To whom it may concern, I’m doing okay getting back into the swing of things here in the good ol’ USA. A little worried about my future and this whole economic crisis.
Reading: Harold Pinter Complete Works Vol. 1: 1954 to 1960; Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex-Drugs-And-Rock ‘n’ Roll Generation Saved Hollywood by Peter Biskind; The Barrytown Trilogy: The Commitments/The Snapper/The Van by Roddy Doyle; Vacation by Deb Olin Unferth.
The last author, Unferth, recently came to speak at UI, and she brought her publisher from McSweeney’s with her – Eli Horowitz. I told him to remember my name, and Unferth told me that I should eat beets for inspiration. It was a nice meeting, anyway.
I had to put together a photo essay for Modes of Production recently. I took some photos of the flood aftermath.
This angel lives in City Park and is called the Angel of Hope. I don’t know, it has something to do with dead babies.
City Park. Lonely merry-go-round. This one goes with the angel in that it kind of makes me think of dead babies again. I think I might have a problem.
This is a putting green at the bottom of the hill where my apartment complex is. In case anyone forgot, my neighborhood had to be evacuated during the flood. Luckily, I was in Ireland at the time. However, this photo was taken a month ago and this green still looks pretty nasty. Geese like to hang out here and the whole place is covered in their leavings (the phrase “like shit through a goose” didn’t just fall out of the sky). It reeks.
One of the many homes on the river front. This one is being moved – don’t know where. It’s a long process. If you look closely, you can see that whoever lives there still has flower pots hanging on the front. It made me laugh.
We keep on keepin’ on, though, here in IC. Typical Tuesday afternoon at Deadwood. I don’t actually know this guy – I was just messing around with my camera, but it makes me happy because it reminds me that friends may come and go, but beer will always be there for me.
Dudes I knew in high school playing at Ribfest – The Post Mortems. It was a million degrees out there. Everyone was sticky and smelly. Welcome home.