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Last night I saw a man and a woman making out in the parking lot of the tattoo parlor down the street from my house. The tattoo parlor used to be a Christian dance club. They kissed, then he stepped back and slapped her. Then she made a kissy face at him.

I had kind of a disastrous hair dye experience, but eventually I fixed it, and it's now Sonic Green and Electric Blue.

Excited that Julie and Julia is going to be a movie, and to go to the Wench tonight.

Just read this and think it's the most perfect 434 words ever.
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Everything's blindingly okay, right now.

(Apparently Firefox thinks the first and third word of that sentence aren't in fact words. I don't understand why it's suggesting "Tokay." Please make it stop.)

My point was, I wasn't sure if I had enough money to pay rent, but when I looked, I had a thousand dollars more than I'd thought. It was a very pleasant surprise. Suddenly I'm no longer angry or frustrated or exhausted or worried. Does this mean I'm a very shallow person? Or maybe it means that I thought I had all these problems, but I was just projecting my money worries onto them?

Got another Mary Gaitskill book that I'm looking forward to. There's a story in it called Mirror Ball about a girl who steals someone's soul in a one night stand. (Although of course this can't hold a candle to Elizabeth Hand's "Cleopatra Brimstone," which is among the finest fantasy stories of all time...Have any of you read it? I'd love to talk about butterflies and fashion...[And I'm not even going to mention the Gaiman story on a similar subject, since even he admits it's not very good.]) And I'm totally going to go to bed right now instead of reading it, which is a terrible terrible shame.
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Okay, I think my answers to this perennial question need an update. Because really, I don't want to take my all-time-top-five-desert-island books *to* a desert island. If I could only read five books for the rest of my life, they wouldn't be the five best books I've ever read, or even my five favorite books. They'd be the ones that I knew I could reread countless times, and keep finding new meaning in. And they'd be REALLY LONG.

1. In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust.
2. The King James Bible by James I. (Kidding about the author! Don't take my English major membership card away! Yeah, it looks like a Costco card, but it actually *costs* you money.)
3. The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon.
4. The collected works of Dorothy Parker.
5. Ulysses by James Joyce.
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Okay, I still intend to write something about The Gravedigger's Daughter, but I have this theory about The Time Traveler's Wife that I want to sketch out before I forget.

If you haven't read it, a) spoilers, and b) you won't understand this, because I'm not going to summarize. )

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Books I'm having trouble finishing:
1. The Amber Spyglass. (What can I say, epic battle scenes, fucking yawn. I want more literary allusions, liminal alternate-history factoids, and bizarre character interactions, damn it!)
2. Perdido Street Station. (No, really, it's GREAT. I just kind of don't want it to end.)
3. No god but God. (A history of Islam. Interesting, but I just watched a documentary about it too, so I'm a little Islamed out. Also, and this is going to sound CRAZY, but its spine is broken, and I hate reading books with broken spines.)

Books I'm really excited about starting:
1. Towelhead.
2. The Road. (Yeah, I can't believe I haven't read it yet either.)
3. The Jane Austen Book Club.
4. Delta Wedding. (I've only read Eudora Welty's short stories.)

And on the movie front, I totally got Heathers from the library! Also documentaries about the Lascaux cave paintings and the Jewish Americans, and the All Roads Film Festival collection. Also, a movie with Javier Bardem that looks really depressing. Hmm...depressing...vs. Javier Bardem...maybe I should just rent Life in the Time of Cholera? That would be depressing in an entirely different way.

TV-wise, I still haven't brought myself to watch the last episode of Lost. Okay, but, this is the first time a character I actually like has died! (Damn your driving under the influence, Daniel Dae Kim!) I'm afraid I'll break down sobbing at the public library. Or not. Maybe I just don't want to sit in front of the computer at the library for two hours being subjected to Jimmy Kimmel commercials. (Yeah, my computer can neither handle streaming video, nor torrent, so...) Anyway, I also watched the second season of Veronica Mars (not nearly as good as the first, but still pretty awesome), and I got the first season of Rome (from the public library, surprisingly enough! I hope they plan on acquiring more HBO shows soon. And, uh, FX maybe? Not that I, er, love Christian Troy?).

And finally, I've been listening to...well, that's easy, just look at the "current music" and titles of my entries, right?
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So, lots of good stuff...
I have an interview with Buffalo Exchange on Thursday.
The new apartment is working out just fine. It's in walking distance of everything (Pippi and I have walked like seven miles in the last two days...we'll see if that kind of exercise happens once the weather stops being freakishly wonderful, though), and my neighbor has seriously had yet to be home in the past five days. So basically, even though it's a duplex, I have plenty of privacy, and Pippi's incessant yapping isn't bothering anyone but me.
There are a bunch of cool pictures of me and Summer and our South side fun the other day (did I blog about that? oh well, thrift store, condemned house, yadda yadda) up on Summer's photo stream ( I feel a little bit guilty linking to it, since she's deathly ill and I'm supposed to be bringing her British comedy box sets right now (I will, once I um, take a shower, and eat for the first time in 24 hours...), but oh well.
I did my first Sunday NY Times crossword all by myself yesterday! I think that not having the internet at home is kind of a great thing, because I wasn't able to cheat, no matter how tempted I was, plus I'm living by myself, so I couldn't beg for help every five minutes.
In other "no internet at home" news, I read "Foe" by J.M. Coetzee - holy shit! Amazing! I had to reread "Robinson Crusoe" recently for a class, so all the differences between the original and the reimagining (Friday's tongue? Cut out! Gah!) were apparent and fascinating. I also read "Girls of Riyadh" by some scandalous Saudi girl - I forget her name, Riyaa something? It was pretty fun. A good beach read, if any of my readers are lucky enough to go to the beach this summer. (Haha, I think "Foe" would be a tad disturbing of a beach read.)
Also: I wrote a pretty amazing poem yesterday that I was going to post, but I didn't bring my notebook with me. So I'm going to try recreating it from memory, and maybe if this ends up being really different, I'll post the "real" version later.


i shot a man today
just to find out what his blood smelled like
nothing like mine after all
my corrupt, decaying core
spilling my seed on kotex

i shot a man today
actually my life is nothing like a johnny cash song
i was walking my dog too late
a man fell upon us and-
my flashlight-
her teeth-
it was too dark and messy
i don't know exactly what happened
and i can't explain this to anyone
because my life is nothing like a le tigre song
this is not about girl fucking power
more animism
or opium dream

i shot a man today
but he shot me first
our blood mingled on the pavement
bacteria networking cheerfully
then gasping gasping gone

i hope they put my real
name on the
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So: I am once again using this space to pimp out the BRILLIANT book I'm reading. In this case, it happens to be a fantasy anthology, which I realize some people will find off-putting just because of its genre. Please don't. I don't think I've ever read an anthology with such a high ratio of excellent stories. There are a lot of "name" authors (including Joyce Carol Oates, for you lit snobs out there), doing really different things. Basically, the premise of the anthology was to give talented authors free rein. The stories are (almost) all original to the anthology.

Although given the "extreme visions" thing, I was expecting less hauntings and sorcery, most of the stories tend to be re-imaginings of familiar plot devices. If you've read Tanith Lee's fractured fairy tales, you'll have an idea of the kind of guh...wha??? reaction I had to, say, Charles De Lint's ghost story. Because they're that fresh, and that good.
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"Special Topics in Calamity Physics" is the best thing I've read this year. It's as if Nabokov and Jonathan Safran Foer wrote "The Secret History." Oh, and the, the crossreferencing!

Okay, granted I haven't finished it yet, but I haven't felt this hyperbolic about a new author since I discovered A. M. Homes.


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