my own deals

i got my brother to buy me a new notebook

from the $1.50 japanese store in diamond bar.

i realize i still have multiple fractions of blank notebooks

as well as one or two wholly blank notebooks

kicking around,

but this one called to me.

it has khaki-colored covers,

a loose spiral binding which is important

because sometimes i have a hard time turning pages,

and what seems to be recycled paper with no ruling.

i realize that might have been one of the duller

constructs of words i've slapped together,

but bear with me.

i've been thinking so much about writing and

what it means to me, and to the people who might

actually read this and consider it (perhaps rightfully) blasé.

this might be due to the fact that i've been basically reading

a trillion books at the same time,

with two books being especially focal to this introspective moodiness:
Every Love Story is a Ghost Story, by DT Max,

and This is How You Lose Her, by Junot Diaz

(sorry Mr. Diaz, but i cannot be bothered to figure out

how to add accents to your name).

of course, i've already gotten to this point

and i basically have rambled on with no clear agenda,

so please let me try to clarify.

i went to go visit charles and christian de gooz

in arizona last weekend, which was a blast.

we drank, we smoked a great deal,

and they managed to make my arms unusable until today.

i was so happy during my visit that i honestly cannot say

i feel the need to compare how humdrum my life was,

and still is post-visit.

i've also been going back and forth

as to whether or not i should tell this girl who lives

a quadrillion miles away from me that i actually think

i might be into her.

at this point, i do not particularly care whether she feels the same way;

i just expect the experience of actually telling her

to be cathartic in some way.

also, the job hunt is incredibly unfulfilling.

back to David Foster Wallace's biography:

this is the first time i've read a book where

i cannot be sure i like the content or the delivery of said content better.

i never realized i might like a biography so much;

to be honest, i have always held them with a bit of disdain,

mere collections of facts about people that miss out

on the very essence that make lives...lives.

however, this book is incredibly well-written,

and the life of DFW is so fascinating that i have a hard time

separating my admiration for the subject and the writing.

perhaps this book is just one of those times when

there is a really great synergy between those two concepts

and the product is something special.

maybe i am just fanboying the shit out of this book.

either way, i suggest you read it, dear readers.

note of warning, however: it is a bit erudite at times,

but that is but one of the many reasons why i love the book so much.

by a happy coincidence, i was listening to

the Arctic Monkeys's new album AM

when i began reading Every Love Story

(while taking notes in my new notebook,

although due to the pages being blank,

the middle portion of my notes skew downward,

a trend i cursedly attempt to fix towards the bottom portion - 

see how it all came back together???).

what a great album.

only today was i loving AM so much that

i actually had the heretic notion that Arctic Monkeys might someday

supplant MCS as my favourite band

(see what i did there?).

if i re-visit Favourite Worst Nightmare

and like it at least as much as i liked Suck It and See,

then that means that i enjoy their discography album for album

as much as i do MCS's.

sacrilege.

something you may not know,

and can add to the list of bizarre-ities that i profess

to hold as my own:

i really hate using contractions when i write.

sometimes when i write these things,

i latch on to one, but try mightily to not use any other ones.

for instance, i am pretty certain i've only used

contractions for "i've" this whole time.

from the time i use a contraction,

i surreptitiously make sure i use only that one going forward

and toss the rest aside.

sloppy, i know, but hey, fuck you.

just kidding. i love you all.