Category — literature

That went a little differently than I had planned.

A LOT DIFFERENTLY.

First, Dane and I went to Ten01 for happy hour. That place is just…oh…MURDER. But the food was really good and we shared some truffle fries and I drank two glasses of champagne and pear brandy garnished with a salted almond. These made me immediately drunk. And also immediately the sort of person I never wanted to be.

Around 6:45 we ran to Powells and up the stairs and really, no one should ever make writers run, because it almost killed me and we kind of BURST into the reading room expecting it to be totally packed but instead this happened.

Which gave us an idea..

and a glimpse into the future. Maybe.

Next thing we knew the room was filling up with people and Kevin Sampsell and his friend Barb came up to us and introduced themselves and proceeded to tell us calmly, like it was not going to give us both a stroke, that we were all of us going to go out after the reading with Dan Kennedy.

And then I have no idea what happened because all of a sudden the universe collapsed in on itself and I realized that we had probably just broken reality and also that I hadn’t showered. In two days.

So the reading happened and Dan (I can call him Dan now!) was very funny and sardonic and everything and he graciously signed our printed out McSweeney’s story and then we all left to go to The Ringside. With Dan Kennedy. He came too.

DID I MENTION THAT?

At The Ringside we were all squished into a booth and ordering (thank JESUS) cocktails and you know, just shootin’ the shit and then my blog post was mentioned. The one yesterday about Dan Kennedy who, I don’t know if I have told you, WAS SITTING AT THE TABLE WITH US.

Guess what happened next? GUESS. He whipped out his iPhone and with only a little prompting from me which in my brain went “No,no you should really read it, I won’t mind, honestly” but in actuality I think it may have come out like, “I don’t care that you are exhausted and away from home for forever and you couldn’t give two figs about my stupid blog, so READ IT.”

And then he did.

Outloud.

He read the blog I wrote about maybe touching his penis out loud and so for the next hour I was very very careful to avoid eye contact which resulted in me taking every conversation right across the lines that should never be crossed. I think I said something about um, dog on girl action and maybe used a racial epithet because restraining myself in any way causes me to “act out”.

When we were all leaving the restaurant - with Dan Kennedy who was still with us - we shook hands and Dan leaned in to me and said very somberly, “I want to cover you in diamonds and take you away from all this dirt and poverty“.

Isn’t that just like him?

I just now realized “I’m So Excited” by The Pointer Sisters is about having an orgasm.

It’s like I should wear a helmet everywhere I go.

Dane’s parents came to visit us today and while I scored this awesome shawl

and a bunch of other great vintage-y things, Dane was reunited with his comic book collection

and I was taught the proper way to hold the precious, precious comic books, “You’re bending them. HONEY. YOU ARE BENDING THEM.”

I can’t wait to see what his reaction will be when I take them into the bathtub with me.

I think I’ve got my finger in too many pies. Or at least, my fictional finger in too many very real, very important to me to not let down people, pies. I haven’t written anything for Pampelmoose in two weeks, just one post for Engamer, and still NOTHING besides the About Us section of Geektoob. I went to a screening for the Mercury on Friday at Cinema 21 and then another screening on Monday at the Whitsell (for the Merc too) Auditorium inside the Art Museum.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been to a Silver Screen Club screening before, but let me tell you it’s like watching a movie with the entire cast of Cocoon sitting next to you and gumming their popcorn. Except you’re not allowed to bring any food into the new renovated fancy pants theater so I suppose they’re just gumming some prunes or Centrum Silver they somehow snuck into a tote bag or a fanny pack.

Anyway, I spent most of Monday writing about the movie for Friday and all of yesterday writing the one for Monday. I just wonder if I maybe don’t have a knack for journalism. Sometimes I can spit out a review or a post in 15 minutes and sometimes it takes me an hour or two, but it always breaks my brain. If I write more than one post in a day, I feel like I’ve just run a smartypants marathon and need to carbo load again by reading the internet for a few hours (Seriously, will that walrus ever get his bucket back?!!!?) and then sleeping until next month o’clock.

I’m actually reading a real book right now - the kind I can take into the bathtub without getting electrocuted. It’s The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollingurst (you can see it over there…a little to your right) and it’s about a GAY. I didn’t know this when I picked it up or surely I would have set it on fire immediately lest the gay get on me. This book is so good. It’s like a panacea for all wayward english lit majors searching for a lost Henry James novel. It makes me happy. Correction: It makes me GAY.

Wait, where was I? Oh! My inability to focus (see what I did there?), yes.

Dane will tell you all about my problem with multi-tasking. Seriously, just ask him, he could go on for HOURS. Basically, if I have to do more than one thing in a day besides the normal cleaning the house things, the overwhelmingness of it bullies me into a panic which then becomes a kind of lethargic neurotic coma. I’m like a dog who’s been kept inside too much and starts to scratch itself really, really hard in one place (I can’t believe I just compared myself to a dog. With fleas.) Too many things to do short circuits my action taking ability. I know this would be helped with some medication (I love you klonopin), but I am so resistant to putting my liver and kidneys through any more trauma than I already have (Vodka + Advil = oh my god DIALYSIS), I’d just rather learn to manage it on my own. Like our ancestors did when they had to hunt and gather in JESUS CHRIST KIALA THE SAME GODDAMN DAY AND NO ONE BLOGGED ABOUT IT.

