the creative process

i started writing a story with heavy, morbid themes, but then i got distracted because i was hungry and also wanted to see if any wedding invitations came in the mail. (some microwaved, frozen veg mix and a cherry yogurt; and yes, one for september 24.)

and then i got further distracted by the general internet and started thinking about writing a satirical piece entitled, "date a girl who refuses to drink non-dairy creamer". As a work in progress, it only has a few lines:

Understand that she prefers electronic books to real books because real books are heavy and new books to used books because used books make her itch.
Never mess up. Everyone knows that sequels suck because they are always trying too hard.
Never propose to me over Skype. Well you can. Because I collect proposals. But I will ignore you.

i think i need coffee. with milk.



the boring details

It's summer and about 135 degrees. Fahrenheit. That's 57-ish if you live in Canada. A girl from Canada stayed with us for a few days, and she was like, "Is it always like this, eh? I can't dry my hair." and I was like, "Dude, it is always like this in the summer, and think about it. You are only in the very top part of this country. When I lived in the bottom part of the country, I used to have nightmares about drying my hair."

Well, anyway, I've been spending a lot a lot of time eating Italian ice. Actually, I've been spending a lot of time eating Italian ice (in heels on a corner in the East Village, on a walk through Fort Greene, at a Carrol Gardens street fair, etc.) and some time trying to figure out if I have one dollar (or two dollars if the boy wants Italian ice, too) and if not, where I can get some cash, because mostly you can't charge Italian ice.

I have a sandal tan line. I think the last time I had a sandal tan, I was in high school. It is actually a tan line, not just dirt. Sometimes it is partly dirt. The rest of my tan lines I've been changing up: scoop-neck tank top from going to Target, slightly askew oxford-shirt V from going to Trader Joe's. Currently, the most distinct print is one spaghetti straps and one extra wide handbag strap.



better than television

He met a girl and she told him she worked in television. He told her he didn't watch television because his real life was so much better.

There's intrigue, girls with boyfriends, boys with anger issues, love triangles-- and more complicated geometry, the addict friend with the girlfriend he might love. It's always left to be continued. It never gets simpler, just more convoluted and harder to follow.

On the way home from a concert with his pretty friend, he stops the car and they get out to stand in the street because millions of magazine pages are raining from the sky. You want that to mean something.

He might be dating the girl from the magazine night. He's probably dating her. But it's complicated. It's always complicated.

She wanted a late-night snack. She's drunk but he's sober. You get a few months of sober when you throw up massive amounts of blood and end up spending a few days in a Bahamian hospital.*

She points out a couple a few booths away, saying they don't match because the girl's hotter than the boy. He asks if she's looked at the two of them.

He drops her off but doesn't stay. When you aren't drinking, you have to make decisions.

I'm captivated, but I want it to work out this time. I want it to work out every time.


*You also get very close to figuring out how quickly your parents' friends can arrange for private international flights.