For the first time, I wrote a script for a wedding ceremony for my friends, and Josh officiated. The wedding was in a public park. Josh and I wore almost the same clothes. People called us Mormons like Mormons were the first to think of dressing in black and white. Mormons don't have mustaches.
The bride and groom have always been the cutest straight couple I know. They both sew. They own a haunted mandolin that plays songs from inside its case. Their daughter will be unrivaled in practical skills. They spent the right amount of money on their wedding, which was the cost of cigarettes and beer for everyone involved.
Some people gave toasts, which were old, funny stories from college. I didn't give a toast. The bride and I were in studio once, and the bride said I would be the first person she forgot when we graduated. That's how I knew she wouldn't forget me. I sometimes suspect she's my sister. I have a toast for her, but it can't go anywhere but a letter.
I made a pie like I always make a pie. Someone drunk joked about how there must have been a sale on graham cracker crusts at the dollar store. I have a hard time raising my voice out of the cave of my throat, but I managed to say, "HOW DARE YOU. I made this butter crust by hand." I don't think the drunk someone heard me. Josh often repeats what I say so at least people will hear. They think Josh has good jokes. I don't mind. It's my schtick to just give this stuff away.
The truth about everywhere I've lived is there are bugs in the summer. I like walking at night. Josh and I went to a concert Saturday night and walked the three miles home from downtown. That's a lot of cockroaches we saw. I told one of my friends I like not having a car because I like walking, and he said, "Don't say that," like I'd just said something bad about a dead person. "You'll get a car someday," he said. He's in advertising and maybe thinks I just haven't met the right brand. I've heard that argument about other parts of my life.
I was at the bus stop, and I saw a man stumbling in yards and chasing after a white rabbit. The man was homeless. He'd been standing at the stoplight outside a sandwich shop. He was going to eat the rabbit. A mother and son were also at the bus stop. The son asked his mother why the man was chasing the rabbit, and the mother said, "That's not a rabbit. That man's dog just got away from him is all." The man saw us watching. He waved his hands like, "DON'T LOOK AT ME."
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Flat Snake
It's summer, so I've been to some gatherings. Parties. Dinners. My college roommate was in town. That meant drinks and food and tarot card readings. I can't tell you what was revealed. It's none of your business. I can say we were at a bar, and I saw a guy look good in a tank top, and now I want a tank top. It's not so much I think I'll look good in a tank top; it's I think I'll look amazing in a tank top. If you're feeling like a generous stranger, I take out the guesswork at TANK TOPS FOR CASEY HANNAN.
We're still car-free. Josh and I walk to the grocery store, which is nice. We saw a flattened black snake today. When I was a kid, there was a reptile zoo in Kentucky with all these venomous snakes. When I went, the guy who ran the zoo was milking a rattlesnake. The guy was missing parts of some of his fingers. He had a cobra out later. The cobra was flaring its hood, and the man was dancing around it with a stick. People were sitting in a circle like the cobra was a campfire. A few years later, there was bad flooding, and some of those snakes got out and were never found.
Another thing about walking is who cares?
One of the parties I went to last week was an actor party. The actors seemed really interested in my book, and so naturally I couldn't trust anything they said. They asked what I was working on, and I told them about my collection of short stories, and they said, "You don't hear that everyday!" Except I do hear that everyday.
There was food at the actor party, but not much eating. There was drinking and smoking, and that's why all the actors were skinny. The actors were cute, of course, and the cutest one peed in the bushes, but it was dark, and the bushes kept their secrets.
I have a secret, and you're the last to know it. My story, "Ghost Water," is the June web exclusive at American Short Fiction. There's also an interview and a picture of me looking serious. One of my eyes is larger than the other. I'm told this is common.
We're still car-free. Josh and I walk to the grocery store, which is nice. We saw a flattened black snake today. When I was a kid, there was a reptile zoo in Kentucky with all these venomous snakes. When I went, the guy who ran the zoo was milking a rattlesnake. The guy was missing parts of some of his fingers. He had a cobra out later. The cobra was flaring its hood, and the man was dancing around it with a stick. People were sitting in a circle like the cobra was a campfire. A few years later, there was bad flooding, and some of those snakes got out and were never found.
Another thing about walking is who cares?
One of the parties I went to last week was an actor party. The actors seemed really interested in my book, and so naturally I couldn't trust anything they said. They asked what I was working on, and I told them about my collection of short stories, and they said, "You don't hear that everyday!" Except I do hear that everyday.
There was food at the actor party, but not much eating. There was drinking and smoking, and that's why all the actors were skinny. The actors were cute, of course, and the cutest one peed in the bushes, but it was dark, and the bushes kept their secrets.
