I was reminded today by someone who has seen all of the correspondence, that The Atlantic's Scott Stossel, about whom this was recently written on here, also had emailed me to say that he expected his children to be taught my work in school. And it's not like they were far off from that age. Pretty bad, taken in full. Why does this guy still have a job?
Worked on the short story, "The Everything." Getting there. Came up with another new story, most of which I wrote in my head, called "Jokes," which is comprised entirely of jokes and tells the history of jokes and all that a joke can mean. It has a thematic arc and the characters have an arc. An explosion of form, like the story of "There Is No Young and There Is No Old" is an explosion of form of what a story can be, and Sam Cooke and Scrooge are explosions of form of what a music book and a film book can be, respectively, and Meatheads is an explosion of form of what a novel can be. And all of it is just so different from everything else out there in every possible way.
Still working on the Beatles essay.
Ran 3000 stairs.
I saw Alan Alda at a hockey rink in Canton as a young boy in 1982. My dad was like, "That's Alan Alda, he's on M*A*S*H," which I already knew. But I have always liked that Alan Alda was at a hockey rink in Canton.
This is today's Downtown segment. What I said is what needed to be said. As someone told me, "These are powerful words from you, and they're out there, and that's a good thing."