So I just had a nice huge breakfast, eggs, bacon, waffles, coffee, fucking awesome. And now I got enough energy to go in and keep chipping away at Infinite Jest because it’s around 9 degrees out, without the wind chill, and my plan to go early voting seems fucking stupid because of that. I’m sure someone is saying, “When the Iron Curtain fell, I would’ve gladly marched 10 miles in -12c to vote at all.” Well listen here, Bennie “the borchst,” I am a terrible person who doesn’t appreciate shit, so please let me listen to rock and roll and read this brick sized novel.
A few years ago I kept seeing people with copies of Infinite Jest on the CTA, a lot of people. If you haven’t seen a copy of the novel, it’s 5 7/8″ wide, by 9 1/8″, by 1 7/8″, and weighs in at a little more than 1 1/2 lbs (i’m not converting this to metric), and that’s the paper back version! It’s a great advertisement for ebooks. So far it’s about a tennis academy and drugs, also a few other things. What really suprised me about the book is how funny it is, occasionally ellicting a laugh from me, like a “ha!” more than a sustained jag of laughter, or as they say ROFL (the last thing that had me laughing like that was video of a priest officiating a wedding and the priest kept farting, a packed church, summer time, comedy gold. “Hey, padre, how about a big bowl of chili before the wedding?” “Don’t mind if I do!” The priest pulls ties a bib around his neck and pulls out his handcrafted chili spoon.) Infinite Jest is like a cross section of Pynchon and fucking Ulysses, you kind of just gotta suck it up and wade into the words. Unlike Ulysses it didn’t take me months to get to the second chapter, upon which I decided that give the book away because I couldn’t look at it anymore. I’m considering getting my own copy of I.J. because the copy I got from the library was initially nice and crisp, I love how sharp the corners of new books can be, and now it’s looking a little wilted, which makes me feel bad since it’s my responsibility to look after library books maybe a little better than my own. Of course I’m the type of person who lovingly tapes together library books that are falling apart, maybe I shouldn’t do it, but what are they going to do? “Sorry, you’re not authorized to keep books together, your card is revoked.” The footnotes alone could be a book. The most amazing thing about this book is that someone wrote this! Fuck, I don’t even write blog posts. I.J. goes good with cold caffeinated drinks, something a bit mediciney, and whatever is playing on a college radio station. So far. It might be the kind of book that would drive one to drink.
A few weeks ago I was driving around listening to 88.7 and they played this song:
It Ain’t Nothing to Me by Sandford Clark.
I thought it was pretty fucking cool. That screeching guitar/violin(?) adds a great layer of dischord that isn’t strictly musical. According to the internet, Mr Clark’s biggest hit was his rendition of The Fool, which was also done by Elvis, but I like Sandford’s version better because it sounds more deviant, something to sharpen your switchblade to while waiting for the primer to dry on the gas tank of your chopper. One of the coolest songs by Sandford Clark is Run Boy Run:
That song is screaming to be used in a Scorsese movie and you know it.
This story about surveillance blimps is pretty cool in a cyberpunk dystopia sort of way. It’s like some fucked up William Gibsonesque thing (I actually got found out about it through his twitter feed), looking up in the sky and seeing these monolithic cameras in the sky while you’re stuck in traffic, if it takes off. Either way, your tax dollars at work!