Major life decisions are being made at a rate and momentum incapable of being registered on any currently available scale.
30 December 2007
Kerry and I have been almost completely incapable of accomplishing anything. Almost two months 500 miles apart have us sitting across the table--me trying to write, her trying to do her NY Times marathon--and just staring at each other, grinning. I occasionally have to go the bathroom for victorious powerslides and karate kicks.
She is beautiful. She is incredibly smart. She does certain things that just absolutely kill my ability to think and reason. She is my girlfriend, and I'm keeping it that way.
24 December 2007
Just trying to live in love as best I can. The kid in the middle did a better job of it than most of his American admirerers ever managed to.
Joel Osteen, I'm looking at you. I don't trust church because of you.
Rich people are to heaven as camels are to the eyes of needles. Go ahead with the Health/Wealth/Prosperity heresy, for all I care. Jesus wants room in heaven for a dance party anyway.
Thanks for the reminder, and the links, Headphonaught. I wish I could finish the article. It makes me too angry to finish.
22 December 2007
18 December 2007
16 December 2007
At the beginning, it was clever and funny--and the way the author tied himself into the plot was brilliant. But once it became clear that the author-as-character wasn't completely impotent/incompetent, the charming hilarity juxtaposed with the long-winded and muscular yet carefully chosen and delicate prose of all Russian classics faded away. It's all a ploy. The middle of the book (where I am) is terrible.
Shteyengart is too entirely pleased with himself and the hilarity of his creation and his narrator. Gag.
I liked Misha for a good hundred pages. It was a bit cloying, sure, to have a 300-pound Russian Jewish immigrant to the United States living large and enjoying a life of American hiphop and his hispanic Bronx girlfriend. He's a rich gourmand. Like all good Russian protagonists. It was great! Life was good when the book felt like a tribute to Tolstoy, Turgenev, and Gogol; when the book was successfully lampooning both American hubris and Russian mobsters. Seriously, the protagonist was named Misha Vainberg. Gogol's characters all had allegorical names like that. It was great. He's a self-centered wealthy gourmand. Like all good Russian protagonists.
Yes. I've read Crime and Punishment. And I have yet to finish it, either. I know Raskolnikov was neither rich nor a gourmand. But three hundred pages into that book, I still believe the poor, scrawny, nervous Raskolnikov. One hundred forty-one pages in, and I've given up on Misha.
All of which is to say I've abandoned better books than Absurdistan. Life is too short for me read something I don't enjoy. Unless I'm being graded on reading it.
13 December 2007
The Zombies' "This Will Be Our Year" is way up on my list. I would argue, in certain rare moods, that it's an even better love song than "God Only Knows." But rare moods indeed.
Also, apparently, these movies were shot by the filmmaker's parents. Which is extra sweet.
via Look at This...
12 December 2007
Which just makes me want you more.
I want to turn the things I'm learning into a crayon drawing and hang them on my refrigerator for you to see and admire.
I'm back in the fifth grade when I think about you.
09 December 2007
06 December 2007
I think the "slowcore" label Low gets saddled with is unfair and inaccurate, but listening to their langid-but-still-somehow-incredibly-tense version of "Little Drummer Boy," I want to hit 'repeat one' and curl up under a blanket under my parents' aluminum Christmas tree and sleep until New Year's.
Seriously. Weird. (via Boing Boing, at that. Purveyors of weird.) I mean, I understand the desire to take care of a pretty wounded girl (wounded pretty girl)--but post-dance party Kerry feet never really did much for me. Apparently, the, ahem, "Lawrence Nightingale" effect does work for some people.
It's cold here. Really cold. (Not the coldest I've ever seen, not by a long shot, but the snow makes it wet, too. Which is not pleasant. I track snow into my apartment. and I can't just kick my shoes off at the door either; I'm wearing my four-year old Doc Martens for marginally better snow navigation (though the lack of traction allows some INCREDIBLE ice slides), and them shoes' a pain to get off.
So yeah. I'd rather be in Tokyo. Anywhere warmer or more interesting. I'd prefer Memphis. Or even the legitmate cold of more northerly climes. But I'd take Tokyo. I'm listening to podcasts. On the Media, currently, but I'd rather listen to Thin Lizzy:
Edit: There's something wrong with me--I'm a cuckoo.
05 December 2007
03 December 2007
01 December 2007
29 November 2007
28 November 2007
So I'd like you to have it.
Thus began my big serious high school dating relationship.
I'm gonna have some poems for sale next week. If you're in Muncie, you should drop by and try to get one of the 16 broadsides I'll have for sale as part of the Manifesto Mart, which consists of the sale of handmade projects from Dr. Rai Peterson's ENG 347/Manifesto Poets class.
Mine are not about girls, explicitly. They're collectively referred to as the Type series, and deal with the intersection, interplay, and interference between notions of text-as-visual and text-as-content.
Sound pretentious? When I put it like that, it is. But it's also about best friends, zombies, anthropodermic bibliopegy, sexualized architecture, the way birds don't get out of the way of your car until the last possible second, reanimated Roman emperors, booze, Chicago, Noblesville, fireflies from Thailand, and--yeah, okay, you're right--girls.
Looking at it now, that's a lot of things for four poems to be about. I mean, seriously. I read a lot of current surrealism, and maybe that's why. Dean Young, Tony Hoagland, Gabriel Gudding, and David Berman have all changed/are in the process of changing my life. So expect that kind of thing.
The series, as it stands right now, includes the poems "Ligature," "Futura Medium," "Times New Roman," and "A Colphon."
It's possible that something else will be swapped with "Times New Roman," because I really hate that typeface. (I hate Georgia, what this blog is set in, but it is, sadly, about the best option Blogger provides.)
Four beautiful, screenprinted broadsides of each poem will be available. Though they are a series, they'll be sold individually, at $5 a piece. Collect all four.
27 November 2007
EDIT: Facebook uses Lucida Grande, I've just realized. I should have recognized it. I use a Mac. It's fucking everywhere.