Archives for posts with tag: celebratory

AND THE DAY PASSES BY IN ITS USUAL LABORS

March 24, 10 //
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“Since ancient times people have wondered about what was smart and what was stupid. In that regard I remember this incident: When my aunt gave me a writing desk as a gift, I said to myself: ‘Well now I’ll sit down at this desk and the first thought I come up with at this desk will be especially smart.’ But I could not come up with an especially smart thought. Then I said to myself: ‘Okay. I wasn’t able to come up with an especially smart thought, so I’ll come up with an especially stupid one.’ But I couldn’t come up with an especially stupid thought either.”

Daniil Kharms, from “Today I Wrote Nothing”

EXOTIC PEBBLES

January 19, 10 //
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Los Angeles has some of the best and most nonsensical public signage of any place I’ve ever been. That’s because in spite of how it’s a mythical city in the American imagination a lot of it is straight-up scrubbin’ good times. The only difference is that there are so many people and places that probably every possible linguistic combination has been expressed. In this way, LA = google. I saw enough signs this weekend that said “102.7 PAYS YOUR BILLS” and “SANDWICH HELP MAN” and “THE GAYLORD” and “EXOTIC PEBBLES” to thoroughly convince me. Seriously, I know that The Hills and Pretty Woman and whatever have probably poisoned my mind and yours regarding what goes on there, but most of it is just people doing stuff. Admittedly you’ll occasionally run into somebody who wants to have a sizing-up-the-competition conversation, but luckily these people are very obvious about what they’re up to, and you’re free to say any ridiculous overly-enthusiastic thing to them and go freely on your way. Mention Willem DeFoe as often as possible. You’ll do great.

GUNNING FOR THE GOLD RUSH

June 4, 09 //
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Holla, I was one of the runners-up for the Walt Whitman prize! You can read about it here. The whole thing unfolded in a strange way because the Whitman Prize people lost my e-mail somehow and I heard all about the thing second-hand (every poet knows another poet who knows all the other poets, it’s a fact, go and check the wikipedia if you’re doubting me) and initially thought that I had been flat out dissed without any notification, which prompted me to e-mail hassle them which I was later sheepish about, because it’s strange to write a “what’s the deal with the silence?” e-mail to get a good news response. I guess sometimes no news really is good news. And this is one of those times.