hee. weird, half-truth portraits of the artist crammed into a puffy blurb.
i always got (the completely fallacious) ‘factory worker poet’ for the Falcon, and Dan gets ‘coffeehouse fuzzy guy,’ like he’s an indie Habermas sans hairlip who makes rad lasagna. that all these facets are for-real facets does nothing to make ’em less foreign when they’re perused in a middle-sized city digest.
i still need to read some Rick Bass. people’ve been touting that shit since the Sewanee Young Writers’ Conference, circa 1996. kevbo?