The Virgin Suicides

Totally good and Gothic. Teenage woes at their most electrifying! You'll scream with woe.

Slick but detailed, this one's hard to put down - or at least easy to pick up. Way better than Middlesex. Thanks for asking.

Middlesex. Book report by Chris Yarrison. Thank you.

Great book, if you're a sexual pervert. Highlights: incongruous genitals; incest.

Actually very good. Unique, except for the chatty narrative, which sometimes wanders out into crisp, beautiful prose. And I'm not a fan of the epic multi-generational family saga thing, to be honest. No one investigates a murder. No cowboys have an adventure in Mexico.

A young girl finds out she's a boy. There. That's it.

Still I'm compelled to explore Eugenides' slimmer debut, The Virgin Suicides, before moving along with my promised reading list.

Oh no no

Mr. T hates T-bills:

Why, oh why?

The Daily Wiley

"Chris, we just listened to the Decline. We have to talk." - Message from Wiley last night (after song by Annie, "We love Chris and he loves you, giggle, giggle," bravo, and did I hear Ben in the background? I did, didn't I.)

It is normal to want to talk to someone you're close to after listening to NOFX's 1999 EP - which, as I'm sure you all know, is just one really long song that rules.



Miles and I once listened to it over and over again on our way to the beach, in the limpid summer sunshine, long before the breaking point. (The breaking point came at 5 am when we decided we were too tired not to not leave and left and had to sleep in an empty parking lot.)

Anyway, did it give you some ideas, Wiley? Do you want to learn to play trombone? Do you want to listen exclusively to late 90's punk and ska from now on? You've heard everything else and there's nothing better? No Use for a Name? The Dead Milkmen? LAGWAGON?!?!?! Greg Graffin's new book, Anarchy Evolution: Faith, Science, and Bad Religion in a World without God?

Tell me. I support you always. For now:

Inspector Krevin

Our undercovers dick has unearthed some serious blogs. Why is there a conspiracy of silence on these?

hussey Leo: great attic, great art.

Voms I Have Known TOM OPALAK?!?!

Also, I like Chocolate Bicycle, from Annie's blog.

And my own seacret: Langer!

So many good blogs! I hope they add more hours to the day soon, it already takes me a week to read the morning news.

Broken Prhombus

Oops! Everyone, I forgot I promised the famous online director of the hippest wedding magazine, The Knot, that I'd read Middlesex at some point, so that's what I'm going to do before getting to your borrowed books. It'll give me an excuse to call him and harass him.

The angry unemployed of the 1930s

A long one but a good one from the International Socialist Review:

The Unemployed Movement of the 1930s

Some inspiring history, especially if you've spent the past few years profoundly underemployed and wondered what the hell a person is supposed to do about it. There may still be time to form "unemployed councils" to agitate, say, for extended benefits, or, better, for a real stimulus that creates jobs instead of going straight into employers' pockets. (Instead of spending, banks are hoarding, instead of hiring, companies are wringing higher productivity out of current employees.)

Note all the sectarianism on the left at the time, and the disgusting abuse of the Communist Party under Stalin's direction. Note also, though, how parties and groups ended up learning from the average people affected by the Depression, who became leaders themselves.

The movement catalyzed "a profound ideological shift regarding the unemployed," reversing the direction of blame for joblessness from the individual to society.

Looking at today, the author suggests, "Perhaps our generation’s defining struggle will be for health care...the climate may be ripe for 'under-insured councils.'"

There is in fact a March for Jobs in DC on October 2, that might be worth going to. It's crucial to think creatively, and realize that organized action can in fact win.

What do you say?

Books a-borrowed

I have stacks of books that belong to other people, some abandoned, some still on loan, I think. Ben, you know what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, most of your books are back at my parents' house, safe in a box under the bed.

The point is, I'm going to read them, the ones I brought to NM with me. Then I'll let everyone know if they're any damn good:

Ben, I've already read The Thin Man, a rad detective novel - with about 100 movie spinoffs starring William Powell and Myrna Loy, all good - and The Marx Family Saga, which had, um, interesting punctuation.

City of Light, City of Dark, from Margaret Fleming. She lent this "comic-book novel" to me about 100 years ago, for some reason, and I think I'll go ahead and read it.

Two from Annie, who couldn't help but one-up her sister:

The Brooklyn Follies - more Auster, which is always good;

and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, a thriller by deceased Swedish Trotskyist Stieg Larsson. Pretty psyched.

The Known World. This one's from Danny, recommended to him by Eric. Did you even know I had this, Danny? I'll give it back to you if you give me back my Cuentos espanoles / Spanish stories Dover dual language book that you let Monica steal, goddamn you. Or my shitty little Oscar Wilde book, which I know you still have.

