1. Sometime last month I officially became a soccer dad. (I’d post pictures, but action shots are not my forte.) Izzy’s the only girl among about a dozen other boys (and I’m pretty much the only dad, at least the most regular one, among all the moms), but she’s totally unfazed by this. Now she has a new vocabulary: “squishing” the ball, i.e., putting your foot on the ball to stop it (usually accompanied by pointing to the ball and shouting, “Stop right there, ball!”), the “power kick,” and… I can’t remember anymore. The sight of her scoring a goal is just too cool for words.
2. After receiving a completely unexpected (and totally cool) e-mail message yesterday — more details later — I thought I’d at least post an old picture of Izzy (and Shelby) from July here.
3. “Please take me along when you slide on down.”
4. MISIA’s “THE GLORY DAY” is now officially enshrined in my 1600 Greatest Songs Of All Time list.
5. I would love to have the vocabulary to write articulately and at length about watching (and teaching) Marlon Fuentes’ Bontoc Eulogy (and Orson Welles’ F for Fake!), but I don’t.
6. And what was supposed to be a quick walk through the campus bookstore mutated into more lingering by the remainders table, and then taking advantage of a 25%-off “educator’s discount” at Borders (but hey, I got some presents too):
– the fourth season of Curb Your Enthusiasm: this set includes one of the greatest CYE episodes ever, “The Car Pool Lane.” Up there with “Porno Gil,” “The Nanny from Hell” and “Mary, Joseph and Larry.”
– Ann Satterthwaite’s Going Shopping: Consumer Choices and Community Consequences (Yale U Press) (remaindered!)
– Joel Sternfeld’s Stranger Passing (remaindered!)
– William Eggleston’s Guide (finally!)
7. And I’ll end with a lengthy quotation from Dennis Cooper, found in James Greer‘s Guided by Voices: A Brief History (Twenty-one Years of Hunting Accidents in the Forests of Rock and Roll) (it arrived from Amazon today, where Greer also describes GbV as “a kind of Grateful Dead for the drinking set”):
…Robert Pollard is easily one of the great rock lyricists. Personally, I think he’s the greatest rock lyricist of all time, period. Actually, I think he’s the greatest living artist in any medium, but that’s another story. His songs are positively enjambed with an almost insanely comprehensive knowledge of what a rock song has been in the past and could be on a regular basis now if songwriters believed in rock as a form and dedicated themselves to using all of it to give fans the most startling and pleasurable experience possible in a span of thirty seconds to seven or so minutes. I can’t think of another artist working with the English language (poets included) who has his appreciation of the fucked-up beauty of the lazy, accident-prone, anti-exalted way Americans speak and write.