David Duchovny, Why Don’t You Love Me?

The Front Porch over at Scarritt-Bennett asked for more copies of A City of Ghosts, which is, of course, awesome. While I was there, feeling a little burnt out at the end of this long, hot, grouchy week, the woman I was talking to remarked about how it’s been a really nice thing for them, because it’s been selling steadily since October. People have responded really well to it.

And this gave me this feeling like… I don’t know, my heart leaped and broke at the same time.  People who stumble across that book like it. I’m a good enough writer that people who don’t know me, who see my book, like it enough to buy it. And so, yes, there was the feeling of “Ugh, I should have tried harder to shop this book to someone who could have at least gotten it into local bookstores.”

But I also had this feeling of “Then why is this part so hard?” I’m a good writer. Why can’t someone instantly love me by osmosis? I will sit here and they will sit there and magically learn of my book through vibes out in the Universe and call me up and be all “Not only will I publish your book, don’t you totally think Walter Goggins should play the Devil in the movie version?”

To which I say yes, I say yes.

Should Someone Go Explain Things to Representative Alexander?

You know, I’m kind of used to reading things about Tennessee politics that make my head cock to the side like a dog that hears a noise she can’t quite figure out. “Ba-roo?” I ask.

But this may be, honest to god, the most baffling thing I’ve read all day.

Here’s the background. Republicans put forth a bill allowing corporations to donate money directly to political campaigns. Representative Alexander (R-Jack Daniels, though he seems to not get that) voted for that bill. Governor Baby just yesterday signed it into law.

Let me repeat: thanks to Republicans, corporations can donate money directly to political campaigns.

Jack Daniels is a part of a multinational corporation. It is the only industry in Moore County, which Representative Alexander represents.

And Representative Alexander, bless his heart, is saying today, the day after the Governor signed the very bill into law that he voted for which lets corporations donate directly to political campaigns, that he wants to bring forth legislation to charge Jack Daniels a barrel tax, a tax no other distillery in the state would have to pay.

I can’t wait to see how this is going to go. Do you think the dudes at Jack Daniels just laughed when they read this or did they also go “Ba-roo?” I imagine it went “What? The? Fuck?” and then there was laughter. I mean, how much “fuck you” money do you think Brown-Forman has? Certainly enough to get someone other than Alexander elected. Shoot, certainly enough to throw some against every single person who dares even make positive noises in the direction of this bill.  Does Alexander not get this?

Are Republicans who’ve been around the block a time or two purposefully letting newbie Republicans fuck up this bad? Is there not a mentoring program or something?

I don’t know. It’s strange.

An Open Letter to Jonathan Franzen

Dear Jonathan Franzen,

Sure, I would like to read your New York Times piece all about the hollow emptiness of today’s consumer culture. I mean, if I don’t read it, how will I ever know if it contains any awkward mentions of David Foster Wallace? How will I see whether you try to carry this fairytale about commerce stealing weddings away from love all the way through your piece? I wanted to sip on my Diet Coke and laugh at your big man brain pretending like marriage has a long history of being about love that this darned old modern age stole from us.

But alas, I cannot, because the New York Times is attempting to commodify your writing about your feelings about love. I hope you write a long article about that in which you overlook that the New York Times has always been about the commodification of writing about people’s feelings on a lot of things.

That will be deeply funny to me.

Love,

b.

It’s all in the eyes

Whew, doggie, too bad for y’all there’s no video of my attempt to walk the dog this morning. I was like a drunken sailor. The deal with the drops is that you put them in and then wait at least twenty minutes before you put your contacts in.

Perfect, I thought. I’ll throw my glasses on and walk the dog and that will be thirty/thirty-five minutes.

I couldn’t even get out of the back yard! Everything was curvy and not where my brain expected it. So, instead, I hooked up the hose and watered the garden, since apparently, we’re not going to have any rain.

But by the time I got done watering the garden, of course my eyes were used to the glasses, so when I put in my contacts, I felt off-kilter in the other direction.

I still think that’s going to be the right plan, though. Get up, put in drops, walk the dog, put in contacts.

I noticed the morning glories are up. I’m excited about that. I’ve been too nervous to look at my white sage. It was so big in the little containers, but it looked so tiny when I put it in the ground. But I bet it’s digging this heat. Unlike me. Ha ha ha.