I have a secret, and you're the last to know it. My story, "Ghost Water," is the June web exclusive at American Short Fiction. There's also an interview and a picture of me looking serious. One of my eyes is larger than the other. I'm told this is common.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
These Men Wonder at a Star
It's warm. I've rolled my jeans to the knees. All sorts of people go by the house. One of the people is shirtless and running. Another is crying and hugging her purse.
A crying woman once asked me for a cigarette and I felt so awful for not having cigarettes. I was holding a small box of frozen mice and the crying woman thought it was a pack of cigarettes. I explained, but the woman was already walking.
I haven't smoked a cigarette in a few weeks. The last time I smoked a cigarette, I didn't really smoke it. I just held it in my fingers and my friend told me I held it like I was rich. No one taught me to smoke. I've watched my grandmother, though, and that's where I picked up the form. It's from when smoking was part of a person's social presentation. Everyone smoked in the past.
One of my friends has a vapor cigarette. It's a long, electronic tube of metal. The tip glows green when you suck in. It looks like a dog whistle for robot dogs. The vapor is flavored, but all the flavors are crushed candy. When you breathe out, the vapor is white and thick as pot smoke.
I saw some shirtless men sitting on their front stairs giving each other haircuts. I have a list of situations I find attractive. The haircuts one is only surpassed by the one where a gap-toothed man crosses the street carrying a case of beer on his shoulder. It's been a lucky week because I've come across both of these situations. The gap-toothed man wasn't smoking, but that's the optional ingredient in the recipe.
It's been a lucky month, really. My story, "Other Sons" from SmokeLong Quarterly, made the wigleaf top 50. I got my first check for a story you'll read in June. I looked in the mirror and smiled because I've been working out and I can finally see the change. I was around at the right time to watch my snake shed her skin. It was like watching someone try to take off their shirt after a workout. I wanted to help my snake, but I have this policy about disrupting the natural order of things.
I will swat a fly, though. If it needs doing.
A crying woman once asked me for a cigarette and I felt so awful for not having cigarettes. I was holding a small box of frozen mice and the crying woman thought it was a pack of cigarettes. I explained, but the woman was already walking.
I haven't smoked a cigarette in a few weeks. The last time I smoked a cigarette, I didn't really smoke it. I just held it in my fingers and my friend told me I held it like I was rich. No one taught me to smoke. I've watched my grandmother, though, and that's where I picked up the form. It's from when smoking was part of a person's social presentation. Everyone smoked in the past.
One of my friends has a vapor cigarette. It's a long, electronic tube of metal. The tip glows green when you suck in. It looks like a dog whistle for robot dogs. The vapor is flavored, but all the flavors are crushed candy. When you breathe out, the vapor is white and thick as pot smoke.
I saw some shirtless men sitting on their front stairs giving each other haircuts. I have a list of situations I find attractive. The haircuts one is only surpassed by the one where a gap-toothed man crosses the street carrying a case of beer on his shoulder. It's been a lucky week because I've come across both of these situations. The gap-toothed man wasn't smoking, but that's the optional ingredient in the recipe.
It's been a lucky month, really. My story, "Other Sons" from SmokeLong Quarterly, made the wigleaf top 50. I got my first check for a story you'll read in June. I looked in the mirror and smiled because I've been working out and I can finally see the change. I was around at the right time to watch my snake shed her skin. It was like watching someone try to take off their shirt after a workout. I wanted to help my snake, but I have this policy about disrupting the natural order of things.
I will swat a fly, though. If it needs doing.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Cutting Off the Nose
My birthday was Sunday. I was born in West Virginia in the mountains. My grandmother and I went looking for the exact place a few years ago. We couldn't find it. There's a place called Hurricane, West Virginia. There's also a place called Nitro, West Virginia. The interstate is carved out of mountains. You can look down into towns if the fog isn't bad. Kansas City sits on hills, too, but no one outside Kansas City knows that. They all ask if the flatness makes me crazy, but I have to drive a little before I can even see the horizon. It's
been a couple months since I've had a car to drive.
I've started having nightmares I have to drive a car and can't do it. The roads have changed and I can't read the signs. Josh has these dreams, too. He's a non-driver. I also dream of going back east this summer. However it happens, it won't be because I drove.
Every year, there's a family reunion at a lake in North Carolina. We swim across the lake and we're in Virginia. There's a little beach there and we try to be quiet because we go at midnight, but sometimes it's not possible to kill our joy. We swim back by way of a large rock where the water is cold and the catfish brush our legs. A lot of the family stay in the lake house they've owned for 30 years, but the house is sold now. I don't know what we'll do. I didn't go last year and now I won't go again, at least there, at that lake. I cried. Sue me.
