My Mother is Not a Fish, Not Even Close

This week’s quote is pulled from the William Faulkner (supposed) classic The Sound and the Fury. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never read it.

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“A fine dead sound we will swap Benjy's pasture for a fine dead sound.”

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That vague excerpt from Western literary canon came at you a day late because I’ve been on the move all weekend and have had zero alone time with my keyboard.

Being tied down to my desk is so 20th Century, I know. I’ve resisted the calls for long enough but I am finally looking at purchasing a cheapish laptop. I hate using those cheap and undersized keyboards for typing but I spend more time at my girlfriend’s house than at my own apartment and it’s just too hard to write often enough that way.

At least now I’ll be able to bond with all the other underemployed hacks leeching WiFi and iced tea refills at every coffee shop in Hollywood. Those days of not being taken seriously as a writer are certainly coming to a middle!

Also, as I’m never above a few sentences of shameless self-promotion...

The August issue of RUKUS magazine is online—skim through it and read my review of the new Korn album.

Please?

Context is for Pussies

I woke up on a co-workers couch at about nine this morning, still a little buzzed from the Bud Lights and gin cocktails we drank until dawn.

(Drinking with two of my co-workers last night was a pretty good time. Both are struggling actors from the mid-West with a very genuine enthusiasm for their craft. Their optimism and persistence is rather infectious, actually.)

I came home, took a nap in my bright yellow work shirt, and didn’t’ wake up again until about two this afternoon. After bumming around on the computer for an hour or two, I walked to the Lady Friend’s house to feed her cat and ended up watching Terminator Salvation on HBO. Meh. It was as unmemorable as any movie I’ve seen this summer. (It’s telling that my favorite part was when some characters listened to Alice in Chains for about twelve seconds.)

Now I’m home, bumming around again. I’ll spend the rest of the evening pretending to try and write and probably end up finishing season one of the X-Files instead.

I can’t leave you without first quoting a vague or obscure passage from canonical literature I haven’t read. (Another lazy Sunday, another new tradition.)

This week, we look to the oval-faced Herman Melville for an excerpt from his other famous work, Billy Bud:

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“At the penultimate moment, his words, his only ones, words wholly unobstructed in the utterance were these — ‘God bless Captain Vere!’”

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Yeah, let that marinate in your brain for awhile.