I pulled out a can of Whoop-Ass on a friend today and got a very honest answer with no defensiveness. There's hope for the world, though I still think self-awareness is an incredibly rare quality.

Trust me, if I could tell everyone I WANT to tell to go to hell, I'd record it and play the tape over and over to save my voice.

I have recently decided I am going to be blunter than blunt and just tell it like it is. I mean really tell it like it is, no bullshit or dicking around trying to be nice. This will probably lose me friends, and if so, those friends are well worth losing.

The Loft

I can't wait to check out The Loft Literary Center while I'm in Minneapolis next month. I first heard of the Loft a decade ago while involved with Writerspace. Ah, Writerspace. It would've been a 24-hour writer's center in Oakland if only there was a lot of funding and we could've made getting the thing together our full-time job. Maybe in another life.

I really love the Loft's alternative to an MFA. For someone like me who's not interested in teaching and thus didn't need a terminal degree, this would've been a great choice.

Minneapolis has been on the brain a lot. I've never been there and I don't know much about it. Maybe that's why.

Addictive behavior

I'm lucky enough not to be an addictive personality. I've known quite a few.

I'm not a fan of addiction. Not only does it tend to fuck you up personally, but it also causes you to lie, either by omission or just directly.

That's all.

For some reason I was just remembering James Kim. I was in Costa Rica when it was going on, following the story from my wireless signal atop a hill. Every time the wind swept across the huge jungle foliage, I thought of him. I still cry when I think about him. I didn't know the guy at all, but I still cry and I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Adam, over email

"There's only so much you can do without a shotgun."

I'll leave you to figure out the context.

I taught English in the Czech Republic from February to June 2002. During that time, I saw more kids screwing around with cell phones than I care to count.

There was one particularly problematic seventh-grade class. Tomas was one of its ringleaders and his behavior ensured that I had it out for him. One day he was fucking around with his phone. I walked up and grabbed it. I told him I was keeping it overnight and he could have it back the next day.

You'd think the Third World War had dawned in Class 7B. The kids freaked out. I stayed firm.

Later he rounded up his buddies and his many, many cousins. They came kicking at the door of the office I shared with the rest of the English department. I couldn't believe the entitled rage. You'd think I hadn't lived in and around Berkeley for years, but I digress.

Eventually I was pressured into giving his phone back that day. He was a little scared of me for the rest of the year, though. I do take comfort in that.