All Over the Place

A book:

I’m currently reading The Florist’s Daughter by Patricia Hampfl.  Her paragraphs are better than poetry.  Here’s one:

The Midwest. The flyover, where even the towns have fled to the margins, groceries warehoused in Wal-Marts hugging the freeways, the red barns of family farms sagging, dismantled and sold as “distressed” wood for McMansion kitchens, the feedlots of agribusiness crouched low to the prairie ground.  Of all the American regions, the Midwest remains the most imaginary, ahistorical but fiercely emblematic.  It’s Nowheresville.  But it’s also the Heartland.  That weight again: the innocent middle.  Though it isn’t innocent.  It’s where the American imagination has decided to archive innocence.


Dwolla got three nominations! Read the entire post by the Des Moines Register.  The Technology Association of Iowa and LWBJ Financial announced finalists this morning for the Prometheus awards.  You know that I had to go look up who Prometheus was and here’s what wikipedia had to say:

He was a champion of mankind, known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to mortals.[2] Zeus then punished him for his crime by having him bound to a rock while a great eagle ate his liver every day only to have it grow back to be eaten again the next day. His myth has been treated by a number of ancient sources, in which Prometheus is credited with – or blamed for – playing a pivotal role in the early history of mankind.


Oh they are so awful.  Bad bad bad.  But like a car wreck, you can’t help but look.  And some of them are pretty funny.  I had to send a couple.

Now you’ve just killed about 3 minutes with me — and this is how some days go.  All over the place.