I get too excited when my art worlds collide. Since The Knife’s new album came out a few months ago, I’ve been absentmindedly turning the phrase “I’m telling you stories — trust me” over and over and over in my mind, like a cough drop of sorts. Savoring its succinct sweetness and familiarity. And finally, fucking finally, it dawned on me the other day why that phrase instantly took hold of me. Oh, you know,…
Y’all. I read Aunt B‘s book. I loved it. Like, really, really loved it. I couldn’t read it in one sitting, however. Because it kept creeping me the fuck out. I figure that is the hallmark of a successful book of ghost stories. I can’t remember the last time I read something that was both very beautifully (and funnily, at times) written that was also quite unsettling and made me see things in shadows and…
All right, you beautiful bastiches, let’s get this crazy train rolling again. I’ve had six hours of sleep and I am ready to muffpunch the universe. I mean read this magazine. Where were we? Oh yes, page 50. OH FUCK, THERE ARE WEREWOLVES. Hang on while I make a pot of incredibly strong coffee to help me cope. … Okay, that’s better. Sheesus, magazine, werewolves? Because vampires are so played out? Teen Wolf, Taylor Lautner,…
Add Infinite Jest to this stack and you’ll get an accurate picture of part of the reason why I feel like I never have enough hours in the day. [Project 365]
Recuperation complete. I packed a lot of awesome into one little day. Slept nine glorious hours, went to the gym and got the endorphins pumping, took my lunch to the park down by the river and read The White Tiger on a blanket while the wind whipped the world into a subdued frenzy around me. Then I had some chips and white cheese dip and some margaritas, went home to book chat, and then hauled…
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