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From Stephen Elliott
My high school soccer coach was a Guatemalan immigrant who had made his way to the States when he was in his twenties. At first he’d earned his living as an Arthur Murray dance instructor, but that phase of his life, at least to those of us he coached, had faded into an unlikely myth. …more
I put myself in the group home. I was in the therapist office with my mom and I said, “I give up. I’m not going to try anymore,” meaning getting along with my mom, and he suggested the group home. To me it was a terrific idea. …more
Jenni – Patient Account Representative
I treat people the way I’m treated, with the same respect. I’m not worried about your feelings. …more
The e-ticket I held in my hand entitled me to board two airplanes, which I did. I flew all the way from Cairo International Airport to the glitzy city of Dubai with its innumerable skyscrapers jutting up out of the pastel-pink sands of that part of Arabia. …more
A group of Mexican teenagers encounters a bizarre America in Luis Alberto Urrea’s latest novel. …more
During an assembly-line interview process last week, I sat with writer and director Carlos Cuarón to talk about his new film, Rudo y Cursi. We met up at a self-described rock-and-roll hotel suite in downtown San Francisco. With his rat’s tail haircut and unwillingness to smile on demand, he reminded me of the kid I sat next to in eighth grade art class.
Carlos explained how Rudo y Cursi is a departure from his first writing credit, the foreign art-house classic, Y tu mamá también, although it is still a meditation on male bonding. After he got talking about the film, I asked Carlos to discuss his artistic influences. …more
Rising in front of us, surrounded by nothing but miles of empty sand, is the Bahrain Formula 1 racetrack. …more“How many people are willing to actually die for their art? I don’t know. I’m sure many are willing to take a risk and push themselves as far as they see fit, depending how dedicated and smart they are. Was Pat smart in the decision he made? Well, he did still have partial function of his kidney at the time, which minimized the dialysis some, although that could have changed at any point.” …more
If you live in San Francisco you’ve probably seen the signs on storefronts and taxis—the posters eye-catching and cryptic: War Music, flanked by a wing and a gun. …more
Hermione Lee’s marvelous biography of Virginia Woolf tells us that Woolf applied the same clear-eyed and unstinting analysis to her father, Leslie Stephen, that she did to most of her subjects, subjects that tended to be Victorian, domestic, and preoccupied with the mind. On her father, the upshot, for Woolf, was this: “Stephen’s crucial weakness, she thought, was that he allowed himself to behave like a genius (badly, that is), whereas he was, as he once told her, ‘only a good second class mind.’” …more
It is -7º F outside. In his kitchen, Harry makes me tea. He is a broad-shouldered man with a prominent chin and a deep, smooth voice. He has been remodeling this house for the better part of a decade, after expanding the house where his children grew up and his first wife still lives, less than a block away from here. …more
“One time I was reading Haruki Murakami and I thought: if I had the chance, would I ever ask him why his characters always vanish? I’m not sure I’d want to. Maybe he doesn’t know either.” …more
A lovely little film that’s more gallows than humor. …more
“The site was becoming unmanageable as just a hobby… so I decided I either needed to quit the site or turn it into something I could live off of… The bigger challenge was how to balance taking the site seriously while simultaneously not worrying about it too much.” …more
Katy Lederer’s poems are both romantic and political in nature. With their attention to formal and lyrical concerns, these poems tackle the problems of desire when it coincides with money and passion. …more
Using the American West as its central conceit, Cecily Parks’ debut volume, Field Folly Snow, explores the shifting intersections of fear, desire, geography, and history. …more
The enchantment of Dangerous Laughter is not merely a function of the tales themselves, but also of the way in which Millhauser tells them – with careful, attentive prose that is rich in detail yet never overwhelming. …more
I’m from Portland, Oregon. Not Portland proper, but the suburbs. When I was seven I moved to an island called Saipan, where my mother is from. She’s a Pacific Islander, full blooded. She speaks Chamorro.
