Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

At first, I didn't like this book at all. I found all the rich, pretentious, beautiful people lounging away on the French Riviera extremely annoying. Only with about fifty pages or so left does Fitzgerald begin to reveal that the character of Dick Diver is just as tragic as the great Gatsby. Moreover, Nicole is treated well, also - she is not the shadow-thin shallow ghost of a green light that Daisy was. She is also easy to sympathize with. Of course, I will always have to fall on the side of the Jay Gatsbys and Dick Divers, if my loyalties must be tested. With the possible exception of Nicole, Fitzgerald's women seem to only be downfall-bringing sirens, strident birds that chirp too loudly, or flat cardboard cutouts of actual human beings.

Tolstoy still did adulterous relationships among unstable adults best in Anna Karenina. It's hard not to sympathize with everyone in that book.

A post in which the author drops much elitist indie-knowledge cred:

I like the new Stephen Malkmus CD Face the Truth a lot. So much so that I'm going to the TLA to see his concert this Sunday. I also like the new Belle & Sebastian compilation Push Barman to Open Old Wounds, although Dear Catastrophe Waitress is still my favorite album. Clouds Taste Metallic is also a good album by the Flaming Lips, and I do plan on purchasing Zaireeka in the near future, their four-disc album that is meant to be played on four separate speakers simultaneously. (How intense is that!) The new Gorillaz album Demon Days was a little bit disappointing; I actually liked their self-titled debut a lot more. Other than that, I'm pissed off that my copy of Pavement's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain: L.A.'s Desert Origins sucks so badly. Anyway, I still have about... mmm... a ton, let's say, of music to listen to, still. I'm backed up with Spoon, Talking Heads, and Yo La Tengo albums to listen to before I even get to the new British Sea Power, TV on the Radio, and Ben Kweller releases. What I don't understand is why the Album Leaf is classified as Experimental Rock and not Ambient Pop like Sigur Ros is. Should I correct the folks at AMG? [This space reserved for mandatory Pitchfork-hateration.]

On the Road [Reposted]

Once upon a time, there was a space cowboy. He wore a leather spacesuit and a ten gallon hat over his oxygen helmet. He floated around from planet to planet, just swimming hard through the non-atmosphere like it was water. He drifted like this alone all his life, as far back as he could remember. He never had what anyone could ever call a home. He was just like a rolling stone, but with the moss already grown on it. One day, he found a planet that was so small, it was always daylight. He could just float along slowly in one direction as the planet rotated, and he'd be in daylight forever. He considered that perhaps this might be a good place to settle down finally, a good place to finally have a home. He didn't want to be "on his own" all the time. He was tired of being on the road. He had seen so much of the universe already. He knew many little tricks about the universe that others didn't know. He knew that if you closed your eyes, snapped twice with both hands, cross your big toe with your other toes, and sneeze, you can cause time to freeze for about 10 minutes. What would you do with your 10 minutes alone in the entire world? What would you do with those 10 minutes that belonged to absolutely no one else but you? What would you do with 10 minutes in which you answered to absolutely no one, no thing, no idea, no belief? Unknown and alone. Well that feeling just reminded him of his entire life, how he did so much continuous traveling, never stopping even once, as far back as he could remember. Never being with any body. Always just sort of alone. So wasn't it just a good idea to live in the sunshine? I mean... hey, what's nicer than sunshine? Right? It feels good. It would be a nice life to live. So finally, he said to himself, "Robert Fender, let us go! Let us settle down! Let us be happy! Yes, indeed! We shall! I... I -- I will!" And it was happiness. It truly was. And it lasted quite a long time, too. Longer than it ever had before. It just really felt great. But... well. You -- but you know. Things don't always... They never just keep... What I mean to say is, there is almost alwa -- there ALWAYS is an end. It's -- it couldn't be goodness for ever. But this part, this part could still be considered part of the happiness, but only at the back end of it. The happiness is in its twilight. For the first time ever that he had on that little planet, he felt it coming to twilight. That's right, I mean... There was sun. There's always sun on that planet. It's so small. But this is sort of him walking into a situation with ever slightly increasing twilight. So here we are. Here we are -- here we are to this...! TO THIS!

