Sarah Larson remembers Casey Kasem: http://nyr.kr/1q2qldc
“Unconcerned by cool, and possibly unaware of what cool was, he was a clean-cut, sweater-wearing authority, somewhere between disc jockey and anchorman.”
Photograph: The LIFE Picture Collection/Getty.
Tuesday, February 28, 1950. My new plans for March: soon as I get my money, I’ll join the morning club at the Y and work out almost every weekday. Also, black coffee (no cream and sugar); chinning from the door (which has no real grip, so I can only do ten or eleven or twelve); and less sleep. I’ve been getting fat and lazy. Time for action, time for a new life, my real life. I’ll be twenty-eight in two weeks. Two meals a day instead of three. Much travelling. No stagnation. No more sorrows! No more metaphysical awe! Action … speed … grace … Go! Writing from true thoughts instead of stale rehashes. I’m going to express more and record less in “On the Road.”
From Kerouac’s old journals, via the New Yorker.
— E.B. White
Announcing the first call for submissions from The Coincidence Blog! Do you have an interesting story of coincidence to share? We want to hear it! There is no theme; funny, creepy, heart-warming, sad. We are open to all, as long as there is an element of chance involved. The weirder the better. Photos, videos, and other media are also welcome.Submit through the blog’s Submit page, at thecoincidenceblog.tumblr.com/submit, or send an email to email@example.com.
The first time I ate coconut was in New Hampshire. Stores had packets and packets of it, shredded for baking pies. Every day the temperature barely stretched above ten. “Eat this; think of palm trees,” you said and passed me the bag of sweet white flakes. Frost-bitten, cavity-ridden, I never went back again.