Too Much Is Not Enough

You know it. The Forester Sisters and The Bellamy Brothers know it. So, why fight it?

Two new short stories goin' up... now. First, check out "Someday I Will Marry Cinnamon van der Laan and Our Life Together Will Be Incredible" over at Bartleby Snopes, should you be in the mood for a tale of yearning, longing, and trace amounts of pining. Then, once you've returned to homeostasis, pay the fine folks at 5923 Quarterly a visit so you can peruse "Ornithology," a yarn concerning birds and filial piety.

May your NYE be a joyous celebration of wines and spirits, the human body, and, if time allows, Time Cop.

You Can Count On Me

The fourth night of Hannukah 2010 is rapidly approaching. Why don't you give the gelt a rest tonight and give your loved ones Issue 10 of The Toucan*, wherein they'll find "Denny," a literary latke that's equal parts Maury and the minor works of Steve Guttenberg? There's only one dad in it, and it's not Greg Evigan, but...

*Issue 10 is available not only in electronic format (perfectly-good) but full-color print (absolutely gorgeous) as well. Pony up for the latter and support Editrices Liz and Laura and their ongoing efforts to keep real-ass copies of The Toucan on the streets.

An Evening of Dinner and Tournament

There were no utensils in medieval times. Hence, there are no utensils at Medieval Times. Would you like a refill on that Pepsi?

Now, at this point, you can do one of two things: you can either (a) IMDB more Cable Guy quotes and, later, seriously question your current lifeplan, or (b) pop in at Fiction at Work and read your boy's "Sir," a Short Short concerning the feudal system and a certain unnamed doughnut retailer. Thanks to Toby and company at FAW for making the magic.

Positively Radiant

Consider this your Turkey Day appetizer. Sweet 'n savory. Could an Evening Shade reunion be in the works?

Ripe sentences await your pickin' over at Disingenuous Twaddle- check out "Sexy Girls of the Hollywood," an ode to Chicago's premier, awkwardly-titled purveyor of fancy-dance accessories. Thanks to the DL crew for the transatlantic love.

The Time is Nigh for the Return of Ned's Atomic Dustbin

You may also notice a sharp spike in Cathy Dennis-related activity in your area. The '90s are now retro. This means that you, by extension, are very old. Sigh.

Take a trip down memory lane at Xenith, where your dude's "Listening to Glory" just posted. Starter Jackets and Grand Puba singles abound. A real period piece for those of us who aren't ashamed to own up to a meticulously-assembled Skidz collection.

Doppelgangers

We all have one. Mine's a late-'80s/early-'90s East German badminton ace. You could do worse. Much worse.

Speaking of racket sports, the fine folks at Annalemma just posted "Sarge," a tale of PTSD played out on YMCA parquet. Many, many thanks to Chris Heavener and company for the add- been on the Wish List for some time. Hearty propers should also be extended to Becca Stadtlander, whose terrific art accompanies the piece. All-around love fest.

Every Time a Baby's Born, So's a Grandma

Deal with it.

New, pipin'-hot prose over at Dark Sky, an oldie-but-goodie called "Mamaw." Goes down smooth, just like Nanna's bathtub jungle juice. Make it happen.

Stalagmites v. Stalactites

Both will undoubtedly fuck you up, but I gotta give it to stalagmites- liable to trip over those pointy shits. May also give you diarrhea in Carlsbad Caverns.

Got an acute case of Cave Fever this summer? Stop by Acreage and peruse "Dark Fuckin' Cave," a foray into the equally-risky worlds of spelunking and petty retail theft. Get all over Twoacre, pronto.

What I Saw'll Make Your Ass Start Gigglin'

A timely vid, given Bushwick Bill's possible deportation. He had the hottest verse on the hottest cut of the '90s, people. IMMIGRATION REFORM NOW.

Your dude's been playing Mind Games, 6S-style: check out "Mind Games," one of hundreds of flash pieces by the same name, in the latest Six Sentences collection (also entitled Mind Games). Your brain will never be the same.

Please Get Your Shit Out of the Drier. Now.

Seriously. Every time I go down to the basement, the drier's crammed to the gills with your tubesocks and American Eagle boardshorts. Remember: your typical North American wash/dry cycle lasts about an hour. Make an Outlook calendar appointment, set an alarm clock, whatever it takes. Just come get your shit.

Fresh words at Indood, a flash piece that goes by the name of "Downstairs Neighbor Ben and The Girlfriend," concerning neighborly eavesdropping. Don't front, you do it too. Thanks to Roger for the nod.

Baseball Bats 'n Proline Hats

This has nothing to do with anything. Or, it has everything to do with awesomeness. Your call. Note the conspicuous absence of Ice Cube.

"You Crazy" is all up in the new issue of Shalla Magazine, so get your ass over to Amazon and execute a secured transaction. Thanks to Shalla DeGuzman and company for committing one of my sentimental faves to paper.

Use Your Illusion II

The internet is crawling with magicians. Some fancy themselves escape artists, others dazzle moms with sleight of hand and Men's Wearhouse gear. And some assholes just jam steak knives into lemons, probably send their kids to Bennington on that shit. No one said life's fair.

