this side alley comes Pham in his taxi. And he cuts his lights off and he's got about ten guys crammed into this little car of his. And then another taxi comes from the other side, filled with another ten guys, and then from all the other alleys and sidestreets these guys come runnin, I mean there's about thirty or forty goddamn guys that comin runnin out, and they're all Pham's friends, and they're all goddamn Huks! And all these boys who were surroundin us, just scatter. I mean they are gone.
"Except the boy who started this trouble in the first place. The airman's got a hold of his collar, and Pham comes up to us and slaps us all on the back and shakes our hands, and boy we were so glad to see him. And we tell Pham this was the son of a bitch causin us so much grief, and Pham puts him in the back of his taxi cab and him and his friends all drive off. Me and my brothers and our airman figure this was as good a time as any to head on back to the base. And that boy who was followin us around, and causin us all that trouble? After he got drove off by Pham in his taxi cab? We never saw, heard, or smelled of him again.
"We never asked Pham about it. But what it goes to show you is this--sometimes the Huks were all right."
NEXT: Cowboy Hats, Regular Fries, and I Think They Thought We Were Gay.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Banana King
There's a new issue of The Banana King available at finer bookstores everywhere! It features stories by Elizabeth Crane, Anne Elizabeth Moore, and some dude named Matthew Jent. Actually, that last one is me, and my story is really awesome. It's called "Long, Low, and Blue" and I made it up by myself. So track a copy down and include the way-awesome A.B. Drea in your prayers for putting together a kick-ass zine.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Drills Momentarily Delayed
House leaders late Wednesday abandoned an attempt to push through a hotly contested plan to open an Alaskan wildlife refuge to oil drilling, fearing it would jeopardize approval of a sweeping budget bill Thursday.
They also dropped from the budget document plans to allow states to authorize oil and gas drilling off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts — regions currently under a drilling moratorium.
The actions were a stunning setback for those who have tried for years to open a coastal strip of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, or ANWR, to oil development, and a victory for environmentalists, who have lobbied hard against the drilling provisions.
President Bush has made drilling in the Alaska refuge his top energy priority.
The House Rules Committee formalized the change late Wednesday by issuing the terms of the debate when the House takes up the budget package on Thursday.
The decision to drop the ANWR drilling language came after GOP moderates said they would oppose the budget if it was kept in the bill. The offshore drilling provision was also viewed as too contentious and a threat to the bill, especially in the Senate.
-----
That's surprising! But welcome news on a day that also brought news that in Kansas, science is our foe.
They also dropped from the budget document plans to allow states to authorize oil and gas drilling off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts — regions currently under a drilling moratorium.
The actions were a stunning setback for those who have tried for years to open a coastal strip of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, or ANWR, to oil development, and a victory for environmentalists, who have lobbied hard against the drilling provisions.
President Bush has made drilling in the Alaska refuge his top energy priority.
The House Rules Committee formalized the change late Wednesday by issuing the terms of the debate when the House takes up the budget package on Thursday.
The decision to drop the ANWR drilling language came after GOP moderates said they would oppose the budget if it was kept in the bill. The offshore drilling provision was also viewed as too contentious and a threat to the bill, especially in the Senate.
-----
That's surprising! But welcome news on a day that also brought news that in Kansas, science is our foe.
Friday, September 16, 2005
It Could Be Corey
From Mer:
I think the quintessential reason to like Coreys is because they make you
feel better for who you are.
Loser who works at Barnes and Noble under one Daisy Morton? Dude, could be
worse: you could be doing coke off of a tranny in East Harlem with Corey.
Writer's block threatening to derail your nascent (fuck, prenatal) career?
Hey, man, you could be on the floor of the Viper Room, sucking gin martinis
out of the carpet since your credit card just bounced and you can't even
convince Tara Reid to buy you a double in exchange for some nasty, back of
the SUV oral, just like Corey.
Have gonarrhea? Hey, so does Corey! The antibiotics work, he says, no need
to cry.
Hurricane Katrina buttfucked your house, school, career, life? You could be
bent over a casting couch, getting pegged by a D-level producer who thinks
that maybe he can find a place for you in next summer's blockbuster "Wet
Coeds 2: Bikini Beach Patrol." You and Corey.
