Boone was bit by a geriatric German Shepherd at the dog park. The dog was named "Gator." I got the guy's information, but it's a pretty clean, superficial bite (though, Gator took about a quarter-sized chunk with him), so there's not much than can be done other than keeping it clean and letting it heal. Letting it heal means a cone. A cone. It makes an already sad-looking dog look mighty, mighty sad.
Eduardo wins the Yale Younger! Eduardo wins the Yale Younger! Those of us paying attention are not surprised. Couldn't go to a more deserving poet. I've read a draft of Eduardo's winning manuscript and cannot wait to hold the book in my hands. The poems are damn-excellent. This is good.
"The National Endowment for the Arts is targeted for a $22.5 million cut in the legislative proposal, and it is quite possible members of the Republican Study Committee will offer amendments to fully eliminate the NEA during floor consideration. We need you to send a message to your Members calling on them to reject these cuts to the NEA."
Follow the link above. It only takes a second to remind folks with briefcases that we still live in a country that believes in and supports the arts.
Campfire OK is now a hearty sextet, but that fact is easily concealed during the band's more delicate moments. The title track from Strange Like We Are quickly bursts open with a forceful chorus: "All we see are blue pastels and deep V-necks / so why don't we go somewhere we all know / where everyone we meet is strange like we are." It's not clear whether Goodweather is lamenting Seattle culture, the indie-rock dress code or something else altogether, but his words and melody are fun and memorable, regardless. "Strange Like We Are" grows as it goes, with its many layers, including handclaps and three-part harmonies, culminating in more powerful choruses.
My friend Melodie Knight, who took my author photo, sings in Campfire OK. She's awesome and they're excellent.
Perhaps this is overly hopeful, but even in the relentless Iowa winter, I am hopeful. Many of my students seem to be responding to the dark edges of literature in a way I have never seen before. One class seems much more talkative than usual, more willing to accept the fact that life, politics, morality—all these things—hover mostly in the gray areas rather than in the black and white. Their insights often trump mine.
It could be that the continued economic malaise, endless wars, hateful political rhetoric, and senseless violence of the past decade have made their mark on this new crop of students. They don’t need to be convinced of life’s unfairness (they’re soon to enter the worst white-collar labor market ever), of the horrifying randomness of violence (school shootings have always been part of their landscape), and of the real dangers of climate change (their campus has endured epic floods twice in the past three years.) This generation might understand complexity better than I ever imagined they could.