Wednesday 10/30/24
Find me a more meaningless term than "award-winning."
Wrote an op-ed. Likely won't be moved. Not now. Will write at least one other today, about which the same will probably happen.
I need to write a piece on the Beach Boys' Wild Honey in the next couple days. Taking too long.
Devotees of discrimination is a useful term. Could also be dilettantes of discrimination. Dods. But not Baby Dodds. He'd be above anything these people do.
Someone wrote me about yesterday's One Story/Patrick Ryan/Will Allison post to say that it was the most thorough, unimpeachable dismantling they'd ever seen. They remarked that the parts about One Story--and John Freeman--were bad and incriminating enough, and then things went to a different level in terms of revealing guilt with the excerpt from my story.
They also mentioned that they thought they were reading the wrong thing, or were missing something, when they looked at that excerpt from Lin King's "Yellowpeople," because it bordered on impossible to believe that that was from the actual story. They were reading it on their phone and thought something might have been wrong with their device or the page wasn't loading. But they did say I was clear in stating that this really was from the story, and anticipating a reader's incredulity.
Bigots know no bounds. I understand how hard all of this is to believe. That anything could be this messed up. That's partially why I'm so thorough.
I keep laughing over Patrick Ryan's statement about how brilliant that Lin King nonsense is and how these days empathy is considered a political stance. You are a liar and a bigot, sir. You are a flat out bigot. It's so apparent that you are a bigot.
The hypocrisy of these people. And such drama queens. People think empathy is a political stance? Right. That's what people think. What a fraud. Because you'd be hard-pressed--if that was your weird, toxic goal--to be a bigger bigot than Patrick Ryan.
I was also contacted about One Story's literary debutante ball. I told you it was real. That wasn't a joke. These people actually have a debutante literary ball in which new people who have been chosen by the system are presented onstage by older people of the system who had also once been chosen by the system.
That's something else, isn't it?
These people have no self-awareness. Can you imagine naming a magazine after yourself? John Freeman doing that is so typical of these people. If you're only in that world--which is to say, their world of incestuous evil--it just becomes the norm. But if you mention that to normal people outside of this world, they're appalled. Freeman, by the way, has a biographical description of himself in the third person that uses the word "beloved."
What can you even say? Who is like that? People are by and large horrible, and most of them are not even like that.
But these people are like that.
Modern arenas are self-cleaning. After everyone leaves, there's like this mist of disinfectant that comes down. I feel like walking through that mist after every time I share the truth about these revolting people on here. This isn't what I want to be thinking about, writing about, giving any time or energy to, but it's either that or they get away with it and they win. And that's not going to happen. But so much as thinking about them for a second gives me a physical reaction of disgust. I can feel it in my skin.
"Finder of Views" went over 12,000 words yesterday. Same person who did "The Bird" at 433 words. Those parts about The Fox and the Hound, Uncle Sam, bug in the sink--they were all conceived of and written less than an hour before that entry went up. The Elvis bit was in there, but the stuff about the carpet was new, too.
Another person who has read "Fitty" and some portions of "Finder of Views" told me it's amazing how different those stories are. I think people have this reaction because they read one work I've done, and it's so indelible, that to pick up the next one and see there's no overlap at all--characters, voice, narrative, form--is just something we're so unprepared for because we see it nowhere else. This particular person has intimate, firsthand knowledge of many such different works being written at once.
What do you think Lin King is going to write about every time? How do you think everything by her will sound? You know what the deal is.
Each of these people has one thing they do badly that is scarcely a variant at all on what all of the other people like them, coming from the same privileged background, schools, creative writing programs, do. It comes from their own sheltered, uninteresting lives. They know nothing, can offer nothing, can invent nothing.
Four songs I often have in my head: Stud Cole's "Burn Baby Burn," the Godz's "Turn On," the Way Outs' "Way Out" from The Flintstones, and the Stone Roses' "So Young."
Bruins defenseman Charlie McAvoy is on pace for 25 points this season. The offensive firepower of Rod Langway (in a down year) with none of the defensive prowess!
Yankees won't be swept. Here's a thought: Maybe don't pitch to Freddie Freeman if that's avoidable? And make the guy in front of him hit his way on rather than walk him.
If you want to be in the baseball Hall of Fame, hit a lot of doubles. There are players who hit a lot of home runs who aren't in the Hall of Fame. There are players with a lot of hits who aren't in the Hall of Fame. But look at list of all-time doubles leaders. The only guys, for the most part, who aren't in are those who cheated. It is very difficult to not be a great hitter if you hit lots of doubles. The same cannot be said for home runs and singles.
Baseball awards season is coming up, so I thought I'd mention this neat stat. Bob Welsh won the 1990 AL Cy Young Award. He went 27-6. that's a lot of wins and the guy was 21 games over .500, so I get it. He never would have won it with those numbers today, because his WAR wasn't that high and no one cares about wins. I care about wins, but it's mostly just me. Roger Clemens with his 1.93 ERA would have won the award if we apply the standards of today.
Here's the stat, though: Clemens gave up 7 home runs that year. All year. His home runs/per 9 IP was .276. I don't know what the lowest such mark is over the last forty years, but that has to be close, if not the lowest mark itself. You know who took Clemens deep three times despite their careers overlapping only briefly? That's right, the man who would be king, Dave Kingman. But not in 1990. He was done by then.
Paxton in M.R. James's "A Warning to the Curious" and John Openshaw in Conan Doyle's "The Five Orange Pips" are similar in that we like them, they've done nothing wrong, and they suffer horrible ends.
That Wembley Empire Pool "Dark Star" from 4/8/72 is thirty-two minutes long, but it feels like it happens just like that (snaps fingers). No time appears to pass as you listen. It could be a two-and-a-half minute song. It could be "She Loves You."
Barely ran any stairs over the last two days. the Monument was closed, so I was at City Hall. I've not missed a day of stair running since the winter, so what I sometimes do is use days like those past two as "off days"--I'm technically running stairs, but like I said, I barely count it. They're like stairs in abeyance. I should do better. The Monument induces me more, though. But that's a pretty poor excuse. It's not like I have any discomfort or soreness or anything. I still have a cough and chest congestion for some reason, though.
Watched Coraline. That was good. Winning blend of spooky and sweet and witty and charming and smart.
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