tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59568262012-01-16T16:46:46.751-05:00joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comBlogger530125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-85349721061765223692011-03-12T22:27:00.000-05:002011-03-12T22:28:31.961-05:002011-03-12T22:28:31.961-05:00

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-37122114742304184562011-01-27T09:29:00.002-05:002011-01-27T09:34:05.118-05:002011-01-27T09:34:05.118-05:00

I had a yuck McDonald's burger as a night snack, somehow suddenly convinced I would die from lack of red meat. Or maybe I would die without stale bread. That would have taken care of that too. Sometimes gross is otherworldly. And sometimes otherworldly is only 99 cents, 1.08 with tax. Eternal damnation should be so cheap... Hmm, the McD's ad campaign: Eat it or be damned in hell forever.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-71319260719998019142011-01-17T22:00:00.009-05:002011-01-17T23:29:00.807-05:002011-01-17T23:29:00.807-05:00

On December 2 a friend from high school emailed me to say Jana Duncan Cullum had just died. I was sitting in a convention center in Boston in a suit with a lanyard around my neck and my laptop on my knees. The wi-fi was spotty, so as I was replying and we were covering the details, I was getting up and walking around holding the computer up on my palm, hunting for a signal.Jana and Leslie, on a

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-22872950956808454532010-07-11T00:19:00.001-04:002010-07-11T00:22:12.448-04:002010-07-11T00:22:12.448-04:00

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-73183789812882238792010-07-07T21:55:00.001-04:002010-07-07T21:58:10.155-04:002010-07-07T21:58:10.155-04:00

4It turned out she was Spanish. I finally talked to her late one day at work, when everyone was gone but she had stayed after. She was wearing a tee-shirt that said God of the Little People. It was white, with the sleeves rolled up by her shoulders. It made her look young. She said it was the name of a band. &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp I knew I could talk about that.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-85528710658186280752010-06-24T13:15:00.003-04:002010-06-24T13:19:25.274-04:002010-06-24T13:19:25.274-04:00

3My brother is twelve years older than me—a lot of my life I can’t remember even thinking of him, because he was usually somewhere else. I’m almost an only child. He’s insane now, likes guns, and believes the government hates him. As if they care. &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp On the next block over from our house, growing up, I read magazines from a corner store.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-55901777839923609722010-06-18T22:32:00.002-04:002010-06-18T22:39:30.975-04:002010-06-18T22:39:30.975-04:00

2Veronica had a good time with me. She gave way like a paper screen. I like girls who are skinny, but she was so much so that the sight of her naked didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. Her awkward appearance should have been endearing, but instead I only felt distracted. That wasn’t her fault I told myself. &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp We sat in an empty

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-30934781975906518482010-06-15T22:14:00.001-04:002010-06-15T22:16:58.076-04:002010-06-15T22:16:58.076-04:00

Veronica and I walked in silence on a night in the spring. Some moments are like a crystal, perfectly flat, flat as the universe, and doomed to shatter. Imagine an elegant wine glass orbiting the Earth. Beautiful sparkling defects, going a thousand miles an hour.&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp Half an hour before that, we had been in a restaurant, where she told me she couldn’t

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-28355984209856994882010-05-10T10:46:00.004-04:002010-05-10T11:49:21.228-04:002010-05-10T11:49:21.228-04:00

I was in Nashville when, frankly, it started raining and never stopped. Fourteen inches, it rained like knives. We Brits think we know rain, but God when America does something, it invariably tries for a record. Tiresome if you ask me. The skies went steel, and then roared like madmen.Stephen, my manager, had told me I could meet George Jones this trip, but instead I wandered around the

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-28085056311453305292010-04-26T22:37:00.004-04:002010-04-28T12:19:19.003-04:002010-04-28T12:19:19.003-04:00

The dark car hummed with speed. Over a bridge, city lights slid on planes, like a cosmos shining with stars. The blur of those close blew by like rapid explosions shot parallel to the black open river beneath them—her and the unknowable driver. This part of town started with an X, and the word was moderate length. That’s how she found it on maps. Maybe it was a Z. That morning, when she

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-9795628498749384902010-04-19T23:14:00.001-04:002010-04-19T23:17:52.188-04:002010-04-19T23:17:52.188-04:00

The old woman sat at the table, lips drawn tight, in a straight line. Her glasses, enormous and permanent, blocked most of her face. She could have been looking anywhere: straight ahead, as her head pointed, in another direction, no one would know. “Was he your son?” the man asked. She hesitated and then came to life. “No, no. He’s not my son. While he did grow up here in this neighborhood,

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-1855556105912799042010-03-25T23:10:00.010-04:002010-03-25T23:48:39.630-04:002010-03-25T23:48:39.630-04:00

I don’t spend too much time on the internet, but Shade, she does. (You say her name like the singer.) All the time, she’s looking through her glasses and typing, but she does really well. Almost all of my traffic comes from pianoFORTE, my site I made last year. The name’s a misnomer because it’s about violins. My dad plays violins, and we have a lot of them around, and books, and I

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-90025712635693083272010-03-15T21:42:00.005-04:002010-03-15T22:07:08.437-04:002010-03-15T22:07:08.437-04:00

So few other cars on the road this night, and hard to tell if there was wind or just the open window. The full tree branches blew both up and down, but a trick of driving motion could easily have caused this. Down an onramp they merged with an empty highway, and the yellow-lit pavement lay clean and open and so very well marked.City highways appealed to Madeline, close to a downtown when they

