HOME | BROADSHEETS | ARCHIVE | ITINERARIES | MIXTAPE | EVENTS | FAQ | RSS | LINKS
Advertise | Newsletter | About/Subscribe | Submissions | Art Walk | Books | THE2NDHAND Writers Fund
|
**PRINT: A GAME I ONCE ENJOYED, by Chicago's Patrick Somerville, is THE2NDHAND’s 32nd broadsheet. Somerville's work previously appeared in No.24 in 2007, and this Somerville’s second broadsheet since the release of his short-story collection, Trouble **WEB: LAST DAY IN BIRMINGHAM: A TWITTER ITINERARY Todd Dills
|
, in 2006 marks the first since his novel, LAST DAY IN BIRMINGHAM
a Twitter itinerary
---
Todd Dills
Thursday, July 30, THE2NDHAND editor Todd Dills moved with his wife, child and THE2NDHAND's south co-HQ to Nashville, Tenn., from Birmingham, Ala. In classic THE2NDHAND-itinerary fashion, he marked the occasion by writing about it in short bursts as it happened, originally on his Twitter page. The results are below. When the itinerary as lit-form was first conceived here (in 2000), Twitter wasn't around, unfortunately, so readers had to take our word for it that things happened -- or at least the writing about the things that happened -- happened in the order and for the duration they did. Now, of course, Twitter is here; call it our little attempt to make art in the midst of the cacophony there, perhaps. This is the first of what we hope will be a continuing series -- about writing, about microblogging, tweeting, whatever you like -- about life. Writers with Twitter pages, if you're interested in doing something similar, get in touch.
11:21 p.m.: which begins the day prior, sandwiched between columns of boxes.
11:24: after attempting to transmit via cell network, wonder whether one has jumped proverbial gun -- message is: network failure.
11:25: pack last glass. Tape box shut. Ponder missed opportunity. Vulcan moons. Barbecue forgone. The inability to explain finality to a child.
11:34: check network outages. Nothing. Drain beer and head for toothbrush. Outside: lightning, cars, thunder. Inside: boxes, trash.
11: 39: sleeping wife, other distractions from toothbrush: a plate that needs a box, a screwdriver. Hell is coat hangers, a wise woman once said.
11:46: say, "Hell is boxes."
11:47: back to toothbrush, this time in earnest -- examine coffee stains left by three years' worth of hour-long drives to office, scant dentistry.
11:53: note what little effect brushing actually has on stains.
11:54: scowl, spit. Network failure. Sleep.
6:50 a.m.: wake.
6:52: set coffee to cooking. Build box to contain coffee grinder, other last things.
7: pack box w/ dishes -- baby sip cups, tupperware, baby placemat decorated w/ farm animals, coffee grinder.
7:15: walk to cafe for wife's coffee expecting to see friend who looks like Patrick Somerville. Closed. Network failure. Send. Network success.
7:30: success is uplifting in matters of moving, a neverending struggle against hell, coat hangers and boxes. In matters of mobile writing, too.
7:38: fold socks. Note ever-increasing number of missing pairs.
8:03: spill contents of toolbox on moving men. Clean up. Count boxes.
8:06: 114.
8:37: excuse oneself: 120.
8:41: apologize again for toolbox mishap, offer water, coffee. Too early for beer?
8:48: life is 120 boxes. Think Forrest Gump. Think Little SC boy with little prospects. Think You.
8:58: eat: last piece of bread in apartment.
9:51: load to Goodwill. Yoga mat. Bags, bags, bags of clothes.
9:58: think of Tom McCarthy's "Remainder": consider reenacting yr last trip here. Try to remember it first. Network failure.
10:03: pass hospital where your child was born. There is beauty in the inability to explain finality to a child. The beauty of process, flux.
10:06: think: you are at crash risk, texting while driving. No, writing while driving.
10:24: MS13: lucky streetwise gang. Maybe unlucky. Return to cleaning, packing.
10:29: DO YOU HAVE NERVES OF STEEL? New reading series, according to M. Ballentine. Pack toilet tissue.
11:04: precariously balanced boxspring and mattress fall over onto wife fiddling with iPhone. Say, "Can we reenact that?"
11:09: wife scowls, supporting the weight of mattress with one hand, phone in the other. Say, "Sorry."
11:23: after some cajoling, reenact falling bed, you in role of wife. Concentrate. Wonderfully harrowing.
11:24: lead mover says, "Can we take that now?"
11:39: dance. Off the Wall. RIP strangest most catchy man in US history.
1:42 p.m.: near out of juice, be reminded by radio it's a good day to leave Birmingham. County employees slashed by 2/3, which sounds gruesome.
2:00: have celebratory drink - wine in paper coffee cup, High Life can - with wife. Load done. Clean done. Bask in boxless echoes.
2:05: watch squirrels pulling plums from tree in courtyard.
2:13: wonder whose and what story you happen to be telling. Finding the I in the midst of formal itinerarying is impossible.
2:16: movers' forgotten items: spool of inventory sticky numbers, roll of brown packing tape, schizophrenic cat, who loved one half the team.
2:17: hissed at and clawed and clearly wanted to destroy the other half.
2:45: choose PBR on trip to Bottletree, home of good food, few readings, much rock. Last stop en route out, really, though cats need picking up.
2:50: ponder what it says about a place when the patio/smOKay corral is dubbed, sinister as all hell, the HOUSE OF REPTILES.
3:38: get in brief argument with wife. About load weight and, of course, money. To appease, obtain free refill by wits at cafe to coffee up for drive.
3:40: shit. Cross out "wits." Coffee is cold. Proceed drinking, in any case.
4:06: guzzle half-gallon OJ. Jump in car. Destination: Nashville. Bye everyone. For now.
4:07: drive.
**SUBSCRIBE TO THE2NDHAND if you like reading our our respective broadsheet and online series -- any donation above $30 gets you a LIFETIME SUBSCRIPTION to THE2NDHAND's quarterly broadsheet. See this page or send a payment through PayPal here: