Before you do anything else, it's pretty important that you watch the following:
Spike Jonze, you do me right. And if any preview uses Arcade Fire, I will see that film by default. Even if it's, I dunno, another freakin' Disney Hannah Montanah abomination (they're that good).
Anyway, everyone will say how they just looooved this book as a kid. But my most recent memory of this story was getting really stoned and lying in bed while my sister read it to me -you know, teacher-style. When we came to the end of the book, I was silent for a while.
"But there's no moral."
"What do you mean, there's no moral?"
I mean, there's no fucking moral. The kid's bad. He's sent to his room and goes on this crazy adventure shit. And then he's back in his room with no dinner."
"Shit, Liz. Why does there have to be a fucking moral? It's just a story."
"You don't get it - certain books have morals. This is the kind of book that would have one. And it doesn't. I feel jipped. "
"You're a shithead."
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
where in the world is carmen sandiego?
There’s no excuse for a 3 (almost 4!) month gap.
And it’s not just my riveting blog that’s been suffering from neglect. I’ve read a grand total of two books since December. I can’t even remember what the first one was. Unforgivable.
Here’s the thing -
Getting the itch to write is like embarking on a novel dieting routine – at first, it’s all gung ho, fire up the engines and plow straight ahead. I’m going to chuck those dimples on my ass once and for all, gosh dammit. Then the cravings kick in full-force. And with them, the carbo-loading at Dunkin Donuts (or Tim Horton’s for all you Upstate New Yorkers – holla).
And you let yourself sleep an extra half hour instead of free-writing.
And you look at the world lazily instead of keeping a sharp look-out for new leads.
And all earlier ambition that had been so fervent you nearly gave yourself carpal tunnel, that ambition has sizzled out like a dud on the Fourth of July.
But still. Other than making tomato Quiche and alphabetizing my modest library, writing is the only thing I’m quasi-good at. So, there’s really no acceptable excuse for shelving it. But – just for kicks – I’m going to try to come up with some.
For one thing, life post-college has been so preposterously dull, I haven’t the heart to let you in on it. I live with my mom, I have a shitty job, I babysit my nephews most days when I’m off. True, any half-decent writer can put an interesting spin on life’s most trivial crap. In fact, I often enjoy doing so. Just not lately. Maybe it’s my own disappointment with the monotony of my pathetic life. Maybe my brain is still adjusting to life without professors, Elizabeth Browning explications, and long night sessions with articles on modern theatre.
More likely, I’m just lazy.
Secondly, my long-distance lover has finally bridged the great divide and found his way to my hometown (and with him enters a whole slew of complications regarding our future. More details in another note, maybe). When I am not working at my shitty job or babysitting my nephews, I am spending time with him. Twirling his luscious curly-cues, making him sandwiches, reading him David Sedaris excerpts. All much more important (and satisfying?) than gathering worthwhile submissions or proofreading. Blame him! I’m weak in the presence of that gorgeous head of hair!
Thirdly, when I have an hour or two to spare, I’ve been channeling all literary efforts into reading for Sub-Lit (A subversive online literary journal that gave me my debut in the publishing world – check it!) Not an overwhelming task, to be sure, but I like to take my time with peoples’ submissions. Since I’d expect as much, myself.
So - the pot may not be boiling over in a brilliant gush of wit, but at least it’s starting to bubble. That’s half the reason this blog exists in the first place – to keep me on top of my game. I don’t know what the other half of the reason is, but the point is (do I ever have a point?) the POINT IS: the writing bug is back, and however schizo my writing may appear to you –
at least it’s appearing.
And it’s not just my riveting blog that’s been suffering from neglect. I’ve read a grand total of two books since December. I can’t even remember what the first one was. Unforgivable.
Here’s the thing -
Getting the itch to write is like embarking on a novel dieting routine – at first, it’s all gung ho, fire up the engines and plow straight ahead. I’m going to chuck those dimples on my ass once and for all, gosh dammit. Then the cravings kick in full-force. And with them, the carbo-loading at Dunkin Donuts (or Tim Horton’s for all you Upstate New Yorkers – holla).
And you let yourself sleep an extra half hour instead of free-writing.
And you look at the world lazily instead of keeping a sharp look-out for new leads.
And all earlier ambition that had been so fervent you nearly gave yourself carpal tunnel, that ambition has sizzled out like a dud on the Fourth of July.
But still. Other than making tomato Quiche and alphabetizing my modest library, writing is the only thing I’m quasi-good at. So, there’s really no acceptable excuse for shelving it. But – just for kicks – I’m going to try to come up with some.
For one thing, life post-college has been so preposterously dull, I haven’t the heart to let you in on it. I live with my mom, I have a shitty job, I babysit my nephews most days when I’m off. True, any half-decent writer can put an interesting spin on life’s most trivial crap. In fact, I often enjoy doing so. Just not lately. Maybe it’s my own disappointment with the monotony of my pathetic life. Maybe my brain is still adjusting to life without professors, Elizabeth Browning explications, and long night sessions with articles on modern theatre.
More likely, I’m just lazy.
Secondly, my long-distance lover has finally bridged the great divide and found his way to my hometown (and with him enters a whole slew of complications regarding our future. More details in another note, maybe). When I am not working at my shitty job or babysitting my nephews, I am spending time with him. Twirling his luscious curly-cues, making him sandwiches, reading him David Sedaris excerpts. All much more important (and satisfying?) than gathering worthwhile submissions or proofreading. Blame him! I’m weak in the presence of that gorgeous head of hair!
Thirdly, when I have an hour or two to spare, I’ve been channeling all literary efforts into reading for Sub-Lit (A subversive online literary journal that gave me my debut in the publishing world – check it!) Not an overwhelming task, to be sure, but I like to take my time with peoples’ submissions. Since I’d expect as much, myself.
So - the pot may not be boiling over in a brilliant gush of wit, but at least it’s starting to bubble. That’s half the reason this blog exists in the first place – to keep me on top of my game. I don’t know what the other half of the reason is, but the point is (do I ever have a point?) the POINT IS: the writing bug is back, and however schizo my writing may appear to you –
at least it’s appearing.
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