The Past Pushed Forward

I'm going to take a minute to talk about the fact that the other day, when I missed my train (literally) by a minute, I sat around with the latest copy of Interview in my lap and nearly burst with giddiness when I saw this. Max Steele, whose blog I've been reading since discovering it way back when, was an upstanding member of the best fiction writing workshop I've been a part of at Sarah Lawrence (and anywhere, really), hands down. He wrote good stories, and made solid comments, and really set the tone for what I considered "cool" to be (and maybe, to this day, still do). He never seemed pretentious, just always on the verge of doing his own thing, and if there's one thing I still remember clearly about my first year, it's being pulled up onstage to dance during his senior year performance art piece. He was always a lot of fun, and I'm sure still is, and even if you didn't know him, you still knew who he was cos he was "out there" and didn't give a fuck. Anyway, it makes a lot of sense that he'd wind up in Andy Warhol's cultural literary baby, and I'm happy for him. I hope he continues to do well and has a lot of fun in life.