Lastly, The Orchard Keeper, actually a gift (I think?) from Sterling. The perfect thing to get me going back into some Cormac McCarthy I haven't read or want to reread.

First I have to finish my jaunt over F. Scott Fitzgerald. It's been a fruitful jaunt: The Great Gatsby still takes first, but Tender is the Night is coming up on it. And of course his short stories are witty and poetic.

Feel free to send me more of your books, or maybe just make recommendations. I promise to be a better book borrower from now on! So do your worst!

France: a new round of racism from Sarkozy

I had meant to bring some attention to this a while back:

Widespread Support For Banning Full Islamic Veil in Western Europe Pew Research Center

In July the French national assembly passed the ban. I thought this was all pure political cynicism by a sad and isolated Sarkozy, but I guess the old imp had some support: 82%, in fact.

I'm sharing because the issue comes up surprisingly often out on the party circuit.

Note that 65% of Americans disapprove.

Well, back to Sarkozy's villainy. His pathetic argument for the full veil ban - women's rights, secularism, security - is belied by the fact that he's an authoritarian bigot. He's recently ordered round-ups of illegal Roma, breaking up camps and stirring up memories of the Nazis. This, after a riot in which police fired on and killed a Gypsy* youth, reminiscent of riots and police killings there in 2005 and 2007. In 2005 he referred to poor immigrants as "scum" and said he wanted to hose down their neighborhoods.

I'd love to argue one way or the other, but I can't see very clearly whether lowest common denominator politics have legitimized fringe xenophobia, or if that fear is a reaction to something else (possibly the economy). But something must account for that number: 82%! I mean, that hardly leaves enough room for the people affected by the ban plus those who you'd think would side with them! I think what we can tentatively predict, at least, is that those numbers don't bode well civil rights in France. The government almost has a mandate for things like Gestapo-style roundups and crackdowns, this Roma affair possibly representing the first of them.

Come on, France! Qu'est-ce qui se passe??

*Associated Press says 'Gypsy' (capitalized) or 'Roma'. Christian Science Monitor article does not capitalize, and the article says that, in France, 'Roma' refers to foreign Gypsies, 'travelers' to French Gypsies. I like to go with AP, but I have no idea what the Roma themselves would like to be called.

Drink or die!

Perhaps some disappointing news: drinkers live longer than non, even heavy drinkers! Or it's cheering news, I don't know.

The study, by a University of Texas team, followed 1,824 oldish participants over 20 years. In that time, 69% of "never-drinkers" died, followed by 60% of heavy drinkers and 41% moderate.

Moderate drinking, by the way, is defined as having one to three drinks per day. Hey, does a fifth of whiskey count as "a drink?"

Death's sister is hot

It's always important to read about sleeping:

"On a typical day, a third of the adults (34%) in the United States take a nap." Pew Research Center.

The numbers stay pretty constant across groups. Thought you should know! Go back to sleep now!

O! Blogs and Blogging

Hello! I feel more posts coming on, but for now let me admit that I've felt like running and hiding from my blog the past few weeks. Every natural instinct has told me to take everything down and disappear, but I've fended the feeling off with distractions - books and a kitten.

There's so much to share. Too, too much, so let's all just chill out, and let me get organized.

If it's any consolation, I may have revived Science and Socialism. I've been wanting to write about fighter planes for a while, and I think I might have my chance. No word from Red Squirrel, but I've been keeping an eye out for animal news. Other than me having a kitten! Did I mention that??

In brief: got a kitten; got a raise; reading lots of fiction; thinking about stuff; cooking - we'll have to have a meatless sloppy joe's contest, fancy Kevin. Quitting smoking, sick of drinking. And, lastly, I have kitten, fuck yeah!

Landlord. Boss. Hero.

Julie, I hope you don't mind me stealing this superlative photo of your father.



Let me tell you about Tom, artist, landowner, engineer. Fast Tom. Refloored my former residence. Put a bathroom in the party closet. You all know Tom and that infamous piece of property. 9 Tucker nearly killed us, you know. But Tom, hero to all, swooped in and fixed the furnace, which, had we been affluent enough to use it, would have spewed CO into our brains. Apparently it was jolted loose during a party in the basement, a source of infinite amusement to Tom.

Tom once worked 12 hours in the hot sun without taking a sip of water. His mustache has killed a man. I'm told he takes good pictures. With his handsome wife Terri, he's borne over one hundred daughters. He enjoys beer, Budweiser I think. Here's to you, Tom.

My pictureless photo essay

I certainly never claimed to be a photographer, but I at least thought I had the pointing and shooting down. Well, looks like I'd have saved some time, trouble, and money if I'd have just chucked my two Rite Aid brand disposable cameras out the window somewhere along Highway 40. I took picture after picture of flat blurs framed by my car door.

