cultured
I had to skip work today because I woke up with a fever; my throat felt like someone rubbed sandpaper on it and sprinkled salt on the wounds afterwards. This is what I hate most of all about having the flu: for me it’s always coupled with a really nasty case of sore throat. Sometimes I lose my voice for days, and when I do get it back it sounds gravelly.
I therefore conclude that working through the holidays does not do the body good. I suspect that I got the flu when I joined the network’s roving team on New Year’s Eve–I was the (pseudo) TV reporter for the day. It was raining a bit but we had to interview fireworks vendors, most of whom were more than willing to get in front of the camera. It was an interesting day, actually.
Anyway, I’m gonna use the weekend to get some much-needed rest and catch up on my pop culture–and 70s counterculture–fix. For this day alone I saw for the nth time a couple of movies and a couple of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. episodes, and also read a few chapters of Tom Wolfe’s “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.”
That reminds me, here’s a shot of the latest acquisitions:
"read me!," they scream
Two of these were gifts, the rest BookSale finds. Love ‘em. And the dog, too.
uninspired
It’s like every night since this week started I get this overwhelming urge to drink expensive coffee alone and just stare off into space.
Or read. Get lost in a book til ‘morning. I’ve been buying a lot of magazines and shit, but I miss really reading. I still haven’t finished Haruki Murakami’s “Norwegian Wood,” which I began like two months back. I did, however, recently finish Nick Hornby’s “High Fidelity” in two days, but that’s mainly because I like all the music talk, plus I have an ulterior motive: to find out why cool men cheat on women they like/love. Don’t ask. Anyway. I also tried to watch the movie version, but first few minutes into it and I already couldn’t stand John Cusack’s incessant talking to the camera.
You know what I’ve been looking for since February? Anything by Jack Kerouac. Preferably “On the Road.” Because I’ll prolly never get over the whole Beatnik and hippie eras. I settled for Ken Kesey’s “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” in March, but it’s not enough, and gah I don’t even remember if I finished it. Does anyone have anything by Jack Kerouac? Please?
I’m also strangely craving for anything about vampires, but the Anne rice novels I find in book sales are the ones whose stories I already know because they’ve been adapted into movies (Interview with the Vampire, Queen of the Damned); I don’t want to spend money buying new ones. There’s this teen vampire series “Twilight” that’s all the rage these days, and frankly I’m curious, but not curious enough to want to shell out money. At least for now.
It’s only been three days but I feel like a zombie. I miss jolly, giggly me. I miss my raucous laughter. I miss friends from different circles. I also miss spontaneous road trips. And going out for coffee and other stuff past midnight just because my friends and I feel like it. I miss some drinks and lots of deafening music. I miss long talks and walks.
End of incoherent rant.
