sábado, julio 24, 2004
Hostage Situation
I am on Solon's couch. This post is against my will, only provoked by Solon's heroin induced craze from just watching trainspotting. He sneered, said "choose life" and then put a popsicle to my head. Please send help.
miércoles, julio 21, 2004
Post country weekend malaise
I went to New Hampshire over the weekend, where I finally learned how to spot polaris if I find myself someday lost in the woods. I also kicked ass at Scrabble. I also lost horribly at it, but I am much better at badminton than tennis I realized. I am reading a book by PJ O'Rourke, "Holidays in Hell," which has basically written up all the things I felt about Cuba, except in the context of 1980s Lebanon or Communist Poland. It is simultaneously witty and upsetting, like most things, but more on the subject on another day when I don't have to wake up in five hours. The end of Cryptonomicon was the biggest fucking disappointment on the planet. The last hundred pages were first miserable, and then absurd, but fortunately it is now done. Unfortunately, my mother happened to be reading the sequel in what is a planned trilogy, and now that I know it exists I am a quitter, 900 crappy pages notwithstanding, if I don't read Quicksilver when it comes out in paperback. Apparently it takes place in the 1600s, following the narrative of these families throughout the milennia like they were Black Adder or something. Bah.
martes, julio 13, 2004
It's Horrible, I Can't Put it Down
Now on page 623 of the nerd tome I described in an earlier posting, I am getting increasingly perplexed by the paradox of genuinely detesting some of the writing and certain plot lines while at the same time being unable to stop reading it. I realized today, reporting on a religious parade in Williamsburg, that it has even infiltrated my writing, resulting in inane commentary on the miter worn by the Bishop of Brooklyn in an otherwise sound piece of reporting.
The book has also gotten very funny at points, with the theme of paranoia extending to car alarms in the form of Range Rovers that talk, descriptions of Gen. Macarthur in a pink sateen bathrobe and aviator sunglasses and something called the Ejaculation Control Conspiracy (ECC). A poor man's Pynchon I guess, and therefore infinitely more accessible, but of lesser quality, like fake Louis Vuitton.
There is also an imaginary country called Qwghlm, which I thought at first was some special way of referring to Wales (the word "Japanese" is never used, only the much more globalized and somehow Internet-y "Nipponese"). Then I realized it was sort of a Nabokovian hoax, (I didn't get it immediately in Ada or Ardor either), and Qwghlm, much like the Sultanate of Kinuktuka, (site of the "data haven") doesn't exist. And then (after thinking I probably ate a lot of lead paint chips at some point) I start to get a little paranoid myself, that given the skewed account of history, the long and mystifying passages that graph things like one protagonist's mental productivity in relation to self-imposed versus aided ejaculation as a differential equation are all bullshit as well.
If an author is going to be a smarty-pants and put in math equations that show off how much more clever he is than the mathematically challenged, I expect the work to be flawless. My mathematically inclined sibling, who naturally was the nerd who I noticed reading this book in the first place, claims that Infinite Jest, for one, contained mathematical errors. I bought him DFW's book about infinity for Christmas, only to see him throw it against the wall in annoyance well before the New Year. It was disheartening, although it serves as a lesson for those of us who quietly defer to writers who tell us they can do math, taking their word for it. Not that it matters particularly in this case. Not that I would understand how it was wrong even if it were. But I appreciate a soundness of facts, if I think someone is smart I want to be able to trust them as such, otherwise their intelligence is nothing more than my ignorance. I'm sorry I keep writing about this book. Nothing much is going on around here.
The book has also gotten very funny at points, with the theme of paranoia extending to car alarms in the form of Range Rovers that talk, descriptions of Gen. Macarthur in a pink sateen bathrobe and aviator sunglasses and something called the Ejaculation Control Conspiracy (ECC). A poor man's Pynchon I guess, and therefore infinitely more accessible, but of lesser quality, like fake Louis Vuitton.
