white people like book tours...

On Monday night I donned my scarf and pea coat and headed to the night's ultimate urban event: a book signing by Christian Lander.

Lander, of the website-turned-book-deal "Stuff White People Like," is somewhere in the middle of a cross country tour with his best friend and blogging buddy Myles Valentin. Naturally, his journey of cultural satire takes him to "The Whitest Metropolis in America," Portland, Oregon.

Powell's Books, the city's hippest literary legend, is as crowded as it can be without anyone invading anyone else's personal space bubble. Apparently, white people also like arriving early. There's a handwritten sign on the door that says the event is closed, but I am undeterred. My friend Rachel is camped out in Paranormal Romance, but I choose to listen in from the slightly less adventurous Children's Section. I press my ear to a large display of Harold and his Purple Crayon.

Read the rest of the article at Patrol Magazine...

an appeal...

You, my friends, wherever you are,
Whether you are grieving just now, or full of joy,
To you I lift this cup of pungent wine
As they often do in the land of France.
From a landscape of cranes and canals,
Of tangled railway tracks and winter fog,
In the smoke of black tobacco, I make my way
Toward you and I ask you a question.
Tell me, for once at least laying
Caution aside, and fear and guarded speech,
Tell me, as you would in the middle of the night
When we face only night, the ticking of a watch,
the whistle of an express train, tell me
Whether you really think that this world
Is your home? That your internal planet
That revolves, red-hot, propelled by the current
Of your warm blood, is really in harmony
With what surrounds you? Probably you know very well
The bitter protest, every day, every hour,
The scream that wells up, stifled by a smile,
The feeling of a prisoner who touches a wall
And knows that beyond it valleys spread,
Oaks stand in summer splendor, a jay flies
And a kingfisher changes a river to a marvel.
...
[czeslaw milosz]

viva la vote...

I've come around a lot of circles and I'm going to vote with my head and gut regardless of what my [rebel] heart tells me. I figure two out of three isn't bad for the modern world.

Isn't it weird that voting is about 'a statement,' 'a personality,' or 'a worldview.' Was it always about that? What has driven the people of history to vote the way they did? Was it always such a guilt trip from every side?

drive, drive, drive...

Some fall days, when I'm missing Hillsdale [actually, what i miss is leaving hillsdale and heading for jackson or ann arbor], I think that I should fill up my [sister's] car with gas and just start driving south without looking back.

I could probably make it to Medford.

oh, mississippi...

Have you ever seen a man playing the bagpipes while riding a unicycle?

Because I have.