Your dude's all up in the much-anticipated Dogzplot Magic Issue, an island unto itself now that Barry's transitioned into an all-flash format at the homepage. Feast your eyes upon "Thirteen Dudes Named Orlando," a dissection of the non-magical (or, at best, quasi-magical) concepts of coincidence and concurrence. Thanks to Mr. Graham for the inclusion- always an honor and privilege to get the invite to the Dogzplot family picnic.

Cry Me a Lagoon

Today's the wrong day to have anything precipitation-related in a post title, as Chicago's currently on the receiving end of its first serious t-storm beatdown of the season. The perfect day to say indoors and indulge your sadsack side...

Speaking of, get your read on over at Thieves Jargon, where your dude's "Lil' Danny Sadsack" is batting lead-off for Issue #199. A hearty lit bouillabaisse of self-loathing, NPR potshots, and early-'90s chick flick references. This is the second piece that Mr. Dan Scannell at TJ has whipped into fine shape for me- a nicer, more patient/skilled editor you will not meet. So, quit putzing around and hook him up.

Sexy Results

Now, I'm no prude, but I didn't think I'd be delving into the candle wax-covered, Drakkar-soaked world of erotica this early in my writing career. I envisioned a slow-but-steady buildup, mirroring Shannon Tweed's rise to scramble-porn notoriety and ending with a designer drug habit and a maxed-out Lovers' Lane credit card. And yet, here we are...

Should you be in the mood for a tawdry tale or three, drop in on the gang at Every Night- a fine, brand-new journal devoted to everything going down in the boudoir. There you'll find a flash piece called "The Blackout," penned by your boy. I'd give it an R rating, due to its sexual imagery and strong language. So yeah, it's a lot like Porky's II: The Next Day. You know that's what you were thinking.

Gold Rush

Monday night is Taco Night. Deal with it. And what makes the perfect side dish? How 'bout two, count 'em, two hot-ass flash pieces in the same mf'n anthology. Sizzlin'.

So, quit reading this mullarkey and cop yourself the new Six Sentences collection, GSV3. Inside you'll find "A Different LaTroy" and "The Shvitz," explorations of pro sports eccentricity and adolescent neuroses, respectively. You know your journal game's tight when Richard Fucking Ford contributes, and Mr. Robert McEvily and the 6S site continue to blow minds. Thrilled and honored to be included in this latest installment. Invest.

You Are Here, Jerk

I'm pretty wit-deficient at the moment, what with Bulls v. Cavs Game 4 dominating my brain. Two thoughts regarding the same:

(1) Delonte West makes me very, very sad

(2) Poohdini and Leandro Barbosa should race, preferably in some kind of charity potato sack race around Millennium Park

Here's the deal: there's brand-new shit to read at Literary Tonic, a tweener piece (long flash/very short story?) called "The Multiverse." LT has a sharp, clean look, not unlike a Johnny Gill flattop circa '91, and plenty of quality reads. Show 'em some love and toss some nouns and verbs their way.

Snarf, Get at Me

Spring has barely sprung, and already Chicago's gotten weird. Our baseball managers are making questionable moves on the North and South Sides, respectively, our ponytailed centers are bashing the City of Cleveland in the media, are our coeds are donning hotpants in fifty-degree weather like there's a Road Rules casting call on the horizon. God help us all.

Speaking of weird, go to CVS sometime. Any CVS. I personally guarantee you will exit a different person. On that note, peep "Thundercat" over at IsGreaterThan. Big ups to Paul Davis, proprietor and all-around great guy. Be on the lookout for the iPad-friendly IGT Anthology, coming to iTunes in the very-near future.

Emotions Were Running Very High

I sort of forgot how incredible Found is. There's something oddly moving about the sincerity with which folks like Bette apologize to "The Community" for recent boorish behavior. My jealousy toward Davy Rothbart and company has been rekindled.

Speaking of letters, get your grubby paws on the newest issue of Eclectic Flash, wherein you'll find your boy's "A Letter to a Real Hot Shot Leading Man." Available as a .pdf for the cheapskates, but cop the real deal- keep print alive, or something. It was good enough for the Tang Dynasty and it's good enough for you, Fancy Boy/Girl. Thanks to all at EF for the nod.

TC'ing Some B

Congrats to Duke for ruining 2010's Feel Good Story of the Year last night. I had a feeling Butler's "luck" (can you really call holding all of your opponents to under 60 PPG throughout the entire NCAA Tournament "luck," though?) would run out and the universe would realign itself but, damn, what a game. Even better than KU/Memphis in '08.

But let's cut to the chase- there's enough hoops talk on this blog to satisfy Rony Seikaly's scholarly pursuits well into the 2020's. New shit to read at Amphibi.us ("Administrative Professionals Day"), a Mad Men-inspired foray into the world of workplace sexism. That, and Chicago-based Harrison Ford movies from the early-'90s. Many thanks to Shannon for the inclusion.

Get Metsmerized, Stupid!

