9 x 4 Things

4 movies you would watch over and over again:

- Office Space
- Swingers
- Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
- The Lost Highway


4 places you have lived:

- El Paso, TX
- Hanau, GE
- Eugene, OR
- Doha, KU

4 TV shows you love to watch:

- 30 Rock
- Venture Brothers
- The Daily Show
- My Name is Earl

4 places you have been on vacation:

- Las Vegas
- Manhattan
- Paris
- Prague

4 of your favorite foods:

- Sushi
- Pizza
- Fish & Chips
- Carmen's Tortilla Chips and Salsa de Casa Medium Salsa

4 websites you visit daily:

- Lifehacker
- Facebook
- BoingBoing
- Google

4 places you would rather be right now: (I'm pretty happy where I am now, but if)

- Marfa
- Crawfish Lake
- The Steens
- Underwater blowing bubbles

4 things you want to do before you die:

- Hike the entire Pacific Crest Trail
- See China, India, Japan, Australia and New Zealand
- Learn to Juggle
- Turn So New into a self-perpetuating force for good

4 books you wish you could read again for the first time:

- Gravity's Rainbow
- Harry Potter
- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
- White Noise

Amazon, My Private Library

From Bookslut.

I'm greedy. I want to walk into my local library and have every type of media available, from vinyl to MP3, Betamax to DVD, hardback to trade paper.

I want the media at my command to originate from when it first started getting made, and since I'm also lazy, I want the library to recommend the media best suited to my tastes (based also on my current mood would be outstanding, but that's asking a lot).

Once my library presents me with a list of potential, long-tailed media for my consumption, I also want to know whether other people liked it or not – because I put a lot of credence in what others think, and I don't want to get caught listening to unhip music, even if the library thinks I'll like it.

If the requirements I just laid down almost sound like a certain online retailer, it's because I'm trying to think of all the ways that Amazon is not like a library.

The biggest argument would be They charge for their stuff and that's true – but libraries aren't completely free either, especially when you figure the cost of traveling to them, paying late fees, donating to their underfunded existence, paying taxes, etc.

The cost of using Amazon, at least for used books and music, is actually pretty low when you consider the value of what you're getting.

Take recommendations. If you have used Amazon for several years, and then take the time to click through a couple pages of questions about stuff you bought and stuff you like, Amazon will start making fairly accurate recommendations on other stuff you might enjoy. This service is a little dodgy because Amazon is in the business of making money, and certain aspects of their service can't be trusted. For instance, they don't recommend used stuff, and their recommendations tend to be in line with items getting hyped everywhere else -- but when Amazon recommended Franz Ferdinand to me several months in a row, I finally listened to the band and had to admit I liked them. For somebody who doesn't read music magazines or watch MTV, but likes new music every now and then, that's a useful service.

It's pretty much exactly what a live librarian provides in your local library.

Where Amazon wins, and what keeps me coming back to their site as a resource, is in the very library-ness of their set-up – what I see as their real value.

The best thing Amazon ever did was to open the site to used book sales. Suddenly it was no longer their sole burden to enter all that back catalog floating out there in garage sales and used book stores. Other people started doing it for them.

Whereas a physical library is limited by the number of books it can hold, and ends up selling or throwing out hundreds of books a year, Amazon isn't limited by physical boundaries. So long as people keep entering obscure items in the database, Amazon's usefulness will grow.

And for every odd book, CD or DVD entered, there is somebody with an opinion about it to add some quantifying meta-information. What started as a way to increase books sales has become, I think, Amazon's most useful feature besides its sheer inventory.

In a physical library, you depend on the librarian to make a recommendation about the information you're looking for – it's their job and people trust them. Amazon's offered information is a little more caveat emptor – but when you're comparing several out-of-print books on a subject you know nothing about, a couple quality customer reviews can make all the difference in your purchase decision. A vast inventory is that much more valuable when information makes it relevant, which is what customer reviews provide.

When copyright enthusiasts talk about the Long Tail, this is where the value lies. When a database like Amazon's prescribes equal value to book printed yesterday and one printed in 1985, the author who normally would have seen their creation slide into obscurity can instead see a resurgence in popularity. This is something a physical public library can't provide, even through extended networks (academic libraries are another story) and a great argument for calling Amazon what it is: a private library.

