Randomness

i don't care much one way or the other
about Neil Young

but it happens every so often, as it did
two nights ago

when i was driving back from Abingdon,
and i saw the moon--

this too large and too heavy-looking
thing in the sky

shaped like a half-eaten hedge apple
but red, or orange

or some color in between--and even
though it's December--

two months past the proper time for it,
the sowing,

i thought, driving north on forty-one,
that's a harvest moon

and i thought of some song i've never really
cared for all that much

one way or the other. i'm not even sure now
what it was

i was actually listening to.

Read--Promise Breaker

The other day, at the urging of Ms. Maud, I printed out a copy of Chris Adrian's "Promise Breaker," from the new issue of Esquire. I printed out a couple stories that day, though, and so I didn't get around to reading it right away.

Then, this morning, I saw that Ms. Crispin, a.k.a. Bookslut, recommended the same story. In fact, I think she said that everyone should go and read it right now.

And so I did. About a half hour ago. And now I'm telling you to go and read it, too. Right now. Here. You'll be glad you did.

Read--Percy and Griffith

Next week I'm heading to Pittsburgh to visit my pal Eugene and attend a reading at Gist Street by another pal, Benjamin Percy. I am wholly fired up about this little trip, even if people keep making fun of me when I tell them I'm going to Pittsburgh over break. Well, actually I tell them I'm going to Key West (because I am, with J.C.), but before that, I tell them, I'm going to Pittsburgh. And sure, perhaps Pittsburgh and Key West are a bit incongruous. But Eugene's going to be there. And Ben. So.

Ben's second collection of stories, Refresh, Refresh, has been getting great reviews and is sitting very near the top of my to-be-read pile. I suggest you all run out and get a copy. Or click on the cover below and order one from Powell's.

I did a little perusing on the Internets to see if anybody else was going to be reading with Ben, and I found out that David Griffith will be. I hadn't heard of Mr. Griffith or his book, A Good War is Hard to Find: The Art of Violence in America, but after reading two essays by Mr. Griffith the other night, I'm looking forward to both his reading and picking up a copy of the book while I'm there.

Read "Prime Directive" here. And "An Orchestrated Attack: War's Sound Track Echoes from Dresden to Iraq" here. Both of them are worth your time.

Read--Deathly

A poem by my main man Rodney Jones.

Handle With Care

I was twelve years old in 1988, when this song was first released.

I really liked it, but I didn't think about it much until about a year or so ago, when Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins covered it.

Now, looking back on it all, I realize that back in 1988 I knew who Tom Petty and Roy Orbison were, but I had no idea who Bob Dylan and George Harrison were.

I know, it's sad. I blame my parents.

I still don't know who Jeff Lynne is.

On a related note, I'm pretty sure that the collection of stories I've been working on forever was at one point tentatively titled "Handle with Care."

For now, it remains "All I Have in the World."

Nerves

This summer I got to hang out with a lot of writers, right?

And, you know, writers are regular people and all that, even the ones that are really good.

Really, I tend not to care so much about writers as people. I mean, unless they're friends. If they're not friends, I'm usually most interested in the work they produce.

If I happen to meet certain writers whose work I admire, as I had the opportunity to do this summer, then that's cool and all, but it doesn't, like, make me nervous or anything.

Because, as I said, writers are just regular people.

Most writers, that is.

There are still a few who, to me, are not really regular people at all. They're superhuman. And these writers, I don't really want to meet them, because I know I'll just stare dumbly at them most of the time.*

Tonight, I am having dinner with one of those writers whom I consider superhuman.

I know I'm being a tease, but I'm not even going to type the person's name.

Instead, I'll give some hints. If you want, you can see how many hints it takes you to figure out the person's name.

1. His initials are the fourth and tenth letters of the alphabet.

2. His most famous book is a book of short stories, but he's published volumes of poetry and novels, too.

3. After he leaves Galesburg, he's flying to New York to attend the National Book Award ceremony, for which he has been nominated this year.

Yeah. Him.

Here's hoping I don't spill wine down my shirt, say something too stupid, etc.

*This happened to me once, about five years ago, and I'm working on an essay about that experience.