See? See how this day is so vital to America? Because no matter how
bushwacked our own lives seem, we could be in the stinking morass that is
known as the life of being Corey. Thank you, brave Coreys, for living the
life that we don't even want to read about in US Weekly. Amen.
I think the quintessential reason to like Coreys is because they make you
feel better for who you are.
Loser who works at Barnes and Noble under one Daisy Morton? Dude, could be
worse: you could be doing coke off of a tranny in East Harlem with Corey.
Writer's block threatening to derail your nascent (fuck, prenatal) career?
Hey, man, you could be on the floor of the Viper Room, sucking gin martinis
out of the carpet since your credit card just bounced and you can't even
convince Tara Reid to buy you a double in exchange for some nasty, back of
the SUV oral, just like Corey.
Have gonarrhea? Hey, so does Corey! The antibiotics work, he says, no need
to cry.
Hurricane Katrina buttfucked your house, school, career, life? You could be
bent over a casting couch, getting pegged by a D-level producer who thinks
that maybe he can find a place for you in next summer's blockbuster "Wet
Coeds 2: Bikini Beach Patrol." You and Corey.
See? See how this day is so vital to America? Because no matter how
bushwacked our own lives seem, we could be in the stinking morass that is
known as the life of being Corey. Thank you, brave Coreys, for living the
life that we don't even want to read about in US Weekly. Amen.
Corey is Dead.
There is a place I go in my head when I must conjure Corey. As Corey Thunder Dome 2005 approached I went there, dear reader. I went to my special place to bring them forth to celebrate this day that honors them, gives them the respect they long fought for and so deserve. As they are shy, I spoke with tenderness. I called to them in soothing tones. Corey, are you there? Corey, do you hear me? I beckoned them in, gently at first and then with great force. I threatened. I cajoled. I cried out, my voice echoing emptily in the night. I sang a stirring, a cappella rendition of “Dream a Little Dream” ending with a Corey Heart medley, consisting only of “Sunglasses at Night” over and over, a broken fucking record. A golden stud in the wrong lobe. The Coreys, they did not come. The Coreys left me alone in my bed, in my head, wringing my hands and tearing at my clothes. I read through the Thunder Dome archive. I spoke Corey quotes aloud.
Could you take the car out of neutral? We just got passed by a street sweeper.
Silence.
An innocent girl, a harmless drive. What could possibly go wrong?
Silence.
Don’t switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no.
Silence.
I wept quiet tears. And then out of the darkness, slow and with great bravado came sweet music. A gravelly voice. A drunken slur, underlined with blatant sexual innuendo. “I’m a cop, you’re a crook,” he spat. “Nothin’ worse than a bad cop.” He hissed it, tickling the inside of my ear. Nolte, hair wild. Nolte, in handcuffs. Smoking a cigar. Handling the truth. Issued a restraining order. Accompanied by Eddie Murphy? Nolte in my special place.
Alone no longer, I am free. I am his.
Corey is dead.
But Nolte, so very much alive.
Could you take the car out of neutral? We just got passed by a street sweeper.
Silence.
An innocent girl, a harmless drive. What could possibly go wrong?
Silence.
Don’t switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no.
Silence.
I wept quiet tears. And then out of the darkness, slow and with great bravado came sweet music. A gravelly voice. A drunken slur, underlined with blatant sexual innuendo. “I’m a cop, you’re a crook,” he spat. “Nothin’ worse than a bad cop.” He hissed it, tickling the inside of my ear. Nolte, hair wild. Nolte, in handcuffs. Smoking a cigar. Handling the truth. Issued a restraining order. Accompanied by Eddie Murphy? Nolte in my special place.
Alone no longer, I am free. I am his.
Corey is dead.
But Nolte, so very much alive.
Corey Feldman Is . . .
I can't think of a better way to get started than to visit Googlism.