And people are giving Amazon this priceless information for free! Like the thousands of amateurs chipping away at the information in Wikipedia, trying to make it the best encyclopedia history has seen, thousands of consumers voice their opinions and give advice on various subjects through Amazon's customer reviews. When they aren't writing opinions, they're assembling lists of connected items, filing other items away as things they want, and writing free manuals where none are available.

When ePinions first started trying to pay people for their opinions, maybe nobody understood just how much people like to talk about, categorize and show off their stuff. Of course ePinions failed pretty quickly as a way for reviewers to make money – all Amazon has to do is pay in little titles like Top 500 Reviewer and people provide them with insightful, well-written commentary.

In the meantime, Amazon hasn't been sitting on this information. They are continuously thinking of new ways to sort it out and leverage it to their best advantage. They appear to understand that the information they make available about a product is almost more important than the product itself, since a bad review, or three stars or less on an item can mean sales-death. Sometimes no reviews at all is better than one bad review when it comes to a split-second buying decision.

Amazon's power as an information source will only continue to grow. As a for-profit system, we can be fairly certain it will continue to find ways to make its vast database more useful and relevant. However, that same priceless information lives at the whim of Amazon's weird business practices. According my financial analyst friend, Amazon doesn't make a profit, pays no dividends on shares, and yet somehow continues to conduct business. Maybe somebody can explain it to me.

When I think of losing information resources like Google and Amazon, I realize I would be willing to pay a monthly fee – the anathema of online content. The thing is, if Amazon dies, what happens to all that information? The largest interconnected media database history has ever seen could just disappear. . .

Would someone else buy it, charge for its use? Or could Amazon represent the next generation of private libraries – in-home terminals providing all media ever created, either as a digital product or as a used purchase? Maybe Google Print will beat them to it.

(Oh snap, this essay predates the Kindle. . .)

Neko Case at the McDonald Theater

From the Register Guard

It was date night at the McDonald on Sunday for Neko Case. It’s too bad Eugene played it so safe. This could have been a dangerous show. But that would have meant people letting go. Instead they stood there swaying.

Jason Lytle’s four-piece band opened with a subtle form of electric folk, supported by Lytle on piano. Lytle, on solo from Grandaddy, looked like a young Hunter Thompson, with a mesh baseball cap and over-sized aviator sunglasses, but sang with sweetness and grace. The music was sometimes dirge-like: soft, melodic piano bedding treble guitar.

Joking about success, Lytle said, “Good thing I made $75,000 on that Honda commercial.” The audience laughed uncomfortably.

The McDonald filled slowly, befitting the mellow start to the Sunday concert. Everyone hung out in the bar initially, and lines stretched out the door.

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For such a popular artist, I don’t think the venue ever filled completely, which was disappointing.

Lytle’s band demurred from the stage at the end of its set and Neko Case’s backdrop, which consisted of a screen flanked by Nightmare Before Christmas-like trees and a pencil-drawn owl with glowing eyes perched atop the screen, took shape. Throughout the show, the owl’s baleful eyes watched the crowd, personifying a line that resonates on Case’s new album “Middle Cyclone”—“Never turn your back on Mother Earth,” a Sparks cover.

The band consisted of a stand-up bass, guitar, Jon Rauhouse on guitar and lap steel, Neko and accompanying singer Kelly Hogan from Atlanta.

I admit to being enthralled by the sound of Neko’s voice. I’ve always liked her music, but it didn’t communicate as powerfully from the recording for me as it did live. Her voice unwound like smoke. It spread over the hall to the upraised faces. There was a band alongside her, but I wanted the show to be nothing more than her voice.

Her voice is synesthesia. It’s difficult to articulate the deep color tones in her voice. The built-in depth. Her voice reminds me of the book “House of Leaves” by Mark Danielewski, where one mismatched wall opens a labyrinth. There’s a dissonance that often sounds like yearning, a threnody.

Maybe the rest of the audience was as enraptured because they stood like zombies already full on brains, mouths hanging open. Several times, Neko and Kelly tried to coax responses. When Neko sighed, “Oh Eugene!” there was a smattering of laughter. The couples hugged a little tighter, but everyone seemed to be there to absorb her voice and nothing else. The warmth of Hogan’s and Case’s voices together, buoyed by Rauhouse’s melancholy lap steel, was heartbreaking.

The backdrop screen flashed a travelogue of American roads and towns, blurred by old film, punctuated by short clips of art reminiscent of the Vivian Girls. The overall effect was haunting.