Paul Despecter rode into town. He had been a longtime traveler as well! But the difference was, here we had a REAL cowboy. Not the space cowboy that Robert Fender was. He was a REAL cowboy. And he came riding in on a horse, wearing boots and spurs and a cowboy hat. He took a huge swig of beer, and it splashed all over his face and body. He was a sort of... hungry man, you could say. And here he was heading for this little planet! Here he was, ready to confront Robert Fender and his own sense of aesthetics. Paul was a strong man, like a Paul Bunyan type. He was never a chicken. He backed down from nothing, but -- but it makes one ponder, doesn't it? -- that that perhaps was his weakness. Yes. The strong(man) weakness. He swerves in onto this planet and says, "Hey now! What's going on? I've ridden in on this horse, you know, that comes from my planet. Heh. You get this? I'm an American! I'm a Texan!" And the space cowboy just looked at him and blinked, and immediately took of Americans the same attitude as did the Europeans. Yeah, that's how he reacted -- just like Europeans would. But he knew of no Earthly concepts whatsoever, so he had no idea he was being European. But he thought the same thing.

But then the girl enters in! She has a soulful voice, deep, true. People walk by her and always stare, because she just looks that true. She spoke so truthfully. Do not confuse that with naïveté, which it was not. Indeed. She loved her mother. She never forgot her home, wherever she was. She was the exact opposite of this space cowboy wanderer, Robert Fender. She -- Queen Jane, let's call her. She confused Robert! Robert had never met a Jane like this before.

Heh. Things happen, you know? Jane couldn't explain it. Robert couldn't explain it either. Things happened in montage. You think montage is an artificial trick played by directors and cinematographers? No, montage is real life. And Robert's life was going in montage at this point in time. Things were just kind of happening like that in memory. The montage era. He was a good musician, too, and listened to a lot of good music, so things were always set back on a great soundtrack.

Paul Despecter ran into the girl. That was a crazy time in her life! Haha, I'll say so myself. I hate being the baby brother to any body. I just like eating candy, so what? That doesn't make me like a little child. 8th grade is really high! That's a huge number. And besides, it's not about the candy, I'm way more mature than that. But I do like candy. So that's the way it goes. Candy break!

They were all different colors, and they all tasted slightly different, too, based on the color. Who knew M&M's flavored those things. I thought it was all just chocolate.

BANG!

bang bang

Here we go. Something is happening here, but you don't know what it is. It's a great time to have a drink and a smoke, that's for sure. People are just silly. Human beings are silly. I hate being so geeky. I'm an 8th grade geek. Such a freak. But I was freaking smart, at least! I was! I was, like, I dominated, man. I came in 2nd! After 27. You gotta respect that. Damn! These M&M's are awesome. Shit, but I need a lot of water. Damn, I need a lot of water. TIMEOUT. Sorry about that, sword-swallower. Amazing. Fabulous. Fabulous feels great.

DRIVING! DRIVING! DRIVING! I want to go driving. Actually, I'd rather go passengering. You know? Mr. Jones. Mr. Clones. OH, crap! Not again! Get away...

And the jazz band played heavily with sweat on their brows, in the purplish gray light of the bar. Smoke was everywhere, and each band was going crazy, flipping out the jazz tonight, into the night air. Queen Jane was here tonight. Alone. Not with her mother this time, like she usually is. Is she here for a special reason tonight? Who knows? She certainly doesn't. She won't kid herself. And that's when Robert Fender came crashing into the circle of her life. What was this? He smelled funny. She smelled like love. Fender turned and gave a look and a smile, and she just raised her eyebrows. And that was their first meeting. Completely forgotten about right afterwards, as if it were just an automatic reflex. Their first meeting was a reflex...

So won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Oh, I don't know, Robert Fender. What have we got to lose? Many things, Robert. Queenie. Don't, Robert. Q! Little Susie-Q. Robert, I must leave. Queen Jane, do not go. I must. Don't. You don't. Let's not bring that up. So that was that, and it started raining.

Life was intense as a lone ranger again. At first, he tried stopping being a ranger, settling on the sunny planet. Didn't work. Then he tried stopping the lone part. And she left. So he tried just letting it happen. Lone ranger. That's who he was. The space cowboy in the leather spacesuit. And the hat. He still had the hat. His hat. So he was still the lone ranger. Yeah. Easily done.

Harry typed all of this out. But Harry died and now I have to take over. I dunno if I can. He said on his deathbed to just please finish it somehow, because it needs finishing. Well, I dunno how to do that. But I guess I'll try. He said to. What is this story about anyway? I hope it's about spring or something. I don't want to think that Harry was writing wintery type things right before death. That just seems odd. "Just Like Thom Thomb's Blues" has one interestingly specific lyric. One should Google it if one is a Googler. "She peaks good English and you invite her up into your room" and that following sequence is not it, either. No, with light sabers! That's how they battle each other! Wow. I think I made it too big. Bigger than it needed to be. Oh, well. Makes things harder. Hard is good. Hard builds character. Almost to the grand finale, eh? What a great album of life Robert Fender led. Things are always looking up if you just tilt your head. That's what's beautiful about perspective. One simple move of the head and you get a whole new world to interpret.