My love for the Coreys goes back to Corey Feldman. We flirted a little in Stand By Me, but we didn't get down to the heavy petting until the Lost Boys. So I wondered what Corey's been up to since we looked him up last year . . .
corey feldman is pretty sure he knows what you think of him
corey feldman is my man
corey feldman is out of the pictures
corey feldman is a secondary player in this one
corey feldman is still alive
corey feldman is a god
corey feldman is to wed
corey feldman is one of the few celebs who's still kickin' it
corey feldman is as eventful as a hollywood high school reunion
corey feldman is cresting on his angry young man
corey feldman is still the better corey
corey feldman is a very vivid memory
corey feldman is in town
corey feldman is revealed here as one of the ugliest young actors in hollywood
corey feldman is cast
corey feldman is crazy teddy duchamp
corey feldman is excellent as a teenage neighbor observer who sits on his porch and invites his friends over to watch the would
corey feldman is good
corey feldman is in this film
corey feldman is excellent
corey feldman is also in this film
corey feldman is also reported to be helping his friend corey out in his time of need
corey feldman is a true class act
corey feldman is okay by me
corey feldman is meanwhile shaving his head
corey feldman is trek in team knight rider
corey feldman is back
corey feldman is sooooooooooo sickening
corey feldman is actor
corey feldman is available
corey feldman is my arch nemesis
corey feldman is 31
corey feldman is also a writer
My love for the Coreys goes back to Corey Feldman. We flirted a little in Stand By Me, but we didn't get down to the heavy petting until the Lost Boys. So I wondered what Corey's been up to since we looked him up last year . . .
corey feldman is pretty sure he knows what you think of him
corey feldman is my man
corey feldman is out of the pictures
corey feldman is a secondary player in this one
corey feldman is still alive
corey feldman is a god
corey feldman is to wed
corey feldman is one of the few celebs who's still kickin' it
corey feldman is as eventful as a hollywood high school reunion
corey feldman is cresting on his angry young man
corey feldman is still the better corey
corey feldman is a very vivid memory
corey feldman is in town
corey feldman is revealed here as one of the ugliest young actors in hollywood
corey feldman is cast
corey feldman is crazy teddy duchamp
corey feldman is excellent as a teenage neighbor observer who sits on his porch and invites his friends over to watch the would
corey feldman is good
corey feldman is in this film
corey feldman is excellent
corey feldman is also in this film
corey feldman is also reported to be helping his friend corey out in his time of need
corey feldman is a true class act
corey feldman is okay by me
corey feldman is meanwhile shaving his head
corey feldman is trek in team knight rider
corey feldman is back
corey feldman is sooooooooooo sickening
corey feldman is actor
corey feldman is available
corey feldman is my arch nemesis
corey feldman is 31
corey feldman is also a writer
Coreydome 04
It started here, last August.
For the rest of last year's ponderances on All That Is Corey, check the archives for August 25th, 2004.
The pictures are gone, but there's an awful lot.
For the rest of last year's ponderances on All That Is Corey, check the archives for August 25th, 2004.
The pictures are gone, but there's an awful lot.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
Chapter Two: Clouds Over Oklahoma
100 miles from Iowa City, and the tidings were grim.
"Hey, I'm a friend of--"
"What?"
"My name's Matt, I'm calling for--"
"I can't hear you."
"I was--can you hear me?"
"Yeah. Who is this?"
"My name's Matt, I'm on my way from--"
"Ohh, yeah. Yeah. Call back when you're closer."
We did, to little improvement. The place of our first rest was filled with silently smoldering angry eyes, inadequate jukeboxes, and one-way streets with no exits. After a short conference we opted for further nighttime driving and unseen campgrounds. Apologies were offered on both sides, and promises made to do better on the other side of the adventure. That particular outcome remains a mystery.
We drove on, across Iowa and past Des Moines (DES moe-EE-nez). We consulted our handy atlas, easily the handiest atlas I've ever known, and we spied a campground not too far from the highway. Our sleepy destination: Winterset, Iowa, birthplace of John Wayne. Time: 4AM. We set up camp in the drizzling rain, in the dark, on a hill, one campsite removed from what looked to be a friendly biker who was pulling an impressive wagon behind him. We were awake again by 8AM, our tent leaking and wet, our sleeping bags a little damp. We drove on.
The rest of the day--a solid 12 hours' drive--took us out of Iowa (not as kind to us as Wisconsin, by far), through a corner of Missouri (where Kansas City was found to be a dreary-looking place, akin to Cincinnati in its grays and browns, though occasionally capable of producing impressively pointy buildings:
), and across the length of Kansas before the rain found us again. Rain, you ask? Rain! Sheets of it, mounds of it, jars full of it, pounding down on us as we raced across the plains. We stopped, twice, and us!, brave exploreres that we were, to let the rain pass us by.
