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1. Watched the film End of the Tour starring Jason Segal and Jess Eisenberg, about a road trip with David Foster Wallace. It's based on an a best-selling memoir by Rolling Stone journalist, David Lispky, who interviewed Wallace during his book tour of Infinite Jest.
I've never had the pleasure of reading David Foster Wallace, nor to be honest, the inclination. Although I have thumbed through the anniversary edition of Infinite Jest at Barnes and Noble on various occasions. Even remember when it came out, and all the cool kids were talking about it. Foster Wallace reminds me a bit too much of JD Salinger, Philip Roth, Jonathan Franzen, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Thomas Pynchon - novelists that most frustrated white male middle-class literary types revere as brilliant and the holy grail of literary achievement, and that may well be so, but they just come across as whiny to me and difficult to relate to. I often find myself wading through their slick prose like so much quicksand. Blasphemous, I know, but there it is. They are excellent wordsmiths, hence all the reverence. Also, they focus on the mundane and difficult experience of being white, male, and middle class in the US, and feeling as if somehow, you've managed to fail your great potential, or our society has somehow failed you. Where's all that happiness society promised you? The only one of the bunch that I found remotely interesting was John Henry O'Toole, whose cult classic, Confederacy of Dunces, makes fun of the whole thing and takes himself and life far less seriously than these guys appear to. But again, I've never read Foster Wallace, so I may be wrong about that. I do flirt with his books on occassion though.
Ironically enough, the movie in some respects dissects what I just wrote above and reflects it back at the audience. Which I found to be interesting, particularly as a writer. Foster Wallace states throughout that he's really not that great or brilliant, and absurdly self-conscious. He wishes he could edit whatever Lipsky chooses to write about him, to have some semblance of control over how he is portrayed. I can't help but wonder what he'd have thought of this film --- it most likely would have made him shudder. Like Salinger, Foster Wallace is a private man, who really doesn't quite understand all the attention his books are attracting.
He tells Lispky at the end of the film, "You don't really want to be me, you know." To which, Lipsky responds, "I don't." And Wallace with a bit of a smile, states, "yes, you do, but it's not what you think it is."
Lipsky in a bit of an epilogue, after Wallace has died, says to an audience of readers..."We were both so young and at the time, I wanted to have what he did, while he wanted more." Neither were satisfied with their lot, and both, in particular, Foster Wallace, were projecting a sort of self-loathing. Life was miserable thing and they were both its victims. And yet, the film depicts the exact opposite of what is said.
In the final reel, we see Wallace dancing in a basement of a Baptist Church, filled with joy, And during the film he walks his black labradors with contentment. He has a job he enjoys, which provides him with plenty of time to write and tour. He has acquired a certain level of literary acclaim and critical respect, the sort that many best-selling writers such as Stephen King would kill for. He dresses like schlub, yet has no problems acquiring a date, based on his brilliant word-smithery. The Rolling Stone journalist, Lispky, equally has a good lot in life. He's a journalist for Rolling Stone, has two girlfriends, one in LA, and has published a novel which granted didn't get quite the attention he desires. Both feel life has failed them somehow or they've failed life, yet neither see what they have in front of them. The human dilemma in a nutshell.
2. Got off the phone with my mother, who informed me that she managed to read the entire Maiden Lane series by Elizabeth Hoyt, and had pre-ordered the next book in that series.
ME: All ten of them?
Mom: Yes.
Me: How long did it take you? A month?
Mom: Two weeks.
Me: Wow.
Mom: There's too much sex in them, I skim a lot.
She reminds me of my Grandmother, and well myself. Hmmm...apparently binge reading is genetic. Who knew?
3. It's sunny but overcast today and the air is heavy with dampness and pollen, resulting in a sick sinus headache that will not go away. I wish it would just rain and get it over with.
4. Been watching episodes of To Call the Midwife -- I was six episodes behind, now I'm four episodes behind. It's too depressing to binge watch. As my mother puts it, all the episodes make her cry. The series has become increasingly preachy and melodramatic over time and has lost some of its joy.
Debating if I want to watch Quantico or Marvel Agents of Shield, or just delete them? I have 11 episodes of Marvel saved and 13 of Quantico, or maybe its the opposite? I did delete and cancel Orphan Black finally, since I'd skipped over most of S3. I may grab it through streaming some day. On the fence about Outlander as well, which I'd skipped the last four episodes of, because having read the book, I knew exactly where they were going and had no interest in watching it on screen. I have not read the second book, although I do have it on the Kindle, but it just doesn't hold my interest. Will the television series? I don't know.
The only series people talk about on my flist any longer, I don't watch nor have much interest in watching. It's odd really, since I first came online and to LJ primarily to discuss television shows, now alas, have none I really feel the need to discuss.
5. Yesterday, read a rather critical post on lj by someone I've never heard of about other blogs and bloggers, which I won't link to. (It was in yesterday's top 25 posts.) The blogger opined how most of the blogs he read online fell into various categories, all of which were rather negative. ie. Narcissist, superiority syndrome, the new generation are idiots, etc. He or she was critiquing the bloggers for being judgmental jerks or full of themselves, and I thought, well you can say that about everyone who posts online, really, to some degree or another, including, ahem, yourself. I'm aware that I come across as judgmental, superior, and a bunch of other things, I wish I didn't. Try not too, but alas, it is what it is.
Human beings seem to be insanely judgmental creatures. I don't know if other animals are? I'm guessing so - at least discriminatory. Maybe it's an evolutionary thing -- a means of surviving?