There is also an imaginary country called Qwghlm, which I thought at first was some special way of referring to Wales (the word "Japanese" is never used, only the much more globalized and somehow Internet-y "Nipponese"). Then I realized it was sort of a Nabokovian hoax, (I didn't get it immediately in Ada or Ardor either), and Qwghlm, much like the Sultanate of Kinuktuka, (site of the "data haven") doesn't exist. And then (after thinking I probably ate a lot of lead paint chips at some point) I start to get a little paranoid myself, that given the skewed account of history, the long and mystifying passages that graph things like one protagonist's mental productivity in relation to self-imposed versus aided ejaculation as a differential equation are all bullshit as well.
If an author is going to be a smarty-pants and put in math equations that show off how much more clever he is than the mathematically challenged, I expect the work to be flawless. My mathematically inclined sibling, who naturally was the nerd who I noticed reading this book in the first place, claims that Infinite Jest, for one, contained mathematical errors. I bought him DFW's book about infinity for Christmas, only to see him throw it against the wall in annoyance well before the New Year. It was disheartening, although it serves as a lesson for those of us who quietly defer to writers who tell us they can do math, taking their word for it. Not that it matters particularly in this case. Not that I would understand how it was wrong even if it were. But I appreciate a soundness of facts, if I think someone is smart I want to be able to trust them as such, otherwise their intelligence is nothing more than my ignorance. I'm sorry I keep writing about this book. Nothing much is going on around here.
domingo, julio 11, 2004
I am a grown-up
I quit my job at the restaurant last week, for no reason that made any logical or financial sense. I hated it though. I'm glad I'm not the only hostess who took the job because she had proven herself incapable at any position requiring enthusiasm, commitment, mental presence and punctuality. And as stupid as it seems I also related to the part about how much time it takes to get ready for work. I'm not a slob, but any outfit that cannot be worn with sneakers makes me very tired, and takes a great expenditure of time and energy to devise. I take it back though, because my boss did call me a slob once, hence the stress.
However, I have become an adult. Due to a death in someone's family (not mine), I had my pick of an apartmentful of furniture, and I am pleased to announce that after a year of ascetic squalor I now own a bed, a couch, bookshelves, chairs, a lamp, pots and pans, a full set of dishware and a vacuum cleaner. The bed is the important one though, it had been almost a year on the floor.
I thought I had to leave New York, but now I think I can stay. I just have trouble commiting to objects that might offer comfort, security and a home-like atmosphere although it is actually just about being really poor and having trouble determining what the essentials are. It seems sometimes like trying to make a homey-type place for yourself is impossible if you are doing it alone, it's something of an oxymoron. I was not willing to accept solitude as the outcome of entropy, that as every reinvention in a lifetime inevitably degrades to disorder it is to this point that one arrives. Some people are very okay with that, but it feels unnatural to me. I wouldn't resort to channels of Internet voyeurism if I was happy knowing that nobody gives a fuck.
Not that it isn't self-imposed most of the time but it wasn't a maneira de ser I wanted to establish, one might say, by buying heavy domestic objects like beds and sofas. Now it is established, through furniture I seem to have chosen something I really didn't want. But it just is. Going to college and becoming really insecure just happened. I thought that it was just the nature of a stifling environment, that leaving would bring me back to a place where I used to be, where friends as good as family came easy and often. Maybe if I went back to the Midwest. But as of Saturday, in making the decision to domesticate instead of remaining uncomfortably feral, the status quo was elected and confirmed. It is no longer a happenstance that I am entitled to complain about.
Whatever. Have you bought tickets to my play yet? www.smarttix.com, in The American Living Room Festival: The Nostalgic Recollections of Raymond Boggs. I went to a rehearsal today. The actors are good, as well as good-looking.
However, I have become an adult. Due to a death in someone's family (not mine), I had my pick of an apartmentful of furniture, and I am pleased to announce that after a year of ascetic squalor I now own a bed, a couch, bookshelves, chairs, a lamp, pots and pans, a full set of dishware and a vacuum cleaner. The bed is the important one though, it had been almost a year on the floor.