As if you needed proof that Howard Johnson was the single greatest rapper of his era... And don't sleep on Rafael Santana's broken-English flow, lest you deny yourself pure heat.

Your boy's honored to be a part of the annual Hobart baseball issue- check out "Spinning Yarns," a flash fiction piece about a fibbing knuckleballer, here. Many thanks to Aaron and company for making the bullpen call on this one. And big ups to the 2010 Cubbies, recent recipients of Tim Kurkjian's "they might be okay" seal of approval.

TGIGF

It's only fitting that, today being Good Friday and all, I've got JC on the brain. I'm of course speaking of Jimmy Christmas, the titular deceased hero of "Jimmy Christmas is Dead," my latest offering (read it here, at Wigleaf). An examination of grief and suburban cheesecake the whole family will enjoy. Many thanks to Scott for the nod- feel a bit like Christian Laettner on the Dream Team, as in "not sure how I got here but happy as shit that I did."

Happy Easter/Belated Pesach.

Jumping the Shark

You know you've hit your nadir at work when you're jonesing for actual responsibility over internet horseplay. I'm with Garfield on this one: fuck Mondays.

New light reading up at Retort, a yarn by the name of "Fonzi." And I'd be remiss not to extend propers to the real Fonzi, a clerk at the Shell station on the corner of Foster and Western and my muse for this tale of high school alienation.

Check it out here.

You've Won First Prize in a Beauty Contest

Leave it to Reebok to serve up some truly outlandish sneaks. Picturing box upon box of these bad boys ascending Soulja Boy's and/or Warren Buffett's walk-in closets. Club crispy.

Let's get down to brass tacks- fresh words up at The Citron Review, a ditty called "Marvin Gardens":

http://thecitronreview.wordpress.com/2010/03/11/marvin-gardens/

An ode to the posh palaces of Southwest Suburban Chicago, home to Bernie Mac, Jerry Springer, and Mr. T at various points in their respective career trajectories. Oh, and yours truly too, minus the posh. Thanks to Aaron at TCR for the love.

Death and Pointy Hats

These dudes just got the memo:

"Dear Sirs,

Your country no longer exists.

Yours,

The Future"

NANO Volume 3.2 is hot off the presses (sort of). Therein lies "Two Dead Prussians," by yours truly:

http://nanofiction.org/?page_id=17

If you read only one historical fiction piece about a syphillitic mayor gone haywire this year, make it this one. And, pick up previous issues of NANO while you're at it- a great mix of young bucks and veterans helping put Screwston lit on the map.

Let Me Lick You Up and Down 'Til You Say Stop

Today being Our Nation's Day of Love, there's little time for chit-chat. There are desserts to be savored and special ladies to freak. So, stock up on Mr. Bubble and Tott's and get at it.


New shit to read at Zygote in My Coffee:


http://www.zygoteinmycoffee.com/100s/issue129stuffweshouldhave.html

This is the first piece of mine to be accepted for publication, way back in August of Ought Nine. Now I know what dads feel like on Graduation Day.

Are You Reasonably-Prepared for Some (American) Football?

Someone once said that history that is written by the victors. Apparently, the '88 Eagles never got that memo, as I'm pretty sure the Redskins took Super Bowl XXII. Still, they managed to compose "Buddy's Watching You," arguably just below "The Super Bowl Shuffle" on the football-rap depth chart. The Eagles crew do take first-prize in the Most Coogi Sweaters and/or Kool Moe Dee Leather Get-Ups in One Video category, however.

In the spirit of Sunday's Super Bowl XLIV, read "The Day I Went Temporarily Blind," a story that has absolutely nothing to do with football, just posted at IsGreaterThan:

http://isgreaterthan.net/2010/02/the-day-i-went-temporarily-blind/

Paul and company are gaining momentum and quietly putting together one of the most ambitious mags in Chicago, a city full of 'em. (Insert Shameless Plug #37 for Michael Zapata's "Last Evenings on Earth" column. Full disclosure: he's my boy.)

Super Bowl Prediction: Drew Bress is pulled in the fourth quarter and replaced by Bobby Hebert's twelve-year old son, Mitch, in one of the most confounding substitutions in NFL history.

Love and Ping-Pong

Damn- these are some demented-ass cats. Why is the one fucking with the net? A clear violation. Moving on...

Valentine's Day is just around corner. What better way to celebrate your love for another human than with a rousing game of ping-pong? Apparently, The Northville Review and I are on the same wavelength:

http://northvillereview.com/?p=948

Read "Serve and Volley," a tale of athletic triumph and love in the face of administrative bullshit.

Jack Frost is a Punk-Ass Bitch

Nothing captures the holidays quite like Terry and company skanking around the Top of the Pops set in fair isle sweaters:



Just some early-2010 heat on a day sorely lacking the same.

But I digress. Fresh words posted at Four Paper Letters today, a ditty called "Notion of Cool." Peep it here:

http://fourpaperletters.com/?p=958

Laura at FPL is a terrific editor- patient, and insistent upon squeezing out the very best story from your mindgrapes (to borrow a phrase from Tracy Jordan). Send her your best shit, stat.

2010 > 2001-2009? Let's hope so.