Click fiend that I am, I’ve decided to once again do a round-up, a sort of greatest hits [insert ironic cough] of the pieces I posted this year, significantly fewer than in years of yore (67 to be exact, as opposed to 141 in 2016 and 142 last year).
So hold onto your hats or toupees or do rags; here we go.
For whatever reason, in January I wrote mostly about music, an appreciation of a Miles Davis/John Coltrane video of “So What?” and a profile of two contemporary artists I admire, John Hiatt and Lucinda Williams. My favorite, however, is this meditation on the distinction between verse and poetry.
I only published three posts in our shortest month, the best two, I think, a short memoir celebrating lethargy and a paean to Ireland that I composed after listening to the last of my 42 cds of Joyce’s masterwork Ulysses.
March was a bit more productive. I fantasized about the reign of terror I’d wage against those who violated my very few grammatical pet peeves if, as I have always dreamed, I could manage to overthrow the government and declare myself a sun god.
I also produced a satirical series of haikus, a form of poetry I detest, which you can experience through the magic of my recorded voice, that gorgeous Lowcountry baritone that so many have come to know and love.
A filmmaker named Andrew Austin crashed at my house, and I reviewed his documentary The Power of Glove. I also posted yet another lament on the process of aging, but my favorite is entitled “Good Advice, Take It or Leave It.“
In May, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, I reblogged my son Ned’s moving post from his site The King of Nowhere. In addition, I sort of like this one on the importance of providing students with the traditional Western canon (not a very popular viewpoint nowadays).
June found me, my fiancée, Caroline, and her daughter in Andalucia to visit my great friend Charlie Geer.
Check this travelogue out, which features some flamenco.
In my opinion, the very best post from July is “The Widow of Ephesus Conquers Her Eating Disorder” ; however, if you hate Trump, you might like “How Could Such a Clownish Spray-Painted Raccoon-Eyed, Combed-over Lard-Ladled Cement Tongued Buffoon End Up Being a Cult Figure?
Oh yeah, and “Prufrock Turns 103” deals with men’s inability to have Platonic relationships with very attractive women.
Caroline and I married in August, hung out at the Grove Park Inn, sandwiched between crashing at Chico Feo on Folly Beach and at a Luke-Dogg’s pad outside of Asheville. Here’s the scoop.
In November, Caroline and I attended a festival in Beaufort honoring Pat Conroy, and I announced my retirement publicly in this post, as I whined about all those essays I’ve graded throughout my 33-year teaching career.
If you haven’t checked out “Idle Questions,” please do so and make sure to hit the link, scroll to the very end, and read the dictionary, which is actually a cross-referencing narrative.
Thank all of y’all who follow me.
The very best to each and every one of you, especially Rich O’Prey and Rodney Gantt.
Happy New Year!