mixmedia: all movie
news: asia times
crooks and liars
135 slated for demolition
guess i was the last resident. sad to see it go. i always said it was pre-civil war but turns out it was built in 1817. im sure the chinese bank will build something lovely in its stead.
"Ever since I moved three years ago to Portland, Ore., that hotbed of all things hipster, I’ve been trying to get a handle on today’s youth culture. The style is easy enough to describe — the skinny pants, the retro hats, the wall-to-wall tattoos. But style is superficial. The question is, what’s underneath? What idea of life? What stance with respect to the world?"
tonight should have been the last night on this stinkhole of a mattress but i fucked up my order so its delayed at least one day if not more. but also they misinformed me about getting it upstairs so i may be sleeping on the stairs outside the building if i cant bribe the delivery guys or a random passerby. only half kidding. meanwhile my tv is due tomorrow, a delivery that will surely not go off without a hitch, likely due to my spotty doorbell which makes every delivery a dicey affair. also, i waited all day for directv over the weekend only to find out that my reinstallation was suspended until i paid my verizon bill which was a paltry 80 dollars. i suppose its just as well as i have no stand to put the tv on. so you could say i put the horse before the cart assuming the horse is named samsung. that about covers this week at the follies brecher. a demain.... ill be at the laundromat washing my sheets if you need me.
One of Green's many fears for the publication of The Pale King is that it will be read as an extended suicide note, as an explanation for the ending that Wallace gave himself. At one point in our conversation I wonder if she thought that the illness and the writing came out of the same place, that you couldn't have had one without the other?
"I don't think that is the case," she says, though she gets the emails from readers who want to believe this stubborn myth of the tormented genius, want the pain to be a prerequisite for the creativity, want to turn Wallace into some literary James Dean. "People don't understand how ill he was. It was a monster that just ate him up. And at that point everything was secondary to the illness. Not just writing. Everything else: food, love, shelter…"