Archive for the ‘I Hate Writing’ Category

TWO THINGS

December 20, 2011

1. I forgot in my dream snippets “poem” to include:

Back in Paris,  which had WATERSLIDES!

My own studio there –– teeny tiny, containing one big bed and seven fluffy armchairs

Sneaking into a gorgeous apartment and finding a lamp made from butterfly wings

2. Reaction to Last Week’s (?  I don’t even know what my name is anymore) Article in the Times about Facebook:

MT: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/12/14/technology/shunning-facebook-and-living-to-tell-about-it.html?hp

kind of a weird article, like the angle it takes

me: i don’t feel like i miss shit

from not being on facebook

MT: yeah neither do i

doesn’t mention the kind of stigma experience ive had

me: oh like

too cool for facebook?

MT: at a bar, was very well hitting it off with this girl who was a friend of a friend

when she was heading out

i was like, can i have your number

she said she would just look me up on facebook

i said i didnt have facebook, and she gave me a look like i had a rap sheet or something

me: what!?

that’s crazy!

MT: like i must be somehow untrustworthy that she can’t look to see if im not crazy

i feel like its become this weird semi social litmus test for people, being able to survey facebook before gearing up actual interpersonal relationships

its like “nope, i want to find out everything about you before i actually have a conversation”

me: yeah

it’s socially sanitizing in a way

i’m pissed someone wrote this article before me

MT: haha

i think you may take a little different route though

and its been written before

maybe not in a major publication though

me: totes

i’ll think of my own spin maybe

?

MT: yeah

well, you’d also have to include the fact that you wanted to get rid of your cell phone and replace it with a landline that can’t dial out

me:  yes

i would certainly include that

that is good info

MT: yep

 

 

 

*As always, Gchat conversations are edited for clarity and content, aka to make me — and occasionally the other chatter — look better/smarter than is the case.

Bonjour, Tristesse

November 21, 2011

My last day in Paris: disappointing.  Closed establishments, bad sketches, aching feet, trite sentiments.  I should have gone to the movies like I wanted to instead of fearing that it wasn’t the “right” activity.  I don’t want to depart –– period the end.  I could probably hear the bells of Notre Dame from my room every day for the rest of my life and not get sick of them.  Stuck at this event where I don’t really want to be –– I wish I was out at dinner already, eating a salade chevre chaud.  I will return home Great-American-Novel-less.  Le tear.  I want this day to be over, finally, so I can lock myself in the book store and find my Never Ending Story or Wizard of Oz so I can read it and enter an alternate universe in which I save the Child-Like Empress (or lead the motley crew toward the Emerald Palace, whatevs) and become queen of a tiny, magical world that I never, ever have to leave.

See you on the other side.

One Quick Thing First

November 17, 2011

My summation of the ouevre of Philip Roth:

“Hi, I am Neil Zuckerman from Newark, New Jersey.  I’m not super religious but I grew up in a Jewish family, and I spend a lot of time (consciously and unconsciously) thinking about Jewish identity and assimilation in modern American society.  I will likely be radically confronted with this conflict in one way before my story ends, at which point I will conclude in a very non-conclusive way that total assimilation is not really possible and I’m always going to be  Jew.  Oy!”

L’Update

November 15, 2011

So many of you (namely, two or three friends) have asked me to update them as to my whereabouts so here goes:

To the left of the piano you’ll see a little bed; I slept on its equivalent on the other side of the room (off screen) last night.  Here I am at Shakespeare and Company!  My trip to Paris is as cliched young-writer-in-France as it possibly could be.  I wanted to go to the Musee Rodin this morning but alas, my debit card seems not to be working, and according to a very helpful I think Indian woman at Chase Bank, I can use it again in two hours.  This sucks, because I would like some baguette, and to do a little activity or two.

Unfortunately I find myself rather incapable of giving accurate descriptions of my experience thus far.  Every time someone asks, I feel a little sleepy.  So, in lieu of a big to do (though do remind me to compare Sylvia Whitman, the owner of this store, to the Wizard of Oz at some point), here is the list of Quintana Roo Dunne’s drawers, labeled in “perfect print,” at the beach house in Malibu:

Cash, passport, my IRA, jewelry, little toys

LITTLE TOYS!

