Kevin Brennan Writes About What It's Like
Mojo is low around here. It’s been hitting a hundred degrees (plus) every day for the last four days, with more in store, so I’m lowering my metabolism along with my expectations. In No Particular Order has still sold fewer than twenty copies, but hey – there’s no clock ticking and it is what it is, eh? I hope you buy your own copy soon for 99 cents. That’s less than a dollar.
Last week an agent requested the first 100 pages of We Were Together. She sounded enthusiastic about the book, and I get the feeling she’ll read the sample pretty quickly. The best I can hope for at this stage is that she’ll ask for the full manuscript. Keep your fingers crossed!
I read with spleen the piece in The Times last week that said the Virginia shooting of the Republican congressman ought to make supporters of Bernie Sanders look in the mirror and soften their violent rhetoric. I says to myself, Are you shitting me? Trump gets to invoke the “second amendment people” in a vague threat against Hillary Clinton, and Bernie’s crucified for saying that Trump is the most dangerous man in America? Trump is the most dangerous man in America (if only for his lack of discipline). No Bernie Bro I know ever advocates for violence of any kind, so the whole thing smelled of a desire to put the lefties in their place and reduce the possibility of something like Jeremy Corbyn’s success in the UK over here. Workers of the world unite, will ya already?!
My favorite political swordsman, Matt Taibbi, had a great piece in Rolling Stone about the death of centrism. I think he might be celebrating too soon, but I’ll second the idea that Bill Clinton−style centrism has only encouraged the right to ramp up their obnoxiousness because it has paid dividends. The Senate GOP is hammering out a health bill in secret, people. We don’t get to hear a thing about it until it suddenly comes up for a vote, and you can be sure that they’ll break all the rules in trying to get it passed. As with the House bill, there’ll be no CBO score before the vote. But come January 1, you’ll learn that you’re not covered anymore because you had plantar fasciitis one time.
Closer to home, I see that urgent work on the Oroville dam (its spillway failed in the heavy rains last winter) is causing the local yokels to speculate that a missile silo is being built surreptitiously, or that the guvment is extracting precious metals that haven’t been exposed since 1968 when the dam was finished. Salt of the earth. Aren’t they adorable?
I read Julian Barnes’s The Sense of An Ending a while back, after getting it for free from a book blogger. Good book, if you like a first-person narrator talking philosophically about his past and coming to realize that he’s half the man he thought he was (and that things aren’t what they seem). Saw the movie the other night and thought it didn’t really capture the book’s essence, even though I always like Jim Broadbent. Still, it’s nice to see literary novels turned into movies.
And in the “I did not see this coming” department, my wife and I are preparing to get our first (and only) tattoo together. We always said that when the perfect image came along, we’d jump at it – always thought it would be a Merrie Melodies−style toaster with spindly arms and legs and wearing three-fingered gloves like they do. Instead, Sue found a winsome lady pineapple who’s playing a ukulele, and we fell in love. I’ll keep you in the loop when we pick our inker.