Year: 2010

Here it is. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

selected reruns, part IV NYC has a very good bakery called Pain Quotidien — but the people who wait on you aren’t very nice, at least when I’m there. You might even say that it’s the Kim’s Video of pastry. The other day, I went into the east-side branch to get a French Cream Bun. I asked the guy behind the counter what was inside the bun. “FRENCH CREAM,” he snarled, pointing at the sign. This cream bun was beautiful to look upon — two wedges of pastry with a finely sculpted layer of goo inside it — but when I told the guy that my order was to go, he took out a little plastic cup and squashed the pastry inside of it, literally pounding the cup with his fists until the pastry flattened out and spewed its custard-cream guts all over the packaging! It was still edible but…

I saw a scalper asking $25 per for tickets to the King Tut exhibit at the DeYoung this morning. The problem is: tickets are free today! Not very nice if you ask me. Also, I saw some employees of the California Academy of Sciences moving a big, scary-looking crate into the museum’s loading area. The crate said “EXTREME MAMMALS” in bold letters. What was in that crate, I wonder? I’m imagining a yeti or a sasquatch. Or a pair of snow-boarding giraffes. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

Someone had a wall post on Facebook griping about the lack of funny fiction books. The griper obviously has not read Homeland by Sam Lipsyte. I don’t want to wreck it by giving anything away; just go out and get it. You’ll never look at high school reunions in quite the same way again. I’ve exhausted Homeland by reading it twice. Now I need to get my hands on The Ask, his latest. Not that she needs my help, but you need to read Lit by Mary Karr. Look at the seamless way she incorporates the reflections of her older self and the way she uses poetic language and compression without gunking up the motor. She’s earned the right to be grumpy about other memoirists. I read the large-print edition, which is kind of like having a low-fi Kindle. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

I just heard from someone who has started listening to quite a bit of NWA and Motorhead after reading my book. I’m glad that I’m doing my bit to promote Motorhead awareness — although I must confess (sheepishly) that “Ace of Spades” is the only Motorhead song that I have ever heard. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

Get a load of this. An impressive journey, to say the least! Any one of these trails would be accomplishment enough — but all four? http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

The sun was out, which was remarkable enough. People were lawn-bowling and guzzling cases of Pabst. A famous author walked unnoticed through the Panhandle. Dogs ran amok with no owners in sight. And some guy was standing there in the middle of the field, cracking two bullwhips at once. Lion tamer in training? http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

A hub for short fiction. http://cactuseaters.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

selected reruns, part two: Back when I was a hardcore backpacker, I spent up to 10 days in the woods. Most of the time, when I arrived at a supply town, I would take a pay shower at a campground, load up my food, and slip back into the forest. In those days, motel rooms were a rare treat. I wasn’t discerning at all. A motel had to fulfill four basic qualifications: 1. It needed to cost twenty-eight bucks a night or less, 2. It needed not to be a working brothel, 3. It had to be across the street from a place where you could get a two-dollar breakfast, and 4. it had to have running — and, if possible, warm — water. My younger self did not care if the curtains smelled like Salem Lights, or if there were mystery splotches on the comforters and on the ceiling,…

As I’ve said before, this is a nice city. However, I am not enjoying MUNI. Part accordion, part bus, part cable car, part marionette, the MUNI takes forever to arrive. The MUNI squeaks as it makes its slow, poky way through the city. I hate sitting on the little reversible seats while waiting for MUNI. They aren’t really designed to hold a human being’s weight. In fact, they have a tendency of dropping you down onto the indescribably filthy sidewalk if you aren’t careful. But the worst part of it is the ‘transfers’ they give you once you pay your fare. The transfers are printed on what seems to be one-ply Charmin Ultrasoft Toilet Paper. These transfers start to disintegrate the moment you put them in your hand. Also, they are insanely easy to lose. That’s why you always see all kinds of panicked people on the MUNI, clutching their…