Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Last night I accidentally threw my glass of whiskey at the wall. Fortunately, it was in the entryway, so there was nothing there to get sticky. Today at lunch I could barely eat my soup because my hand kept shaking when I tried to bring it up to my mouth.

Coincidentally I just read an article about Michael J. Fox, and now I'm convinced that I have Parkinson's.

Yesterday at the bar I met a guy who married his girlfriend's brother's girlfriend so that she could get citizenship, but then they stayed together. Earlier that morning she had tried to kill him with a kitchen knife. I told him that he had a better reason to be drinking than I did.

After all, which is scarier? An angry woman with a sharp object or a nervous system disorder? I'm going with the angry woman.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages.
- Marcel Proust

This album was found by André Berge, one of the followers of Antoinette Faure, who published for the first time into 1924 the pages filled out by Marcel Proust. André Berge reports that certain pages comprise dates which spread out between 1884 and 1887.

Album anglais d'Antoinette Faure

Your favourite virtue.
Proust: Toutes celles qui ne sont pas particulières à une secte, les universelles.
Ben: spontaneity.

Your favourite qualities in a man.
Proust: L'intelligence, le sens moral.
Ben: Creativity, trust.

Your favourite qualities in a woman.
Proust: La douceur, le naturel, l'intelligence.
Ben: I think Proust's answer is good enough.

Your favourite occupation.
Proust: La lecture, la rêverie, les vers, l'histoire, le théâtre.
Ben: Fuck art. I just want to take a nap.

Your chief characteristic.
Proust: -
Ben: Stubborn.

Your idea of happiness.
Proust: Vivre près de tous ceux que j'aime avec les charmes de la nature, une quantité de livres et de partitions, et pas loin un théâtre français.
Ben: Guiness and a hot tub. And a girl who can put up with me. And not far from a French theatre.

Your idea of misery.
Proust: Etre séparé de maman.
Ben: Being alone infinitely.

Your favourite colour and flower.
Proust: Je les aime toutes, et pour les fleurs, je ne sais pas.
Ben: Red, and, anything but roses.

If not yourself, who would you be?
Proust: N'ayant pas à me poser la question, je préfère ne pas la résoudre. J'aurais cependant bien aimé être Pline le jeune.
Ben: Who could I be but myself?

Where would you like to live?
Proust: Au pays de l'idéal, ou plutôt de mon idéal.
Ben: Manhattan. But with better beaches.

Your favourite prose authors.
Proust: George Sand, Aug. Thierry.
Ben: Rushdie, Kerouac, Salinger.

Your favourite poets.
Proust: Musset.
Ben: John Ashbery, Michael Palmer, Frank O'Hara.

Your favourite painters and composers.
Proust: Meissonnier, Mozart, Gounod.
Ben: Ad Reinhart, Jasper Johns, Prokofiev.

Your favourite heroes in real life.
Proust: Un milieu entre Socrate, Périclès, Mahomet, Musset, Pline le Jeune, Aug. Thierry.
Ben: Nietzche, Matt Groening.

Your favourite heroines in real life.
Proust: Une femme de génie ayant l'existence d'une femme ordinaire.
Ben: Frieda Khalo.

Your favourite heroes in fiction.
Proust: Les héros romanesques poétiques, ceux qui sont un idéal plutôt qu'un modèle.
Ben: Saladin Chamcha, Gibreel Farishita, Seymore Glass.

Your favourite heroines in fiction.
Proust: Celles qui sont plus que des femmes sans sortir de leur sexe, tout ce qui est tendre poétique, pur, beau dans tous les genres.
Ben: Franny Glass, Sara Gaskell.

Your favourite food and drink.
Proust: -
Ben: quash casarole, Jack and Coke.

Your favourite names.
Proust: -
Ben: Emily, Elizabeth.

Your pet aversion.
Proust: Les gens qui ne sentent pas ce qui est bien, qui ignorent les douceurs de l'affection.
Ben: I don't understand the question.

What characters in history do you most dislike.
Proust: -
Ben: David. Achilles.

What is your present state of mind.
Proust: -
Ben: -

For what fault have you most toleration?
Proust: Pour la vie privée des génies.
Ben: Ignorance.

Your favourite motto.
Proust: Une qui ne peut pas se résumer parce que sa plus simple expression est ce qu'[il y] a de beau, de bon, de grand dans la nature.
Ben: "To bend, rather than break."

Monday, October 17, 2005

On my lunch break I decided to head downtown and see if I could pick up a couple of Ryan Adams tickets for the Wall Street Rising fesival. It's free, but you have to pick up tickets and you can only get two, for a maximum of two shows. I figured, what the hell, I'd run down there, get my Ryan Adams tickets and I'd pick up a pair for Cat Power, too, just to have something to do one night. When I got there (having already used half of my lunch break), the line looked like this:

I decided that having a job was better than having Ryan Adams tickets.
Sometimes, when you're on the local train
and you know that the express would be more conveinent,
and put you out on the right side of the street
you still have to stay on the local train even though it's right across the platform at 14th.
Because the girl sitting across from you
is just too cute.

Friday, October 14, 2005

I'm going to tell you something and I'm being completely serious, so you can't laugh. I just spent the last thirty minutes researching U.S. state songs. Just because I don't have anything better to do. Here we go, Colorado!

The bison is gone from the upland,
the deer from the canyon has fled,
The home of the wolf is deserted,
the antelope moans for his dead,
The war whoop re-echoes no longer,
the Indian's only a name,
And the nymphs of the grove in their loneliness rove,
but the columbine blooms just the same.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Words I think sound good and I'd like to use more often in everyday conversation

Effervescent topography elucidate quagmire snapshot triptych entrance formaldehyde tempt innervate assiduous trampoline asinine quadrant philistine amiable triumphant The Hague solid variable formidable.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Numb walking through days eight to five and six to ten (or maybe eleven if we leave the light on) and eleven to six in bunches of time like daisies. You can see the details but only if you stare really close, and by that time it's all passed. So we talk of yesterday, instead. Patch our jeans and hang pictures on the walls painted blood red. Slate. Spring green. It's painted cold grey now, but soon the men will come and knock down the walls. There's no need to rush. Take a walk (that always makes a Sunday afternoon go by for me) and have a dumpling at the place on 8th, chat about the neighborhood, and stumble back to the wild-west swinging doors where they greet you with a beer already poured. The park is kind of nice, but then again, with as much change as I have in my pocket I might as well stop by the bookstore.

Maybe it's the weight of the world, but it's probably just the world spinning faster that gives the illusion. We are moving at 700 million miles per hour past some galaxy or another and you're worried about a parking ticket? Shove it in your ass.

Upstairs, sit. Downstairs, upstairs, sit. Downstairs, upstairs, sit. Downstairs, upstairs, sit. Downstairs.

Try as hard as you like. The pen string dick eyes buttons squeeks won't squeek themselves. Damn the alarm clock. Get me my slippers and a cigarette. Everybody get outside, I set the damn house on fire again.

Monday, October 10, 2005

I know it make ergonomic sense to assign Ctrl-C for copy and Ctrl-V for paste, but it really pisses me off when I spend fifteen minutes writing an entry and then paste something else over it trying to copy it into Blogger. I'm lazy so I'll just write the last sentance over:

Re: Chicago. We had a blast, so thank you guys for putting us up (and putting up with us).