This is procrastination.

soul food for your eyeballs from Portland, Oregon.

[laurashinn]

(via 66 long-lost polaroids of madonna in '83 show a mega star on the verge)

[fuks]

[theonion]

[laurashinn]

Every guy ever

[laurashinn]

This guy for president forever. 

[laurashinn]

The Great Northwest, upper left USA

[bridgeandburn]

Perfectly Imperfect | Bridge & Burn

[laurashinn]

It’s sweetheart season. It’s also bff season. 

[laurashinn]

Little Fat Man Who Sold His Soul

[roxanegay]

My 2015 in Reading

I spent 2015 touring and teaching and touring and teaching so I had to get my reading in where I could. Every time I got on a plane I thought, “I am going to read,” but then I usually ended up watching movies. I watched Furious 7 on at least four flights, is all I am saying. 

The best books I read:

A Little Life by Hanya Yanigahara The Small Backs of Children by Lidia Yuknavitch The Invaders by Karolina Waclawiak  Preparation for the Next Life by Atticus Lish Bad Sex by Clancy Martin Today I Am a Book by xTx Delicious Foods by James Hannaham Sable Venus and Other Poems by Robin Coste Lewis Night at the Fiestas: Stories by Kirstin Valdez Quade The Cartel by Don Winslow Gutshot by Amelia Gray

My absolute favorite book of the year was A Little Life. This was a book that tore my heart out as I read it. There was no mercy, particularly for Jude, the man at the center of the book and four friend throughout their lifelong friendship. Yes, the book was overwrought and melodramatic and intensely dark. That’s why I enjoyed it. I loved this book so much that all I can say is I LOVED THIS BOOK SO FUCKING MUCH.

The Small Backs of Children was challenging and provocative and showed me of the full reach of war. The Invaders was such a fine book about the terrible ways of the well-to do. Preparation for the Next Life managed to create a love story between a vet with PTSD and an undocumented immigrant who find a way to love in complicated circumstances. Bad Sex was unapologetic and louche and sexy and so much fucking fun. Today I Am a Book was wildly imaginative and impeccably written. Delicious Foods was amazing storytelling and offered a new kind of happy ending. Sable Venus and Other Poems was simply stunning and full of intimidating intelligence and grace. Night at the Fiestas offers some of the best short stories I’ve ever read; The Five Wounds is a highlight. The Cartel was a wholly engrossing look at the drug war, so much brutality very well rendered. Gutshot was bizarre and witty and voracious as I’ve come to expect from the author. 

Books I blurbed so definitely check them out as they are released:

Loving Day by Mat Johnson How to Pose for Hustler by Andrea Kneeland The Hundred-Year Flood by Matthew Salesses The Unfinished World and Other Stories by Amber Sparks So Sad Today by Melissa Broder Mothers, Tell Your Daughters by Bonnie Jo Campbell I Almost Forgot About You by Terry McMillan

Books I reviewed:

God Help the Child by Toni Morrison In the Country by Mia Alvar Negroland by Margo Jefferson Delicious Foods by James Hannaham The Sacrifice by Joyce Carol Oates

The warm and incredibly charming book I read that made me feel so fond of the Midwest even though I live there:

Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J Ryan Stradal The book that reminded me of the absolute wonder great fiction creates:

Upright Beasts by Lincoln Michel The classic book I read because I am writing an introduction for a reprint and I am basically more than a year over deadline and full of self-loathing about that but the book itself is incredible and makes me so glad I wasn’t a woman in ye olden times:

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

The book I really enjoyed with such a dark, fucked up twist, I am still kind of stunned and also I did blurb this:

Damage Done by Amanda Panitch

The book that made me feel a bit better about my obsession with airline miles and airline status programs:

Up in the Air by Walter Kirn

The book I read because I love novels about Los Angeles:

Oh You Pretty Things! by Shanna Mahin

The book by a feminist icon I read because I got to have a conversation with her in Chicago:

My Life on the Road by Gloria Steinem

The book I read knowing it was going to be trash because I had already read it under a different title and yes, indeed, it was trash or something worse than trash but I am part of the problem because I read it:

Grey by EL James

The book I really disliked even though it was well written and totally fine, just not my cup of tea:

Modern Romance by Aziz Ansari

The book by a beloved author I read even though I only have vague memories of the book the beloved author is renowned for:

Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee

The book I read because I was curious because of the buzz about the huge advance because writers are terrible when it comes to publishing gossip:

City on Fire by Garth Risk Hallberg

(I enjoyed this book; the writing was outstanding but the novel was unnecessarily overlong and I wanted to feel closer to the characters.)