So now I make to do lists and I breathe deeply and one day when I’m old I hope to be able to go to a Silver Screen Club movie and remember to sneak in my prunes and my Centrum Silver and then go to my bridge club without freaking the fuck out.

My review of First Sunday came out today! Yay for me!

Erik edited the hell out of it (in a good way) and it makes much more sense now. I have a tendency to overparenthesize and also maybe make words up.

Oh! ANNNNND…I thought Chi McBride was Charles Durning right up until about 8 o’clock last night. If I worked at The Daily Planet, Mr. White would SO have fired my ass.

But I don’t so he didn’t.

I just came back from Whole Foods and Powells. I bought that French Women Aren’t Fat Like You Are Fatty McAmerican book. Maybe I bought it for my mom, YOU DON”T KNOW. Don’t judge me.

I also bought the new Vanity Fair with Harrison Ford and Shia LaBoeuf on the cover to hide the fact that I was buying the lamest Oprah Book Club Today Show Segment thing ever and I was reeeeallly hoping a lady would ring me up. Instead, some Art School jerk was my cashier. He probably doesn’t even work at Powell’s. I think he just had a break between digital filmmaking and screenprint design so he jumped behind the counter to ruin my day. I haven’t been so embarrassed since I had to return panties to Urban Outfitters. Because they were too SMALL.

Meh.

But I made an excellent tuna salad with about 50 million vegetables in it. I’m going to call it The Dane Salad. Right?

I’ve read a little of the French lady book and I have one problem. I can’t take the stairs up to our apartment (frenchy exercise) in our building unless I first take the elevator up to the second floor. It’s some kind of post 9/11 rule to keep dumb people from running back upstairs to get their iphones if we’re attacked by terrorists. Well, you know what America? The terrorists won’t need to attack us because we’ll be so fat from not taking the stairs that we’ll die of a collective massive coronary in the middle of watching American Gladiators. With one hand in a bucket of nacho cheese sauce and the other on the remote. Screw you Burlington Tower! Or should I say, Fattington Tower?

I’m not very good at Role Playing Games.

We went over to Sy and Liam’s this weekend for an afternoon/evening of Dungeons and Dragons.

I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS.

Dane used to play it all the time as a kid, but despite my childhood love of all things Slurpee/Nachos…I had never played it before. I love sci-fi and fantasy (like they were one of my OWN) and I also love sitting on the couch for long periods of time so this seemed like a no brainer.

But I just can’t get into it. At least not like this kid…

It’s totally not Liam’s fault, or Sy’s, or the fault of their funny friends. Or the chili they made for everyone. (DELICIOUS). It’s my fault. I kind of forgot about how when I’m reading say a George RR Martin or a Jack Whyte, I skip over the battle scenes. All of them. I just want to read about the political intrigue (a cunning dwarf! Oooooh!), the character development (anti-hero turns pro!), the costumes (leathery), and the incest (Yay! I mean eeewwwww).

Mostly the incest.

What?

I still love Whit Stillman!

Anyway, more importantly….

Where the hell have I been?

I’ll tell you. I’ve been drinking….mostly with our new friends of the Pampelmoosery. And now my liver is angry at me. I mean, it hasn’t sent me any nasty emails or anything, but it’s been a little distant and just, you know, weird in general.

Like, I had a glass of wine last night and it was all, “Oh hey.” And I was all, “Hi!” (big hug) and then it just sat there awkwardly, not doing anything, leaving me feeling a little cold and lonely. So instead of confronting it, I thought I’d just give it some space for a few days and see where we’re at on say, Wednesday.

Well you know what? Fuck that. I don’t even need that organ. All a girl really needs is her kidneys, heart and brain. You hear me liver? You can be replaced.

So, yes, I had quite a few nights out last week and they were super fun but this week is going to be about the Work. And by Work I mean shopping for new school clothes! That’s right….I’m going to school! Well, I’m taking a class anyway. I’m taking a class at The Attic which is supposed to help me “get in touch with my writing voice” or some nonsense. But judging from my lack of posts in the last few months I think we can all agree I really need someone to kick me in the ass. And I would prefer to pay someone to do it, so please don’t volunteer for the job, Interweb.

Oh, but I hate writing classes - with so much hate. I just don’t want to hear about the first time these people saw a flower and how it invoked the innocent, unearthly beauty of children. Or how the 39 year old bartender is really getting into Henry Miller for the first time. Or recitations of Seamus Heany.

Oh God, I really don’t.

This is why I think a fun, kicky new school outfit would help me wade through the river of crap to which I’m about to be subjected.

I’m thinking something like this…