22nd
Holding a flame for Caleb Crain
—Well, yes. After reading (yes, I even bought and devoured his academic book American Sympathy) whatever google-trolling produced of Mr. Crain’s published work, I’m now buying his blog compendium, scintillatingly titled The Wreck of the Henry Clay. This handsome book-thing will gladly fit into the cargo pockets of khaki shorts, or you can store it in a backpack or just hold it. Also it doesn’t have to be charged or plugged in, though it does require lighting. Let us remember that I have no money, no prospects, my boyfriend is far away in the fair state of Texas doing Teach for America work (though we’re meeting up in September—and also late July-ish?), my brothers are fleeing to their careers or educations, my cat is thinning, and my budget doesn’t allow for the extravagent expenditures. My parents are room and boarding me. And I got my first gallery check last week, and of that money I’ve only paid on postage, anti-fungal cream and AA batteries. So it was time to buy a book, folks. Perhaps the only one all summer long. Ah.
If I can trick a librarian into giving me earbuds, I can now watch the season 2 opener of True Blood.
Hell.
