Some Words

I started reading “The Landfill,” Joyce Carol Oates short story in the latest New Yorker. I want to scream.

First off, did no one check what Michigan University is in Grand Rapids? Because , as the story revolves around a frat pledge at Michigan State University, you might have wanted to note that it is in East Lansing. Come on Joyce, you taugh at an institution in Michigan. I know the New Yorker is going to think of that as blue collar flyover country, but you, you’ve done midwest time. You’ve been in Wisconsin and Michigan, hell, you taught in Canada. They wouldn’t send him recruiting materials to go there for engineering. This is all they have there.

Also, if someone pukes, and gets stuck under a shower on their back for a good long time, and then rolled out soaking wet, what are the chances that there will be dried vomit on the front of their shirt?

That was one of the most frustrating short stories I’ve ever read.