Thursday, January 13, 2005
Not Donne Juan, not Donne Two, Donne Three!
Only I’m a thousand words over budget. Let the baby-killing begin.
Actually 1109 over budget. Get killing.
But not just yet. Need a wee break. Cranked out 3000 words in the past five hours, and that’s meticulous, slow work. Also found time to make slow-cooked barbequed pulled pork. Only it went in at about 4:30, so I can’t eat it till about 1am. It was supposed to go in at 2 or so, only Sadie wasn’t home, wasn’t picking up her phone, and we only have one pair of keys, so I had to head over to the Boar’s Head pint for a glass of Guinness, a coffee, potato-leek soup and Susan Sontag.
By the way. On the list of things that are so fucking absurd I want to scream, I mean way up there on the list, is the fact that there is no copy of Sontag’s On Photography available for undergrads to take out. Which really is fucking absurd. Really, really fucking absurd. What fucking good’s a library where only an eighth of the collection’s available to me for borrowing? Jesus Christ.
Anyhow, I broke down and bought it at Hodges Figgis for €13. Sat in the Boar’s Head for an hour, fighting the trashy 80’s anthems on the speakers with Borodin on the iPod. Went back to try the apartment again, still schlepping a 4lb. pork shoulder purchased an hour and a half ago. No good. I stand in the lobby of UGC, watching trailers on the television screen, calling Sadie. Finally she picks up. She’s been in the library. I have ten minutes to get to college before she goes into class. I have got to get that other set. Pity the fucking realtors never call back.
In White Noise there is this passage: “He’d once told me that the art of getting ahead in New York was based on learning how to express dissatisfaction in an interesting way. The air was full of rage and complaint. People had no tolerance for your particular hardship unless you knew how to entertain them with it.”
My reply is that you can of course say the same of art. Regardless I try to excel.
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
P.S. The epigraphs are from Barbarella and Wallace Stevens.
Actually 1109 over budget. Get killing.
But not just yet. Need a wee break. Cranked out 3000 words in the past five hours, and that’s meticulous, slow work. Also found time to make slow-cooked barbequed pulled pork. Only it went in at about 4:30, so I can’t eat it till about 1am. It was supposed to go in at 2 or so, only Sadie wasn’t home, wasn’t picking up her phone, and we only have one pair of keys, so I had to head over to the Boar’s Head pint for a glass of Guinness, a coffee, potato-leek soup and Susan Sontag.
By the way. On the list of things that are so fucking absurd I want to scream, I mean way up there on the list, is the fact that there is no copy of Sontag’s On Photography available for undergrads to take out. Which really is fucking absurd. Really, really fucking absurd. What fucking good’s a library where only an eighth of the collection’s available to me for borrowing? Jesus Christ.
Anyhow, I broke down and bought it at Hodges Figgis for €13. Sat in the Boar’s Head for an hour, fighting the trashy 80’s anthems on the speakers with Borodin on the iPod. Went back to try the apartment again, still schlepping a 4lb. pork shoulder purchased an hour and a half ago. No good. I stand in the lobby of UGC, watching trailers on the television screen, calling Sadie. Finally she picks up. She’s been in the library. I have ten minutes to get to college before she goes into class. I have got to get that other set. Pity the fucking realtors never call back.
In White Noise there is this passage: “He’d once told me that the art of getting ahead in New York was based on learning how to express dissatisfaction in an interesting way. The air was full of rage and complaint. People had no tolerance for your particular hardship unless you knew how to entertain them with it.”
My reply is that you can of course say the same of art. Regardless I try to excel.
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
P.S. The epigraphs are from Barbarella and Wallace Stevens.
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