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Screw the question. The answer is love. Yesterday, two airplanes and a day of work ago, I discovered Santa Barbara. The family is staying there for July, in a perfect house nestled into the hillside overlooking the Mission, the town, the Channel Islands, and what Robinson Jeffers calls "this bulging eyeball of water." (In one of the greatest Pacifist poems.) A lovely town, especially on the 4th of July. Last night we walked from the outdoor concert at Town Hall over to a little plaza, very southern European, where Jeffrey played with the turtles in the fountain and we had dinner at the Mexican restaurant there. Then we wandered down to West Beach, where we sat on the sand and watched the fireworks overhead. For once in his life Jeffrey was both awake and speechless. He stared up at the sky and smiled through the whole show. It was perfect. Now I'm in Seattle, at a kinda smelly Ramada Inn, digging several things at once. One is Chris Locke's latest RageBoy, which is perhaps his most powerful yet. I want to excerpt the knockout one-liners, but context matters, and this has several big ones, all at once. So just go read it. Another is the warm afterglow of Tom Matrullo's 24 Notes on Napster. "If there were an aesthetics of software," Tom adds, "Napster would, I think, be judged beautiful." Especially wearing that garland.
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