white girl problems
Tuesday 19 June 2007 | someone left a cookie
1. I seem completely unable to troubleshoot my DSL connection, or perhaps I should say “DSL connection.” It grudgingly hooks me up for about twenty minutes around midnight every night, during which time I am allowed to upload a blogpost IF I already have it ready to go as a text file, and am prepared to be kicked off half-a-dozen times in the process. But tonight even this wouldn’t suffice, and thus I post at three a.m., because the cat woke me up for mysterious reasons of her own.
2. Things are decidedly Fraught; all I seem to want to do is sleep and eat chocolate ice cream out of the pint container standing up. I can’t really blame PMS or meds either; even my horoscopes are all upbeat and disingenuous and “you will have tons of energy!” Which I decidedly do Not. And where, I ask you, is the fun in reading Faulkner and Melville and Tolstoy, in a great fug of procrastination, when you feel ill with guilt about it?
3. Frankly, The Road irritates me, even just as a concept, because it’s supposedly “deceptively simple” language fit for Oprah, so now all these people can say smugly, Hey, I’m reading Cormac McCarthy! and I just want to haul them up by the lapels and bark, Oh yeah? Well where were you fifteen years ago when I was plowing through Child of God and bloody Suttree, huh? HUH?! Vanity, all is vanity. And no I have not read it. (Check out the unprecedented and hilarious Oprah-SFI connection!)
4. Duology II, Duology II, oh God, Duology II. What will come out of my mouth, I know not. It’s made doubly challenging by the fact that the person with whom I’d normally discuss such an assignment would be the Brujo; but as he says, the one rule of Duet Club is, you do not talk about Duet Club. So I’m left to figure it out on my own—I suppose I’ll just photocopy from a bunch of books I like, and print out poems of my own, listen to what he’s playing and try to weave in phrases and sentences and words that don’t sound too out of place. Thank God Chris Jonas and Ruth Zaporah won’t be in this one; there’s mostly only Molly Sturges to make me look amateurish. I am, needless to say, nervous as hell, and also wickedly anticipatory.
5. Because I drive a Daewoo, getting the front brakes fixed costs $50 more. I’m reminded of standing in the auto section of Wal-Mart once, leafing through their big tattered Biblical directory for the part number of an air filter for my Honda; but being unable to find it, I asked the sixty-something clerk, who sneered, “Well, that’s what you get for drivin’ one a them fancy foreign cars.”
someone left a cookie
post your glowing encomium (or bitter philippic) »
Follow this heated, lively discussion through its very own feed; also, you can pingback or trackback from your own doubtlessly much more interesting site.
Rats. There’s a comment under the post about charming notes that’s supposed to go under this post. Has there ever been a more misfortunate man?
Anse