What kind of man reads Oxford American?

This kind. By the way, you should pre-order the 12th annual music issue which I'm in. I'll remind you.

Glissandro 70, Glissandro 70
Richard Youngs, Sapphie
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems
Scott Tennent, Spiderland
Slint, Spiderland


I took Maya and her friend to go see the late(ish) show of HP7.1 and we sorta got in trouble clowning around Urban Outfitters beforehand. And that place looks like such fun...

As for the movie and in general, Harry Potter is not for me so I don't need or expect to have an interface with it. Maya is all up in it and had read the books and thinks about it and breathes it, though not like she does the Beatles. If I'm gonna lose that girl, ooh la la I'm gonna lose that girl to the mop-headed classics, not Twilight Jr. + which is how this movie struck me. More magic, less tragic, y'all. I did appreciate that they have given Hermione some depth in this one, and I liked the fight in the coffee shop. And dang, Helena Bonham Carter, way to represent the mid-forties.

I read bits of Jerri's copy of Howl, bought at City Lights itself, for it seemed the right thing for the season. So many people on my lists up at 5am shopping, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix. Though I don't know how well Wal-Mart fits in with the 1955 hipster sense of negro. Even I succumbed and got a sweater from the Gap, seen modeled above.  I might read Howl every Thanksgiving from now on if I think of it, put it up next to the traditional William S. Burroughs reading.


William S. Burroughs, "A Thanksgiving Prayer"

Instead of by madness per se, Jerri's hand got a little destroyed by my mother's cat during a freak episode, but we made it. We ate very well, possibly one of the best Thanksgiving dinners my mom has made, so, thanks.


Covet with me my mom's three compartment crockpot/warming aparatus.

I read Spiderland by Scott Tennent, proprietor of Pretty Goes with Pretty, while listening to Spiderland by Slint at the laundromat this morning. The laundromat is the perfect place for Slint: chatter competing with cyclic rhythm all interlaced with subsumed desperation, a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon. Except it was Louisville in the case of Slint. I have more formalized pronouncements about Tennent's Spiderland forthcoming.

Oh, at the above pictured table, my mom used the word ho in the course of telling a story about the neighbors. Didn't see that one coming. I suppose she could've said the daughter of whoever was one who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, so it could have been weirder.

C'mon, get yr Howl on and buy a sweater! The economy is at stake! Family and America too! A-rooooooo!