The only real dancing happened during “I Wish I Was the Moon,” when a prom-vibe overcame the theater, complete with glowing stars all over the ceiling. Before Neko’s set, a friend of mine was threatening to propose to his girlfriend during the show, and he better have done it during that song. I saw more heads on other people’s shoulders than I could count.

It should be obvious that I’m not an objective reviewer of Neko Case. Luckily, I had the assistance of Cara Merendino from KWVA. The last show Cara saw that truly blew her mind was Explosions in the Sky, which she describes as an overwhelming force.

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(Cara is on the right, with Angeline Vasile)

Cara was impressed.

“Her voice is solid,” she said. “No matter what.”

However, she felt the show started and stopped several times, like the energy kept falling off. Many of the songs seemed short and didn’t have time to really take wing. I blamed the audience, and we both acknowledged that it was very low energy.

Angeline Vasile, down from Portland, said the show wasn’t what she expected. She thought there would be more country, and that the set would be tighter. The show focused mainly on songs from “Middle Cyclone,” which debuted at no. 3 of the Billboard album chart in March, and selections from 2006’s “Fox Confessor Brings the Flood.”

“Her voice was beautiful, though,” Angeline added. “She could do anything.”

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(Everyone is happy)

What I learned at Pilcrow 2009

I found this year's festival, the second so far, motivational for several reasons. Last year felt like a "get to meet you and acknowledge we're all in the same boat" kind of process. While this year I still met several people I've corresponded with for years but hadn't met face-to-face, the event overall was less innocent for me.

I've been working with So New since 2001, and the goal has always been to publish the best books we could, but we never really defined anything beyond that. We also worked in a vacuum, focusing on the writers and their events, and not so much on synergy with other publishers, festivals or cities. We have always been willing to send out another publication's promo materials with orders, but hadn't done a lot of real trading for anything.

So this year I had in the back of my mind, "What's going to be different than last year? How will you have made this better? How will we not be talking about the same things next year?"

This was a hard year for me, publishing-wise. The near non-publication of What Happened to Us These Last Few Years made me realize that I just couldn't afford to do it anymore. It was a very frustrating realization, but led me to do something I hadn't done previously: ask for help.

I asked, finally, and things are happening at an amazing rate. Steve Himmer has turned Necessary Fiction into a place for amazing writing. Amy Guth brings energy and vision to the press as a whole. David Barringer just designed another gorgeous book in Savannah Schroll-Guz's American Soma. Things are happening again, and that feels great. Such a simple thing -- ask for help -- but hard to get through my thick skull.

So now we've fixed the car. Where do we want to go?

Two statements stick out to me from the festival panels:

Todd Zuniga said, "You have to do it different, or better. Nothing else." (He also said "Spigot of Dicks" but I'm not sure what to learn from that.)

David Barringer said: "The thing you have to ask yourself is, What is your lasting value? What among these things you're doing will have a lasting effect?"

Between these two statements, I see that I had become so worried about how to pay for projects that I stopped dreaming big. If I've learned anything from managing a small not-for-profit, it's that if you ask for something, you will often get it. But you have to ask. For some reason I have a hard time doing that.

I had the opportunity to host the State of Small Publishing panel, which consisted of all the people I respect and consider my peers. I tried to not sugarcoat the questions (which may have been selfish, I don't know how valuable the answers were to the audience) and asked pointblank: How are you paying for this? Where are you finding your great authors? How can you afford to distribute? Where are you printing?

And Matt Herlihy asked from the audience: Why are you really doing this?

To some extent, we're all writers who decided to start publishing. How many of us are still able to write while trying to run a small company with all its demands. . . and hold down a day job?

To summarize, none of us are able to do it full-time. Several have become non-profits, or banded together with other presses to form a sort of conglomerate that shares resources. Distribution is a constant frustration that doesn't see a lot of return. Events are what drive excitement, but trying to make sales during events is hard. We find authors everywhere, most often by recommendation from people we trust. Watching an author at a reading is vital to the selection process. An author must, must be excited and able to do their own promotion. They must have a burning desire to sell books (entrepreneurial, really). All of us are so exhausted by the process of selecting, editing, designing, printing and paying for the book, that the marketing and selling is often the last thought. The author must be thinking about it from day-one.

