Big thanks to Josh Goller at MC.
Monday
Tuesday
Habits
They can be so annoying, can't they?
A big shout to Matt Boyd & Co. They're manning a kick-ass journal over at Staccato.
Thursday
The Bullpen
As the group continued to implode, a season was sent swirling down the commode.
It appears we're headed for a series of gut punches in Milwaukee.
It appears we're headed for a series of gut punches in Milwaukee.
Monday
Let's Play 162
Found out a few weeks ago my baseball-themed story "Eternal and Unnecessary" will appear in the Autumn/Winter issue of Stymie Magazine. Exciting stuff. Since it's opening day I also have reason to run the following once written by Roger Angell. It is f'ing fantastic.
Baseball: learn it, live it, love it.
It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitive as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look -- I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable. Almost. What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring -- caring deeply and passionately, really caring -- which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives. And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved. Naivete -- the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman to dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball -- seems a small price to pay for such a gift. Roger Angell, "Agincourt and After", 1975
Baseball: learn it, live it, love it.
It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitive as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look -- I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable. Almost. What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring -- caring deeply and passionately, really caring -- which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives. And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved. Naivete -- the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman to dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball -- seems a small price to pay for such a gift. Roger Angell, "Agincourt and After", 1975
Thursday
A Limerick For Luck
The Madness of March has begun yet again,
the Irish are dancing, halleluiah, amen.
It was an up and down year filled with mistakes and oh no’s,
we groaned in frustration and thought “god this team blows.”
However late in the season came a glimmer, a spark,
on a magical run Tory and Ben did embark.
They stomped through the gauntlet knocking off GTown and Pitt,
suddenly, out of nowhere, this team was the shit!
They slowed down the tempo and started to pass,
and lo and behold we kicked everyone’s ass.
We got into the dance, boasting a six seed to boot,
that miserable winter was suddenly moot.
Now the tourney is here, the fun about to begin,
let’s kick this baby off by stomping Old Dominion.
GO IRISH!
the Irish are dancing, halleluiah, amen.
It was an up and down year filled with mistakes and oh no’s,
we groaned in frustration and thought “god this team blows.”
However late in the season came a glimmer, a spark,
on a magical run Tory and Ben did embark.
They stomped through the gauntlet knocking off GTown and Pitt,
suddenly, out of nowhere, this team was the shit!
They slowed down the tempo and started to pass,
and lo and behold we kicked everyone’s ass.
We got into the dance, boasting a six seed to boot,
that miserable winter was suddenly moot.
Now the tourney is here, the fun about to begin,
let’s kick this baby off by stomping Old Dominion.
GO IRISH!
Wednesday
It's A Celebration Bitches
The beer is green and the Irish are dancing in the tournament. Too bad St. Pat's didn't fall a day later. The Irish can't lose on St. Pat's. It's a mathematical impossibility.
Anyway, in other happy news my story "Loose Lips" is up as part of Crispin Best's very, very awesome Stories for Every Year Project.
Read it here.
Happy consumption.
Anyway, in other happy news my story "Loose Lips" is up as part of Crispin Best's very, very awesome Stories for Every Year Project.
Read it here.
Happy consumption.
Friday
1541 Was a Very Good Year
Unless you were a Gypsy in Scottland. Then it was sort of prickly.
Confused?
Don't worry. Everything will sort its self out when my short "Loose Lips" appears in the awesome "for every year" project by Crispin Best.
Check out project specs here.
Thanks for the opportunity and the awesome response time Crisp!
I'll let ya'll know when it hits.
Happy Superbowl weekend...who dat trying to tarnish Peyton's legacy?
Confused?
Don't worry. Everything will sort its self out when my short "Loose Lips" appears in the awesome "for every year" project by Crispin Best.
Check out project specs here.
Thanks for the opportunity and the awesome response time Crisp!
I'll let ya'll know when it hits.
Happy Superbowl weekend...who dat trying to tarnish Peyton's legacy?
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