Novelist. Editor. Journalist. Business Writer.
The things you see in Brooklyn. Like this poster for a missing pigeon. “Dennis” was last seen crossing Atlantic Ave. by Court Street, which is exactly where this photo was taken. Maybe Dennis was going to Trader Joe’s or Sahadi’s. Obviously this either a joke or “art” or both. While taking the photo this morning, some guy pushing a stroller asked me if I’d put the poster up. I did not take credit for this bit of genius. (And neither did I call the phone number. )
I don’t know him. Hell, I don’t even watch half the shows/movies he writes about. For example, I haven’t read a word of Twilight or seen anything beyond the trailers. But I will read his entire recaps. Why? Because he’s hilarious.
But oh well, mom needs to hit the road, so up Bella goes. When she gets there her dad, who is the sheriff of the town and is named Billy or something, is all “Hey kiddo, I don’t know how to cook because I live alone and am a man, want a cold hot dog?” And Bella is all “Daaad, I’ll cook for you, I’m a girl.” So she starts to cook for him and he looks at her mustachely and decides to buy her a car so she can get around his drizzle kingdom.
Mustachely. My new favorite adverb.
Here’s a video you won’t want to miss. After all, you want to know what a gooch is, don’t you?
It was a sweltering day, we’d been standing out there marching, marching, marching. Things just weren’t coming together. Clouds rolled in, cooling us off just a little. It thundered. Violating every safety guideline in the books, we were kept in the field.
Continue reading “This One Time at Band Camp . . .”
While in Louisiana, I actually managed to spend some time reading. Finished up the short stories of Flannery O’Connor on the way down and knocked out David Carr’s “Night of the Gun” and Emily Gould’s “And the Heart Says Whatever.”
I hadn’t really planned to write about either one of them. I’m a couple years late on Carr’s book and, frankly, I was worried I wouldn’t like Gould’s. (Despite my cranky image, when it comes to new writers if I don’t have anything nice to say, etc. I also didn’t feel like putting up with cat-calls from the peanut gallery.)
But! (As they say on Gawker and The Awl.)
Continue reading “So David Carr and Emily Gould Walk Into a Genre”
Cancer scares the shit out of me.
I’ve joked before that I’m already beyond my midlife crisis stage because my life expectancy is, at best, 65. I grew up with the general impression that cancer, especially on my dad’s side, stalked the family, attacking this one or that one and, depending on its mood, killing amazingly fast or siphoning away life over the course of painful years. It didn’t matter if they were drunks or smokers or didn’t take care of themselves. In fact, in a few of the cases that stand out for me, the victims led clean lives. My grandmother’s sister didn’t drink, didn’t smoke and ate food so bland it was considered a joke in an place like South Louisiana. Her oldest son contracted some form of cancer and was dead before 50.
Continue reading “Running Away from Cancer”
Monday night, I was out with part of the Twitter Clan having a few drinks. My phone rang. Caller ID pegged it as mom. I’d just talked to her on Sunday and I was out with people, so I ignored the call.
Tuesday night, I was out with a former coworker having a few drinks. My phone rang. Caller ID pegged it as mom. Now, I’d just talked to her on Sunday, but she’s not the type to call three days in a row unless something is wrong. So I picked up the phone.
Continue reading “Overheard in Soho: Me”
Last night, I dreamed that I walked into a conference and shot nine people with a handgun. The details are slipping on me now but I vaguely remember classmates from high school and college as well as people from my current life–but not really the names or faces.
Continue reading “My Little Shooting Spree”
My life was made complete on Monday when I received an e-mail about my book, The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival. Now, full disclosure, I’d had a business lunch with this person and gave her a copy of the book. So it’s not like she picked it up on her own and read it. That said, she did read it, while on a business trip, and took the time to write back. To those of you who know me well, when you see the signature below, you’ll know why this is like getting an email from Santa Claus:
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Dear Ken,
I just got back from a two week business trip to the Middle East. I took your book along for the ride. And I truly loved it! Your writing style is wonderfully engaging. I felt like I knew the characters. And I could not put it down.
Thank you for sharing your book with me. I’ll look forward to reading the next one!
Cheryl
Cheryl A Bachelder
CEO & President
Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen
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That’s right. THE CEO OF POPEYES LIKED MY BOOK.
Are the old peepers failing you? Finding it hard to read small print? Well, you’re in luck. Now you can read The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival in large-print format.
Now all we need is an angry ALL-CAPS/TEXT version (Y U SUCH A MO MARK?) and maybe a LOLCats version (Priestin’ Ur doin it rong.).
KEN WHEATON 