Most of the people in the group admitted they weren't business people. As someone who is starting another business, and going through vetting by banks and accountants, I know what a shortfall this is. I think we all acknowledge it. We seem to be willing to suspend disbelief and hope things will work out. I think we all need to ask for help in this arena. One press did have someone write them a business plan, but the plan required outlandish start-up capital and too much time to turn a profit. That's the wrong kind of help.

And, as we said in the Army: Hope is not a method.

As Gina Frangello said, "We are now the vanguard of literary fiction, especially short story collections, in the country."

We are the American voice, and big houses are increasingly using us as their extended vetting system for authors they can't afford to develop themselves. We're the indie rock labels passing bands off to the big labels. Our problem has always been the problem of start-ups and small businesses -- we don't have the capital or time to make really big things, so we constantly struggle with the challenges of small things. Then corporations reap the reward from our labor.

I keep coming back to what Todd and Dave said: Do it better or different. What is the lasting value?

Herlihy's question is great but mostly moot: We do it for the same reason we write -- because we can't imagine not doing it. We have to do it.

So how, then, can we do it better? We need to get smarter at the business aspect of it. We need to find smart ways to raise capital. I had a great conversation with Todd about the ways Opium is able to pay for printing, and it's obvious he's devoted a lot of thought to the problem. His fundraising begins with something at the very core of Opium: The Time to Read System. Every story in Opium comes with a Time to Read indicator beneath its title.

I used to not understand this, or think it was a joke he had played out a long time ago, but he explains it this way: "If I can get someone to commit to a thirty second story, then I can get a minute, then two, then ten, until finally they've read the whole magazine, and really know what a value it is."

He does the same thing with fundraising. Small contributions pay for Opium. He started to use real marketing-speak when he said "Payment Funnel" but stopped himself.

We all acknowledged that we aren't competing with each other. We're competing with the mainstream, with every other draw for time and pocket change out there. Dave Barringer kept musing: How do we get our books where people are going to buy them? Really. Independent bookstores are amazing, but people buy most of their things at Target and Wal-Mart. (That's everyone in the world's problem, really.) And we want to support indie bookstores, but are we all losing money, here? Are printers the only people getting ahead?

We didn't have an answer for that, but we need to consider the question. Our captive, excited, interested audiences are coming to events. How do we get them to leave with books?

And this is why we need business people involved. I'm a writer and a guy who loves to make books. I enjoy selling books because I believe in them, the stories they tell, the power they have to change someone's life. It's hard for me to talk about books like some kind of novelty keychain because it feels demeaning to everything we're doing. We have to, though. And if we don't want to do it ourselves because it's distasteful, we need to ask for help.

Our lasting value will be nothing if we don't pay the bills. Like any business owner, we have to make the right decisions so the business can grow. Because we love our products, we need to be even harder on ourselves to protect the books and their authors. One of the tragedies of last year was the loss of Impetus Press -- all it took was a reorganization at their distributor, which resulted in distribution charges they couldn't pay. Hope won't run a business.

So for me, the space between Pilcrow 2009 and 2010 will be the time I ask for help where I need it, I get smarter on the business, and I dream big.

In other related news, I'll be starting a reading series in Eugene. The other thing I saw was the amazing support network for writers in Chicago. Readings, writing spaces, events, etc. If you're a writer on the West coast, your book tour consists of Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, LA. And each of those cities is 8 hours apart. We need more events in the West. If I'm totally wrong about this, please let me know. However, I know that literary culture has to start with me. I know how to throw a kickass event -- I need to start doing them in my home town.

Everyone at the small press panel agreed that events are what drives excitement, is one of the really fulfilling things about what we do. So we need more of them.

So here's where I ask for your help. I need you to start a reading series in your home town. I'll help you get writers there. I'll give you the template for how to make it awesome (the Giving Good Read panel at Pilcrow was awesome this year, tons of great ideas) all you have to do is get a location and tell people about it. It's really not that hard. All you have to do is ask.

I'm asking.

James Stegall

Science Heroes and Veritas at the District

From the Register Guard

Eugene’s Science Heroes opened a less-than sold-out show at The District Monday. Despite the small turn-out, owner Libby Adams said she was still committed to all-ages shows and planned on doing more in the future. Not usually open on Mondays, Adams said she made an exception to accommodate Seattle-based Veritas, now touring to support their debut album, due sometime in Spring.
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Science Heroes (above) stole the show, but no one was there to witness the crime. (Editor’s note: I saw the Science Heroes at Black Forest and I wonder what happened to the home-made keytar. Nothing says “science” like duct tape; but James is right, this is a local band worth following.—Serena.)

