Interview of an Intoxicated Runner

Last week I had a slight buzz and attempted to randomly email 10 random athletes who intoxicated themselves on various substances WHILE COMPETING in their chosen athletic event. Dock Ellis has no email; he is dead. (“The ball was small sometimes, the ball was large sometimes, sometimes I saw the catcher, sometimes I didn’t.”) Ron Artest, of Hennessey fame, would not answer his Laker’s fan site email address. (“I kept it in my locker. I’d just walk to the liquor store and get it.”) Jeremy Mayfield (“What are you calling illegal?”) drove a race car while on meth, but who here gives a fuck about NASCAR? So. But human being and conceptual artist (in my opinion, as I feel artistic perception presupposes its own dimensionality, beyond involvement or signification or even the substitution of stimulus for sensation, etc.) Joe Kukura answered the mail. Thank you, Joe.

Last July, Joe ran the San Francisco Half Marathon (13.1) miles while drinking 13.1 beers, or one beer every mile along the way. I decided to interview the man.

It seems you have removed the form and movements of running and drinking from their normal contexts, selected their material and spiritual natures and combined them, thus creating art. And any art that becomes physical I consider to be the sublime. Do you consider yourself a conceptual artist?

No, but I’m flattered by the analogy! I consider myself a humor blogger. That medium, though, holds outsize importance in contemporary culture. Any old nobody with a DSL connection, if they’re funny enough, can have a driving role in how vast numbers of people are amused — if for an hour, a day, a week, or more. (Ever forward an LOLcat jpeg? It was produced by an un-famous random person, yet it may have ultimately amused thousands.) It’s a great blessing to be writing during this era.

I suppose there is a train-wreck “self-abuse as art” strain in this project, a la Lux Interior from the Cramps or on that old “Jackass” TV program. And I will admit to bringing a philosophical or intellectual tone to discussions drinking booze while exercising — but that is meant only as a humor device. My main creative motivation is that I just want to be someone who has a good blog.

How many times have you vomited during a run?

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Random / 11 Comments
June 8th, 2011 / 3:28 pm

Leon Botha, the painter and DJ who I wrote about here, has passed away.

Tales of Woe and Toenails

Yes, I am well aware that the first marathon runner dropped dead for his efforts. If he hadn’t, we wouldn’t go 26.2 miles; we’d go some other outrageous distance that killed its first runner.

Every year a few people die running marathons. Of course, every day ridiculous numbers of people die doing absolutely nothing. I choose to run marathons, and I don’t have a death wish, though I will admit I’m drawn to the drama of distance running. You could die. You could fracture bones, tear muscles, lose toenails. You will definitely suffer, a lot. Cool.

That said, it’s odd to talk about the drama of running because here’s another thing I’ll admit: running is boring. A fellow running buddy of mine once joked that no one has ever sat through the entirety of Chariots of Fire and remained conscious. And this is coming from someone who loves running more than he loves his wife and kids. I’ve never seen Chariots of Fire—in fact, I haven’t seen any movies about runners, and I don’t feel any particular compulsion to do so, despite the fact that my colleagues keep shouting “Prefontaine!” and “Run, Fatboy, Run!” when they see me at work. (People love it when they think they have you figured out; because I run marathons, they’ve decided that every aspect of my life no doubt revolves around running. It could be worse; there was that one year everyone thought I was into cows. Let’s just say I had a very Holstein Christmas.)

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Craft Notes / 12 Comments
June 7th, 2011 / 3:00 pm

The Beginner’s Guide to Deleuze

Over lunch, Christopher Higgs and I talked about Gilles Deleuze. I was saying how a lot of my friends–Chris, Blake Butler, and Derek White, to name a few–are really into his writing, especially the ginormous book A Thousand Pleateaus, co-written with Felix Guattari. I’ve tried to read it and get into it a few times, and kept putting the book up, scared off by not being able to immediately comprehend the text, not being able to decipher the numerous codes, terms, coinages. Recently, I changed. I picked up A Thousand Pleateaus again and flipped to a random chapter and read. I enjoyed it, and am enjoying it. Like my experience with Finnegans Wake, there are lucid swathes that I feel I understand, and then there are times when it’s packed dense or just orgiastically conceptual and I tune out a bit. But that process of coming in and out of lucidity is nice. Sort of trancelike.

I mentioned asking Chris some questions about Deleuze, his thinking, the books. I’m sort of acquainted with his ideas through the book A Thousand Years of Nonlinear History (amazing book!), and what Deleuze I’ve now read. But, let me ask you/Chris some maybe dumb questions.

Firstly: Why should we read Deleuze?

Deleuze is the future.  He is almost the now, but not yet.  Just out of reach, just over the horizon, he is akin to the force that makes the sky pink after the sun sets and pink again right before the sun rises.  He is both pre and post everything, like the feeling before a meal of being famished followed by the feeling after the meal of being stuffed.  He does what no other thinker before him could do: he upends Plato, he quiets Hegel, he puts all the little thinkers to bed. READ MORE >

Random / 167 Comments
June 7th, 2011 / 10:00 am

Well that’s interesting: Poets Athletic Club

I will send Chris Toll's book to the first commenter to name this player.