(shrugs).
Anyhow, the post niggled at me for the reasons cited above.
I've never had the pleasure of reading David Foster Wallace, nor to be honest, the inclination. Although I have thumbed through the anniversary edition of Infinite Jest at Barnes and Noble on various occasions. Even remember when it came out, and all the cool kids were talking about it. Foster Wallace reminds me a bit too much of JD Salinger, Philip Roth, Jonathan Franzen, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Thomas Pynchon - novelists that most frustrated white male middle-class literary types revere as brilliant and the holy grail of literary achievement, and that may well be so, but they just come across as whiny to me and difficult to relate to. I often find myself wading through their slick prose like so much quicksand. Blasphemous, I know, but there it is. They are excellent wordsmiths, hence all the reverence. Also, they focus on the mundane and difficult experience of being white, male, and middle class in the US, and feeling as if somehow, you've managed to fail your great potential, or our society has somehow failed you. Where's all that happiness society promised you? The only one of the bunch that I found remotely interesting was John Henry O'Toole, whose cult classic, Confederacy of Dunces, makes fun of the whole thing and takes himself and life far less seriously than these guys appear to. But again, I've never read Foster Wallace, so I may be wrong about that. I do flirt with his books on occassion though.
Ironically enough, the movie in some respects dissects what I just wrote above and reflects it back at the audience. Which I found to be interesting, particularly as a writer. Foster Wallace states throughout that he's really not that great or brilliant, and absurdly self-conscious. He wishes he could edit whatever Lipsky chooses to write about him, to have some semblance of control over how he is portrayed. I can't help but wonder what he'd have thought of this film --- it most likely would have made him shudder. Like Salinger, Foster Wallace is a private man, who really doesn't quite understand all the attention his books are attracting.
He tells Lispky at the end of the film, "You don't really want to be me, you know." To which, Lipsky responds, "I don't." And Wallace with a bit of a smile, states, "yes, you do, but it's not what you think it is."
Lipsky in a bit of an epilogue, after Wallace has died, says to an audience of readers..."We were both so young and at the time, I wanted to have what he did, while he wanted more." Neither were satisfied with their lot, and both, in particular, Foster Wallace, were projecting a sort of self-loathing. Life was miserable thing and they were both its victims. And yet, the film depicts the exact opposite of what is said.
In the final reel, we see Wallace dancing in a basement of a Baptist Church, filled with joy, And during the film he walks his black labradors with contentment. He has a job he enjoys, which provides him with plenty of time to write and tour. He has acquired a certain level of literary acclaim and critical respect, the sort that many best-selling writers such as Stephen King would kill for. He dresses like schlub, yet has no problems acquiring a date, based on his brilliant word-smithery. The Rolling Stone journalist, Lispky, equally has a good lot in life. He's a journalist for Rolling Stone, has two girlfriends, one in LA, and has published a novel which granted didn't get quite the attention he desires. Both feel life has failed them somehow or they've failed life, yet neither see what they have in front of them. The human dilemma in a nutshell.
2. Got off the phone with my mother, who informed me that she managed to read the entire Maiden Lane series by Elizabeth Hoyt, and had pre-ordered the next book in that series.
ME: All ten of them?
Mom: Yes.
Me: How long did it take you? A month?
Mom: Two weeks.
Me: Wow.
Mom: There's too much sex in them, I skim a lot.
She reminds me of my Grandmother, and well myself. Hmmm...apparently binge reading is genetic. Who knew?
3. It's sunny but overcast today and the air is heavy with dampness and pollen, resulting in a sick sinus headache that will not go away. I wish it would just rain and get it over with.
4. Been watching episodes of To Call the Midwife -- I was six episodes behind, now I'm four episodes behind. It's too depressing to binge watch. As my mother puts it, all the episodes make her cry. The series has become increasingly preachy and melodramatic over time and has lost some of its joy.
Debating if I want to watch Quantico or Marvel Agents of Shield, or just delete them? I have 11 episodes of Marvel saved and 13 of Quantico, or maybe its the opposite? I did delete and cancel Orphan Black finally, since I'd skipped over most of S3. I may grab it through streaming some day. On the fence about Outlander as well, which I'd skipped the last four episodes of, because having read the book, I knew exactly where they were going and had no interest in watching it on screen. I have not read the second book, although I do have it on the Kindle, but it just doesn't hold my interest. Will the television series? I don't know.
The only series people talk about on my flist any longer, I don't watch nor have much interest in watching. It's odd really, since I first came online and to LJ primarily to discuss television shows, now alas, have none I really feel the need to discuss.
5. Yesterday, read a rather critical post on lj by someone I've never heard of about other blogs and bloggers, which I won't link to. (It was in yesterday's top 25 posts.) The blogger opined how most of the blogs he read online fell into various categories, all of which were rather negative. ie. Narcissist, superiority syndrome, the new generation are idiots, etc. He or she was critiquing the bloggers for being judgmental jerks or full of themselves, and I thought, well you can say that about everyone who posts online, really, to some degree or another, including, ahem, yourself. I'm aware that I come across as judgmental, superior, and a bunch of other things, I wish I didn't. Try not too, but alas, it is what it is.
Human beings seem to be insanely judgmental creatures. I don't know if other animals are? I'm guessing so - at least discriminatory. Maybe it's an evolutionary thing -- a means of surviving?
(shrugs).
Anyhow, the post niggled at me for the reasons cited above.