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Taking a break from homework, I post on livejournal. How times have changed.

So I've read 57 works of literature this year. This puts me three away from my stated goal of sixty, and the books I'm going to finish up with are right next to me, actually. That feels vaguely final, as if the novels I've been reading have been providing some sort of weird context to the year. Next year's goal is to have read all of the authors in the Divine Comedy song "The Booklovers". I have 57 authors left, so in theory if I read one book by each author I'll be reading fewer works; however, that means that next year will have to be the year I finally finish Anna Karenina, so I suppose it even out.

Tonight I learned that the landscape design professor at Berkeley that M. is good friends with is in charge of transfers into the program. Apparently she talked about me, and said I was super talented and into comics and design- insert embarrassed look on my face here- and now she says he wants to meet me. Not only that, but he implied that if I got myself the qualifications and the GPA, I would get in to Cal essentially on M's recommendation. So that's something to work for for the next couple of years until I can get a semblance of financial aid; In theory I could enroll in Fall '09. It'll be tough, because design school takes up, well, all of your time and life, but definitely worth it.

Crap in a hat, I have to make a new portfolio.

Um. Here's something really cool. http://www.lkozma.net/wpv/index.html . It's a sort of map that highlights recent Wikipedia edits from around the world. I love living in the future.

So apparently I'm um, seeing someone. Which, in this context, means "unofficially/sort of dating" someone; I figure if they post that on their blog and my reaction is "oh, ok" then that's just the way things are. On that note, it's suddenly hit me that I rather enjoy reading about myself on other people's blogs. Is that a weird form of narcissism, or is it a weirder form of voyeurism? Are you still reading about you if it's you filtered through someone else's viewpoint, or are you instead reading about some character sketch that vaguely resembles the you that you know?

Hrm. This requires thought. And science.

Dear Taxis and other vehicles that decided to splash Daniel and I- mostly me, but only because I was there longer- while we were by the MUNI station, apparently completely out of spite:

Thank you for soaking me! I knew that there was one square inch of fabric that wasn't completely dripping wet due to the TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR that had been unleashed on San Francisco a few hours prior, and you kindly took care of that. what would I do without you guys? Let's hug as soon as we get the chance.

Dear Homeless People:

It was such a boost to my self esteem that you thought me, the guy randomly milling about waiting for a ride, had an incredible surplus of money he could spare for your habit. I mean, I wasn't really dressed well, and rather than point that out you chose to ignore my plain hoodie and- let's face it- on-their-last-legs boots and made me feel like i gave off the air of a well-heeled philanthropist dedicated exclusively to your causes. I might as well have been wearing a monocle.

Dear Catfish and Mandala:

I'm sorry for talking so much shit about you. I'm also sorry for sort of damaging your cover, even though that was mostly the fault of the aforementioned rain/taxis. If it helps, I'm never going to sell you because you're really, really good. I know I've been talking about how your author has been trying too hard, but that's only because I thought he was making you up instead of writing down what actually happened in his life. Now that I know you're a memoir, I will recommend you highly to anyone who wants a refreshingly modern look at Vietnamese culture!

I've had quite a week so far.

I love borrowing books from people, but I'm kind of wary of loaning them out.

Here's why.

Maybe this is strange of me, but I think that borrowing a book- especially one highly recommended- can be a very intimate thing. It's different fom loaning a film or a record, simply because of the time investment involved; a film or a record is going to take at a maximum three hours of your life. A book, on the other hand, is usually going to take you at least a day. They also require a more significant amount of concentration most of the time; you never really hear of a person putting on a novel as background noise.

Not only that, but one's books collection can shed a lot of light on one's personality: the person who lends you Milan Kundera or Bret Easton Ellis is probably going to be a little different from a person who loans you Jane Austen or George Orwell. Orhan Pamuk and Neal Stephenson, same thing (of course, if you borrow all six of the aforementioned authors from the same person, that's liable to cause a whole bunch of confusion, but that's a whole other topic). I put enough of what could be a personality into the world on a daily basis and I wouldn't want to spoil the image I've built up by lending something incongruent with it, unless I really trust the person.

So if ever you'd like to borrow a book from me and I politely object, don't worry about it. I'm just strange.

by the way, HP is the 43rd book that I've read this year; that leaves 17 left in my goal of 60.

Sigh. One day my quest to become an Interesting Person will reveal it's frivolity/futility and then I'll be well and truly fucked.

just finished reading:

Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides, which is wonderful... and i don't really think it started off slow at all.
Tristessa, by Jack Keroauc, which was kind of infuriating and then terribly poignant.
Goat: A Memoir, which was... a fast read, but i don't think terribly inspired.
The Sun Also Rises, by Ernest Hemingway, which, well, is what it is...

currently reading:

The Dharma Bums, also by Kerouac, which utilizes the rules of punctuation, thank applicable gods...
Animal Farm, by George Orwell, which I've meaning to read for about a decade.
The Jungle Books, by Rudyard Kipling, which I've been meaning to read for longer.
Son Of A Witch, a book that I'll be done with on Sunday at the absolute latest, I'm sure.

listening to:

Smashing Pumpkins - Zeitgeist, which is so damn lame. It has two good tracks on it. that's it. I say this as someone who used to really dig the pumpkins, saw Zwan live, and actually sat through billy corgan's terrible, terrible solo album. It's about as underwhelming as your five-year old cousin banging on pots and pans.