Josh is in a play. I've told you that. You should go. There's a show tonight at 8 and tomorrow at 8 and Monday at 8. The tickets are 15 dollars. Monday night they're 10. Josh is the real deal, kids. I didn't know it, but I do now. I mean, Jesus, really. He can't drive a car, but he can be funny when he needs to be.
I got news of a big story acceptance last week. I don't like saying where until it hits, so I won't. You'll know in June.
Josh and I walk everywhere and sometimes people in trucks whistle or yell. I get mad. There are stories I could tell. I'm too mad to tell them. What makes me mad is those people whistling and yelling are gay, too. In some way, they're queer and they hate it and so they hate Josh and they hate me. I hope they find a little quiet time to be men with other men. If I had one wish.
I've started having nightmares I have to drive a car and can't do it. The roads have changed and I can't read the signs. Josh has these dreams, too. He's a non-driver. I also dream of going back east this summer. However it happens, it won't be because I drove.
Every year, there's a family reunion at a lake in North Carolina. We swim across the lake and we're in Virginia. There's a little beach there and we try to be quiet because we go at midnight, but sometimes it's not possible to kill our joy. We swim back by way of a large rock where the water is cold and the catfish brush our legs. A lot of the family stay in the lake house they've owned for 30 years, but the house is sold now. I don't know what we'll do. I didn't go last year and now I won't go again, at least there, at that lake. I cried. Sue me.
Josh is in a play. I've told you that. You should go. There's a show tonight at 8 and tomorrow at 8 and Monday at 8. The tickets are 15 dollars. Monday night they're 10. Josh is the real deal, kids. I didn't know it, but I do now. I mean, Jesus, really. He can't drive a car, but he can be funny when he needs to be.
I got news of a big story acceptance last week. I don't like saying where until it hits, so I won't. You'll know in June.
Josh and I walk everywhere and sometimes people in trucks whistle or yell. I get mad. There are stories I could tell. I'm too mad to tell them. What makes me mad is those people whistling and yelling are gay, too. In some way, they're queer and they hate it and so they hate Josh and they hate me. I hope they find a little quiet time to be men with other men. If I had one wish.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Snakes Alive
Walking all over Kansas City is one of the new things I do. Last weekend, I walked all over Kansas City with my friend. We got lost. We got found. We looked at houses and drank bourbon and ginger beer. We saw a bunch of cats. My friend said the best thing to come out of the economic downturn is all the outdoor cats. Any of them will come up to you and act like a pet because they all used to live indoors. My friend and I sat on my porch and a stray cat jumped in my lap and my friend said, "See. That's totally your cat."
Everywhere I go, someone is telling me a snake story. Everyone has a snake story. I tried to feed a snake out of my hands once and the snake bit me, of course. I'm not Snow White, though one of my friends has a bird who will fly across the room and land on her finger. My only fairy tale quality is that I have a really good sense of direction. Oh, and I'm the first son, which means I'm destined to make a fatal mistake involving my pride.
I made a molasses pie yesterday and it was nasty, but then I put it in the fridge overnight and today it has promise. I can see how I'll do it next time. Josh politely ate his slice and then said, "This is acrid." Yes, I used a strong molasses. I'll use sorghum when I try again. We can beat this thing together.
The weather was so good for a while. It got chilly this week, though, so the men of the neighborhood kept their shirts on while they mowed. One of them even wore jeans, which was sexy in its own way.
I'll tell you about a dream I have every year. I'm walking down the street and a dog runs at me. As it jumps for my throat, I pull its jaws apart with my bare hands. You may know my hands are strange and I probably couldn't kill a dog like that. My fingers have weird bends to them. I used to try to force them straight, but that doesn't work. Will never work. Has never worked.
I have things to brag about, but the only one of those things I'm comfortable bragging about is that I have a story up at Spork Press. Read it, I beg you, because I'm so proud of that story.
My birthday is soon. Get cracking.
Everywhere I go, someone is telling me a snake story. Everyone has a snake story. I tried to feed a snake out of my hands once and the snake bit me, of course. I'm not Snow White, though one of my friends has a bird who will fly across the room and land on her finger. My only fairy tale quality is that I have a really good sense of direction. Oh, and I'm the first son, which means I'm destined to make a fatal mistake involving my pride.
I made a molasses pie yesterday and it was nasty, but then I put it in the fridge overnight and today it has promise. I can see how I'll do it next time. Josh politely ate his slice and then said, "This is acrid." Yes, I used a strong molasses. I'll use sorghum when I try again. We can beat this thing together.
