Devil in a pique polo

So this was going to be a long cranky feet-kicking rant against the Universe at Large, and specifically its sheer unfairness in forcing me to have to live through February again, when you would about figure that thirty-odd years of this would be enough to satisfy any cosmic force’s need to ensure I’m aware of my tiny little drab insignificant place in the Wider Splendor, thanks much and all that anyway.

However. Over the weekend [info]solo_1 actually did read my Bob & Ray opus, and made thotful comments on same to boot. Also, several other friends and relatives took time out of their busy schedules to pat me on the head and murmur comforting phrases I don’t actually half deserve…including such gems as “Hey, I start at the Second Cup next week – Discount? Sure.”

The capper was this year’s choice of Book I Resentfully Yank Off the Shelf for the Thousandth Time Because There’s Nothing Better to Read Around Here: Helen [Keller] and Teacher, the definitive biography of the deaf-blind author, lecturer and world-traveller; which is by default also contains an equally fascinating and absorbing parade of American educational, literary and political ‘royalty’ at the turn of the century.
Confronted with Joseph Lash’s serious yet sensitive and sympathetic prose, which incidentally I was not reading in Braille, I was finally forced to toss up my hands and concede that maybe a couple extra days spent waiting for my greatness to be noticed might not be such a harsh deal after all.

(‘Specially after I found this cool new blog layout that among its other beauties contains an RSS subscription widget. Check it out under ‘feed me’ on the front page!)

Although…y’know, it’s still…the days just aren’t getting longer fast enough, dammit! I want lambs to commence frolicking over the greensward RIGHT NOW!

…Barring that, I’ll settle for wholly erasing the memory of having read the new recap of Factory Girl over at
Essentially it’s a cinebio of Andy Warhol fixture Edie Sedgwick that tries to deliberately recreate the Warhol ethos, and let us just say this is not nearly so cute and clever and – I dunno, does Arty even apply here? – a concept as the director clearly believed.
I’ll have to take the recapper’s word for it that even the Factory scene wasn’t as decadent, vacuous and depraved as pictured here – I’m fully willing to concede that Warhol himself likely couldn’t have been pretentious and dead at the same time, as per Guy Pearce’s makeup job. But contemplating the whole has left a weird little necrotic spot in my ability to experience joy, and I need to excise it PDQ.

Usually this is accomplished by repetiton of a particular literary motto of mine, vide Lucy Maud Montgomery: “Remember that pine woods are just as real as pigsties, and a darn sight pleasanter to be in.”
I’ve been repeating it to myself at intervals throughout the day, and it has helped some, but then the fifteen Tommy Hilfiger tees needed tagging, and suddenly there I was in the pine woods wearing a succession of Kee Wee Rugby Stripe Polos in Raindrop Multi and Mariner Stone, and…

No, today is clearly a good day to haul out the heavy artillery. To that end…also, by way of something Solo mentioned in her comments…yeah, it’s time to haul out the Bob & Ray mp3s again. Those of you who now need some time to unstick your eyeballs from the ceiling may take it in lieu of reading the next entry…


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. theblackmeat
    Apr 22, 2008 @ 22:13:59

    But contemplating the whole has left a weird little necrotic spot in my ability to experience joy, and I need to excise it PDQ.

    Go watch Basquiat is my advice.

  2. shoebox2
    Apr 23, 2008 @ 22:10:38

    Hmmmm…I do remember being intrigued by that one when it came out…[heads over to Wikipedia entry]

    [returns, even more intrigued] Yup, will definitely have to check it out. Thx!

  3. theblackmeat
    Apr 23, 2008 @ 22:15:38

    (I also recommend I Shot Andy Warhol.)

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