JD Salinger died today. I first read Catcher in the Rye when I was 16. I was thrown in the juvenile psych ward the day after my birthday for a week and a day. I was already scheduled to go to military school so I ran aways from home, slept on people's floors, got stoned and drunk and got my first blowjob. I ran away because what else do I have to lose, I thought. My parents tracked me down and asked me very friendly-like ti come home for my birthday. The morning after: WHAM! Awakened by my stepdad and some cops and strapped to a stretcher waiting for me in the front hallway.
On weekdays we had three hour period called "school." I spent my school hours reading Catcher. It was solace in a traumatic environment. I almost regretted not reading it the previous semester in sophomore English, but not quite. If you've read it and know where Holden winds up at the end, you can understand how profound it felt to have chosen that book under those circumstances. I read it again five years later and decided I'd read it every half-decade. Which means I owe it two go-throughs. I also read Nine Stories many years back. "A Perfect Day For Bananafish" was the first short story that really knocked me in the head. I owe Salinger for his influence and inspiration. He lived a very long life but there's still a void left in his
absence.
Here are some pictures of the messes that are me and my apartment.
When I left for court yesterday there was a note on my door. So tomorrow some pest control service will be coming some time between 10 AM and 4 PM, accompanied by the apartment "service staff." This means I need to pick up the place. I'm also required to move all furniture, etc., at least two feet away from the wall where the heat registers are located, just above the floor in these pics:
It's no tragedy, but it's a huge pain in the ass. That bookcase is fucking heavy when it's empty. There's the option of dragging all my fucking books out but fuck that. They can help me move it. Two days notice. Well, it's better than the two or three times the apartment staff or village workers have woken me up with a knock on the bedroom door to inspect this that or the other. Fuckers.
I did some calculations last night while drunk. I've consumed just under 300 beers in the last month. When you drink 9, 10 or 13 a night it doesn't seem like much. But Jesus Christ. I really gotta start doing sit ups and taking walks before my beer belly is totally out of control.
I'm scared to calculate an estimate of how many cigarettes I've smoked in that same time span.
Thanks for all the well-wishes regarding my legal fiasco.
Hugs and Kisses.
On weekdays we had three hour period called "school." I spent my school hours reading Catcher. It was solace in a traumatic environment. I almost regretted not reading it the previous semester in sophomore English, but not quite. If you've read it and know where Holden winds up at the end, you can understand how profound it felt to have chosen that book under those circumstances. I read it again five years later and decided I'd read it every half-decade. Which means I owe it two go-throughs. I also read Nine Stories many years back. "A Perfect Day For Bananafish" was the first short story that really knocked me in the head. I owe Salinger for his influence and inspiration. He lived a very long life but there's still a void left in his
absence.
Here are some pictures of the messes that are me and my apartment.
When I left for court yesterday there was a note on my door. So tomorrow some pest control service will be coming some time between 10 AM and 4 PM, accompanied by the apartment "service staff." This means I need to pick up the place. I'm also required to move all furniture, etc., at least two feet away from the wall where the heat registers are located, just above the floor in these pics:
It's no tragedy, but it's a huge pain in the ass. That bookcase is fucking heavy when it's empty. There's the option of dragging all my fucking books out but fuck that. They can help me move it. Two days notice. Well, it's better than the two or three times the apartment staff or village workers have woken me up with a knock on the bedroom door to inspect this that or the other. Fuckers.
I did some calculations last night while drunk. I've consumed just under 300 beers in the last month. When you drink 9, 10 or 13 a night it doesn't seem like much. But Jesus Christ. I really gotta start doing sit ups and taking walks before my beer belly is totally out of control.
I'm scared to calculate an estimate of how many cigarettes I've smoked in that same time span.
Thanks for all the well-wishes regarding my legal fiasco.
Hugs and Kisses.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
rcrx:
Catcher in the Rye was the only Salinger I've read. I appreciate it more now than I did as an adolescent trapped in my own situation and unable to even connect to Catcher. RIP Salinger.
_moonbeam_:
What would it take to make it a 10?