Getting in fighting shape to work on a new project.
From Art Shay’s “Chicago Accent” on The Sartorialist.
Vintage greatness from Electric Literature. “Can a book save your life?” In which we find out which books from 2011 could save our lives in case of a shootout.
In a Facebook convo with the unbeatable Collagist editor and writer, Matt Bell, I said this about Esquire’s new undertaking to publish more “men’s fiction”: This whole enterprise reminds me of the scenes in Arrested Development when Steve Holt would walk into a room, raise his fists above his head, and shout “Steve Holt!” Good to know that Esquire is looking out for Steve Holt.
And then, Matt made me this. I LURV YOU, MATT BELL.
Just back from a memorial service for singer/poet/writer/musician, Dory Previn. I used to wait on Dory and her husband, Joby, every day when I worked at the Southfield Store. After many mornings of making them toast, and her chamomile tea, we got to talking. By that time, her health was already failing, but her irreverent spirit was not. When Joby realized I was a writer and that I wasn’t familiar with her work, he shouted a bunch of expletives and more or less ran down the road to their house to get me “Mythical Kings and Iguanas.” That was in 2008, and I can honestly credit Dory for showing me how to use humor as a weapon in my work. The minute I listened to my very first Dory Previn song, my former fan flame for Joni Mitchell extinguished. Dory’s music—and writing—is unparalleled in its vicious wit, its lust for life, its alluring terror. And yet, it sounds so lovely, when she sings.
Fuck your neon accent.
Don’t know yet if I’ll be back in this mythical place this summer. Acceptance letters (or otherwise) out soon.
Primitive Lit Drawings.
