I Have Been Thinking About Albert Pujols Frequently and With Vigor

Thursday, February 10th, 2011

A calculated risk: allow the man to go to free agency on the logic that there’s little chance he’ll be seen next year as worth somehow more than he is currently. He could suffer from the pressure and see his average fall, or he’ll boot some grounders in the field, but the latter seems only slightly more likely than the former, and neither will will happen. His elbow could sit him eight or nine games and raise vague but nagging concerns, little voicelets in the ears of the moneymen. Birds swarm over his head and confuse him, and they’re birds only he can see, so those among us who aren’t true believers begin to wonder if he’s actually been crazy, and indeed it happens before our eyes, his beard growing long and feral. Finally it could be a different year financially. I have no idea who other free agents there’ll be. But perhaps they’ll command smaller figures than Werth and Howard and Crawford. Gonzalez is a factor, I guess.

I think about Albert Pujols in the morning and sometimes late at night. Bower says, “nothing will be done, only speculation / by a lot of idiots / myself included(.)” Then he’ll end up right where he is.

Klausen: A Little Book.

Thursday, September 16th, 2010

As a younger man, writing music reviews nearly ruined my experience as a listener. Part of this was immaturity and a (kind of now) embarrassing need to prove and steadily remind any readers just how enlightened I was, spotting and enumerating an album’s flaws in language I considered very, very witty, often for its meanness. The whole thing was fairly ugly, looking back.

So far this hasn’t happened with books and book reviews. So far reading remains an act of appreciation rather than destruction. My review of Andreas Maier’s novel, Klausen, is up at Look / Listen.

So Quick, These

Friday, June 4th, 2010

Hobart has just posted a nice, healthy roundtable discussion among twelve writers who either have a book out recently or one coming soon. Some truly interesting people in the group (who I won’t link here because it’s work, but you’ve got fingers, you’ve got a search bar), and I thank them for the experience: Jedediah Berry, Andrew Ervin, Roxane Gay, Rachel B. Glaser, Julia Holmes, Caitlin Horrocks, Holly Goddard Jones, Tom McAllister, Laura van den Berg, Kevin Wilson, and Mike Young. And then me. Too.

Also: I’m a blogging machine over at Dude Life. Travels and photos and skate videos and a huge amount of bullshit. Swing by.

Also also! On Saturday, June 12, I’ll teach a three-hour workshop on dialogue at the University of Chicago’s downtown Gleacher Center. Would love to see you…info here.

For the Infant I Been

Saturday, April 3rd, 2010

I’m wondering the word for the process by which one stops knowing anything about bands as they emerge, and coincidentally begins critiquing trends so terribly similar to his (it’s me) own from a time not too I don’t think long ago. Pull up your pants!, one thinks, as they walk in front of me on my way to the train. But one’s own pants! How they once did sag! How many were given glimpse of my ass thanks to my keen fashion sense!

I know the word, okay yes thank you. The word is aging. The word for everything is aging.

Yesterday Serengeti‘s little brother told me he never reads, ever reads ever, but that he read The Slide twice. Once when depressed and once when happy, so he got a good handle on it from two perspectives. I can’t tell you how happy this made me.