Monthly archives: November 2008

salt, snow tires, terry prachett

Terry Prachett is a god damn genius, and all this time I had no idea.
All those years I spent working at Waldenbooks—shunning his books because they were filed among so much other trashy fantasy and Star Wars/Trek fan fiction—when I could have been reading about Discworld and marveling at Prachett’s never-ending supply of wit. (The Mark Twain of our time! Social commentary so sharp your daddy could shave with it! And all packed into hilarious, page-turning, easy-to-digest little packages that read like trash—ie: page-turning—but that resonate like lit.)
And like other obscenely prolific and talented science fiction/fantasy writers [...]

fancy red wine, fake plastic breast

Hitch hiking is fueled by coincidence. Thousands of random details from a few unrelated lives and one person, trying to get from one city to another, who connects them, ride for ride, into one trip. The old man on his way to get his shattered windshield fixed, only at that rest stop because of a wrong turn; the soldier on his way from visiting his elderly mother to the hospital where his son has just had a baby boy; and the graying Dutch couple on their way home from a week at a health spa in Bavaria. [...]

hot off the press

Holy shit holy shit holy shit! My zine is finished. It’s a collection of click clack gorilla stories. And did I mention it’s finished?

If you want a copy we’ll either need to figure out a way for you to get me a euro fifty, or what we could trade. It’s 20 pages, black and white in all its photocopied glory. Better pop the champagne.