used // in well-loved condition

The Late American Novel: Writers on the Future of Books
edited by Jeff Martin & C. Max Magee


A new month, a new review. This was an impulse buy off the "employee recommendations" display at my local Barnes & Noble while killing time before seeing "Thor" in 3D. One look at the cover art, and I couldn't very well not buy it. Throw in the fact that I've been kicking around the idea of doing my thesis on reading as tactile experience and the fetishization of print, and it's fairly obvious that this particular book was tailor-made for me.


Happily, it did not disappoint.

obey omnipresence

I think one of my favorite things about living in DC is the fact that Shepard Fairey's stuff is everywhere, sometimes tucked away on the back of a street sign on a cheap black & white sticker a la Kinkos, sometimes plastered as an urban alley mural, but always there just waiting for someone to stop and take notice.

Don't ask me what's up with the "Art Rat" squirrel in Mickey Mouse ears... Gotta love a mixed metaphor.

And it's not as if I didn't notice his stuff in the other places I've lived—the East Bay is more than a little fond of its Obey Giant stickers—but the comparative volume here is somewhat overwhelming. Kind of like how Berkeley is the only place I've found Trystero muted post-horn tags. I'm sure you can find them in just about every city if you look hard enough, but strongly doubt the frequency is really comparable.



Just finished reading Born Standing Up by Steve Martin yesterday, so this one jumped out at me. It was interesting to hear about the transition from the Summer of Love to the 1970s. Given the atrocities and horror of our first national conflict for the television age, combined with the failure death of Flower Power, is it any wonder that hippies gave way to the "Me" Decade?

But it's nice to see the imagery being appropriated for today's "unwinnable war(s)."

Speaking of appropriate...


After being inundated with depressing headline after depressing headline for so long it feels like the sky was always falling, this got a good laugh out of me—albeit a bittersweet one, but hey, these days I'll take what I can get. And the irony is oh-so-delicious ("no cents," read "sense").

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I hope to one day meet Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson...

...so's I can kick him in the crotch.