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-55633076458411554402010-03-11T09:04:00.002-05:002010-03-11T09:11:14.464-05:002010-03-11T09:11:14.464-05:00

I looked at the papers I had written and saw how the left edges of each row sharply met up on the pink margin line. As if a wire pushed them there.This obedience bothered me. I decided I would write beginning from the left edge of the page, over the line, using the whole space.My writing had an independent, anarchic look, running the full length across the paper. It was good, and I thought

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-29519725247962969342010-03-06T01:04:00.005-05:002010-03-15T22:08:56.662-04:002010-03-15T22:08:56.662-04:00

In the dream an angel stood at the Presidential podium, watching a room of wilted flowers, without an audience. I had found the room in an almost empty world. The street lights still blinked on at night, when a tempestuous wind blew. The moon no longer rose, but days were normal.In the hallway outside, I pushed into the restroom, and on the white floor in a stall a young man turned over to

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07863363415911574209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-60778620893559921972010-03-02T10:04:00.001-05:002010-03-02T10:06:14.988-05:002010-03-02T10:06:14.988-05:00

Chris made me a song for my birthday. Back off, man ... I'm a scientist.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-8266720319246801332010-02-28T14:19:00.002-05:002010-02-28T14:23:53.534-05:002010-02-28T14:23:53.534-05:00

There's a drawbridge between Queens and Brooklyn. Raise it, the mongrel hordes are here. From which direction, you may ask! Just raise it, raise it, before Greenpoint invades Long Island City.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-75390064863215799772010-02-23T19:47:00.004-05:002010-02-23T23:30:51.386-05:002010-02-23T23:30:51.386-05:00

Today is the 10th birthday of bluishorange.com, which is written by Alison Headley. I think I read bluishorange first in 2001--it had a reddish design with a picture of Alison in the masthead. It was the first I heard of this here blogging racket. This girl has her journal on the internet, and it updates with the newest entry at the top. She's got some separate pages too, like one that's an

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-46308617924164743412010-02-15T18:30:00.002-05:002010-02-15T18:39:00.237-05:002010-02-15T18:39:00.237-05:00

I assume you have read one or two of the stories I post here. The fiction stories, I mean. A year ago, I decided I was going to post all the stories I finish here. They are indicated by titles in all caps, and are linked in the sidebar under "friction."Would you mind giving me a small bit of feedback by telling me about two of them--one you liked better than another one. Something like "I

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-27067017141923583422010-02-15T18:16:00.003-05:002010-02-15T18:30:27.233-05:002010-02-15T18:30:27.233-05:00

Me: When friends tell me they're engaged, in my head I always think duh I knew that. I just assume it whenever they seem like a real couple. The announcement is anticlimactic.Her: Yes. That's because you're cynical and male.Me: That would be a great business card. Josh Gallaway, cynical and male. Seriously, that's the important information.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-18134234793678924082010-02-15T17:34:00.004-05:002010-02-15T18:43:54.323-05:002010-02-15T18:43:54.323-05:00

I just spent a day sitting in front of my computer, set up to have nine desktops, switching back and forth between the nine, with data on each one. Every ten minutes I would write down a bunch of numbers, draw a simple picture, scribble it all out, swear, and think. When I do this, I call it "meditating over data." Before I can wring a conclusion out of a scientific study, I have to do this.

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-74355612180390006182010-02-05T17:06:00.002-05:002010-02-05T17:09:19.212-05:002010-02-05T17:09:19.212-05:00

Before noon on a dreary Sunday, Audra and I were getting the bar together. People were eating in the restaurant, but no one was at the bar. This was the slowest time, early on a weekend, especially a Sunday—no one got take-out, and alcohol wasn’t allowed until after 1 PM.I don’t remember what we were talking about, but sometimes we would talk shit while getting things together. That made me

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-91899760578820022162010-02-04T08:46:00.003-05:002010-02-04T17:20:18.180-05:002010-02-04T17:20:18.180-05:00

At this point, it's the memory of a memory. It's dark and I'm in the hospital. All the lights seem to be off, but there are shafts of white light in the ceiling shining in my eyes. I'm crying and they're trying to get me to swallow something. Occasionally I think about this--why were they working with the lights off? I don't think I'm very old when sitting on the table, in the dark with the

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-2002695588771959402010-01-31T18:45:00.005-05:002010-01-31T18:54:03.218-05:002010-01-31T18:54:03.218-05:00

You're so Nashville if you can't hear Merle Haggard on the radio, but you can go downtown and drink with him.-From the Nashville alternative paper ca. 1999.Have I ever told you about the time I was eating at Noshville, a sort of classy Jewish deli in my hometown? I looked up over my chopped liver sandwich, and saw Merle Haggard sitting at the counter. He was talking to another old

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5956826.post-77458737671872158162010-01-19T08:47:00.007-05:002010-01-19T15:55:05.699-05:002010-01-19T15:55:05.699-05:00

It's my second day of work, which is the following: I arrive before opening, set up the bar, carry ice, make mixes, and cut fruit. When the restaurant opens, a dozen people come in for 400 dollar take-out orders. These people are pharmaceutical reps, bribing a different doctor's office every day--they are well-dressed and, without fail, extremely rude people. I run all their credit cards and

joshuahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16090054952960736407noreply@blogger.com