Bend Yer Banana
So I am currently back in Napa, for a small sojourn into the wilds of grapes and eating goddamn everything in the world, and roasting in the eternal heat, and watching movies movies movies, and drinking dranking drinking, and just living the life, I suppose.
It's so odd being back here and recognizing that it's no longer my real home. I feel welcome here, don't get me wrong, but it's definitely more a vacation home than where I hang my hat, as it were. So there's this disconnect. It's a little unsettling, but I suppose that's natural.
I'm at home a lot more cuz copp's can't use me this summer. It's a bummer in some ways ($$, copps pals, surrounded by books, good experience, keeping my brain active with ringing up and recieving, etc...), but it's awfully nice getting to veg the fuck out, not worrying about where I need to go and when and with whom.
I'm been watching a shit-load of films ("The Dying Gaul" being a perfect example. Jesus. That shit was intense. Who knew Peter Sarsgaard could look and act just like Charlotte's Costume History professor? Campbell Scott was a bit despicable...and there is this awkward scene where he is in bed with Sarsgaard, and Scott just appears to be jerking it right next to Sarsgaard. And then Sarsgaard starts to violently cry. And you're thinking...wooooooah now)
Granted, getting more writing done would be primo.
But so far being worked on:
"Centaur & Poodle"
"I Was Terribly Desperate..."
"Misfits"
and I've got that ghost story to work on.
But really...I'm enjoying this summer.
I have also been reading a lot. I've knocked through "marabou stork nightmares" (by my boyfriend Irvine Welsh-- a nice intense little psycho-drama with a bit of rape retribution mixed into hospital fantasies and Afrikanners), and "I, Fatty" by Jerry Stahl. "Fatty" was an interesting look into the life of Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, the silent film star who worked with Charlie Chap and Busty Keat, etc... until he was accused of the rape and murder of a bit actress (noting a theme in my choice of lit?) The problem with the book was that Fatty is supposedly telling his story to his servent, recording it onto a phonograph record. And he repeats himself a lot. and then mentions that he knows he repeats a lot. "But wouldn't you?" or "This is my story, so deal", or something along those lines tend to follow. Either that, or Stahl hits the punch-line over and over and over. Like "I was sorry...but little did I know that I would be even more sorry. Later. When i was REALLY sorry." You have to wonder if this book was closely edited. I mean, it was a fun read and all, but I kept looking at the back to make sure this wasn't an Advanced Reader's Copy. Like numerous times I checked. But it was interesting.
Now I'm onto "Cold Comfort Farm", which is AMAZING and hilarious. and just the best.
anyway, that's all for now, I suppose.
22 in 5 days...whaaaaaaat?
love you all
It's so odd being back here and recognizing that it's no longer my real home. I feel welcome here, don't get me wrong, but it's definitely more a vacation home than where I hang my hat, as it were. So there's this disconnect. It's a little unsettling, but I suppose that's natural.
I'm at home a lot more cuz copp's can't use me this summer. It's a bummer in some ways ($$, copps pals, surrounded by books, good experience, keeping my brain active with ringing up and recieving, etc...), but it's awfully nice getting to veg the fuck out, not worrying about where I need to go and when and with whom.
I'm been watching a shit-load of films ("The Dying Gaul" being a perfect example. Jesus. That shit was intense. Who knew Peter Sarsgaard could look and act just like Charlotte's Costume History professor? Campbell Scott was a bit despicable...and there is this awkward scene where he is in bed with Sarsgaard, and Scott just appears to be jerking it right next to Sarsgaard. And then Sarsgaard starts to violently cry. And you're thinking...wooooooah now)
Granted, getting more writing done would be primo.
But so far being worked on:
"Centaur & Poodle"
"I Was Terribly Desperate..."
"Misfits"
and I've got that ghost story to work on.
But really...I'm enjoying this summer.
I have also been reading a lot. I've knocked through "marabou stork nightmares" (by my boyfriend Irvine Welsh-- a nice intense little psycho-drama with a bit of rape retribution mixed into hospital fantasies and Afrikanners), and "I, Fatty" by Jerry Stahl. "Fatty" was an interesting look into the life of Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, the silent film star who worked with Charlie Chap and Busty Keat, etc... until he was accused of the rape and murder of a bit actress (noting a theme in my choice of lit?) The problem with the book was that Fatty is supposedly telling his story to his servent, recording it onto a phonograph record. And he repeats himself a lot. and then mentions that he knows he repeats a lot. "But wouldn't you?" or "This is my story, so deal", or something along those lines tend to follow. Either that, or Stahl hits the punch-line over and over and over. Like "I was sorry...but little did I know that I would be even more sorry. Later. When i was REALLY sorry." You have to wonder if this book was closely edited. I mean, it was a fun read and all, but I kept looking at the back to make sure this wasn't an Advanced Reader's Copy. Like numerous times I checked. But it was interesting.
Now I'm onto "Cold Comfort Farm", which is AMAZING and hilarious. and just the best.
anyway, that's all for now, I suppose.
22 in 5 days...whaaaaaaat?
love you all