Does anyone have a good argument for using a money clip over a wallet?
The Malt Whitman literature, beer, and camping festival is happening this weekend in Southeast Ohio. More info — including schedule, directions, and contact info — here.
Hillary Clinton was riding a horse around Congress in a misguided display of bravado. The horse got spooked and started kicking desks over then bucked Hillary Clinton, who landed hard but was fine. She started crying. The horse terrorized Congress a little more before finding me (I was working as a page) and biting my forearm. I panicked initially then realized it didn’t hurt, the horse wasn’t letting go, and the horse was suddenly docile for some reason. It felt like it was trying to brush its teeth with my arm. I led the horse out of the Capitol Building and onto the mall where it let go and jumped into the Potomac silhouetted by a setting sun. I thought about tweeting at the New Yorker “I’m the page the horse bit” but decided against it in favor of showing up in person and offering to write one of those “Talk of the Town” columns about my experience. So I went to the New Yorker office but had trouble finding the appropriate person to talk to. I got into a fight with one guy that amounted to little more than flicking each other’s ears when the other’s back was turned. Eventually I found the right person. She was very nice and excited to speak to me and told me to get her something by the end of the week. I flaked on the article for several months, quit my job as a page, and taught the cat and dog I owned in the dream to sleep on top of me, and each other, in a sort of pyramid shape.
Jerimee Bloemeke’s new chapbook Cosmic Latte.
On May 9th, 2013 I started doing this thing where I’d force myself to write one thought for every hour that I was awake. I did this regularly for 22 days. The end came not from a lack of thoughts but, conversely, because I found myself totally overstimulated during a trip to New Orleans (referenced in the final entries) and it didn’t make sense to pick it up again after that.
I wasn’t sure what I could or would do with this project while I was doing it, but reading back over it now, I’m intrigued by the weird, oblique narrative it creates. You get NBA playoff scores, observations from an 8-part Beatles documentary I was watching at the time, a legal “brouhaha” my roommate involved me in, and updates on the dogs I walk and cats I sit (my job). It’s sort of feels like a liveblog/livetweet but different because the constraints and medium are different. It was really fun to do, I hope it’s fun to read.
Need a finer knowledge of building materials. Clapboard, vinyl, sheetrock – what are these things?
Fishkind’s party. Am I gonna go? Feel fat and stupid, but also like drinking.
George Harrison was from an Irish family with the last name “French.”
I can’t tell if it’s foggy or if I’m just tired.
~9:30pm: Had idea for liveblog in kitchen.
~9:35pm: Am making pasta. Roommates all ate dinner before me and left, no one to talk about liveblog with.
9:37pm: Ostensibly checking noodles for appropriate firmness, but really I’m just eating wet noodles.
9:43pm: Felt idea for liveblog solidify into an inevitability, similar to how a rollercoaster reaches the top of its initial hill and goes over (the little cranking sound, the disconcerting staircase)
9:46pm: Thought about an anthology of liveblogs — “Best American Liveblogs”
9:50pm: Began recording liveblog thoughts on a legal pad — does this count? Handwritten liveblog?
Who’s got the worst author photo?