Hello? Anybody out there?
It's been awhile since I shot any sound waves into the ether. Nearly a year by the looks of my last post. In case you missed that one, it was all about still-warm placentas and visceral writing. I was an expectant father then. Now I'm a straight-up DAD.
Of course, it's still plenty biological around here. The placenta, my wife's: we ate it. Not all at once, but in small, measured increments. A few hours after my daughter was born, a swift and methodical woman entered our house, sanitized our entire kitchen, and placed my wife's placenta inside a large dehydrator. She came back the following day, ground up the dried placenta, encapsulated it, and split. For the next month or so, my wife took a pill in the morning and one before bed. And I took one, once. Nothing happened, except this story.
Shit. Piss. Spit-up. Snot. Whether you have kids or not, you know the deal. I won't bore you with the details, but, yes, these are the details of my life now. My oh-so-very domestic life. What I'm trying to say here is that the bar has been raised (by being lowered). The scatological is banal. You have to be a sharp, feisty, beautiful, blue-eyed baby girl to impress me now. So impress me.
That's right: Matchbook Story is back and seeking good stories. I'm currently romancing the proprietor of a very romantic cafe in downtown Santa Cruz to sponsor issue no. 4. It appears Gabriella Cafe is set to launch a Tuesday night literary salon which, when you do the math (candlelight dinner + authors reading their writing), equals Matchbook Story. So stay tuned, get writing, and make a Tuesday night reservation at Gabriella to get inspired. As usual--even if it is a year and a baby later--I'll keep you posted as things progress.