When we at last arrived in Oklahoma City, where we were greeted by our ally Coach Carter, we were tired and eager to shower. Coach Carter welcomed us, offered us food, gave us knives.
Knives?! Ah, dear reader, have faith; all will be explained.
Next: my horsey knife is laughed at.
"Hey, I'm a friend of--"
"What?"
"My name's Matt, I'm calling for--"
"I can't hear you."
"I was--can you hear me?"
"Yeah. Who is this?"
"My name's Matt, I'm on my way from--"
"Ohh, yeah. Yeah. Call back when you're closer."
We did, to little improvement. The place of our first rest was filled with silently smoldering angry eyes, inadequate jukeboxes, and one-way streets with no exits. After a short conference we opted for further nighttime driving and unseen campgrounds. Apologies were offered on both sides, and promises made to do better on the other side of the adventure. That particular outcome remains a mystery.
We drove on, across Iowa and past Des Moines (DES moe-EE-nez). We consulted our handy atlas, easily the handiest atlas I've ever known, and we spied a campground not too far from the highway. Our sleepy destination: Winterset, Iowa, birthplace of John Wayne. Time: 4AM. We set up camp in the drizzling rain, in the dark, on a hill, one campsite removed from what looked to be a friendly biker who was pulling an impressive wagon behind him. We were awake again by 8AM, our tent leaking and wet, our sleeping bags a little damp. We drove on.
The rest of the day--a solid 12 hours' drive--took us out of Iowa (not as kind to us as Wisconsin, by far), through a corner of Missouri (where Kansas City was found to be a dreary-looking place, akin to Cincinnati in its grays and browns, though occasionally capable of producing impressively pointy buildings:
), and across the length of Kansas before the rain found us again. Rain, you ask? Rain! Sheets of it, mounds of it, jars full of it, pounding down on us as we raced across the plains. We stopped, twice, and us!, brave exploreres that we were, to let the rain pass us by.
When we at last arrived in Oklahoma City, where we were greeted by our ally Coach Carter, we were tired and eager to shower. Coach Carter welcomed us, offered us food, gave us knives.
Knives?! Ah, dear reader, have faith; all will be explained.
Next: my horsey knife is laughed at.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Bring Us Your Comfy, Your Well-Fed, Your Hyatt
From Yahoo News coverage on the halted Superdome evactuations:
At one point Friday, the evacuation was interrupted briefly when school buses pulled up so some 700 guests and employees from the Hyatt Hotel could move to the head of the evacuation line — much to the amazement of those who had been crammed in the Superdome since last Sunday.
"How does this work? They (are) clean, they are dry, they get out ahead of us?" exclaimed Howard Blue, 22, who tried to get in their line. The National Guard blocked him as other guardsmen helped the well-dressed guests with their luggage.
The 700 had been trapped in the hotel, near the Superdome, but conditions were considerably cleaner, even without running water, than the unsanitary crush inside the dome. The Hyatt was severely damaged by the storm. Every pane of glass on the riverside wall was blown out.
Mayor Ray Nagin has used the hotel as a base since it sits across the street from city hall, and there were reports the hotel was cleared with priority to make room for police, firefighters and other officials.
At one point Friday, the evacuation was interrupted briefly when school buses pulled up so some 700 guests and employees from the Hyatt Hotel could move to the head of the evacuation line — much to the amazement of those who had been crammed in the Superdome since last Sunday.
"How does this work? They (are) clean, they are dry, they get out ahead of us?" exclaimed Howard Blue, 22, who tried to get in their line. The National Guard blocked him as other guardsmen helped the well-dressed guests with their luggage.
The 700 had been trapped in the hotel, near the Superdome, but conditions were considerably cleaner, even without running water, than the unsanitary crush inside the dome. The Hyatt was severely damaged by the storm. Every pane of glass on the riverside wall was blown out.
Mayor Ray Nagin has used the hotel as a base since it sits across the street from city hall, and there were reports the hotel was cleared with priority to make room for police, firefighters and other officials.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Chapter One: A Good Beginning
The day when I last knew the day was Friday. I hefted my bag over my shoulder, hoping I hadn't brought too little (I had not, by far), or too much (I had, by far--not a comic book was cracked). The journey began seperately, on foot, a walk through Uptown and meeting at the Army Supply Store. It was a fitting place, though by the end such a scene would have made me roll my eyes and make a mental note to blog about it later, how it was all about conflict, or the safe illusion of it. We bought last minute supplies--a new belt, lighter fluid--and my partner of the next two weeks, Halloween Jack, and myself set off for grilled cheese sandwiches and train to the north country.
On the train--the first train--we stood near the doors, holding our bags, ready to hop out. A suburban mom stood beside us as we neared a stop (not ours) and announced, "Which way to the doors open?"
Jack and I looked to each other. I was suspected she wanted us to answer. He was frowny and uncomfortable.
She said it again, "Which way do the doors open?" this time turning to face Jack.
"Well, I don't know," said Jack. "I suspect it's either this way," and he nodded his head behind us, "or that way," and he inclined his head before us.
She sniffed derisively and Jack and I avoided eye contact.
He disembarked from the train deep into the suburbs, which is not the sort of place you want to disembark anything, for any reason. We were to wait here for the Deuce, who would be taking us to meet our third traveling companion. We stepped from the train and looked around for the Deuce's machine, the Forest Moon of Endor, but it was nowhere in sight. We sat down on a grassy knoll and let the world happen around us.
A couple biked past, through the parking lot that flanked the train tracks on either side. They were on a bike, one of those two-seaters, the dude in front and his lady behind him. At first I thought it was typical, the male feeling the need to take charge. Then I thought it was funny, and I pictured the lady with an imposing strap-on, leading her man where she wanted to go. He was a pudgy red-headed lad, hiding his face behind wrap-around sunglasses. She was thin and blonde. She waved at me.
"Hello," I said, though she couldn't hear, and wiggled my fingers.
"She waved," said Jack. "At you."
"It's a good beginning," I said.
The Deuce and the Forest Moon arrived and we drove to Madison, Wisconsin. It was a few hours, but nothing compared to the next two weeks--compared to the ultraday awaiting us down the line. We met Jack's folks, who had brought our #3, the Coyote, down to meet us:
We thought of food, but no . . . the open road was calling. We shook hands with the Deuce, with Mr. and Mrs. Soiree, Jack introduced me to the Coyote, we loaded up our gear, and we were on our way.
* * *
Dodgeville was our first port of call. We saw the signs for Pizza Hut, and we said to one another, yes, Pizza Hut is precisely where we wanted to be. Dodgeville is small Wisconsin town, if a town is even what it is. It's a hilly conglomeration of restaurants and gas stations, the sort of place made precisely to accomodate nighttime travelers. We walked in, we sat down, and Jill, our waitress, approached. She was blonde and smiley and plump.
"Midwestern Stout," Jack told me.
"What's goin on tonight, fellas?" she asked.
What luck! Our first stranger, and already an excust to tell our story!
"Why, we're on our way to the ocean!" I said.
"The ocean?" We were far from the ocean, and Jill knew it.
"We're going to California," I said.
"What for?"
"Adventure!"
Jill was tickled. She was glad to meet us, she said, happy to have been a part of our journey. "I've never met anyone going to California before," she told us.
My gut said we should invite her along, by god . . . but no. The Coyote had not room for a third, and besides, there were would be many friendly strangers on our path, I was certain. Our pizza was delivered, we ate it, and Jill undercharged us. She was reprimanded before we were even out the door.
But out the door we went! Iowa City was our next destination, and in our path would be twisting county highways, pickup trucks with testicles, and phone directions by hosts who did not want our company.
Next: Our Story Takes a Turn
On the train--the first train--we stood near the doors, holding our bags, ready to hop out. A suburban mom stood beside us as we neared a stop (not ours) and announced, "Which way to the doors open?"
Jack and I looked to each other. I was suspected she wanted us to answer. He was frowny and uncomfortable.
She said it again, "Which way do the doors open?" this time turning to face Jack.
"Well, I don't know," said Jack. "I suspect it's either this way," and he nodded his head behind us, "or that way," and he inclined his head before us.
She sniffed derisively and Jack and I avoided eye contact.
