I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice-Cream
Here I am again! It's a gorgeous day in ye olde New England and even my spirits have been temporarily lifted by this orgy of sunshine and flowers popping up here, there, and everywhere. Even the landlady (I lied! I mention her again!) has taken some sort of rest from her dragon-breathing tendencies and appears Oddly Mellow. Yes, I am the Pretentious Blogger Who Capitalizes! Me and James Frey, apparently.
I was reading an article about popular books that are really badly written and Frey made the list, the reviewer taking him to task for capitalizing shit. I read the excerpt mentioned and his capitalization did seem a bit odd -- I guess he capitalized stuff like Rehab Center. At least I don't do that, people! I would still like to read Frey's book because I think in a weird, horrible, adolescent way it's great he made half of it up. The pseudo-adult part of me is horrified, of course -- I mean, come on, ya gotta tell the truth, even in this age of Hocus Pocus Morality. But the sixteen year old in me is screaming Attaboy, James! You go! You make up that sucker and cash in, baby, you cash in! What can I say, catechism didn't take me very far. Of course, this blog IS written for entertainment purposes. Meaning my tongue is usually in my cheek. But you knew that, Gentle Intelligent Reader, already.
So there ya have it. Now I am in the library after consuming a sandwich at Subway, where I am now on intimate terms with half the servers there (are they servers? or just clerks? I don't know what to call them...mere employees?), as I could not stomach staying at home in the afternoon while Fraulein Dragonlady's granddaughter runs around. This child is incredibly unfriendly (it must run in the family! Good to know, mother-------!) and I decided to leave, eat, come here, and send out another resume to fool myself into thinking I'm doing something with my life.
I also went to see my Local Priest earlier today to chat about my troubles. Guilt-deranged Catholics may be familiar with this phenomenon! It ended up going Absolutely Nowhere, although he did inform me that Eugene O'Neill had had a shitty childhood too, and look where he went! It actually did cheer me up to know I'm not the only one, although I do not claim Eugene O'Neill cult status. I'm an unknown writer personage and the dude is, like, famous. I realized after I left the gentle abode where the Good Irish Priest has his offices that my life has become very Our Townish. I know one of the local priests, I see a local cop everyday (I call him "Officer Happy") who runs around doing meter maid duty, and in general there is an entire cast of characters that, upon examination, is truly interesting. Maybe reason enough not to throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge (I'm just kidding! I want to die in my sleep, surrounded by hunky Irish men! How kinky of me! Of course, we'd all just be wizened geezers at that point...sigh).
Now I just need to get out of my present abode, work again, and find my life's direction. That's all! No pressure here. To guide me in this process I read depressing articles in the paper about how this area is Uber-Crappy for meeting men and also ingest soy ice-cream with chocolate chips in it. What can I say, it's a true spirit lifter. The ice-cream, that is.
Should I have hyphenated Ubercrappy? Or just join it, like so? These questions keep me up at night.
I see that the sequel to "Basic Instinct" is on its way to local theaters soon. I saw the first one with my friend in high school and ended up feeling like I'd just seen my first porn flick. Basically, I had. I found the first movie pretty gross, actually. Michael Douglas is not exactly my favorite actor, and I don't know what to say about Sharon Stone. I don't really see her as an "actor" or even an "actress" but she was good in the movie. She's more of a personality -- a movie star -- than a thespian. But, don't tell her agent I said that! You know what these egotistical celebrity types are like! Suing people and such!
No, I think I'll skip the sequel. I wish they would make more movies like "The Good Girl" with Jennifer Aniston. That's a great little movie with such a good performance in it by Ms. Aniston. Poor Jennifer -- her husband ran away with the world's prettiest woman. Methinks she's better off without him.
Bet she had herself some soy-based ice-cream too.
Tennis, anyone?
I was reading an article about popular books that are really badly written and Frey made the list, the reviewer taking him to task for capitalizing shit. I read the excerpt mentioned and his capitalization did seem a bit odd -- I guess he capitalized stuff like Rehab Center. At least I don't do that, people! I would still like to read Frey's book because I think in a weird, horrible, adolescent way it's great he made half of it up. The pseudo-adult part of me is horrified, of course -- I mean, come on, ya gotta tell the truth, even in this age of Hocus Pocus Morality. But the sixteen year old in me is screaming Attaboy, James! You go! You make up that sucker and cash in, baby, you cash in! What can I say, catechism didn't take me very far. Of course, this blog IS written for entertainment purposes. Meaning my tongue is usually in my cheek. But you knew that, Gentle Intelligent Reader, already.
So there ya have it. Now I am in the library after consuming a sandwich at Subway, where I am now on intimate terms with half the servers there (are they servers? or just clerks? I don't know what to call them...mere employees?), as I could not stomach staying at home in the afternoon while Fraulein Dragonlady's granddaughter runs around. This child is incredibly unfriendly (it must run in the family! Good to know, mother-------!) and I decided to leave, eat, come here, and send out another resume to fool myself into thinking I'm doing something with my life.
I also went to see my Local Priest earlier today to chat about my troubles. Guilt-deranged Catholics may be familiar with this phenomenon! It ended up going Absolutely Nowhere, although he did inform me that Eugene O'Neill had had a shitty childhood too, and look where he went! It actually did cheer me up to know I'm not the only one, although I do not claim Eugene O'Neill cult status. I'm an unknown writer personage and the dude is, like, famous. I realized after I left the gentle abode where the Good Irish Priest has his offices that my life has become very Our Townish. I know one of the local priests, I see a local cop everyday (I call him "Officer Happy") who runs around doing meter maid duty, and in general there is an entire cast of characters that, upon examination, is truly interesting. Maybe reason enough not to throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge (I'm just kidding! I want to die in my sleep, surrounded by hunky Irish men! How kinky of me! Of course, we'd all just be wizened geezers at that point...sigh).
Now I just need to get out of my present abode, work again, and find my life's direction. That's all! No pressure here. To guide me in this process I read depressing articles in the paper about how this area is Uber-Crappy for meeting men and also ingest soy ice-cream with chocolate chips in it. What can I say, it's a true spirit lifter. The ice-cream, that is.
Should I have hyphenated Ubercrappy? Or just join it, like so? These questions keep me up at night.
I see that the sequel to "Basic Instinct" is on its way to local theaters soon. I saw the first one with my friend in high school and ended up feeling like I'd just seen my first porn flick. Basically, I had. I found the first movie pretty gross, actually. Michael Douglas is not exactly my favorite actor, and I don't know what to say about Sharon Stone. I don't really see her as an "actor" or even an "actress" but she was good in the movie. She's more of a personality -- a movie star -- than a thespian. But, don't tell her agent I said that! You know what these egotistical celebrity types are like! Suing people and such!
No, I think I'll skip the sequel. I wish they would make more movies like "The Good Girl" with Jennifer Aniston. That's a great little movie with such a good performance in it by Ms. Aniston. Poor Jennifer -- her husband ran away with the world's prettiest woman. Methinks she's better off without him.
Bet she had herself some soy-based ice-cream too.
Tennis, anyone?
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 9:14 AM
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