The only true ____
Read Lolita last week. Gee, books are pretty sometimes. I was already crushing on Nabokov after King, Queen, Knave but this was amazing. And the cover had some blurb along the lines of "the only true love story of our century" which is one of my new favorite formulas. "The only true microwave dinner of our century", "the only true love story ever found in People magazine", "the only true post-punk marachi band of our century", ect. But unflippantly, it is gorgeous- sick twisty obsessive gorgeous, but still.
Unfortunately, I know have a tendency to leer at faunlets on the Metro now, wondering if flesh that is innocent by virtue (only?) of its newness to this soiled sphere tastes the sweeter. Will restrain self, promise. Besides, I don't really think I have a thing for the young uns cause their hygiene tends to be ghastly. So maybe no on the 'sweeter' question. Fine, whatever.
In more lit related news, I saw M. for the first time in 10? months today. We talked about life: my failed engagement, his finding his one true love, my eye ulcer, his finding his one true love, my schooling, how he will look for books for me if I come to meet his one true love (why? To give'r the J seal of approval?). I kinda want to become a spinster right now, with the cats and the baking and the candy-colored row house and the Tag Team Tuesdays. Even if I find a one true love (maybe I can bogart M.'s?) I hope I can still talk about other things. And I know that seems really hypocritical with as much yammering as I've been doing about the Boy, but still. Sorry, world, for being besotted. Only a month more though.
Unfortunately, I know have a tendency to leer at faunlets on the Metro now, wondering if flesh that is innocent by virtue (only?) of its newness to this soiled sphere tastes the sweeter. Will restrain self, promise. Besides, I don't really think I have a thing for the young uns cause their hygiene tends to be ghastly. So maybe no on the 'sweeter' question. Fine, whatever.
In more lit related news, I saw M. for the first time in 10? months today. We talked about life: my failed engagement, his finding his one true love, my eye ulcer, his finding his one true love, my schooling, how he will look for books for me if I come to meet his one true love (why? To give'r the J seal of approval?). I kinda want to become a spinster right now, with the cats and the baking and the candy-colored row house and the Tag Team Tuesdays. Even if I find a one true love (maybe I can bogart M.'s?) I hope I can still talk about other things. And I know that seems really hypocritical with as much yammering as I've been doing about the Boy, but still. Sorry, world, for being besotted. Only a month more though.
posted by J at 3:52 PM
2 Comments:
We'd make a marvellous household of spinsters and the strippers would love us. Clearly.
You're ridiculous when you're besotted and it's cute! I'm sorry for being owly of late, but can't seem to come to grips with being otherwise. Ho hum.
You should read Pale Fire, also by Nabokov. It's fucking magnificent.
I finished your thing and it is also fucking magnificent. Tomorrow I am going to ponce about with it to the yarn store, where they will be impressed, too, and then to the post office. I love you.
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