He disembarked from the train deep into the suburbs, which is not the sort of place you want to disembark anything, for any reason. We were to wait here for the Deuce, who would be taking us to meet our third traveling companion. We stepped from the train and looked around for the Deuce's machine, the Forest Moon of Endor, but it was nowhere in sight. We sat down on a grassy knoll and let the world happen around us.
A couple biked past, through the parking lot that flanked the train tracks on either side. They were on a bike, one of those two-seaters, the dude in front and his lady behind him. At first I thought it was typical, the male feeling the need to take charge. Then I thought it was funny, and I pictured the lady with an imposing strap-on, leading her man where she wanted to go. He was a pudgy red-headed lad, hiding his face behind wrap-around sunglasses. She was thin and blonde. She waved at me.
"Hello," I said, though she couldn't hear, and wiggled my fingers.
"She waved," said Jack. "At you."
"It's a good beginning," I said.
The Deuce and the Forest Moon arrived and we drove to Madison, Wisconsin. It was a few hours, but nothing compared to the next two weeks--compared to the ultraday awaiting us down the line. We met Jack's folks, who had brought our #3, the Coyote, down to meet us:
We thought of food, but no . . . the open road was calling. We shook hands with the Deuce, with Mr. and Mrs. Soiree, Jack introduced me to the Coyote, we loaded up our gear, and we were on our way.
* * *
Dodgeville was our first port of call. We saw the signs for Pizza Hut, and we said to one another, yes, Pizza Hut is precisely where we wanted to be. Dodgeville is small Wisconsin town, if a town is even what it is. It's a hilly conglomeration of restaurants and gas stations, the sort of place made precisely to accomodate nighttime travelers. We walked in, we sat down, and Jill, our waitress, approached. She was blonde and smiley and plump.
"Midwestern Stout," Jack told me.
"What's goin on tonight, fellas?" she asked.
What luck! Our first stranger, and already an excust to tell our story!
"Why, we're on our way to the ocean!" I said.
"The ocean?" We were far from the ocean, and Jill knew it.
"We're going to California," I said.
"What for?"
"Adventure!"
Jill was tickled. She was glad to meet us, she said, happy to have been a part of our journey. "I've never met anyone going to California before," she told us.
My gut said we should invite her along, by god . . . but no. The Coyote had not room for a third, and besides, there were would be many friendly strangers on our path, I was certain. Our pizza was delivered, we ate it, and Jill undercharged us. She was reprimanded before we were even out the door.
But out the door we went! Iowa City was our next destination, and in our path would be twisting county highways, pickup trucks with testicles, and phone directions by hosts who did not want our company.
Next: Our Story Takes a Turn
Sunday, August 21, 2005
One more time, from the road!
Made it to SF tonight--exploring fully tomorrow and the next day. A 10 hour trip from Vegas today was draining, but the Penn and Teller show last night was well worth it. Pictures are going up as I can post them at http://moblog.co.uk/blog/matthewjent
Thursday, August 11, 2005
About to Restart for Good
When I return from my Great Pacific Adventure I'll continue the improvements--in the meantime, enjoy the new template. I'll figure out how to put the comments back in when I'm back in town and can beging posting again in earnest--if I'm not back by August 25th, the 2nd Annual Corey Day may be celebrated after-the-fact. In the meantime, wish me luck as I head to the ocean and back.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
File Under: Holy Shit!
Astronomers in the United States have announced the discovery of the 10th planet to orbit our Sun.
The largest object found in our Solar System since Neptune was discovered in 1846, it was first seen in 2003 but has only now been confirmed as a planet.
Designated 2003 UB313, it is about 3,000km across, a world of rock and ice and somewhat larger than Pluto.
Scientists say it is three times as far away as Pluto, in an orbit at an angle to the orbits of the other planets.
EDIT: Based on a conversation from last night--doesn't the new planet screw up all of that hororscope stuff? I honestly don't know.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
In Search of the American Dream
Or, Manifest Destiny or Something Like It
Or, Rex Phantom and Halloween Jack vs. the American West
It's been done before and I hope it will be done again, by explorers and adventurers braver and of keener eye than we. But we are not the sort of men who build our beliefs on the experiences of others. Therefore on August 11, 2005 we will set out from Chicago, Illinois in a white and black Chevy Cavalier that is yet to be named. We will first travel north to Eau Claire, Wisconsin, to settle what needs to be settled. Then we will drive south to Iowa City to rendezvous with partners and friends. From there to Oklahoma City, where we have a refuge. After this the path becomes nebulous, open to changes based on wind and whim.
