Monthly Archives: December 2020

I’ve used a portable Smith-Corona from the 50s since the late 90s. I bought it at a store way west on Fullerton Avenue. It was full of electric typewriters which I had no interest in. Apparently many city institutions were still using them then. The store is long gone. The typewriter wasn’t entirely an affectation.Continue reading “That’s not typing, it’s writing”

I’ve had a fucked-up thought lodged in my head: This is the best year of my life. It didn’t fade with the lockdown or the onslaught of daily tragedy delivered via news, email, phone, and text. If anything, the worse it got out there, the better it became in here. I’ve tried to beat back the feeling, reasonContinue reading “The Best Year of My Life”

I don’t remember much about when I first read Don DeLillo’s Underworld. At dinner the other day my friend Frank, who was my roommate back then, said I read it just before reading James Ellroy’s The Cold Six Thousand. That puts it sometime in 2001. While rereading Underworld these past couple months I thought it was earlier. The book came outContinue reading “Underworld”