Remember the hot dog stand in North Umpton, by the cab stand? With jelly painted on the light pole? That was a good spot. Old Gessepo’s hot dogs were the best in town. Some top notch nitrite, let me tell you. I ran into his wife, Jelly Belle, and she said Old Gessepo’s been sad since the aliens carried their kid off to Cleveland. What a nightmare. Anyway, let me know if the Pirates are in town and I’ll buy some tickets. (Can’t wait to bean Fixie Carlyle in the face with a can of soppressata!)
Month: June 2017
Hello Brandon
Remember the hot dog stand in North Umpton, by the cab stand? With jelly painted on the light pole? That was a good spot. Old Gessepo’s hot dogs were the best in town. Some top notch nitrite, let me tell you. I ran into his wife, Jelly Belle, and she said Old Gessepo’s been sad since the aliens carried their kid off to Cleveland. What a nightmare. Anyway, let me know if the Pirates are in town and I’ll buy some tickets. (Can’t wait to bean Fixie Carlyle in the face with a can of soppressata!)
I came of age in a time when everything was completely uncertain, and I’m happy to be part of a new generation that’s turning things over, but we were turning things over while print floundered and wondered what to do with itself. And it had been the stalwart thing, this very, very reliable dependable thing for generations, print. And we watched it die from up on our hill of youth. You kind of get the sense that you’re not safe. That’s coming for you, too, but you don’t know what it looks like for you. That’s kind of bleak, I suppose.
I came of age in a time when everything was completely uncertain, and I’m happy to be part of a new generation that’s turning things over, but we were turning things over while print floundered and wondered what to do with itself. And it had been the stalwart thing, this very, very reliable dependable thing for generations, print. And we watched it die from up on our hill of youth. You kind of get the sense that you’re not safe. That’s coming for you, too, but you don’t know what it looks like for you. That’s kind of bleak, I suppose.
A woman wants to murder me but she’s cute and I don’t take her seriously so it’s not a threat to my existence. That was some years back and I don’t think I’ve changed.
How do you say, “I’m not in the mood for more responsibility”? How do those words form in a person’s throat? And how long do they last?
I read a short story about a librarian who says things like, “I wish I lived in Russia,” or, “We would be better off with kings and queens.” These are not things I would say or even think, but I am fascinated by people who do think and say these types of unexpected things. And it doesn’t mean much, that fascination, except perhaps to highlight that there’s a part of my brain tuned into that but the rest of my brain is not set up to respond. So I think the librarian is a cool person but I don’t think I can do anything to make her think I’m a cool person.
Oh, but didn’t I know? I have always wanted the librarian to think I’m cool.
I’ve been seeing something from the corner of my eye for ten years. You don’t see this thing during the day. It’s in shadow. A big, yellow truck, completely invisible in the light. It’s bonkers, really is. The offices are built above the truck to have room for parking spaces below, but I think it’s optometrists and tax preparers, so they don’t need many spaces. And anyway, I never see other cars in those spaces. Just that truck that you won’t see when you drive by on the northbound 101 freeway during the day. But drive by at night and it’s a movie cover. It’s a well-lit composition evoking some moody nighttime danger that is never put to words, but is captured as a photograph. That street is completely empty at night, and across from a seaside marsh where I imagine murders occur and bodies are dumped. To walk there is to be caught in that web between the glints on the truck’s surface and the terrifying void of the marsh.
There was another truck–green this time–held in the air by ropes tied to massive trees somewhere near the Lost Coast. Suspended until the day when the ropes give up and it comes crashing down. You could stand underneath the truck and wait for it to fall, or you continue out into the woods. And would you wait, if I said it would fall soon? Would you kindly wait beside me?
A woman wants to murder me but she’s cute and I don’t take her seriously so it’s not a threat to my existence. That was some years back and I don’t think I’ve changed.
How do you say, “I’m not in the mood for more responsibility”? How do those words form in a person’s throat? And how long do they last?
I read a short story about a librarian who says things like, “I wish I lived in Russia,” or, “We would be better off with kings and queens.” These are not things I would say or even think, but I am fascinated by people who do think and say these types of unexpected things. And it doesn’t mean much, that fascination, except perhaps to highlight that there’s a part of my brain tuned into that but the rest of my brain is not set up to respond. So I think the librarian is a cool person but I don’t think I can do anything to make her think I’m a cool person.
Oh, but didn’t I know? I have always wanted the librarian to think I’m cool.
I’ve been seeing something from the corner of my eye for ten years. You don’t see this thing during the day. It’s in shadow. A big, yellow truck, completely invisible in the light. It’s bonkers, really is. The offices are built above the truck to have room for parking spaces below, but I think it’s optometrists and tax preparers, so they don’t need many spaces. And anyway, I never see other cars in those spaces. Just that truck that you won’t see when you drive by on the northbound 101 freeway during the day. But drive by at night and it’s a movie cover. It’s a well-lit composition evoking some moody nighttime danger that is never put to words, but is captured as a photograph. That street is completely empty at night, and across from a seaside marsh where I imagine murders occur and bodies are dumped. To walk there is to be caught in that web between the glints on the truck’s surface and the terrifying void of the marsh.
There was another truck–green this time–held in the air by ropes tied to massive trees somewhere near the Lost Coast. Suspended until the day when the ropes give up and it comes crashing down. You could stand underneath the truck and wait for it to fall, or you continue out into the woods. And would you wait, if I said it would fall soon? Would you kindly wait beside me?
There is nothing at all like a man’s strong kiss: apologies to the women of Kentucky.
“What You Want to Do Fine” by Lorrie Moore
There is nothing at all like a man’s strong kiss: apologies to the women of Kentucky.
“What You Want to Do Fine” by Lorrie Moore