1. Rain Taxi is having an auction right now! You have until Sunday to bid on some extraordinarily sweet bits of lit.
2. Why hadn't I read Dainis Hazners' (some of) the Adventures of Carlyle, My Imaginary Friend yet? Am I the last person on the planet, or can I recommend it to you? And you'll tell two friends?
Last Saturday night I was home in protest of the below zero, but at 11 pm I cracked. My new poem jones was too. And the need to hold the new books in my hands. I scraped the windshield and warmed the engine, and Hazners' book was one of seven I glutted on at Half Price Books (the only shop open at that hour) and I am so glad to have finally found it.
3. That reminds me, while I was protesting the below zero earlier in the week I caught this PBS special on a Napa Valley art collector named Rene di Rosa who, in his gallery, refuses to label the pieces of art. He says he got fed up going to museums and watching people walk right past the art object to read about it and find out what to think. (It was in that spirit that I chose my seven aforementioned poetry collections, refusing to read the bios and blurbs, and I have never made better choices.)