I was one of three white kids in my school so I got beat up a lot. People didn’t even know my name, they called me haole, which is slang for whitey. I didn’t have many friends. I hung out with my cousins. My mom is the oldest of fourteen so I had lots of cousins.
At first it was my mom and I. When they realized we would be there longer than expected my dad and sister moved out with us. My dad stayed on the islands ever since. He loves that whole lifestyle.
My sister died in a very unfortunate accident. Well, not an accident. She was epileptic and she was beaten and she had a seizure and she was taken to the ocean and thrown in and she drowned. She would have been sixteen or seventeen. She was a pretty white girl and she broke all sorts of hearts. A lot of girls who lived on the island hated her. She was this white bitch stealing their boys. It could be whoever did it didn’t realize she was an epileptic and they beat her and threw her in the ocean and didn’t expect her to die. But she did. We don’t know what happened to my sister. It really shows the ineptitude of the police in Saipan. Sketchy things will happen on the island and nobody can do anything about it. It’s an unsolved murder.
I have a much older brother and sister who stayed in the states and I moved back to the states when I was twelve. I came home for the holidays and just stayed. I hated the island. My father and my mom got a divorce two months after my sister died. The reasons for the divorce are all sorts of normal stuff. They didn’t’ get along, he cheated, they both drank a lot. My mom moved to Vancouver, Washington and I moved in with her. My mom was very fragile then. It was easier for me to pretend my dad didn’t exist because the mere mention of him would send her into sobs. Not talking to my father was more practical for the sake of harmony. But it kept happening, I kept not talking to him. I haven’t talked to my father since I was twelve. And now here we are, thirteen years later.
My father tried to contact me here and again over the years. In college I realized I had no ill feelings toward the guy so I went on this big spirit journey through Western Europe, just traveling around by myself. I wanted to take this time and write my father this epic letter explaining why I didn’t talk to him, tell him I’m sorry. I was going to explain what I’m like and what things have been like for the last eight years. I went through five different countries, hostel to hostel and I wrote a sixteen or seventeen page letter, and I sent it to him. He responded with a quick email saying, “I received your mail, thanks for the correspondence.” That was 2004. Then I didn’t hear anything from him until 2006 when he randomly sent me this package. Nothing’s in the package except a CD and a photo of him holding two poodles. He looks crazy. He’s balding but he has really long hair. He has these gold chains and he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt. I thought the CD was an audio letter, but there was nothing on it. I took it to the I.T. guys at my work; they said it was a bad rip. So I emailed him thanks and could he resend the CD. I haven’t heard from him since. That was almost three years ago. So what’s my dad like? I have no idea.
My mom is wonderful. She’s this short little brown woman, like four foot nine. She lives with my oldest sister and her family. My sister who died had a four month old child, Alex, who my mom is now the legal guardian of. She watches over Alex and my other sister’s three children. She cooks, takes them to soccer practice. For the last thirteen years she’s pretty much been a stay at home grandma.
In high school I got my first job working at Coffee People in the Portland Airport. That’s where I met Gus Van Sant. He was casting for Elephant at the time and I served him tea or something. The next day his assistant came looking for me. I ended up interviewing with Gus for the movie. I guess he didn’t find what he wanted in me, but he took a headshot. I went to the University of Washington, in Seattle, where I was an English major. Years later I ran into someone at the university who says, “You’re that guy! I saw you!” Apparently Gus Van Sant has a whole bunch of headshots in his apartment and this guy had seen my photo. Now whenever I go to Portland or he’s in San Francisco Gus and I get coffee or a drink together. It’s a random connection, this famous film director and some stupid coffee shop employee.
I liked living in Seattle. It’s very dark feeling because there are so many overcast days. After college I had one of my numerous existential dilemmas. One of my friends said she was moving to New York. So I moved to New York because I wanted something really different.
