Maybe a lesson is that I don’t have to struggle, that the pearl is there for me to take. (That when I’m struggling, that’s a lesser me.)
Pet-peeve: people who speak in the negative. “He seems under-qualified. Let’s see if we can’t find someone better suited.” “That looks difficult. Let’s see if we can’t find a solution.” How about let’s see if we can find a solution, freak. Don’t be negative. Pet-peeve: people who speak in the conditional. “I would wonder as to the veracity of that statement.” “I would advise you to reconsider.” You would advise me? If what? If you had the balls to do so? If hell froze over? Just go ahead and advise me, freak. Don’t be tentative. Pet peeve: people who speak in the imperative.
My sister, Amy, is getting married!
may oceans savor breezes for you, brilliant yesterday, I am building an eternity from my impressions
I love my family, but my family is so fucked up. My family is so accomplished, and my family is so neurotic. A couple of people here and there are bona-fide polymaths, we have weird health problems and publications and enjoy strange conversation at family reunions. I worked with someone, once, who worked with my cousin Will; he recounted stories of Will’s memory and skill with software libraries while at LexisNexis. (I happened to work there later.) A cousin designs Aveda’s packaging and did the Vera Wang perfume. An aunt is a recorded organist and microbiologist. And our family troubles are the same as everyone else’s, perhaps a tad worse. The siblings (my parents and uncles) fight over where their parents will die (nursing home, with family). The cousins hush stories of each other, elope, move back, retreat silently. The parents and children are not sure, in any given moment, whether hate or love is the defining element. Ultimately, none of that accomplishment colors the interaction. It’s just patience, and lack of gossip, that is worth something.
And I’ll tell you, sometimes I bask in the messiness and humanity of it; and sometimes, I want to be done with it.
Some people I’ve worked with in the past: you’re psychopaths. And some people I’ve dated. You’re not supposed to say things like this, and it no doubt makes everyone nervous about working with or dating someone who will say things like this, but…let’s name some names, shall we? Alex Schmelkin of Alexander Interactive: you’re a fucking psychopath—you string people along without paying them?! You’re fucking insane, you smile all the while, so smooth socially, but you hang your own employees out to dry. Ray Kremer, of Softronics, you can suck my dog’s dick you pathetic piece of shit. There’s a reason you’ll die in an unhappy marriage with fucked up kids. And Rishi: I have loved you, but I have to say, you have no heart, and it isn’t your fault, necessarily…I never had the mom you had, never had the upbringing you had…and so you have my sympathy. At the same time, though, I would not wish your company on my worst enemy.
The French are something of a scapegoat among the dumbest Americans around. We will harp first on the French politically—their ideas are so absurd! But, Ohio::California as America::France; people in Ohio never tire of offhand insults to the crazy Californians who elect an actor as their governor, people in America never tire of hanging the French over lunchtime. It’s the firstmost acceptable international racism among firstworld countries, for the Americans to hate the French. I’m not trying to say I love the French. I love Foucault. But for sure I hate Americans who hate the French.