i have found that unlike other moves in my life, this NYC move (although i'm nearly a two-year veteran) has made me more reserved, introverted, boring, stupid. i stare off into space, instead of, say, reading on the train. i stare and think and wonder. wonder what? wonder why i'm staring. wonder why i'm thinking. wonder why i'm not reading. i have a spacious apartment, furnished with a boy and his two cats. the boy, i love, the cats, not so much. but what do i do upon arrival (upon arrival...dear dear god, i'm writing like i'm at work...like i'm writing a schedule...i am truly becoming what/who they want me to be...and i believe 'what' is the correct word)? i go to my room (and i think of it as 'my' room...not 'ours') and sit and stare and watch terrible trash tv. i eat in bed. i enter into voyeur land with what is slowly (or quickly) becoming the antiquated social networking group, myspace. i honestly can't stop looking at other people. just like people.com or perezhilton. i stare at other people's live. i don't look at celebrities and become jealous or awed. i just look and think. i don't look at the myspace lives of the many people from my high school who have done nothing and gone nowhere and think that i'm better than them. i just think. i can't stop thinking. i can't stop thinking about how i don't know what i'm thinking about. am i stuck? am i realizing that i've fixed myself into this little place that is fine and content and supposedly everything i wanted, but isn't? or is it? is it just that i'm not chasing anything...and i've always been chasing something.
i really am that annoying. yes, those are my thoughts. if i were a character, i would be awful and terrible and no one would like me or want to read about me. just like you don't want to read about me now. or i won't want to read this later.
has anyone ever said that sex and the city is a terrible show? they are right. and wrong.
has anyone ever mentioned that being a pioneer is not fun? that we should be getting money or some type of rental reimbursement? gentrification is easier said than done. easier done by someone else other than me.
politically correct ranting later. bed now.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
i have to think of titles for this? i can't handle the pressure.
i've decided to start this as i can literally feel words fading from memory. my brain is, actually and literally, rotting away. it's like when i used to smoke too much pot in high school, i would try to pull a word from my head, and it was like it no longer existed. and it's happening all over again. except minus the fun of weed. i looked at a crossword puzzle in NY Magazine, and i felt like a fool. look, i'm using words like "fool." dear, dear god. it's time to write.
the majority of the reason for my rotting brain is my job. my job that i worked so very hard to get. the job that i had worked so hard, not only recently, but basically my entire life to get. the job that you do b/c you love it, not b/c of the extremely shitty salary. salary less than my outstanding student loans. well, turns out, don't love the job. don't love the industry. i don't even like most books. most books are very, very bad.
a few months ago, i had to stamp hundreds of folders with the pub date of a certain book. a certain book written by the "lit boy" of the season. lit boy liked to look pretty and toss his pretty lit boy hair around. lit boy got a ton of media attention. i had to stamp folders for lit boy's book. stamp. folders. masters degree for this? really? multiple interviews for this? really? lit boy got like over a half a million dollars advance for his book. guess what? lit boy sold like three books. there were only about two of us in the department who thought the book sucked. i, of course, being one. it was a bad book. it was just not good. and that description is not due to the aforementioned loss of words in my memory. that description is b/c that's what it was...bad. everyone got swept away with book launch parties and millions of mentions on gawker and radar. no one paid attention to the fact that it wasn't good. that it was very, very bad. but it doesn't matter. it's the male sex and the city. that book sucked too. but it will become a television show or something and get talked about and everyone will, once again, forget that it was a bad book.
clearly, i won't be mentioning names of particular books or particular authors or particular anything. b/c god knows this would end up in someone's google alert, and the assistants would spend their day, instead of on facebook or myspace, putting their nancy drew-trained detective skills to work and attempt to figure out who i was. as if it's not so very obvious.
the majority of the reason for my rotting brain is my job. my job that i worked so very hard to get. the job that i had worked so hard, not only recently, but basically my entire life to get. the job that you do b/c you love it, not b/c of the extremely shitty salary. salary less than my outstanding student loans. well, turns out, don't love the job. don't love the industry. i don't even like most books. most books are very, very bad.
a few months ago, i had to stamp hundreds of folders with the pub date of a certain book. a certain book written by the "lit boy" of the season. lit boy liked to look pretty and toss his pretty lit boy hair around. lit boy got a ton of media attention. i had to stamp folders for lit boy's book. stamp. folders. masters degree for this? really? multiple interviews for this? really? lit boy got like over a half a million dollars advance for his book. guess what? lit boy sold like three books. there were only about two of us in the department who thought the book sucked. i, of course, being one. it was a bad book. it was just not good. and that description is not due to the aforementioned loss of words in my memory. that description is b/c that's what it was...bad. everyone got swept away with book launch parties and millions of mentions on gawker and radar. no one paid attention to the fact that it wasn't good. that it was very, very bad. but it doesn't matter. it's the male sex and the city. that book sucked too. but it will become a television show or something and get talked about and everyone will, once again, forget that it was a bad book.
clearly, i won't be mentioning names of particular books or particular authors or particular anything. b/c god knows this would end up in someone's google alert, and the assistants would spend their day, instead of on facebook or myspace, putting their nancy drew-trained detective skills to work and attempt to figure out who i was. as if it's not so very obvious.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)