The weather was so good for a while. It got chilly this week, though, so the men of the neighborhood kept their shirts on while they mowed. One of them even wore jeans, which was sexy in its own way.
I'll tell you about a dream I have every year. I'm walking down the street and a dog runs at me. As it jumps for my throat, I pull its jaws apart with my bare hands. You may know my hands are strange and I probably couldn't kill a dog like that. My fingers have weird bends to them. I used to try to force them straight, but that doesn't work. Will never work. Has never worked.
I have things to brag about, but the only one of those things I'm comfortable bragging about is that I have a story up at Spork Press. Read it, I beg you, because I'm so proud of that story.
My birthday is soon. Get cracking.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Ain't No Party Like
I tried a new pie recipe and the custard separated because I overbaked it. I stayed up late doing the pie again so I could get it right. It was a really good pie. Maple buttermilk. The custard was perfect on the second run. It was solid on the fork, but then it collapsed in the mouth. A familiar experience for me, obviously.
I'm making another pie for a party tonight. It's a divisive pie. People love it or they politely hate it. It's a vinegar pie with honey for the flavor and sweetness. I sprinkle the top with sea salt. It's complex, but it's heaven. It goes without saying that my butter crust is perfect. Whoops. I said it.
God. Enough about pies. Spring, y'all. It has sprung. Which means I walked to the grocery today wearing a t-shirt. I love the grocery because there are always men there I can use to develop quick crushes. Everyone has to get groceries, even hunks. One of my crushes actually works at the grocery. Josh and I caught him fist-pumping the air once. He's probably straight. He was out front today smoking a cigarette with a girl. The girl said, "Are you sure I'm not going to get you in trouble?" and the guy looked around like yes, she might get him in trouble. "No," he said. "I'm good."
Josh is going to be in another play. Get your tickets HERE. He plays about ten characters with different foreign accents. He's been sexing up for the role. He flexes his arms and muscles pop up now. It's not like begging a noodle to do something it can't do.
St. Patrick's Day sure was a day. A couple walked down our street eating pizza right out of the box. The girl of the couple came into our yard and tried to feed her slice of pizza to a tree. The tree was not receptive. The girl steadied her drunk self and tried again. No dice.
On the same day, Josh and I were walking home from the library and a drunk girl leaned out of her parked car and yelled, "Are you all gay? My boy here's gay. Yeah, he loves penis." There was a guy sitting next to the girl. He was drunk, too. Josh and I kept walking. The girl was yelling, "Hey! Hey!" but we were gone. If the guy wanted our penises so much, he could've said so himself.
My Kentucky friend keeps calling to talk about her snake problem. She has snakes mating in her trees. I'm fascinated by snakes. My friend insists on calling it a snake problem, but I like to think of it as a snake opportunity. My friend was picking up sticks and talking on the phone with her mother when she almost picked up a snake. I think that's just wonderful. I wish my yard was tripping with snakes. It is, instead, tripping with dog shit.
The only animals I've seen around lately are cats. There's a new stray and she has these short little legs but a regular body. She crosses the street at intersections like a person. In the dark, she looks like an opossum.
Speaking of, I have a story at Monkeybicycle. A man in England hates my story, but he hates everything. It's adorable. I wish I could watch him eat so I could see on his face how much he hates the food. My story has an opossum and a car accident and two men getting in the shower. But read it anyway.
I'm making another pie for a party tonight. It's a divisive pie. People love it or they politely hate it. It's a vinegar pie with honey for the flavor and sweetness. I sprinkle the top with sea salt. It's complex, but it's heaven. It goes without saying that my butter crust is perfect. Whoops. I said it.
God. Enough about pies. Spring, y'all. It has sprung. Which means I walked to the grocery today wearing a t-shirt. I love the grocery because there are always men there I can use to develop quick crushes. Everyone has to get groceries, even hunks. One of my crushes actually works at the grocery. Josh and I caught him fist-pumping the air once. He's probably straight. He was out front today smoking a cigarette with a girl. The girl said, "Are you sure I'm not going to get you in trouble?" and the guy looked around like yes, she might get him in trouble. "No," he said. "I'm good."
Josh is going to be in another play. Get your tickets HERE. He plays about ten characters with different foreign accents. He's been sexing up for the role. He flexes his arms and muscles pop up now. It's not like begging a noodle to do something it can't do.
St. Patrick's Day sure was a day. A couple walked down our street eating pizza right out of the box. The girl of the couple came into our yard and tried to feed her slice of pizza to a tree. The tree was not receptive. The girl steadied her drunk self and tried again. No dice.
