This week I am disgruntled because I spend all my time on subways with heavy boxes. New Yorkers are so nice in helping me carry this stuff, but of course I'm thinking that this is how Ted Bundy found his victims. Read the Ann Rule book and I don't really like her books but that one was more interesting. But having a boring job I finally got around to getting books on tape of two writers that I've been meaning to read forever - Don Delillo and Kinky Friedman.
THEY BOTH SUCK!!!!
Don Delillo's book is read by Laurie Anderson and she's got a somnabulist voice. It works in her music somewhat but she could read Henry Miller (and I'm talking about the Miller of the Tropic books when he was kicking ass) and put you to sleep. But even overlooking her languid slow reading it's a terrible book. It's The Body Artist. And it's boring. It's all middle class white arty types and as far as I can tell tehre's something about menstruation paintings (does anyone find that "challenging" or "deep" or "good" anymore - it's not only stupid and disgusting but boring) and something about a dead husband. Or whatever. It reminds me of Paul Auster - but it sucks.
Which is how Generation Ecch (cool book if you can find it) described the way most of those blurbs on 80s and 90s books should have read - "It's like The Catcher in the Rye - but it sucks" (for a time every book was compared to The Catcher in the Rye because books about guys wandering around not doing much of anything were very popular)
And Kinky Friedman is just a Tom Robbins imitator. That whole lefty Jewish cowboy with a lot of strange secondary characters seems intriguing. Instead it's just kind of lame. They are all "weird" in that New Yorker version of weird. They swear and talk about religion and get drunk in the same bars and act like it's all really holy. I wonder if I would have liked him when I liked Tom Robbins (for the record, I returned to reading a Tom Robbins book and I couldn't fucking stand it. Every five minutes the narrator had to make a sermon about how you can be holy and fuck 15-year olds. I fast forwarded through most of it so I didn't hear that part about how older guys can fuck better because they take their time - but I know it's in there.) And he keeps repeating the same fucking jokes. Like the one character that keeps calling him Stinky or Winky or Kinky. It wasn't funny the first time.
Hell, after the Kinky Friedman book I can't even stand Be Cool - I normally love Elmore Leonard books but it's so much like the Kinky Friedman thing that I can't deal with it.
I'm going to the library at lunch. Maybe I can get better stuff.
Then again I have been carting my boxes on the subway since Sunday - with the exception of Monday night when my friend helped me take a lot of it, but then kept me up late because she had other errands to run. I'm tired and crabby. I'm not sure if I'd like anything I'm reading. Hell, I can't even concentrate on Jane Austen (although reading a Jane Austen book on a Subway is a surreal experience. Ok it's just depressing. I want to be sipping tea with all my extended family and gossipping in an English Country Estate damnit. I don't even mind if I end up in the scandal side of the book - I'm reading Persuasion)
Speaking of which - what the hell is Hugh Grant doing in the new Bridget Jones movie? He wasn't in the book - well that character was in it for about 5 pages and then he disappeared after getting punched out. Most of it was Bridget's evil friend trying to steal Darcy.
But no, I think Don Delillo would suck in any mood. At least I can imagine my 18-year old self (and for everyone that's curious - YES - that icon of the stoner looking dude with the long hair and the glasses that take up most of his face IS me at that age. I thought it looked cool. And like most long haired stoner dudes I got it cut shortly before Sophomore year of college. But it still gets shaggy)
THEY BOTH SUCK!!!!
Don Delillo's book is read by Laurie Anderson and she's got a somnabulist voice. It works in her music somewhat but she could read Henry Miller (and I'm talking about the Miller of the Tropic books when he was kicking ass) and put you to sleep. But even overlooking her languid slow reading it's a terrible book. It's The Body Artist. And it's boring. It's all middle class white arty types and as far as I can tell tehre's something about menstruation paintings (does anyone find that "challenging" or "deep" or "good" anymore - it's not only stupid and disgusting but boring) and something about a dead husband. Or whatever. It reminds me of Paul Auster - but it sucks.
Which is how Generation Ecch (cool book if you can find it) described the way most of those blurbs on 80s and 90s books should have read - "It's like The Catcher in the Rye - but it sucks" (for a time every book was compared to The Catcher in the Rye because books about guys wandering around not doing much of anything were very popular)
And Kinky Friedman is just a Tom Robbins imitator. That whole lefty Jewish cowboy with a lot of strange secondary characters seems intriguing. Instead it's just kind of lame. They are all "weird" in that New Yorker version of weird. They swear and talk about religion and get drunk in the same bars and act like it's all really holy. I wonder if I would have liked him when I liked Tom Robbins (for the record, I returned to reading a Tom Robbins book and I couldn't fucking stand it. Every five minutes the narrator had to make a sermon about how you can be holy and fuck 15-year olds. I fast forwarded through most of it so I didn't hear that part about how older guys can fuck better because they take their time - but I know it's in there.) And he keeps repeating the same fucking jokes. Like the one character that keeps calling him Stinky or Winky or Kinky. It wasn't funny the first time.
Hell, after the Kinky Friedman book I can't even stand Be Cool - I normally love Elmore Leonard books but it's so much like the Kinky Friedman thing that I can't deal with it.
I'm going to the library at lunch. Maybe I can get better stuff.
Then again I have been carting my boxes on the subway since Sunday - with the exception of Monday night when my friend helped me take a lot of it, but then kept me up late because she had other errands to run. I'm tired and crabby. I'm not sure if I'd like anything I'm reading. Hell, I can't even concentrate on Jane Austen (although reading a Jane Austen book on a Subway is a surreal experience. Ok it's just depressing. I want to be sipping tea with all my extended family and gossipping in an English Country Estate damnit. I don't even mind if I end up in the scandal side of the book - I'm reading Persuasion)
Speaking of which - what the hell is Hugh Grant doing in the new Bridget Jones movie? He wasn't in the book - well that character was in it for about 5 pages and then he disappeared after getting punched out. Most of it was Bridget's evil friend trying to steal Darcy.
But no, I think Don Delillo would suck in any mood. At least I can imagine my 18-year old self (and for everyone that's curious - YES - that icon of the stoner looking dude with the long hair and the glasses that take up most of his face IS me at that age. I thought it looked cool. And like most long haired stoner dudes I got it cut shortly before Sophomore year of college. But it still gets shaggy)