In the latest New Yorker Out Loud podcast, Matt Dellinger talks to Atul Gawande about “The Itch,” an investigation into (eek) uncontrollable itching:
Dellinger: Did you itch a lot while writing the piece?
Gawande: Constantly. At various points I would imagine there was a bug on my flank or in my hair, and I’d just have to get up and walk away. At one point I literally did ask my wife to just look and make sure that I didn’t have a bug in my hair!

At City Room, Jennifer 8. Lee has a thoughtful riff on E. B. White’s searing, searching essay “This Is New York”—an excerpt from which is running on the subway as part of the “Train of Thought” series—and White’s description of the “roughly three New Yorks”:

There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter–the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night.

Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last–the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements.

As Lee writes, “The selection, which is supposed to represent a slice of history, seems particularly meaningful on the subway.”

On the new New Yorker blog The Book Bench, Caleb Crain does a close reading of a Random House/Zogby poll on American reading habits. (I was trying to think of another phrase for “reading habits” so as not to lean on the wording of the benchers, but I’ve got jet lag, and I’m afraid I’m flagging.) I thought this was really funny:

The Zogby poll reflects not only the way that Americans buy books, but what’s socially acceptable to say about buying books. For example, Zogby reports that only thirty-two percent of Americans borrow books, while seventy-one per cent lend them. That might be true; it’s possible to reconcile the disparity by supposing that a small cadre of predatory moochers are taking advantage of a vast cow-like herd of good-hearted people who can’t say no. But the disparity is awfully large. A likelier explanation is that people would rather say that they give books than that they take them.

On Slate, Jessica Winter meditates on Ralph Ellison, Truman Capote, and the difference between writer’s block and procrastination. Joan Acocella wrote about those awful blocks, too; not entirely tangentially, John Lahr wrote movingly about stage fright.
Donald Barthelme’s narrator in “The Dolt” saved me from the anxious swirl that might have prevented my writing this headline, or indeed this post at all. It’s true, even “bloggers” can have blocks! If they were only alphabet blocks, then we’d really be in business.

Martin Schneider writes:
“Word Feast” was that toothsome Talk of the Town by Lauren Collins in the May 12 issue about the versifying waitstaff of Union Square Cafe. (Seneca got beat up a bit.) It’s turning a certain Matt Gould into the kind of star that only New York can produce. Collins writes:

The biggest hit of last year’s series was a catchy rap poem written by a waiter named Matt Gould, which the bosses eventually got him to turn into a video holiday card. “Things never change or change later than sooner / Like the calamari, Billecart, filet mignon, and tuna!” Gould sings, while his co-workers shimmy on top of tables. (The Peppermill could be a new dance.)

Next, the good people of New York magazine’s blog Grub Street stated their intention to find a copy of the elusive Matt Gould holiday card. It took a mere quarter hour for a commenter to post a link to the video! (“Embedding disabled by request.”) Maybe they could combine their talents with a succulent Mark Strand special.

I was in the middle of reading the following sentence early this morning — “The wire services piped the story straight to Dubuque” — when I got my first New Yorker Twitter text about David Remnick’s online list of 100 Essential Jazz Albums. (He wrote about Phil Schaap in this week’s issue, and I’m going to reward myself with the piece if/when I get through today. I once saw Schaap swing dancing, years before I started doing it myself, and I was impressed.)
It’s all happening so fast! Also, I will not be generating Twitters myself. I am, we are, posting to this blog, which is our “feed,” if not our daily bread. So just keep coming back to the tasty trough, Templetons and friends. (By the way, this is a truly rocking version of “Rockin’ Robin” by McFly. I am awake. )