Here's a quick tour with words of what I wanted to show in pictures to avoid conveying what I saw over 2100 miles of road in words.

Virginia: Virginia never never ends when you're going southwest. It has this big green tentacle reaching towards Tennessee. Not that you could tell either apart. Mountains or hills, covered in trees. Trees trees trees. I believe it's somewhere in this deciduous mess that there is a sign, which I scrambled to photograph, in vain, for "Troutville," right next to the exit for "Fincastle!" A little fishy fiefdom up in the hills.

Right around Memphis I stopped for the night, and had my greatest inspiration: I would write where I was on the hotel room's mirror and take a funny picture of myself. Well, I must have really done it up in Memphis because those photos are just plain missing from the pack. The ones from Amarillo are hazy and abstracted, and not worth a goddamn.

I took blurry pictures in Arkansas, in Oklahoma, in the Texas Panhandle, and couldn't snap them off fast enough between Albuquerque and Las Cruces. There were just beautiful rocks, piled up, fallen down, vast stretches and sudden peaks. Ghosts everywhere.

If you really want to see the pictures from my trip just shake your head all around and say "Oklahoma," or "mountains," or "desert." I'm here now, come visit and see all the pretty blurs for yourself.

Laughing all the way to hell

On the way to see my favorite musicians, Sterling and Modest Mouse. Party!

Friends

I have a lot of good friends. In fact I have the best friends out of anyone ever. I don't want any new friends. I don't even want to meet new people. I've already had to talk to too many strangers here in Las Cruces.

For instance, there's Eric. I saw Eric at El Patio - awesome terrible bar - and almost had eleven heart attacks before I realized I didn't recognize him from Annapolis: I recognized him from High Desert Brewery across town. We had a friendly chat outside and ended up at the same party. You see what I mean? It's already happening.

Eric works at High Desert with Matteo, who's a tough nut, but likable. Additionally, he is 2007ish Kevin Madsen. I'm talking glasses, beard, long hair, shitty restaurant job. Come on, Kevin, what are you doing out here? I might have fallen for it, but I mean, what the fuck kind of name is Matteo?

I'll omit some people for brevity's sake. In fact, along with Dwayne, they should get their own posts. But it's very important to mention Dwayne, or as I call him, "New Mexico Alec." I'm not sure what the resemblance is exactly, and of course Alec is way awesomer.

Anyway, Dwayne plays pool. Everyone here plays pool. I don't have a job. I think I'll start playing pool, gambling, and drinking during the day. Cheers!

Pictures soon.

Do you ever wish you were dead instead of cruising around on the internet? Well, you've only just begun to know what regret is. I'm broadcasting to you live from Las Cruces, New Mexico.

That's it for now.

- Chris

The Road

Been plenty stressed out about the big move to New Mexico, which happens for real tomorrow. So I'm up at 5 am going over my route for the ten jillionth time. It is an excellent route, so I thought I'd share.

The overall schema takes me from Maryland to New Mexico via Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, and, sadly, Texas - just the tip though. I insisted on skipping the West Texas bullshit that the usual route would have you put up with: hills and high winds, for a full fucking day. And this way I get to see what all the excitement's about in Oklahoma...!

The stops, also, are perfectly spaced, bolstering the already apparent perfection of my Plan (I'm referring to the plan: "Go to New Mexico; be with girlfriend; duh" - not my previous plan with all its fancy academic trappings and upstanding ambitions).

10 hours to Nashville, with its big neon guitar; 10 hours to Oklahoma City, tasteless joke, or awesome botanical gardens; 10 hours to Las Tumbleweeds. Further: stops in between, to rest my engine (my car's literal engine; I'm a machine that's going to be running on coffee, peanut butter, and speed metal), occur at Knoxville (skip Virginia, thank you), Memphis, Little Rock, Amarillo, and Albuquerque. Pretty awesome, right?

I have a stack of CDs that ought to make for 30 hours, at least, several flashlights, small tools (light weapons?), and badass shades.

I might not have private internet in New Mexico, but I know this won't be the last time we meet, dear reader: look to your heart, and my blog vanishes, for my blog was simply the mirrored beating of your secret heart and it was you yourself that laid it bare and I am but the crystal in the eyes of darkness.

What?

See you on Facebook.

