Love and Death Far From Long Island
Lots of random bits to report at the moment...
If you haven't read Art Buchwald lately, give it a whirl. Wholly worth the time and the scary thoughts to which it may lead. He's chosen to stop dialysis and let himself go. He's still writing from his hospice facility. It's a brave choice, one I've seen a few people I love very much make (minus the writing part), and reading him, I feel things I can't describe.
I'm also too obsessed with Arctic Monkeys to shriek anybody else right now. Victim of hype, am I. And I'm not sure if it's just that there's been such a shocking lack of decent rock that any glimmer of talent is an oasis or if it's really that good. But then I hear From the Ritz to the Rubble, Fake Tales of San Francisco or Still Take You Home, and I'm left grinning like an idiot because I like it so much.
I ate Taco Bell today. If only there had been snowboarding first. Or chilitos on the menu. Either would've been satisfying.
And finally, my thoughts are so overwhelmed by loss and gain and trade-offs and good things and bad things and when-lines-are-crossed lately that I'm starting to resemble a sulky sixteen-year-old. I want to sit around at a diner doodling on my Chucks, smoking cloves and writing "We Love You Kurdt" all over the place. What the hell is the 27-year-old version of that? Off to sleep, but I'll leave you with a line I've remembered since life at 16...
"To bed, to bed! There's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come. Give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone - to bed, to bed, to bed."
If you haven't read Art Buchwald lately, give it a whirl. Wholly worth the time and the scary thoughts to which it may lead. He's chosen to stop dialysis and let himself go. He's still writing from his hospice facility. It's a brave choice, one I've seen a few people I love very much make (minus the writing part), and reading him, I feel things I can't describe.
I'm also too obsessed with Arctic Monkeys to shriek anybody else right now. Victim of hype, am I. And I'm not sure if it's just that there's been such a shocking lack of decent rock that any glimmer of talent is an oasis or if it's really that good. But then I hear From the Ritz to the Rubble, Fake Tales of San Francisco or Still Take You Home, and I'm left grinning like an idiot because I like it so much.
I ate Taco Bell today. If only there had been snowboarding first. Or chilitos on the menu. Either would've been satisfying.
And finally, my thoughts are so overwhelmed by loss and gain and trade-offs and good things and bad things and when-lines-are-crossed lately that I'm starting to resemble a sulky sixteen-year-old. I want to sit around at a diner doodling on my Chucks, smoking cloves and writing "We Love You Kurdt" all over the place. What the hell is the 27-year-old version of that? Off to sleep, but I'll leave you with a line I've remembered since life at 16...
"To bed, to bed! There's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come. Give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone - to bed, to bed, to bed."
posted by lunchbox at 10:35 PM
3 Comments:
Taco Bell? Someone needs to come to LA and sit down to a dinner at Gilberts.
It's Monday, where's the shriek???
Keep your skirt on... it's coming! I had a rather Internet free evening last night, so I'll post tonight.
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