I was in New York for a year and a half when I quit my job and lost my apartment. I was thinking about what my next step would be. My friend, the same friend I followed to New York, was now living in San Francisco with two roommates and she said there was an extra room. I said, “Save it for three months.” And then I biked across the country.
After arriving in San Francisco I was biking on 25th Street. There was an oncoming car but no turn signal. I bolted across the intersection and they turned left into me. I broke a bunch of bones. I broke my teeth, my ribs, and my collarbone. I had scapular fractures, lacerations. I had blood in my lungs and brain swelling. That’s the scary stuff. People can deal with broken bones. The driver was a youngish girl, like 22 or something, and she had another youngish girl in the passenger seat. From reports they were crying hysterically. Her insurance company covered $50,000. I hired a lawyer and we negotiated my medical bills down so we were able to cover it. It could have been much worse.
I ended up working at Ritual because my roommate already had a job there and I needed a job. I think I make $11 an hour, which is pretty good considering the field. Plus I get benefits. I get dental, which I’ve never had in my young adult life. And on a solid day I’ve walked away with $50 in tips.
There are people who work at Ritual who live and breath and think coffee, like our roasters. And we have two or three prize competitive baristas. You hear their sincere interest in farmers and growing methods. They talk about certain flavors and aromas and go into specific detail. They say all these things really intelligently. I wouldn’t say I’m one of those people. But since working at Ritual I’ve become more of that guy.
If you talked to me in Portland or even Seattle and told me there are people making a career in the coffee industry I would have thought you were joking. But there are people who are careerists, who think of coffee as complex and something that can be appreciated to a great degree. I’m not a careerist. I like learning what I’m learning but I wouldn’t consider myself a coffee industry person. I went to college for English thinking I might be a professor. Right now I’m an editorial intern for Planet Magazine. I want to make that my career. I’m trying to shift my focus from coffee to editing to the writing world. I don’t know how to do that.
My roommate, who I moved to New York with and then San Francisco, is going to be my life long roommate unless I get married. She was talking about how she wants to move to Rome. I was like, “Hell, I’ll go with you.”
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Check out Nick’s Bike Blog
There is nothing like the thrill of heading off to a convention for rabid fanboys, geeks, cosplayers, and those who simply enjoy letting their inner freak flag fly across 10th Avenue in Midtown, Manhattan.
Sarah Wisby is now in a relationship with herself. – December 13, 2008
Sarah is proud of her muffin top. – December 9
Sarah is _________. – December 9
Sarah is denouement: it’s all downhill from here. – December 9 …more
About two weeks after I leave Costa Rica, a 6.2 magnitude earthquake will ravage an area about twenty miles outside the capital. …more
If anyone could be said to have really written in a garret, alone and oblivious, it is Louisa May Alcott.
Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde . . . Jello Biafra?! The Dead Kennedys’ acerbic frontman deserves to be placed in such rarefied comedic company by virtue of the three-minute satirical missiles he fired off during his band’s reign of (counter)terror between 1979 and 1986. …more
Cheryl Strayed was this week’s guest ethicist for The New York Times Magazine.
She responded to three queries–relating to sex, money, and infidelity–with that Cheryl/Sugar blend of wisdom and wit.
Rumpus columnist Nicholas Rombes served as today’s guest editor for London-based online magazine Berfrois.
Rombes curated an array of excellent pieces, including Rumpus editor Isaac Fitzgerald’s “In Love in San Francisco,” Peggy Nelson’s “Short Attention Span Theater,” and two poems by John Freeman.
In a Letter of Note from earlier this week, Mark Twain replies to a librarian’s note concerning the Brooklyn Public Library ban on Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn in his characteristically wry and confounding way.
After the library found copies of Twain’s most famous works in the children’s room at the library, Asa Dickinson, the man writing Twain, defended the books and admitted to having read Huck Finn to “defenseless blind people, without regard to their age, color, or previous condition of servitude.” Twain didn’t give the man much sympathy and explained the danger that uncouth reading subjects present to children: …more
The Toronto Star‘s well-designed archive of Ernest Hemingway’s newspaper articles for the Canadian paper provides access to evidence of the young author honing his spartan style and exploring his favorite themes.