Amarillo, because it's in Texas and we will need cowboy hats. Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, to see the bats. Roswell, since it's on the way to Albuquerque, where we'll take a left to Flagstaff. From there we'll see the Grand Canyon--because how can we not?--and onward to Las Vegas, where there's another bed waiting and a magic show to see. Between Oklahoma and Las Vegas we will camp, we will build fires, we tell stories for our dinners.
A detour through Death Valley will lead us to San Francisco and the ocean--the ocean! We'll take a few days to explore the city, visit a school, swim in the sea, wrestle the sharks and ourselves.
Next--the journey home! North to Portland, then to Seattle. East over the Cascades, through Spokane and Coeur d'Alene, ripping across the tip of Idaho and following 90 to Montana--onward to Missoula and Butte. Montana! We'll curve south to curse Custer at Little Big Horn, dip into Wyoming and follow our noses to Deadwood, South Dakota, where we'll swear for the ghost of Al Swearengen and clench our teeth for the ghost of Seth Bullock. We'll have mustaches then, by god, or we'll steal them from weaker men!
Northeast, then, to Minneapolis, and a tip of our hats to Prince. Further east to Eau Claire once again, and sweet home Chicago.
Fourteen days and eightteen states and two guys and one car. Countless hearts will be broken, more than one mind will be open to more possibilities than I know now how to count. I'm taking a sleeping bag and a pillowcase full of clothes and a book to read and a book to write and a red baseball bat--not for protection, but to bring a piece of my childhood along for the ride. If you're at any of the stops along the way, or you just want to get to one of them, honk and say hello.
Or, Rex Phantom and Halloween Jack vs. the American West
It's been done before and I hope it will be done again, by explorers and adventurers braver and of keener eye than we. But we are not the sort of men who build our beliefs on the experiences of others. Therefore on August 11, 2005 we will set out from Chicago, Illinois in a white and black Chevy Cavalier that is yet to be named. We will first travel north to Eau Claire, Wisconsin, to settle what needs to be settled. Then we will drive south to Iowa City to rendezvous with partners and friends. From there to Oklahoma City, where we have a refuge. After this the path becomes nebulous, open to changes based on wind and whim.
Amarillo, because it's in Texas and we will need cowboy hats. Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, to see the bats. Roswell, since it's on the way to Albuquerque, where we'll take a left to Flagstaff. From there we'll see the Grand Canyon--because how can we not?--and onward to Las Vegas, where there's another bed waiting and a magic show to see. Between Oklahoma and Las Vegas we will camp, we will build fires, we tell stories for our dinners.
A detour through Death Valley will lead us to San Francisco and the ocean--the ocean! We'll take a few days to explore the city, visit a school, swim in the sea, wrestle the sharks and ourselves.
Next--the journey home! North to Portland, then to Seattle. East over the Cascades, through Spokane and Coeur d'Alene, ripping across the tip of Idaho and following 90 to Montana--onward to Missoula and Butte. Montana! We'll curve south to curse Custer at Little Big Horn, dip into Wyoming and follow our noses to Deadwood, South Dakota, where we'll swear for the ghost of Al Swearengen and clench our teeth for the ghost of Seth Bullock. We'll have mustaches then, by god, or we'll steal them from weaker men!
Northeast, then, to Minneapolis, and a tip of our hats to Prince. Further east to Eau Claire once again, and sweet home Chicago.
Fourteen days and eightteen states and two guys and one car. Countless hearts will be broken, more than one mind will be open to more possibilities than I know now how to count. I'm taking a sleeping bag and a pillowcase full of clothes and a book to read and a book to write and a red baseball bat--not for protection, but to bring a piece of my childhood along for the ride. If you're at any of the stops along the way, or you just want to get to one of them, honk and say hello.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Back from the Dead--Ready to Read!
Saturday July 16th, 8pm!
909 W. Agatite apt. 2!
Tell your friends! Invite your mom!
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