Muse - Black Holes and Revelations, which further convinces me that Muse is the Fleetwood Mac of our time, without, to my knowledge, all the band members fucking each other.

opening a show tonight. ruh roh...

34 books out of my goal of 60 this year. considering i was at 27 two weeks ago and i'm halfway through number 35, I'd say i'm at a pretty good clip. if i continue at three books a week, with 20 weeks left this year (approx)...

(oh shit, that's 60 right there. haha.)

In any case, that would let me hit my goal by late september/early october.

why the hell don't i work in a bookstore?

I've completed 27 books since the beginning of the year. I'm in the middle- well, 5/8's through- Immortality by Milan Kundera, I'm 51 pages into Fraud by David Rakoff- I had some time to kill during tonight's rehearsal- and should be done with both by the end of the week.

Who thinks I can hit 60 by the end of the year?

I decided yesterday to make this week in which i exclusively read the works of German authors. This of course excludes comics, because god knows I need my comics.

I started with Leopold Ritter von Sacher-Masoch, author of Venus in Furs and the progenitor of masochism. As detailed in a previous post, I thoroughly enjoyed the tale of Severin/Gregor and his abject devotion and abasement to Wanda Dunajew, his Venus. From there I decided to explore Nietzsche, author of Jenseits von Gut und Bӧse (Beyond Good and Evil) and Also Sprach Zarathustra, as well as many other books. I couldn't make it four pages in JGuB. It was just that impenetrable. I've made it to chapter nine of ASZ, but god damn. I get it. the ubermensch. superior. can we move on. please. god is dead. uh huh. got it. life is meaningless. superman. yep. got it.

I'm gonna start reading Faust, by Goethe. This oughtta be good.

Dear Venus In Furs:

You are so beautiful and fucked up. Everyone should read you.

And you're public domain!

so if anyone were to want to read you, all they'd have to do is go to projectgutenberg and give it a whirl!

With a Severin-like love,

zero.

postscriptum: Beyond Good and Evil is boring in German AND English. Maybe i'm just not in a very Nietszche mood.

postpostscriptum: I love tuna.

first off: happy may day, sinners.

i read this book last week and tonight i learn it's being turned into a film. go figure.



i was kind of hoping i'd get a rabbit, it would explain why i like carrot juice so damn much.


Choke was exactly like Fight Club, except with messianic overtones and anal beads. no, i am not making that up. i followed that up with fat pig and the shape of things, both by neil labute. you want a realistic portrayal of modern love, read fat pig. you want a total mindfuck, read shape of things.


currently reading:

immortality, by milan kundera. that man presents more lessons to live your life by before 9 am than most people do in their entire lives.

fragile things, by neil gaiman. i think gaiman has always shone best with his short story concepts. his style is kind of like a really rich cake- really awesome, but you can indeed get too much of it.

( and now a piece of short fiction )

dear snow crash:

there are only two things standing in the way of our having incredibly mind-blowing spiritually fulfilling sex:

1) you're mari's

2) you're a 60.00 hardback from Powell's.

oh wait. mari said no having sex in her house. i guess that's three reasons.

with an undying love

zero



dear world war z:

zombies are so fucking pop now. it speaks of your quality that i didn't get sick of you, and finished you in a day. I hope that lots of other people read you.

love, zero


dear high fidelity:

If you're anywhere near as good as the film, then I'm going to marry you.

-z

old people are crazy too.

ps:

i just finished the his dark materials trilogy. (yeah, i know, adult "verite" drug novel to young adult fantasy novel. i like to switch things up.) about as much christian allegory as a C.S. Lewis book, but still very satisfying. it's like a combination of harry potter and Faces of Death IV (hosted by carmen electra!). recommended highly if you're into that sort of thing, and recommended sheepishly if you aren't.

pps:

dear snow crash

i know we just met, but over the course of the last 89 pages I've found these feelings stirring in myself for you.
i understand if you think i'm moving too fast, but i really would like to start a relationship with you.
i... i love you, snow crash. and unless you start to suck over the next 300 pages, i think we could have something very special.
also, i got a spare key to your house, and i'm the guy that's been stealing your underwear. hope you don't mind.

with an eternal passion that will never fade

zero

A Million Little Pieces:

Dear James Frey,

William S. Burroughs called. He wants his writing style back.

Regards,

Zero

[edited because i'm a damn fool]