Excellent poetry I read:

Something to Hide My Face in by Doug Paul Case Heaven by Rowan Ricardo Phillips How to Be Drawn by Terrance Hayes Bright Felon by Kazim Ali Unpeopled Eden by Rigoberto González Salt is for Curing by Sonya Vatomsky Fat Daisies by Carrie Murphy

The awesome, strange, dark, fiercely intelligent collection of short stories I loved:

A Manual for Cleaning Women by Lucia Berlin

The book that challenged my understanding of nonfiction and inspired the structure I am bringing to my next book, Hunger:

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson

The book about Detroit that I didn’t love but still admired, particularly because of the unexpected and beautifully written relationship between the protagonist and his girlfriend:

Scrapper by Matt Bell

The book about excellent lesbian poet adventures:

Chelsea Girls by Eileen Myles

The book I read because there I was, at an awards ceremony, having just lost, and then there was the final category where I was rooting for a couple books that didn’t win, and the winner was announced and I wasn’t familiar with the book so I wanted to get familiar with the book:

The Dog by Jack Livings

The book with an excellent cover and an excellent premise that I thought was good and smart but still left me wanting a more I can’t quite specify:

Mislaid by Nell Zink

The rockstar book, the writer of which I interviewed:

Between the World And Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

The book I greatly anticipated and was thrilled by:

Balm by Dolen Perkins-Valdez

The books that made me angry at all the injustice and unfairness in the world:

Missoula: Rape and Justice System in a College Town by Jon Krakauer Jaguar’s Children by John Vaillant Prayers for the Stolen by Jennifer Clement

The book that made me think DIVA over and over:

Writing by Marguerite Duras

The book coming out in 2016 that is gorgeous and haunting and concise:

Eleven Hours by Pamela Erens

The book with the great cover that disappointed:

Black-Eyed Susans by Julia Heaberlin

The book set in space that was a masterful feat of world building and exploring mental illness and grief:

Planetfall by Emma Newman

The gorgeous photography book that impressed me with it’s look into the lives of a working class black family:

The Notion of Family by Latoya Ruby Frazier

A couple graphic novels I read:

City of Clowns by Daniel Alarcon

Turning Japanese by Mari Naomi

The comic I read because I met the author at the PEN Literary Awards and she was really nice and then the comic turned out to be awesome:

Ms. Marvel 1- 3

[laurashinn]

Just kinda getting used to being called this. 

[laurashinn]

the laughing heart

your life is your life don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission. be on the watch. there are ways out. there is light somewhere. it may not be much light but it beats the darkness. be on the watch. the gods will offer you chances. know them. take them. you can’t beat death but you can beat death in life, sometimes. and the more often you learn to do it, the more light there will be. your life is your life. know it while you have it. you are marvelous the gods wait to delight in you.

-- by Charles Bukowski

[laurashinn]

Three is the magic number.

[nevver]

They didn’t deserve candy

[nevver]

Pie-O-My

[laurashinn]

On Boston

I spent seven years in this place, but could never encapsulate its power like this woman can: 

"This place is both more fragile and more courageous than it lets on. It has taken care of me, but it has never tried to impress me. Push farther, Boston seems to say. Work harder. Don’t complain. Just finish. There is an implicit understanding among us that whatever needs to be done we will do it, because that’s what we do." - Josie Duffy

Read the whole thing on Gawker. 

[nevver]

Ernesto García “El Chango” Cabral

[laurashinn]

Hot, sweaty yoga and dudes.