One such exceedingly-Hemingway gem is from an article about getting a free shave from amateur barbers: “For a visit to the barber college requires the cold, naked valor of the man who walks clear-eyed to death.” …more
According to scholars, Homer never mentioned the color blue in any of his works; neither did the Bible, nor an abundance of ancient texts. Also, linguists have found a near-universal pattern in which languages developed color in stages, and blue was always the last to be named. Radiolab reports and searches for answers.
“Someday they’ll say Bukowski knew. Lay down for three of four days to get your juices back—then get up, look around and do it… But who the hell can do it ‘cause you need a dollar.”
Open Culture shares a video of Charles Bukowski discussing how he deals with depression and renews creativity.
At The Boston Phoenix, Rumpus contributor Thomas Page McBee writes about undergoing his own transition while making sense of the many public stories of transgender people that also occurred throughout the past year.
“Going on hormones was scary. I was afraid of being alone, misunderstood, alien. And [Chaz] Bono complicated things for me. I didn’t see myself in his story, but he was suddenly my mascot.”
At The New York Times, David Carr takes a closer look at the blend of business, journalism and software that characterizes Brooklyn-based multimedia storytelling platform-cum-publisher, The Atavist.
“Part of the reason The Atavist works is that it meets a need that its founders had in their own lives… and was not conceived in a bald effort to exploit a market. They wanted a tool and a platform that would be fungible enough to allow articles to be sold for the iPad, the Kindle and other e-readers.”
Recommended Reading, Electric Literature’s free digital magazine, has been released! The inaugural story comes from Ben Marcus.
“If my mother knew that she only needed to survive for just under an hour―in order not to die today―would her chances of living increase? If I phoned her now and told her to hang on, so that she didn’t die today, would her odds change? In other words, does it increase our chance of survival if we consciously try to live?”
“Recent research and reports on violence against transgender women have found that, in 2010, 44 percent of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and HIV-affected hate-crime murder victims were trans women. In 2009, trans women accounted for 50 percent of LGBTQH hate-crime murder victims.”
Mother Jones reports on the case of CeCe McDonald. In accepting a plea deal of second-degree manslaughter, McDonald was forced to give up her assertion of self-defense. However, many believe that she was prosecuted for “surviving a hate crime,” and activists have rallied around her as the June 4th sentencing date approaches.
At Full Stop, Stephanie Bernhard weighs in on the literary gender imbalance, arguing that today’s literary marketplace is “identity-driven,” which makes it more difficult for women writers to succeed.
“Our culture still offers men a broader spectrum of acceptable personality types than it does women. Wolitzer quotes poet Katha Pollitt saying ‘For every one woman, there’s room for three men.’ We might amend her statement slightly to say ‘for every female identity, there’s room for three male identities.’”
We’re very excited for our next Rumpus event, “Letters In The Mail: A Celebration of Written Correspondence.” Join us on Monday, June 4th at The Verdi Club (2424 Mariposa Street), 6:30pm.
Featuring readings from Lorelei Lee, Ariana Reines, D.A. Powell, and artist MariNaomi! Comedy by Nato Green! Music by David Berkeley!
A performance of literary letters by The Rumpus Ensemble Players!
Plus typewriters to type your own letters, and a chance to read them onstage. Come early (doors at 6:30pm) and pound some keys!
Also chances to win great prizes in our Porn Raffle!
$10, cheap! You can’t afford not to go.
Hosted by Rumpus editor Stephen Elliott.
Rumpus artist Jason Novak continues his Paris Review literary panoramas with a new, ten-foot-tall panel illustration of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The House of the Seven Gables.
Artist Takeshi Miyakawa’s public art installation was meant to be a city-wide tribute to New York.
