I asked my mother what had happened and she said she’d heard that kids were choking or getting eye injuries from spring-loaded toys. So, for my safety, she took them out.
"Ralph Nader told me to," she said. Ralph Nader told me to. I’ve never forgotten that. I realize, now, that it’s technically not true. Ralph didn’t write that press release. He didn’t call my mother. But, it’s there, immovable. Stuck. Burned in to my brain. As far as I’m concerned, Ralph Nader forced my mother to deactivate my Micronauts, and I can’t get over it.
We lost our Lawn Jarts a few years later.
Again, Ralph Nader told me to. Whenever fun was ruined, Ralph Nader was there.
Ralph Nader was always fucking with my play value, and he never sent a Hot Wheels car to make up for it.
Screw you, Ralph. You ruined my childhood and I’ll never vote for you.
was out driving and remembered this old piece, out of nowhere, for some reason.
Lil’ Bitch Tour, y’all:
August 14th, 8 pm
Tongue and Groove, 826LA Echo Park
with Scott McClanahan, xTx, Jim Ruland and “special guest”
August 15th, 730 pm
San Francisco, CA
Press Works on Paper
with Chelsea Martin, Scott McClanahan, and Jimmy Chen
August 17th, 530 pm
Colonel Summers Park
with Chelsea Martin, Scott McClanahan and Bradley Sands
August 18th, 4pm
Elliott Bay Books
with Chelsea Martin, Scott McClanahan, Matthew Simmons and Richard Chiem
It’s been a decade, give or take. I went looking into the Hobart archives and the oldest story is from March 2002. Over ten years!
In the coming days and weeks we have more of these “from the vault” pieces where we want to highlight some of our favorite stories from the archives and give them a bit of a second life; a series of short, “craft-based” interviews focused onthings other than fiction, like skateboarding and thrift stores; a few food & drink pieces, including a monthly bourbon review; interviews with “non-readers”; movie reviews; lots of ideas we’ll probably come up with later; and even poetry(!!).
For this, our launch, a handful of us editors looked back at some of our favorites from the Hobart archives:
- Elizabeth Ellen looks back at Tao Lin’s “The Novelist” from Aug./Sept. ‘04
- Matthew Simmons looks back at Amy Minton’s “Overhanded” from May ‘07
- Jac Jemc looks back at Spencer Dew’s “The Exit Colony” from October ‘04
- Jensen Beach looks back at Glen Pourciau’s “Belly” from October ‘08
- Aaron Burch looks back at two Aaron Gwyn shorts from early ‘02
Thanks. We hope you like.
(via Hobart :: Hobart 2.0)
Simmons paints a loving portrait of what happened to your best friend from elementary school, the one who never moved out of his grandma’s basement. Turns out, he’s been up to some strange shit.My blurb for Matthew Simmons’s HAPPY ROCK, coming soon. (via grayamelia) Amelia Gray
Personally, I had resigned myself to the fact that Geddy Lee’s solo album in 2000 was the closest thing to a new Rush album anyone would ever hear. So when they re-united, recorded “Vapor Trails” and hit the road again, I was euphoric. That concert was incredibly emotional, because the album was so intensely personal, and we all knew how lucky we were to have them back onstage again. I probably was in tears more than once at that show, especially during “Secret Touch” (“you can never break the chain / there is never love without pain”) and “One Little Victory” (“celebrate the moment / as it turns into one more”). That whole cycle of loss and renewal gave me an even deeper respect for the band, and reinforced all the reasons I loved them in the first place.
I noticed a quick pronoun change, there, when you talked about the live show. Your “I” for just a moment there became a “we.” Any thoughts on the personal vs. communal—those, maybe “vs.” is way too loaded a way to split those two experiences up—natures of your Rush fandom?
I did do that, didn’t I. That’s an easy trap—assuming the way you feel about something is universal, or at least applies to the majority of other people who like that thing. I only personally know a handful of Rush fans (maybe 6 or 7? Something like that), so I shouldn’t presume to speak for all of Rush Nation. But to answer your question, I think that, from reading the thoughts of other Rush fans I’ve not met, there seems to be a shared sense of…proprietorship, maybe, when it comes to the band. Like we *get* Rush and the rest of the world doesn’t. They’ve never been critical darlings and to wear your fanhood on your sleeve is to invite derision. At least, that’s the way it was for a long time. So when I used “we”, I was thinking of what I assumed to be the collective feeling of loss that many—most? All?—Rush fans felt when Neil “retired” from the band, and by extension, the collective rapture they—we—felt when Neil found love and purpose again, and re-joined Geddy and Alex.
I love that Simmons sussed out that quick pronoun change and delved into it! (via Hobart :: An Interview With Zane About The Band Rush)
If writing a joke makes a groove in the brain that other jokes can roll down, my groove is now a subway tunnel. That doesn’t mean they’re all good—they’re not—but I am generally attuned to what is funny and what others will find funny.Twitter People: An Interview with Rob Delaney (@robdelaney) Matthew Simmons lives in Seattle.
RON CURRIE JR. ON HOBART x2:
Maybe, how about, this: if there’s anything factual in what you’ve written, anything at all, then we cannot classify the whole as fiction. Because why can’t we turn that most strict of standards—the standard that says if anything is made up then the whole thing is false, the standard that James Frey was crucified for—on its head?
I think that if we noodle around long enough about things in the human experience that seem, on their surface, to be disparate or unrelated, the connections between those things will begin to reveal themselves. Then, once that happens, of course, it’s the author’s obligation to revise, revise, delve deeper, highlight and refine those connections. Which is where, ultimately, the sense of having been told a story that has universal relevance comes from.
Are you ready for this? Author Ron Currie Jr. in front of a bookshelf, holding a copy of a book (with a bookshelf on its cover) that is a novel about a character named Ron Currie Jr.