A bientot, mes amies!

 

THE JOAN

October 27, 2011

I don’t want to simply re-blog (because I hate the whole concept) but I have to say that the article about Joan Didion from New York Magazine last week (I guess?) was pretty interesting, especially for me as I do have an intense love hate relationship with the Joan (still looking for a home for my essay about realizing she was too morose for words –– takers?)  The best part of the article was undoubtedly this little tidbit about Quintana Roo:

“At age 5, Quintana called Camarillo, the mental institution rumored to have inspired ‘Hotel California,’ to ask what she should do if she went crazy—a story Didion insists is not just family lore.”

Girl after my own heart.

I can’t to publish a picture of Joan because looking at her arms makes me queasy, so here’s an adorable Quintana Roo in Malibu.  I agree with the writer Barbara Grizzuti Harrison about her name, too –– pretty  wack, Joan.

How precious!?

And now, for some Joan Didion jokes!

Q: What’s Joan Didion’s favorite flavor of ice cream?
A [in death rattle tone]:  Ash.

Q: What’s Joan Didion’s favorite perfume?

A: Mothballs.

And now I’m going to make one up on my own…

Q: What’s Joan Didion’s favorite cocktail?

A: Rum with a splash of disquietude.

Mazel Tov, Grandpa

October 13, 2011

Removed for editorial reasons… Oh the suspense!

Snack Time Tragedy

September 28, 2011

Milano down!

A Note I Found in an Old Book Addressed to David Markson

July 20, 2011

Regarding an annotated Reader’s Block, a project I intend to complete still, despite the author’s death:

August 4, 2008

Dear Mr. Markson,

I like pencil despite the potential problems in its utilization.  I apologize if this note arrives smudged and/or barely readable.

Approximately two months ago, I recommended The Last Novel to a friend of mine, who enjoyed it thoroughly and wrote you a note expressing such (I assume.)  I admit I was a little jealous of her for thinking of this first.  In my mind, the book “belonged” to me, spiritually at least, though in fairness, the book was given to me as a gift (with a note preceding: “Never has a book reminded me more of you.”  This statement ended up being disturbing upon my learning the fate of Novelist.)

The last paragraph came off egotistical, in a way.  Again, apologies.

In any case, I bought Reader’s Block a few weeks [ago, sic] and consumed it rather quickly (not sweet, like a bonbon or a Lifesaver, but salty and meaty and a bit mysterious… a heart of palm, maybe?)  Upon completing it, I immediately turned back to the beginning, having decided to research all (maybe) the dots.  It was an urge I didn’t want to fight, an endeavor I imagined would be instructive and enjoyable, even if in a torturous way (hurts so good, as John Mellencamp would say.)  I was going to send it to you when I was finished but I realized a little while in that it may take a while.  Though I did my best to avoid Wikipedia, the document may appear to be the lackluster attempt of an amateur.  Apologies, the IIIrd.  I hope you can view it as a love note to your work, as a testament to how wonderfully influential and inspiring it is, if only to this tiny, fledgling wordsmith.

Sincerely,

ID

PS The numbers correspond logically to the text.

Thoughtlets

April 15, 2011

Apparently I’m having a “thoughtlet” week (Kay Ryan’s term for Twitter-friendly half-ideas) which is bad but we’ll roll with it.  Two things:

1. In my dream last night I had a pair of peach-colored leather pants?  And they actually didn’t look horrendous.

2. Not one but TWO people on my subway car this morning were reading Rhonda Byrnes’ The Secret.  For shame.

I also (this could be 3?) came up with the skeleton of a theory about the Internet, blogging/MySpace/social networking, and the notion of “audience” in the work of David Foster Wallace (after reading reviews for The Pale King, which I’m awaiting anxiously) but I think it’s either not fleshed out enough or too obvious to unpack.

Is It Possible…

December 8, 2010

that I just saw Jonathan Franzen driving a white Subaru Forester in Williamsburg?  Nahhhhh, can’t be…