Strangely, the project, which involved hanging illuminated plastic bags with the ‘I ♥ NY’ slogan, prompted a call to the bomb squad and landed Miyakawa in jail on Saturday. He has been charged with reckless endangerment and placing “a false bomb or hazardous substance.” Furthermore, the judge ordered him held pending a psychological evaluation. Absurd.
A couple great Rumpus essays went up over the weekend. Saturday editor Michelle Dean brought us a history lesson, “The Unrequited Yeats.” And don’t miss Tara Ison’s “Flesh and Bones,” a powerful piece on body image.
A few links to get you started reading this Saturday morning. (I know it’s nice out, but I took my coffee out to my little backyard and am ignoring my cat’s mournful stares from the window, and encourage you to do so as well.)
At the Guardian, Tom Shone takes on the auteur theory — and its distinctly “male gaze.” “The carving up of the movies, a collaborative medium, into a series of solo acts, each bearing the unmistakeable imprint of an all-controlling “master”, most often male, is basically the great man theory of history transplanted into movie theatres – the swinging dick of film theories.” I hate balls metaphors but I hereby grant myself an exception to say that I respect the brass ones it takes to point this out. The way we talk about movies does have a self-reinforcing qualities. If the highest accolade we accord directors is that they have a “distinct worldview” and their “ambition,” then the James Camerons of this world are going to follow that garden path straight down into palm fronds and blue cat-people. No one, I think, wants more of that.
There’s a new musical at The Public about a literary roommates arrangement from (what else) Brooklyn. Called February House, the musical is set at 7 Middagh Street, which in the early 1940s was the home address of W.H. Auden, Carson McCullers, Benjamin Britten, Richard Wright, and others. Gypsy Rose Lee dropped by for awhile too. The name “February House” came, allegedly, from Anaïs Nin. I haven’t seen the musical — it’s still in previews — but maybe I will, and report back. For now, read this lovely little bit at the London Review of Books blog about all the other 7 addresses Auden occupied, which may not have been an accident of chance, Jim Holt speculates.
This is an old one but a friend tweeted this Believer interview with Rebecca Solnit this week and I want it to be one of those things everyone reads and clasps to their chest and sighs with pleasure — a bit harder to do in the age of the laptop but you know, improvise. One good quote, and there are so many, is, “Public life enlarges you, gives you purpose and context, saves you from drowning in the purely personal, as so many Americans seem to. I still think that walking down the middle of the street with several thousand people who share your deepest beliefs is one of the best ways to take a walk.” Also: “That term public intellectual: all I know is that I stayed home alone for almost two decades, writing, before it became oddly visible and audible.”
The second installment of “Super Sad True Habits of Highly Effective Writers” features a number of our friends, including contributor Chloe Caldwell, and Adam Levin, whose novel The Instructions was a Rumpus Book Club selection.
Here’s Nick Flynn on his pre-writing ritual:
“Before I sit down, I need time to wander in the unknown for awhile, either psychically or physically, somewhat aimlessly, yet in a state of awareness, allowing seeming distractions to build up some energy, maybe around an image or idea or sound, until something reveals itself: a pattern, an echo, something that resonates with whatever it is I think I’m supposed to be working on.”
People are beginning to get their Letters to Each Other, and they’re leaving comments on Karen Duffin’s essay, “A Letter to the People Who Wrote Letters to Each Other.”
If you’ve received a letter, we encourage you to head over to the comments section and share your own thoughts, experiences, etc.
Gideon Lewis-Kraus will read from his new book, A Sense of Direction: Pilgrimage for the Restless and the Hopeful, a “dazzling riff on the perpetual war between discipline and desire, and its attendant casualties.”
Some undergrads from Yale recently found a fungi that eats plastic while on an expedition in the Amazon designed to introduce students to discovery-based research.
This super fungi can survive on polyurethane alone and even in oxygen-free environments, making it a viable solution to our growing waste problem. No word yet on its worth as a pizza-topping or psychedelic advantages.
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