I'm not sure why I'm always late. Usually it's the result of excessive daydreaming, often while staring at a computer screen. I'll be deep into some research about, say, "the mysterious death of Edgar Allen Poe," or "What does it mean to dream about killer whales" or "large tiger-like cats/toygers"* and then, whoopsie daisy, I was supposed to start getting ready an hour ago. And now I have to be wherever I was going in ten minutes. Commence scrambling, swearing and sweating, etc., etc. 

I've always been a dawdler. A dilly-dally-er. I've done it since I was a little kid; following those little kite trails in my mind is soothing. But ok, I'm pushing 40. Time to start limiting my dawdling so that I stop pissing off my friends and pissing away productivity. Besides, lateness just leads to heart palpitations and recurring diarrhea.

Anyway. Yoga.

Every once in a while I need to switch up studios. Sometimes I'm having a Jane Fonda kind of day and want more of an aerobics vibe. Luckily, there's this disco yoga studio in town that offers up a lovely breadth of hot yoga. It's the leaves-you-drenched-in-sweat-while-listening-to-a-Britney-Bollywood-remix kind of yoga. If you're in the right head space, it can be really cleansing. Other times, it can be an actual, literal, one hundred percent historically accurate representation of hell. Depends on the mood.  

Of course, I was running late and rolled into class with about two minutes to spare, which usually makes it tough to find a spot. But that day, there was a super awesome open space up by the front of the class. Sweet. I marched right up and claimed the spot and unrolled my mat and sat down and immediately realized why that spot was open. It was because it was directly next to an extremely hairy, extremely shirtless man whose hair was all white because he was definitely over the age of sixty-five. 

But no big deal. I can hang. Plus, yoga grampa was impressive. Yoga grampa was the kind of guy who gets to the studio first to warm up with a five minute headstand followed by a legs-over-the-shoulder arm balance, toes spread, the whole nine yards. He was doing some serious swami shit. Poses I had never seen before. Go grampa! You show that class! You tell people that OG yoga grampa is here to stay! Tell it with your BODY, mister! God DAMN!  

Class hadn't even started yet and yoga grampa's mat was already surrounded by what can only be described as a moat of sweat. 

After about five minutes, I noticed something was terribly wrong. We were all hanging out in downward dog, doing some deep breathing exercises, when it became apparent that someone had farted. Again—no big deal. Farts happen. But in HOT YOGA? Who's the asshole? Literally. Whose asshole committed the crime? I automatically assumed it was yoga grampa. He was over sixty-five, after all. It's not like he has the sphincter control of a young twenty-year-old buck. Oh, yoga grampa. Sometimes he does that. So I silently forgave him with lovingkindness and moved forward with strength and perseverance. 

But the scent persisted. And then it morphed. The more deep inhales I took, trying in vain to "follow my breath", the smell had less of an egg undertone and took on a more musty, ripe note. And then, like a drunk suddenly remembering what exactly happened last night, my brain kicked into gear and I recognized the scent.

It was balls. Drenched-in-sweat, yoga grampa old man balls. 

Holyfuckingshit. Like someone was aiming a powerful hair dryer at his testicles and blowing it right toward my face. From two feet away. And scientifically, that's pretty much what was happening. His ball particles had surrounded my entire body and were floating all up in my lungs and had infested my pores and was all over my hair. Like an old man ball bath. 

Things I considered doing: 1. Barfing; 2. Bursting into tears; 3. Developing old man ball deodorant; 4. Taking off my shirt and tying it around my face and finishing the class topless; 5. farting loudly in defiance and in an heroic attempt to neutralize the air quality. Instead, I stuck around for the entire hour and fifteen minutes, mouth breathing my way through all the poses, and narrowly avoiding loss of consciousness. 

And then I went home and took a bleach shower. 

Not my best yoga moment. Actually, it might have been the most disgusting, un-yoga moment of my life. It was more like the aforementioned hot yoga hell. I'm still getting over it. But I tell you what: from now on, Imma be on time to class. 

*pulled from google search history. Not a joke.