I thought I had to leave New York, but now I think I can stay. I just have trouble commiting to objects that might offer comfort, security and a home-like atmosphere although it is actually just about being really poor and having trouble determining what the essentials are. It seems sometimes like trying to make a homey-type place for yourself is impossible if you are doing it alone, it's something of an oxymoron. I was not willing to accept solitude as the outcome of entropy, that as every reinvention in a lifetime inevitably degrades to disorder it is to this point that one arrives. Some people are very okay with that, but it feels unnatural to me. I wouldn't resort to channels of Internet voyeurism if I was happy knowing that nobody gives a fuck.
Not that it isn't self-imposed most of the time but it wasn't a maneira de ser I wanted to establish, one might say, by buying heavy domestic objects like beds and sofas. Now it is established, through furniture I seem to have chosen something I really didn't want. But it just is. Going to college and becoming really insecure just happened. I thought that it was just the nature of a stifling environment, that leaving would bring me back to a place where I used to be, where friends as good as family came easy and often. Maybe if I went back to the Midwest. But as of Saturday, in making the decision to domesticate instead of remaining uncomfortably feral, the status quo was elected and confirmed. It is no longer a happenstance that I am entitled to complain about.
Whatever. Have you bought tickets to my play yet? www.smarttix.com, in The American Living Room Festival: The Nostalgic Recollections of Raymond Boggs. I went to a rehearsal today. The actors are good, as well as good-looking.
miércoles, julio 07, 2004
What persistence!
I was surprised when I walked by Nathan's in Coney Island and saw that the hot dog eating contest has been won by Japanese people for six out of the past seven years. But look at this man:
He is a champion! He has one four contests in a row! He is Japanese, and broke his own world record! 53.5 hot dogs in twelve minutes? Nobody has ever eaten that many hot dogs in so little time, ever. Takeru Kobayashi I think I'm in love with you.
I am reading the nerdiest book ever written. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson, contains the following nerd elements:
Fantasy gaming
Math geniuses
Code breaking
Lots of greek letters
Internet start-up companies
Introverted socially awkward men with beards
The inter-library loan office as a central locale for characters meeting each other
Classification as a "cyber-thriller"
"The Society for Creative Anachronism"
The appendix
The author photo on the back
Etc.
It has three intertwined narratives, two of which are rather compelling, set in WWII, and one which is horrible, set in the nineties, people trying to set up a "data haven". I don't know what that means. But it's okay, and in spite of being 900 pages long it moves quickly and actually is sort of dull, brainless reading, the sort you can do in a loud room as long as you're skipping the drawn out mathematical descriptions that happen every once in a while.
John Edwards as VP made me inexplicably happy this morning. I'm such a sucker for southern dumplings.
I saw Saved last night. I like Jena Malone and (obviously) McCauly, but the funny part of the movie was the first ten minutes and then it just got strange, there were blatant displays of horrible acting and it couldn't really make up it's mind. Was it a lark? Was it social criticism? What was going on? Spider Man 2 is fucking great though.
He is a champion! He has one four contests in a row! He is Japanese, and broke his own world record! 53.5 hot dogs in twelve minutes? Nobody has ever eaten that many hot dogs in so little time, ever. Takeru Kobayashi I think I'm in love with you.
I am reading the nerdiest book ever written. Cryptonomicon, by Neal Stephenson, contains the following nerd elements:
Fantasy gaming
Math geniuses
Code breaking
Lots of greek letters
Internet start-up companies
Introverted socially awkward men with beards
The inter-library loan office as a central locale for characters meeting each other
Classification as a "cyber-thriller"
"The Society for Creative Anachronism"
The appendix
The author photo on the back
Etc.
It has three intertwined narratives, two of which are rather compelling, set in WWII, and one which is horrible, set in the nineties, people trying to set up a "data haven". I don't know what that means. But it's okay, and in spite of being 900 pages long it moves quickly and actually is sort of dull, brainless reading, the sort you can do in a loud room as long as you're skipping the drawn out mathematical descriptions that happen every once in a while.
John Edwards as VP made me inexplicably happy this morning. I'm such a sucker for southern dumplings.
I saw Saved last night. I like Jena Malone and (obviously) McCauly, but the funny part of the movie was the first ten minutes and then it just got strange, there were blatant displays of horrible acting and it couldn't really make up it's mind. Was it a lark? Was it social criticism? What was going on? Spider Man 2 is fucking great though.
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