Iced

Marx, Engels, Grimm, and Grimm

While trudging through a flimsy used copy of Grimm fairy tales that I got in Amsterdam a million years ago, it occurred to me the brothers were almost contemporaries of Marx and Engels. It looks like more of a scholar than myself will have to do the requisite digging in some musty Bohemian archive, but I'm tempted:

A dialectical materialist analysis of the celebrated folktales, jotted down in some tattered notebook by a sleepless Marx? A lively correspondence, a debate, about their political significance in mid-19th century Germany? Some fan mail from a young and eager Engels, stowed away and ignored in some publisher's ancient archives? A chance meeting on the streets of Hamburg?? A COUPLE OF BEERS??? A HEATED POLITICAL DEBATE AND FALLING OUT, ALL IN OLD NORSE?????

Tell me there's something out there. Look!



You guys should totally hang out!

"What?" and "New Mexico blog life"

What? I have a blog. Welcome back everyone, if you were surprised to see "Spaniel for Two" blast to the top of Wiley's blog list and burst into your eyes, where have you been? You knew one day it would rise again like Lazarus defeating the Phoenix.

This concludes Part I.

Yesterday was my going away party, so many people showed up! It was good of you all to tell Wiley you were there to celebrate his graduation, since the party was at his house. Thanks Wiley!

Psych, congratulations Doctor Wiley, you climbed the veriest peak of academe like Ratatoskr the squirrel gaining the highest branches of the world tree Yggdrasil, to spread what nutshelled messages over Midgard as will only be known when the final sun sets on the eve of Ragnarok.

I'll see you at band practice.

And then I have to go to New Mexico, where as though burying my old Mid Atlantic self I will plant my one surviving cactus and cultivate many more, like the prickly new selves I'll invent to parcel out my sanity like the rationed desert water supply. Needless to say, I'm stoked.

Tentacular love

Tentacular love:
just an octopus and his
octoprostitute.

Child of God

by Cormac (born Charles) McCarthy. One of the best books I've ever picked up and put down. A gift from Sterling no less. What I did was I threw something at my stack of books and it hit Child of God so I read it. He's so nonchalant when he reveals the horrible things that have been going on throughout the book that you basically just take it in stride and even laugh at some of them. An experience.

Fine, snow

Today's weather: wintry with a chance of blogging.

It's been a month. What have I been doing? Very important things. Did I miss anything? Nope. Howard Zinn died. Haiti something something. Book club proceeds apace. Each in its turn.

Very important things

The restaurant whose dishes I tend to closed for most of January, so I slept a good deal, drank some, helped Beth move to New Mexico, went broke, and went back to work where my dishes were waiting. Eric told me about a book by Robert Heinlein in which a fellow named Job travels between universes getting work washing dishes. An inspiration to me.

Let me clarify that generally when you wash dishes you are washing dirty dishes. Rarely do you wash clean dishes.

Howard Zinn died

He was definitely really old. I suspect the government had to kill him when they realized he was going to reveal how it used secret geo-weaponry to cause the earthquake in Haiti.

Haiti something something

Not that I believe that. As with most conspiracy theories, the truth is all the more horrid. 200,000 are dead in Haiti and the US has decided that's a good excuse to occupy the country. Hey guys, you're monsters.

Book club

Not done yet! I guess it's only been two months since we started reading The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner. That's fine. Nobel award winner, mustachioed adulterer, cranky old man.

I've been reading his letters to the editor, essays, and the like. On the one hand, he seems to hate cars and fear that racial violence will reflect poorly on his beloved Mississippi. On the other, he supports the civil rights movement and went on the record opposing Franco during the Spanish Civil War. And his stories are pretty neat.

Dirty dishes, don't despair

Oh dirty dishes, don't despair,
I love you with my heart and hair.
If I may inquire,
What is your desire:
A wash and scrub?
Some bleach, some love?
How it's ever so rare
to find a platter that cares,
Oh no dirty dishes, don't despair.

Sound, y Fury

Finished this famous novel. Once I was in a book club that met regularly to discuss this work but internal strife and intrigue tore it apart. If the bickering and backstabbing - literal backstabbing - hadn't brought about its downfall, it would have collapsed on its own contradictions. No I don't mourn the passing of the book club. I don't mourn Elizabeth's untimely passing, even though I held her in my arms as the blood left her heart through the stab wound in her back and watched the light leave her eyes. Did she whisper my name as she died? I like to think that she did but actually she said, "I feel jes like a squinch owl inside." It sure was a weird book club.

Best of 2010

Everyone got their laughs putting up Top 10's - or 16's - for 2009. I couldn't help but notice (a) that they were composed entirely of music albums and (b) that they dwelled on the past. Here's to the future!

5. New haircut. I got a new haircut. I'm going to look awesome this year.

4. New places. Might move.

3. New friends. Ha! Just joking. You guys rule.

2. New Guilty Pleasures. Album. Drops soon, right Wiley?

1. New socks. Holy shit I need new socks. Please tell me I get to have new socks this year.

2010 sure is looking bright! I resolve not to piss most of it away. If I can help it.