Monthly Archive for August, 2007

Via Journalista, colleencoover and castellucci: “Now available from TCJ.com through the month of September: A podcast recording of the “Comics Are Not Literature” panel from the 2007 San Diego Comic-Con, featuring Douglas Wolk (moderator), publisher Dan Nadel, and writers Sara Ryan, Cecil Castellucci, Paul Tobin and Austin Grossman. Click here to download the 50.8MB MP3 audiofile. Please note that this file will be removed from the site on October 1.”

…that William Gibson watches The Wire. He says:

 I don’t know what constitutes “noir” in 2007. I mean, would The Wire be noir? I don’t think so. Actually, noir—I was taught in college—is a kind of baroque pop version of literary naturalism. Anyway, that’s the way some critics have looked at it. I think that a show like The Wire is the closest we come these days to naturalism. It’s a genuine, authentic attempt at naturalism. I’ve never really attempted naturalism before, but I value it a lot, so all of its more baroque forms have been very valuable to me. One of them, I think, is noir.

Totally read the rest of the interview, too.

We don’t have a bread box.

Actually that’s a lie. I have a fantastic bread box with two compartments, one labeled Bread, the other Cake. But it is extremely old and rusty and I use it to store all my old journals:

But anyway, the point is that we don’t have a bread box suitable for bread storage. This totally wasn’t a problem until Snag entered our lives and we discovered his affinity for gnawing through bread wrappers and consuming portions of several slices.

Then I had the genius idea that we could keep the entire loaf of bread inside the toaster oven. Same size, more or less, as a bread box, same functionality. Take that, I thought, you little carb-seeking missile. It worked! We’ve enjoyed our bread un-gnawed for months.

You see where this is going, don’t you?

You’re right.

Today Snag learned how to open the toaster oven.

I am sitting next to a group of salesmen in bright blue shirts. They are talking loudly and enthusiastically about football and the various no-hopers currently populating their teams of choice, who apparently do not perform up to expectations once they’ve secured their massive salaries.

“They just figure, hey, I got the contract, why do I have to do anything now?”

“Oh no. It’s not like that. No, I’m telling you, every single player in the NFL’s got quotas to make. Yardage per game. I’m telling you.”

“Quotas. Just like us.”

They stare at each other briefly, glumly. It’s only another few seconds before one asks another how many deals he made yesterday, and they return to Glengarry Glen Ross-style weaponized conversational gambits. If they’d ever really departed.

Brave Mr. Elephanter by Lark Pien is sweet and delightful and you should really see the elephanties.

I have sort of a shopping cart now. If you go to Publications and click on one of the minicomics covers, you will see. This would have happened sooner had I not forgotten my Paypal password, like, ten times in a row. I am kind of shocked that Paypal even let me set up the cart after all that, to tell you the truth. If people want to be able to order signed copies of the novels, let me know and I can set that up too.

The cat will not stop biting me, in an affectionate but persistent way. It is vaguely endearing but painful.

I’m going out of town again Thursday. I am excited but it seems like I just barely got back from San Diego. In fact the suitcases are still splayed out, open, in the guest room, as though they are exhausted, too. At least we finally got all the laundry out of them and did it.

I finally read Fugitives and Refugees and encountered the Katherine Dunn quote about Portlanders: “Everyone has at *least* three identities. They’re a grocery store checker, an archaeologist, and a biker guy. Or they’re a poet, a drag queen, and a bookstore clerk.”

I sure do. Have three lives, I mean. Maybe more. Sometimes I get mental whiplash. But I don’t think it’s exclusive to Portland.

What are your three lives?