What’s in a name? From the outside, the Poet’s Athletic Club on North Avenue in Baltimore looks like it might be a bar. I’ve never been inside it. One time me and Steph called to see what the deal was. Apparently it’s a philanthropy club for people who went to Poets High School. There isn’t poetry happening, but I’m thinking there might be shuffleboard. There is a positive but racist review of it at Yelp.

After a lot of social searching, the softball team I’m playing on this year decided to co-opt the name for our team. We feature writer bodies, so Poets Athletic Club works well. We also considered “Ballers,” “Aristotle’s Poetics,” “Phat Pitches,” and “Nuts and Berries.”

Other teams in the league are, “We’d Hit That,” “Butt Sweat and Tears,” “Multiple Scoregasms” and “Smack that Pitch Up.” Names that are funny but aren’t vile include “Jean-Claude Grand Slam” and — no, that’s the only one. There are two teams named “Saved by the Balls” and two named “Don’t Come on Our Bases” and three named “Master Batters.” There is only one “Top of the 6th Bottom of the 9th.” There are over 200 teams in the league. I’ll let you know how we do.

Go! Team. Bring on the Major Leagues. Boring Triple Play (for Sasha Fletcher). Best baseball catches of the world. Braves go 13-0 in 82. The Brothers K. She’s 9. Ambidextrous pitcher has 6-fingered glove. Mike Schmidt retires crying. Cap’n Jazz. This stupid thing. This amazing thing. Spaceman Bill Lee. Tinker to Evers to Chance. Merkle’s Boner. OK, the bird one. Prince and Cecil. All the Stars Came Out That Night. The poop one. Steve Bartman (fuckn Cubs fans). Mays. Jones. Softball.

Random / 24 Comments
June 7th, 2011 / 9:18 am

Would you like to publish your best work online or in print or you just don’t give a fuck? Pros/Cons of whatever your answer?

Twilight of the American Idols

I’ve been having problems sleeping lately. When I have problems sleeping, I become restless. It’s hard for me to get much reading done, especially anything heavy, because when I’m at my apartment I prefer to read in my bed, and if I’m tired and distracted what generally happens is that I fall asleep mid-sentence (and bend my glasses). It’s hot out. It’s really hot out. I have no A/C in my apartment. This is perhaps the reason I’ve been restless, and hopefully that’s true, because the heat is something I can adjust to.

Because I live across the street from my favorite bar, when I get restless I head to the bar and have a few drinks, generally with the intention of facilitating sleep. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I end up at the bar and there’s nobody I know there except the bartenders and it’s awkward. Usually I can count on familiar enough faces to at least guarantee conversation.

Last night I couldn’t sleep, found myself restless, had already watched two movies and an episode of Twin Peaks (which I’m revisiting for the first time in the decade since I originally saw it), so I said fuck it and headed to the bar. I ordered a vodka gimlet first. Then I ordered a whiskey & soda. I was out of cash by this point, because I don’t carry that much cash on me regularly, and I knew that after mixing vodka and whiskey it would be unwise to drink that much more anyway, so I went home. I had a bit of a buzz going on. I got on my computer.
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Random / 18 Comments
June 6th, 2011 / 3:08 pm

What is Experimental Literature? {Five Questions: Brian Evenson}

Illustration by Dave Crosland

Brian Evenson is the author of ten books of fiction, most recently the limited edition novella Baby Leg, published by New York Tyrant Press in 2009. In 2009 he also published the novel Last Days (which won the American Library Association’s award for Best Horror Novel of 2009) and the story collection Fugue State, both of which were on Time Out New York‘s top books of the year. His novel The Open Curtain (Coffee House Press) was a finalist for an Edgar Award and an IHG Award. His work has been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese and Slovenian. He lives and works in Providence, Rhode Island, where he directs Brown University’s Literary Arts Program. Other books include The Wavering Knife, Dark Property, and Altmann’s Tongue. He is the recipient of three O. Henry Prizes as well as an NEA fellowship.

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Random / 61 Comments
June 6th, 2011 / 2:00 pm

On Narrative

Craft Notes & Random / 6 Comments
June 6th, 2011 / 12:23 pm

A letter to Michael Kimball

Dear Michael Kimball,

In perhaps a not entirely sober state, I started your book Us on Saturday night. It was midnight, plus or minus some time. I had many other books to read, but I started your book, and after I read the first paragraph, I wanted to read the whole thing, that night, but I fell asleep on page fifty, plus or minus some pages, and all night while I slept, I was angry at myself for falling asleep.

Michael Kimball, I started your book from the very beginning yesterday because I was perhaps not fully sober when I started the night before. I woke up unnecessarily early yesterday morning, despite having had a raucous night previously, not to mention the disturbed slumber, at 6:30. I propelled myself out of bed and picked up your book immediately. I read your book while I prepared my coffee.

Rather than check my email, I read your book.

I read your book while I walked to the café.

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I Like __ A Lot / 19 Comments
June 6th, 2011 / 9:51 am