They're selling postcards of the hanging. The circus is in town. Here comes the blind commissioner. They've got him in a trance. One hand is tied to the tightrope walker. And the riot squad, they need somewhere to go. As lady and I look out tonight from Desolation Row. Cinderella, she seems so easy. "It takes one to know one," she smiles. Bette Davis style. You're in the wrong place my friend, you'd better leave. After the ambulances go. Cinderella sweeping up on Desolation Row. The moon is almost hidden, the stars are beginning to hide. The fortune telling lady and the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Everybody's making love or else expecting rain. He's getting ready for the carnival tonight on Desolation Row. Ophelia n'eath the window. On her 22nd birthday. To her, death his quite romantic. Her profession's her religion. She spends her time peeking into Desolation Row. Einstein disguised as Robin Hood, with his memories and his friend, a jealous monk. As he bummed a cigarette, sniffing drain pipes, and reciting the alphabet. You would not think, he was famous long ago, for playing the electric violin on Desolation Row. Doctor Filth, she's in charge of the cyanide. So you better watch out. Don't eat the guacamole, if you value your life. Punished for going to Desolation Row. Just had to cry for a little bit, there. Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot fighting in the tower. Fishermen hold flowers. Lovely mermaids flow, and nobody has to think too much about Desolation Row. Yes, I received your letter yesterday, about the time the doorknob broke. When you asked me how I was doing, was that some kind of joke? I had to rearrange their faces. Not unless you mail them from Desolation Row.

Bamboozled!

I just like that word.

A Post About Music

Wow. Gorillaz, Stephen Malkmus, and Belle & Sebastian all released CDs today. I want to spend money on music again. (And to a lesser extent, Audioslave and The Wallflowers.)

The new Mars Volta album Frances the Mute is I.N.T.E.N.S.E. and just a little bit schizo. Imagine if the Fiery Furnaces stopped making happy-but-ADD pop and all of a sudden got really screaming angry, and also learned some Spanish - that's what the Mars Volta sound like. Angry and ADD.

Here's something else:

Autumn = Emo
Winter = Goth
Spring = Indie Pop
Summer = Dance-Pop

And the observation: "Hmm... true, you were listening to Madonna and I was listening to Bright Eyes."

D.C.

D.C. was awesome, once again. That city is definitely better than Philadelphia. Their Metro system rocks the hizzouse compared to SEPTASS. Quality of public transportation is really important for a city to be awesome. The Walkmen, my first "real" concert, was great. Having seen my favorite song of all time played live was just a necessary experience. This weekend really kicked off summer for me. I finally feel like summer has begun, that this isn't just a continuation of spring semester anymore. There are things to look forward to! (Hint: it starts with an "f" and rhymes with "bilming-a-movie.")

"Solitude" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

This poem has some of the best metaphors/imagery I've read in a long time:

LAUGH, and the world laughs with you;

Weep, and you weep alone.

For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,

But has trouble enough of it's own.

Sing, and the hills will answer;

Sigh, it is lost on the air.

The echoes bound to a joyful sound,

But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;

Grieve, and they turn and go.

They want full measure of all your pleasure,

But they do not need your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many;

Be sad, and you lose them all.

There are none to decline your nectared wine,

But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;

Fast, and the world goes by.

Succeed and give, and it helps you live,

But no man can help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure

For a long and lordly train,

But one by one we must all file on

Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Drought

I foresee a writing drought. Just warning you.

vague

you know what i'm talking about
that thought i had was about that other thing
remember?
it was like that time, but more... less!
it felt like that place at the usual time of day -
or night - you know better than i do
i couldn't really see, it's sort of hazy now
it's hard to say
there isn't really the right word for it
it's not easy to articulate
(language is so limited!)
it's a subtle point, nuanced
you would just miss it if i tried to explain
i don't exactly recall exactly, exactly...
approximately, give or take
more or less thereabouts
apparently basically partially allegedly in essence
maybe?

hey, you get the idea, i guess
i plead the fifth

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room

Everyone must watch this documentary. Especially people in Wharton.

I feel very angry and conflicted right now, about a lot of things. I can't even begin to explain. Money. Corporate power. American culture. Wharton. Selfishness. Bush. Enron. Texas. Business. Greed. Oi. I'm so afraid I will fall into the trap like so many. What a dangerous path, to gain the world and lose one's soul.