Science Heroes (myspace.com/scienceheroes) make a strong brand of duo-driven electro pop, propelled by layers of keyboard and guitar. A vintage mic compressed Andy Weber’s vocals, while keyboardist Josiah Martens shifted beats from rock to disco.

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Weber

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Martens

Due to the low turn-out, Veritas’ performance felt more like a rehearsal. They pronounce their name “Veeritas,” and the band played with an earnest pomposity worthy of the pronunciation, still working themselves into a sweat with their operatic New Wave. The music swayed from elements of Queen to Queensryche to Prince and Madonna.

Veritas sprinted through a highly choreographed, but still fun, stage show. The band swayed from serious to near-lampoon of the electro-pop genre with sly smiles, timed jumps, and rock solos that ended with a raised hands and bowed heads. The band’s stage theatrics were a little off, but it’s early in their tour. Their confidence and energy
overcame the missed cues. It was fun to watch them watching each other, like dancers working out a routine.

The highlight of the show was a cover of Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” that began acoustic with lead singers Jamie Rose and Will Moore, joined in a crescendo by guitarist Andrea Jasek, bassist Thaiphoon and energetic drummer Chanel Summers.

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Rose (above)

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Moore (above)

If the band’s glossy MySpace page (myspace.com/veritasband) is any indication, they have the production, track line-up, choreography and desire to spark a single. It was fun to get to see a band so obviously aiming for pop stardom at (what could be) the beginning of the ride.

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This is Veritas. (That red place in front of the stage is where the fans would be if they were there. James counted 15 people in the venue, including the bands, their girlfriends and District staff.)

The band’s next stop was Klamath Falls.

Definitely check out Science Heroes if you get the chance.

Devil Makes Three at the WOW Hall in Eugene, OR

The Devil Makes Three show at the WOW Hall Tuesday night (5/26/09) was all about Eugene bodies: sweaty, tattooed, bare-skinned, dancing in a loose knot for both the Santa Cruz band and Portland opener Hillstomp.

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If you told Grandpa this was a bluegrass show, he probably wouldn’t believe it. Both bands proved how danceable American roots music truly is.

The show sold out in advance, but that didn’t stop a line from forming down the block of fans hoping to get tickets at the door. (The WOW Hall released 50 tickets the day of show.) Most in line were turned away, and scalpers started trying to move tickets for $50 each. During the wait, the sidewalk outside became a bit like the Whiteaker District, where the New Delta sound lives in Eugene.

The crowd was dressed for a summer day, and Hillstomp—a self-described bucket and slide brand rock ‘n’ roll band—got the crowd moving with a passionate mix of banjo and five-gallon bucket percussion. These two bands are an amalgam of old and new, and the crowd was the same: gingham, overalls, top hats and high-lace leather boots were everywhere.

Hillstomp’s “recycled sound,” as they call it, filled the WOW Hall. Guitarist and vocalist Henry Kammerer kept threatening to “play the banjo song,” and when he did there was moshing.

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Percussionist John Johnson drove the crowd with powerful rhythm on five-gallon buckets, snare and bass drum. In the midst of the field of sound he was making with his sticks, he leaned forward to accompany Kammerer’s compressed vocals.

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The only dancing I had ever seen at a bluegrass show was square, but the crowd was as wild as at a punk show.

When the Devil Makes Three took the stage with two guitars and an upright bass, it didn’t seem like they would keep things moving like Hillstomp. Where were the
drums? I was totally wrong.

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“The rhythm is what our band is about,” DM3 frontman Pete Bernard says in a band bio. “We write with rhythm and dancing in mind.”

“Do Wrong Right” (Milan Records)—the new album DM3 is touring to support—is a harmonic mix of bluegrass and folk, each track driven by the human rhythms of hands on strings and vocal passion. The purity of the music is absolutely compelling on stage. Even a track like “Statesborough Blues,” which begins with a plaintive vocal solo by Bernard, drove the crowd into a frenzy once bassist Lucia Turino and guitarist Cooper McBean joined in. McBean later showed off his banjo chops.

Downstairs, Eugene humorist Frog wasn’t volunteering at the WOW Hall. Instead he was walking around flanked by two beautiful women. I had time to take pictures but didn’t get to ask the back story.

