the educated serf

Quest is literally looking down on my work right now.  He seems so cute and tiny in this picture as compared to his belly shot on the left (see "The CDC Can't Map Me"...). I have been thinking about cats lately, even though the dog tends to occupy my imagination more fully.  Warren asked, on his Facebook page (!!!), "do pets make us better writers?" and of course the answer is yes.  Emmett is warming my chair right now.  Leah's 18 year old cat Fez passed away last week -- Arlene and Martha shepherded him through life without Leah and then a sad but safe acquiescence to age.  His passing inspired a whole host of poems and reminiscences, not surprising since Leah's world was full of writers and cat lovers.  Here is what I wrote to Arlene: I am just back from Baltimore -- no people home (they are out eating Japanese, something I am sure they do regularly when I am away) and after the dog has wiggled and jumped on me and made it clear that she hates when I l

As those of you who actually read this schlock know, the last few years of my life have been profoundly shaped by the illness and loss of Leah Ryan.   I still find it impossible to capture my relationship to Leah in words (she was my friend -- that's good enough), although I struggle almost daily to honor it in the things I produce (schlock comments aside), whether it's cranky and irreverent or subversive and commercial, high brow theory or kitsch.   Leah's writing embodies all that and more and her outlook on life remains an enduring legacy that carries me through the day.   I know I still have a lot of work to do to live up to what she offered, even if it's just the ability to enjoy life as it comes at you.    This weekend had a lot of the usual mixture of seriously mundane annoyances and little pleasures.  The people here in Pittsburgh continue to challenge whatever tiny reservoir of patience I actually possess. (Today some parent tried to convince me that eggs were

So, we went to NYC for Zoe's gymnastics meet, in which she placed first all around, (level 7, age 13 and up).  Not so shabby, we think, but even better because afterwards we got to spent a lot of time in Chinatown and went to Canada (the gallery, not the place) and saw Xylor's work hanging up.  Here is one of her paintings -- to me, they feel a bit claustrophobic photographed this way, whereas in reality, you need the breathing space of a wall and the dimensionality of the canvas around it so the numbers and colors don't zonk you too hard.  Or maybe I'm missing the point... Anyway, we ate dim sum and went to the Armory show where Sarah's work was up in the Metropolitan 23 space. Here's the piece everyone liked the most.   Then we went with Saul to the top of the Empire State Building at night, which I'd never done before.  It's a gorgeous building with amazing marble and endless ropes to guide you through their attempts to get you to spend more money.  F