On the same day, Josh and I were walking home from the library and a drunk girl leaned out of her parked car and yelled, "Are you all gay? My boy here's gay. Yeah, he loves penis." There was a guy sitting next to the girl. He was drunk, too. Josh and I kept walking. The girl was yelling, "Hey! Hey!" but we were gone. If the guy wanted our penises so much, he could've said so himself.
My Kentucky friend keeps calling to talk about her snake problem. She has snakes mating in her trees. I'm fascinated by snakes. My friend insists on calling it a snake problem, but I like to think of it as a snake opportunity. My friend was picking up sticks and talking on the phone with her mother when she almost picked up a snake. I think that's just wonderful. I wish my yard was tripping with snakes. It is, instead, tripping with dog shit.
The only animals I've seen around lately are cats. There's a new stray and she has these short little legs but a regular body. She crosses the street at intersections like a person. In the dark, she looks like an opossum.
Speaking of, I have a story at Monkeybicycle. A man in England hates my story, but he hates everything. It's adorable. I wish I could watch him eat so I could see on his face how much he hates the food. My story has an opossum and a car accident and two men getting in the shower. But read it anyway.
Friday, March 9, 2012
A Wounded Party
AWP made me want a cigarette. Well, not a cigarette, but to have cigarette smoke blown in my face by a hot guy. It was the worst on the last night when this very attractive animal of a man was rolling his own cigarettes while we all drank in the hotel bar. He couldn't smoke in the bar, so he asked if anyone wanted to go outside and smoke with him. I tried to come up with a way to decline a cigarette and yet ask if I could stand next to him while he smoked. There was no way. I stayed inside and thought maybe when he came back he would lean over to talk to us and a little bit of stale smoke breath would creep out of his mouth and into my nose. It didn't happen.
I met my soul mates, though. I would give you their names, but what if you think you're one of them and it turns out you're not? You are, though. You probably are. One of my soul mates tweeted about how that week in Chicago changed his life and how he was crying because he missed everyone. Then he deleted the tweet. I saw it and put my hand to my heart and thought, "I know what you mean." The connecting of faces to names was religious. I met Roxane Gay and it was like going behind the curtain in a temple.
Josh was with me. Josh isn't a writer, but Josh is a reader. Josh bought a ton of books. Josh danced. Josh made all the ladies go yeah. Josh was honest with me about my reading. "It was a little fast," he said. Josh was right. Don't tell him, but Josh is always right when it comes to things like that. Josh and I had a lot of whiskey gingers that were mostly ginger.
I met my best internet friend. I knew her by her hair. I miss her. She kissed my tattoos and then she made other people kiss my tattoos. Once upon a time, I internet joked about this one guy kissing my tattoos. When this guy was around, Josh would poke me and say, "There he is," and I would just look the other way like it didn't even matter. My one regret, I guess.
Chicago doesn't have better food than Kansas City. Josh and I ate a lot of OK food. We took the train and the bus and we went all over trying to eat the best of the best as determined by food critics. The stand out was this torta place, XOCO. The flavors, y'all. In every other way, Kansas City has Chicago beat.
People kept telling me I didn't look like my online pictures. I was taller or nicer or hotter, depending. Thank you, everyone. You were hotter, too. You all had very nice hands.
I met my soul mates, though. I would give you their names, but what if you think you're one of them and it turns out you're not? You are, though. You probably are. One of my soul mates tweeted about how that week in Chicago changed his life and how he was crying because he missed everyone. Then he deleted the tweet. I saw it and put my hand to my heart and thought, "I know what you mean." The connecting of faces to names was religious. I met Roxane Gay and it was like going behind the curtain in a temple.
Josh was with me. Josh isn't a writer, but Josh is a reader. Josh bought a ton of books. Josh danced. Josh made all the ladies go yeah. Josh was honest with me about my reading. "It was a little fast," he said. Josh was right. Don't tell him, but Josh is always right when it comes to things like that. Josh and I had a lot of whiskey gingers that were mostly ginger.
I met my best internet friend. I knew her by her hair. I miss her. She kissed my tattoos and then she made other people kiss my tattoos. Once upon a time, I internet joked about this one guy kissing my tattoos. When this guy was around, Josh would poke me and say, "There he is," and I would just look the other way like it didn't even matter. My one regret, I guess.
Chicago doesn't have better food than Kansas City. Josh and I ate a lot of OK food. We took the train and the bus and we went all over trying to eat the best of the best as determined by food critics. The stand out was this torta place, XOCO. The flavors, y'all. In every other way, Kansas City has Chicago beat.
People kept telling me I didn't look like my online pictures. I was taller or nicer or hotter, depending. Thank you, everyone. You were hotter, too. You all had very nice hands.
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