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After DM3 finished its set, the crowed cheered the group back and the musicians played two encores. By the end of the night most everyone was dripping sweat. There had even some been crowd surfing.

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Crowd surfing at a bluegrass show. Tell Grandpa about that. Also tell him what the Devil taught you: if you’re going to do wrong, you better “do wrong right.”

Lands' End Porn

from Nerve

The Lands' End fall catalog is porn for the heartsick man. Who thought sixty pages of stylish-yet-practical clothing would employ models who are disturbing approximations of the lovely thirty-something woman who doesn't want to put up with your shit anymore?

But there she is: kicking leaves on a crisp day, sipping coffee in an immaculate breakfast nook, nestling a golden baby and smiling like the most perfect family photo on a young executive's desk.

These are images more invasive than any Victoria's Secret spread, because they don't inspire lust. This is a pornography of regret, and the longer you stare, the more seductive it becomes. These sixty pages are a self-pity trap; any sane lonely man would do well to avoid them.

But there it waits in the mailbox — two copies, in fact — waiting to snap its poisoned jaws. Why am I receiving this? you might ask. Then you remember that she bought products from this company, and on first glance it's easy to see why: this is Spiegel-light, clothing for the multi-tasking young mom when she's not wearing Petite Sophisticate at the office.

These women have long green fields waiting fuzzily in the background. They gaze into the distance; they smile ruminatively downward; they hold confident eye contact with the camera. These are women who aren't afraid to wear flannel pajamas. They are comfortable in their roles as accomplished, sexy everything-women.

You have to look closer to see what truly makes the models special, though, what elevates them above Victoria's Secret: they have wrinkles around their eyes. These women have laugh lines, taut necks, and that slight tummy that can be so, so sexy. These are not the airbrushed dolls of ignorant fantasy. These women are real.

And their eyes: Is it pain in their eyes? Are there any illusions left there — about life, about men?

Recognizing this, the astute porn addict pages through and counts men. Pages with males only number ten out of sixty. In three of those pictorials, the heads are cut off. In the fifty remaining pages of pictures, all the women are alone.

These women don't need you. These are careerists in full ownership of what they have cut loose.

For the lonely man, staring at these women is gazing into bitter, beautiful loss.

It's addictive.

For a second, studying the supposedly idealized images of men in the catalog — the ideal man for these uber-women? Your replacement? — the old anger flashes: These guys are dorks! They're wearing clothes chosen by their women - turtlenecks and non-Levi's jeans, monogrammed, $50 button-down shirts with matching ties. . . khakis.

These are men who deserve to have their faces cropped out, emasculated by the inability to even choose their own clothing. Men pictured holding babies as if it's some kind of rare event. What self-respecting, self-dressing man wears a black turtleneck — with corduroys, no less?

Just as the old self-affirming anger rises up, turn the page to find a gorgeous, short-haired mom in fleece jacket and matching hat and gloves, and all the actualization turns into bile.

Let her dress me. I should have agreed to everything.

Wanting these women. Not wanting these women. Wishing you hadn't said flannel pajamas made her look like her mother — this is mental quicksand. This catalog is the new Playboy, and nothing else will satisfy. The thought of even talking to someone who hasn't felt the pain, who doesn't have the crow's feet and those eyes — it's just not the same.

Everything you want, every mistake you can't change, stands two feet away behind a glass wall. Every man she might be fucking is the headless male model. Each page of Lands' End fantasy is a perfect scene in the wonder of her new life without you. But these aren't plastic dolls; the model's eyes won't allow you to reduce their reality. She is still the woman you loved. Maybe she even still loves you; she just can't live with you anymore. In the same way these pages hold you at a distance, wanting her turns the mistakes of your life into pornography.

So can you masturbate to this? What's your new porn good for but leading to alcoholism and sobbing? These are forms of release but they aren't going to do your prostate any good. Don't worry — Lands' End is looking out for you. Toward the back, just before the comfortable sandal section, waits the swimsuit spread.

Now, these are special swimsuits, for real women. They slim and wrap. They emphasize and detract. These are the suits that populate the memories of men who know. These are the patterns and shapes of all-inclusive vacations and honeymoons. These are the suits of vibrant, sandy memories, of salt on skin and the unexpected pleasure of peeling back spaghetti straps to rub lotion into her exposed back, her head turned to the side, drifting asleep beneath your warm hands.

I hate you, Lands' End.