I went to a tiny reading in Cambridge last weekend that ended up a round-robin situation with some saxophone players and a few poets trading off, sharing renditions and drafts. Normally, I can make this kind of set-up work for me. At readings, I am often the tag-along friend, rarely the featured performer. An accidental salon-style round-robin lets me...
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I am an American. I was born and raised on American soil and have never called any other country home, although my family is certainly not native. It has been several generations since my ancestors immigrated, however, and I have no familial ties to any of those countries beyond my last name—which we have Americanized so that the ‘w’ is not...
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My semester has ended, and I have big plans for the summer. Not big plans by most peoples standards, but plans enough to coincide with my projected 60 hour work weeks. I’m going to make it through the entirety of Infinite Jest (for real this time), crotchet a few scarves (assuming that next winter will be extra cold to compensate for the mild weather...
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I’m just going to say it. I cannot hold it in any longer. I suspect my mailman (he is a man, though I suppose I should say “person”) is not paying the necessary attention to his job—and that’s the least of what I could say. I’m being as nice as I possibly can here. I’m at my wits’ end with my particular postal carrier. I...
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I usually try to keep my eyes straight ahead while walking through the college center; frankly, I’m almost never in mood to get called out—let’s just call it like it is: harassed—by student organizationss who want me to attend their events or buy their merchandise or send a daisy to a friend on Valentine’s day (come ON). But...
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