Rusty Barnes's Blog: Fried Chicken and Coffee, page 44

Email Disaster

I lost a bunch of gmail today, for what reason I'm not sure, and I know some accepted pieces were among that mail. Whatever it was took my address book, too, so I can't contact people unless they're on Facebook or I know them personally. I've got the mail working again, but I need bios, [...:]

How Do You Fight 3.87 Billion Dollars?

The depressing, cynical answer? You don't. This report was written by the energy industry, so I'd immediately suspect it, except that it dovetails nicely with everything else I've read. See page 19-20 of this report.

The Economic Impacts of the Marcellus Shale: Implications for New York, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia

Our analysis indicates that the Marcellus gas [...:]

Two Poems by Michael Hoerman

Stalactites
In the cave, my friend J.C.,
Whose father wouldn't claim him,
Broke stalactites with his fingers.
He caught a white cavefish, carried it
In cupped hands until clear water ran out,
Then bashed it bloody with a rock.
He pulled out the pack of Marlboros I'd lost.
He denied they were mine.
I said something about doing him like the fish.
He offered me [...:]

Give Up and Go Home, Jasper, fiction by Charles Dodd White

Jasper is schooling us on the finer points of fisting. It's only a touch past midnight and he's already managed to lose his camper from going all in on a drastic Texas Hold 'Em flop, praying for a flush that never proved. But now he's on to talking about the love he found for [...:]

When I Get My Attention Span Back

we've got some great fiction coming up, enough to keep me satisfied for a couple weeks, anyway.

And by the way, did you know hillbillies had their own bike tires? I learned that today.

Working Class Heroes, by Nick Mamatas

Here's a switch. Writing about class concerns and a hyped TV show that I'm not ashamed to say is one of my few weekly sojourns into boobtubery. The essay won't be free for long, so catch it while you can.

Capital is dead labour, that, vampire-like, only lives by sucking living labour, and lives the more, [...:]

Anis Shivani and Eric Miles Williamson Stir Some Shit

Boy howdy, would I like to read more of this kind of interview. Anis Shivani rakes some good muck at Huffington Post.

Eric Miles Williamson is the author of five critically acclaimed books: East Bay Grease (Picador, 1999),Two-Up (Texas Review Press, 2006), Oakland, Jack London, and Me (Texas Review Press, 2007),Welcome to Oakland (Raw Dog Screaming Press, 2009), [...:]

Tobacco Spitting and Tomahawk Throwing

Go to the Summer Redneck Games,  if that's your thing. I'd like to point out that a true Redneck Games would have tobacco spitting contests instead of watermelon seeds.

I feel like rambling and riffing, as sometimes happens when I'm not writing well, so bear this post with good humor, if you will.

When I was a kid, [...:]

The Mountain Whose Shadow We Lived In, fiction by Jack Boettcher

My kid transferred through every school on our side of the mountain. Only six, but a fighter. I didn't teach him that. The principals ask, – "well, Mr. Doppler, where might Fred have learned to lash out?" Nature, I say. Too much violence on this mountain – electrical storms and rockslides and predation, balled [...:]

Gasland

Those of you with HBO–look for it.

Trailer

New content coming soon, so hang tight.