4:47 p.m. - 2005-12-05
Memoirs, Schmemoirs
I notice I haven't updated lately. It's probably due to malaise, perhaps cold-weather-related. Lately nothing seems interesting enough to blog about.
OH, EXCEPT I tried a new kind of snack food the other day. Well, not really a new kind PER SE, it was just corn chips with flavor powder on them, but it was the expensive kind. They were pretty good.
And, um, we got a new comforter, a king size one with 350 thread count and 600 goose index. I don't know what these things mean, but it more than covers our bed.
Also I just read a book by Augusten Burroughs, who's kind of a less funny version of David Sedaris. It's called "Dry", a harrowing account of alcoholism, rehab, troubled romance, and EXTREME alcoholism, with all the poisoning and hallucinations. Which Burroughs supposedly survived, because on the cover it says "A Memoir". But I think he just makes shit up and tries to pass it off as autobiographical. Not because of the alcoholism parts, but because of how according to his narrative, seemingly every affluent and handsome gay man in New York wants a piece of him. Burroughs' back cover photo gives the lie to this prospect: no looker, he. It's kind of like a Woody Allen movie, you know, how Woody Allen's always having to fight off Keatons, Hemingways and Ramplings with a bat even though he's sort of not attractive and is forever dropping names like Wittgenstein, Mahler and Susan Sontag. In summary, you're better off watching "Lost Weekend" than reading "Dry" OR watching a Woody Allen movie: Woody Allen's not in it, it doesn't pretend to be something it's not, and it's got cool music during the alcoholic dementia scenes by Miklos Rosza or someone like that.
NEXT: Remembrance of Things Past: LIES, ALL LIES!
