Two years after John D. MacDonald moved from New York state to Sarasota, Carl Hiaasen was born in what was then a rural suburb of Fort Lauderdale, Plantation, Florida. When Hiaasen turned 6, his father bought him his first typewriter, and he’s never stopped writing since. He was producing newspaper columns through high school and […]
Carl Hiaasen: Laugh Therapy Read More »
My friend Bruce Garlington died on May 13, 2021, leaving the world a lot less vivid. Bruce was a great drummer – so great he didn’t even need drums. Any solid surface would serve. He improvised his life entirely, rolling along by impulse and chance meetings. Other people fascinated him, and whatever their previous attitudes
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In old time in Wabash Street tavern, was silent as Sorrow’s nephew drowning, bubbles rising through glasses along long bar. Chair might shift, wood scrape on wood, cash register once in while go dja-tinngg as car go by in street outside, or alley. Now, over bar, three TV screen launch salvo after salvo stuttering flash,
An old friend called me this morning and related a long and complicated tale of legal woe involving the music business. I had little advice to offer, having spent a lifetime studiously avoiding any kind of business dealings. He thought he might want me to re-write some lead sheets, but wanted to ask his attorney
Walking up Western Avenue, Dmitri see this: In front of apartment, beneath young elm green, girl in white dress whirling and whirling, someone, her father surely, taking picture. Under shade of elm and building, she appear like flower upside down, gown whiter than lily, head black. Behind her, green window sashes. She whirl and whirl,
Dmitri think much about women in these days. Read what they ask for in personal advertisement. Always, say “like to dance, like long walk, quiet time, Romantic evening by firelight,” etcetera, etcetera. This correspond not with any real woman Dmitri have had mixed pleasure to know. Real woman, once trap has snappèd, have no time
Dmitri Do Not Dance Read More »