After nearly a year of excuses, indecision, waffling, and sheer lack of literary courage, I've finally started tackling Joyce's beast. The verdict so far: I'm a total idiot. For years, I've dismissed Joyce out of hand after I tried reading Finnegan's Wake. I put him in the same League Of Eternal Hatred that I had created to house Nathaniel Hawthorne and Ayn Rand. Turns out I'm way the fuck off base. I'm only 40 pages into it, but I'm really digging what I'm reading. What surprises me is how quotable it is. Some of those lines have already been burned into my brain like a Germs burn. I particularly like these two:
-You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible example of free thought.
-History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to wake.
I'm hooked.
In other news:
-Work, as usual, was nice and quiet. Lot of buys came in today. Managed to score some finds for myself in the process: Chris Moore's Practical Demonkeeping, Henry Miller's Tropic Of Cancer + Tropic Of Capricorn, Chuck P's Survivor, and Charles Bukowski's Women, in addition to a cool photography book on body modification and a collection of WWII propaganda posters (both Allied and Axis).
-I do believe my room-mate is boning someone. Just got back from work, I can smell that dinner was cooked on Ye Olde Trusty George Foreman grill, his door is closed, and I see a purse and a pair of shoes that doesn't belong to any one I know. Therefore, Watson, my room-mate is boning. At least this isn't half as awkward as the time I walked in on him watching Hong Kong Sluts 10 in our living room (that may not be the exact title of the film, but you get the gist).
-Roomie's brother Chris came over the other night. Much exchanging of bullshit over politics and philosophy ensued. Chris thinks we'd be a shoe-in as a team for Treasure Hunters. I tell him he's madder than a Hatter sniffing glue while on acid (after snorting up Timothy Leary's ashes).
-I'm counting down the days until I can fucking annihilate the shitty bookcase I have now. Next paycheck: going to IKEA and get a better one. Sure, it'll fall apart in 3 years, but its cheap and I'm not too picky (insert random prostitution joke here).
Anyway, I'm off to have a sandwich, read the new issue of the New TImes, listen to Quasimoto on the head phones, and kick it old school (aka getting lazy with panache).
-Ash