tuckova

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Interests: Alfons Mucha, Archibald Leach, big words, Bob Hicok, Brian Eno, Cat Power, Charles Bukowski, Charlotte Masaryk, cheese, clarity, dark chocolate, David Byrne, David Foster Wallace, Dorothy Parker, Douglas Adams, Edna St. Vincent Millay, E.E. Cummings, Frank O’Hara, Fred Rogers, garlic, Gaudi, Gertrude Stein, ginger, Gustav Klimt, Iva Pekarkova, Jane Austen, Jaromir Nohavica, Jeanette Winterson, Josef Skvorecky, Joseph Campbell, Joss Whedon, Just a Minute, Kate Bush, Kurt Vonnegut, laughing until it hurts, Laurie Anderson, Leonard Cohen, little kids singing, Lloyd Alexander, mandarin oranges, making lists, Margaret Atwood, Miss Manners, New Yorker, Paul Simon, performance, P.G. Wodehouse, poetry, Rebecca Solnit, Rob Brezsny, Robert Anton Wilson, Robert Creeley, salt, Salvador Dali, secrets, silence, Star Trek, Stephen Dunn, Talking Heads, Terry Gilliam, things that stain, This American Life, Tom Waits, T.S. Eliot, vegetable juice, veiled cultural references, vinegar, water, wine, W.H. Auden

my little town

Brno is a VILLAGE. Sometimes I forget, because there are a hundred cafes and pubs and restaurants. An opera and several theaters. Nightclubs and bars with live music every night of the week. Four new places opened up this week, including the best one. To me these are all things you go to The City for. So I get to thinking that Brno is a city (albeit population under half a million) and then boom I slam up against the town green of it, the two degrees of separation. 

Anyway, that was what I was thinking last night when I went to see a concert and ran into about 10 people I knew in 10 minutes, tapping out our crude rhythms of bear dance tunes. If you want to go to a place where everybody knows your name, it is sufficient to walk out onto the street, or send a message via the woman who does your pedicure, or turn e-mail into coffee, tap tap tap. 

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