You guys are very sweet. Harry's preparing for midterms and I miss him. I'm just being my melodramatic adolescent self.
Walked out of my poetry retest without turning it in, which put me in a bad mood for a while, which partially explains why I was so awkward after school when I got an ice-cream cone with Will D. and Lily. Went to UBC to get credit for my service hours. I had a whole bunch of work to do and intended to leave right away but they offered me a fresh extra-large pumpkin muffin and I quickly got sucked into the fifty-cent rack. From there it progressed to one-dollar, culture, music, contemporary plays, unusual, autobiography and poetry. I spent every last penny I had and stayed and read for a while. Now I'm going to be underslept again and overworked.
There was this beautiful baby with very strange parents and as it drank milk from its bottle from the left side of its mouth, half of the milk came out down the right side and onto its white sweater. The parents didn't notice. I laughed so hard that they stared at me. I bit down hard on my sore gums around my incoming wisdom teeth to shut myself up. "Your child is very beautiful," I said. It took the bottle out of its mouth and looked at me. Then it turned the bottle upside-down. Milk dribbled onto its shoes and I almost broke the chair.
Realized that I hand-wrote ten pages last night pretentiously entitled "New York" after Ginsberg's "America" and laughed in the dark on the way home. Gave the rest of the muffin to a homeless man.
If I didn't have to go to school, I would go to sleep just as the sun was rising and wake up when it went down. I love new york in all atmospheres, but there's something about night that enchants me.
Feeling SO literary right now. Maybe it's an escapism thing. I'm very much an escapist. It's the main reason I stay away from addictive substances, especially romantic ones.
I finished "Me talk pretty one day" in the café. I have to admit that his writing style sucks you in, but the more I read, the more I kind of hated it, which is sad, because I'm very much an autobiography person and I want to believe that there's a future for the genre. The fact that three people have already donated copies of a book that came out only a few years ago and that nobody's bought them testifies to my belief that he's a talented comedian but not much more.
I hate hipsters and I'm afraid that I'm becoming one.
Books in all forms thrill me.
Walked out of my poetry retest without turning it in, which put me in a bad mood for a while, which partially explains why I was so awkward after school when I got an ice-cream cone with Will D. and Lily. Went to UBC to get credit for my service hours. I had a whole bunch of work to do and intended to leave right away but they offered me a fresh extra-large pumpkin muffin and I quickly got sucked into the fifty-cent rack. From there it progressed to one-dollar, culture, music, contemporary plays, unusual, autobiography and poetry. I spent every last penny I had and stayed and read for a while. Now I'm going to be underslept again and overworked.
There was this beautiful baby with very strange parents and as it drank milk from its bottle from the left side of its mouth, half of the milk came out down the right side and onto its white sweater. The parents didn't notice. I laughed so hard that they stared at me. I bit down hard on my sore gums around my incoming wisdom teeth to shut myself up. "Your child is very beautiful," I said. It took the bottle out of its mouth and looked at me. Then it turned the bottle upside-down. Milk dribbled onto its shoes and I almost broke the chair.
Realized that I hand-wrote ten pages last night pretentiously entitled "New York" after Ginsberg's "America" and laughed in the dark on the way home. Gave the rest of the muffin to a homeless man.
If I didn't have to go to school, I would go to sleep just as the sun was rising and wake up when it went down. I love new york in all atmospheres, but there's something about night that enchants me.
Feeling SO literary right now. Maybe it's an escapism thing. I'm very much an escapist. It's the main reason I stay away from addictive substances, especially romantic ones.
I finished "Me talk pretty one day" in the café. I have to admit that his writing style sucks you in, but the more I read, the more I kind of hated it, which is sad, because I'm very much an autobiography person and I want to believe that there's a future for the genre. The fact that three people have already donated copies of a book that came out only a few years ago and that nobody's bought them testifies to my belief that he's a talented comedian but not much more.
I hate hipsters and I'm afraid that I'm becoming one.
Books in all forms thrill me.
posted by VVM at 4:07 PM
2 New Ideas
New Ideas:-
Frankie thinks...
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- 9:50 PM
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Sophie thinks...
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- 2:50 PM
How can you write Sedaris off as "a talented comedian but not much more"? Maybe this is just the comedienne in me talking, but it is damn hard to be funny, and a truly talented comedian combines humor with pathos so that the laughter comes from pain. My absolute favorite essay in "Me Talk Pretty One Day" is "A Shiner Like a Diamond" -- I convulse with laughter reading about Amy torturing their dad, but it's also kind of tragic how he brought it on himself by being critical and shallow. And Sedaris strikes this balance so gracefully, it seems like the most natural thing in the world.
But it isn't as easy as it looks at all -- and if you don't believe me, just read "Running with Scissors." Now there's an awful book that tries to walk the line between comedy and tragedy, and fails miserably. It's worth a read, just so you can better appreciate David Sedaris. Also, have you read his "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim"? It's a little more melancholy and introspective than "Me Talk Pretty," so you might like it better.
I'm going to be in France June 27- July 25, mostly Bretagne.
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