In this context if I referred to "Varley," everyone would think I was talking about some writer guy. But there was a period when I lived at Sasona Co-op when Varley referred only to one Mike Varley, a Long Island fugitive who camped out in the crappiest room in the co-op for six months.
I haven’t met many people more likable than Varley. Not only do people effectively relate to him as their little brother, they actually articulate it in those terms. His consistently upbeat and cheerful disposition never feels smarmy, because underneath it all is the wounded melancholy of a compulsive artist.
During his stint at the co-op, when he wasn’t skyping his long-distance girlfriend, he made an impromptu installation with the box of non-sugar sweetener packets that had sat untouched in the pantry for as long as anyone could remember.
And I was fortunate enough to hear him read an epic story in the courtyard, a tale of garage sales, romance, and TV-advertised exercise equipment. Varley has an impressive sense of humanity in his writing. I only wish that he would stop being so highfalutin and write something genre so I can publish it.
These days, Varley has moved away from short fiction, stating a disillusionment with the form (which I can understand and expound on later). He’s been doing a series of audio commentaries about the campaign season. When last I saw him I urged him to put in on an RSS, but until then you can scroll through the list manually. My favorite from this series is a narrative about Obama’s trip to Africa to visit his estranged father called "On Turban Etiquette(mp3)." It postulates a secret character behind the Obama public persona that is simultaneously judgmental and considerate, more or less what I had always imagined lived behind the hopeful mask.
For no particular reason, here is a cat named "Booger":
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