It's Red

I sold out a little bit and bought a track jacket today. I wouldn't have except it was 50% off and also had the number "7" stitched on - my lucky number. So yeah. Fashion whore.

Chili J. Rhodes

I found a turtle today in some Fort Worth nature preserve place-a-ma-jig. I took him home, and he is having fun in the bathtub right now. This was probably illegal, but I don't care because turtles are the AWESOMEST animals EVER. I have named him Chili J. Rhodes. "Chili" because he seems like he likes to chill a lot, especially in dark places, and also because he's got red chili pepper tattoos on either side of his face (hardcore!) "Rhodes" because I found him on the side of the road, and also because he looks quite old and therefore distinguished and therefore a nineteenth century British colonialist in South Africa after whom the Rhodes Scholarship is named after. "J." so that he could have the same initials as said nineteenth century British colonialist, Cecil John Rhodes. The "J." doesn't stand for anything, a la Homer Simpson. I'm giving him back to nature on Monday, when I fly back to Philly because he's a little too big to fly with, I think. He's also a bit snappy and cranky when he has to go on extended trips. But for the weekend, I have a pet. He's Mr. Rhodes to you, because he's probably older than all of us. He's probably like fifty.

"You would make an excellent writer..."

Your #1 Match: INFP

The Idealist You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world. Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships. It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close. But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.

What's Your Personality Type?

But I Love Gangsta Rap!

Your Taste in Music:

90's Alternative: Highest Influence

90's Pop: Highest Influence

90's Rock: Highest Influence

Classic Rock: Highest Influence

80's R&B: High Influence

80's Rock: High Influence

90's Hip Hop: High Influence

Adult Alternative: High Influence

Punk: High Influence

80's Alternative: Medium Influence

Hip Hop: Medium Influence

Progressive Rock: Medium Influence

Ska: Medium Influence

90's R&B: Low Influence

Alternative Rock: Low Influence

Gangsta Rap: Low Influence

Hair Bands: Low Influence

Old School Hip Hop: Low Influence

R&B: Low Influence

How's Your Taste in Music?

California Sweep! 1-2-3!

American Cities That Best Fit You:

65% San Diego

60% San Francisco

55% Los Angeles

50% Chicago

50% Honolulu

Which American Cities Best Fit You?

I'm Feeling More... Aerodynamic?

I finally got my head shaved today. The idea occurred to me over a year ago, and I finally did it. I look like a monk more than a gangsta. Oh well. Fang did call me David Buddha in high school for a while.

The Shawshank Redemption

Finally saw it. Moving. Powerful. Other generic words film reviewers like to throw around. One thing missing: a scene with Red busting it out on the harmonica.

The Flaming Lips

I just bought a semi-obscure Flaming Lips CD from 1993, Transmissions from the Satellite Heart, and it is really, really awesome. It has the single "She Don't Use Jelly" on it, made famous on an episode of Beverly Hills: 90210, apparently. For those that only know of The Flaming Lips from Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, old school Lips is like that, minus the electronic beeps plus electronic buzzing and other assorted noises that grate, but in a really enjoyable way. The sound is truly a fusion of the two words that describe their style: NOISE POP.

The Colossus of New York

is a wonderful book. Colson Whitehead has quite a way with fragments, clauses, and other assorted incomplete sentences. Ultimately, New York is an incomprehensible city.

In other news, as I am on vacation, this blog will also be on a vacation of sorts. Oh, sure, there will be updates, perhaps even frequently, but the point is, I'm not really going to try anymore. Yeah; hence, short, pointless updates about nothing (i.e., my life) instead of, you know, something more meaningful. [Shrugs with sheepish resolve] That's the way it is. Sorry.

In more other news, I can apparently eat a whole Wendy's Triple Decker cheeseburger (that's 3 hamburger patties, a 50% bonus from the traditional Big Mac) and an order of Biggie fries in less than 10 minutes. I can feel a massive food coma slowly creeping up my torso and hitting my braiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

(That was me pretending to fall asleep on my keyboard.)

Kung Fu Hustle

I loved it. Like Kill Bill Vol. 1 mixed with Looney Tunes. Very entertaining.

Gin and Lipstick

I heard you coming down the hall
Like a grand piano falling down the stairs;

I sensed you sneaking into the dark apartment
Smelling like gin and lipstick;

I watched you slowly undress
As if peeling plastic wrap off your body;

I felt you crawl into bed
It felt like a ghost;

I tasted your good night kiss
While I pretended to be asleep;

I knew.