The FIFA 2010 World Cup is well under way in South Africa, and we’ve been bitten by the soccer bug, folks. We’ve got our shorts and cleats on. We’re ready to hit the field, ready for the fast break, ready to score some goals. Here’s a list of the jerseys we’re sporting:
Brian – Zinedine Zidane (France), so watch out for those headbutts!
Me – Diego Forlán (Uruguay)
Andrew – Wayne Rooney (England), the Lion
Lori and Ethel – Ladies of the world unite! Cristiano Ronaldo (Portugal)
Kevin – Lionel Messi (Argentina), the Captain
While we traverse the field and take aim at a few volleys, take a gander at this week’s stories. You won’t be disappointed.
Olé, hermanos y hermanas. — Robert Paul Moreira
– My boyfriend Alex has been teaching me the art of making definitive evaluations of utility and assigning value to perceived level of excrement contained. I now know that Russians and Americans are equally capable of discerning and reporting what I will heretofore refer to as “Shit-worth.” Many adjectives fall under the Shit-worth umbrella and their gradient is defined not only by delivery, but also connotation and the object it modifies. — Tomiiko Marie Baker in 10,000 Tons of Black Ink
– Lydia Davis breaks up with her boyfriend Richard Yates as he is driving her to the airport. Richard Yates screams. Lydia Davis thinks her face is somehow stretching into a face longer than her face. Richard Yates pulls the car over. He is breathing heavily and crying hard. Lydia Davis worries about missing her flight to Holland. She looks at her shoes. She has a mental projection of her luggage in the trunk. She is afraid of having to maintain emotional control if Richard Yates begins to hyperventilate. “How can you do this to me,” Richard Yates says. He makes a loud noise. “I don’t know,” Lydia Davis says. “I’m just going to Holland,” she says. — Brandon Scott Gorrell in Bear Parade
– The children, they play. The rocks are knuckle bones. The jacks dried cartilage. The paint is red and the red is blood and the blood is what they took from one another when no one was looking, when sometimes some of them these children lay down for naps and others of these children only pretend and wait for giggled snoring and then steal a bit of paint from those forearms, where the elbow bends, and with rags of gasoline or fingers over mouths, no one has to even then wake up for the moments like this. — J.A. Tyler in Prick of the Spindle
– At nighttime, we felt the penguins come in. They padded down the hallway and filled all our dreams. Too many people lived in our tiny apartment: me, my husband, and our twin little boys. My husband was tall and narrow like always. He curled around the sleeping boys at night, who were plump as loaves of bread. The penguins were short and squat too. My husband had fantasies about lying on the floor with a bee-bee gun, waiting for them to slip in the cat door. — Jen Gann in Annalemma
Video: You Can’t Write It Like This
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
As much as I’d like to embrace my WASP heritage, I’m much more comfortable in an Oguchi Onyenwe US jersey – recovering from injuries, occasionally on the sideline. But I’m flattered at being considered The Lion.
Onyewu it is, baby.
Roar on, brother.
Yanks-Dodgers at Chavez Ravine this weekend. Should be a great series.
RPM
I’m an editor for 10,000 Tons of Black Ink.Thanks for recommending Tomiiko Marie Baker’s story.
Hi! Thanks for putting two of my stories up on these lists. They’re a really neat idea. Half the time, I don’t know where to start reading online.
I feel like a jerk mentioning this, but just so you know, I spell my first name with one “n.” I have a hard time pronouncing “n’s.” The less found in my name, the better.
Thanks again!
Thannks, Jen. Sorry for the misnnomer. Sometimes it’s hard to see so manny “N’s”
I agree! Why did my parennts give me so manny “N’s!” Thanks for fixing it, Kevinn.