Laurel’s review of the Accidental Nostalgia record, here.
Lyrics pages now up on the GD Web site, here. (Line breaks screwy, but no time to fix CSS.)
Amazon and CD Baby pages TK. (I know, lousy Buy Blue rating for the former, but there’s only so many battles a girl can fight with a self-produced and self-released album.)
Passed from the divine Ms. Snyder.
You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
James Thurber’s My Life and Hard Times.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Yes. Bridget Jones (with whom I share a birthday, oddly).
The last book you bought is:
Breyten Breytenbach’s All One Horse is on the way from Powell’s. (Breyten is best known, I believe, for his memoir The True Confessions of an Albino Terrorist. All One Horse is an amazing book of both his short prose poems and his paintings.)
The last book you read:
A tie between Mary Roach, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers and Julia Slavin, The Woman Who Cut off Her Leg at the Maidstone Club and Other Stories.
What are you currently reading?
Steven Millhauser, The Knife-Thrower and Other Stories.
Five books you would take to a deserted island:
Oh, you know. I’m like most folks, I guess; going on the assumption that this means one would be alone for a very, very long time, and that autodidacticism would still seem worthwhile, I’d basically want a pile of human civilization’s greatest hits, the super long stuff that everyone knows they ought to get to eventually when they’ve got the time. So I’d just ask the weird, omnipotent god who put me on this island in the first place, and comes up with these whimsical and arbitrary rules, to throw me together a canonical stir-fry of some combination of the Bible, the Vedas, the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, the poetic Edda, the Icelandic Sagas, the OED, the Encyclopedia Britannica, Homer, Dante, Emerson, Shakespeare, Proust, Joyce, Moby Dick, Don Quixote, The Journey to the West, etc., etc., whatever the hell else I’m forgetting.
Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
Everyone I know in this tiny little world of writers who keep weblogs has already done this, so I’ll let this meme branch find a terminus here.
is trying to Google some funny anecdote that you remember having read on some literary weblog or other sometime in the past six months or so that was funny, in part, because it was written in dialect, which is a fuzziness that even Google can’t handle, but you remember the basic gist of the thing, so you keep going, even though the search is beyond tricky, it’s a serious time sink, but look! here ’tis, a Scottish letter to the editor, the original vanished, but the quote itself archived by the good folks over at Bookninja: “However, there is another compelling reason not to abandon the book. What seems like a very long time ago I attended a conference in Glasgow on what was then known as library automation. The librarian of the Glasgow City Libraries—I’m sorry I can no longer remember his name—was one of the speakers. He concluded his talk on how he saw the future, or it seemed he had. But then he leaned forward towards his audience with what seemed like a conspiratorial air and said: ‘That’s aw verra weel, but whit are ye gaen tae dae when the electricity gaes aff?'”
There’s a preacher who sets up shop on the corner of Broadway and Havermeyer in South Williamsburg on the weekends, some days with a band backing him up, some days without. Today he was working solo, and as I was walking by I swear I heard him say this:
Some folks saying, ‘God is having sex!’ God ain’t having sex, my friends. He’s simply a punitive self, into the womb.
Or maybe “putative”? Either way.