Tuesday, February 22, 2011

The Secret History

I finished Donna Tartt's novel The Secret History today. I was looking for a new book and Lesley Arfin — author of Dear Diary which I read and loved last year — said in an interview that she had separation anxiety from the characters after the book ended. At 600 pages you're definitely with the six (and then five) friends in their insular little world for such a long, harrowing ride that you can't help but think things like "Oh, that's SO Francis" toward the end.

The book and some of the characters are such a slow burn at first and then things become so vivid and epic that I kind of can't believe it's never been a movie. In fact I wouldn't be mad if it was adapted, so long as they kept it set in the early 90s. The psychological thriller interwoven with Darren Aronofsky-type CG camp for the dream sequences and the bacchanal with Dionysus in the woods? It could be like "Kicking and Screaming" meets "Heavenly Creatures" meets  "Heathers." And just this month someone fantasy-casted it on Flavorwire, with choices I mostly agree with except let's switch out Jo-Gor-Lev with Jesse Eisenberg for Richard the narrator, and maybe Wallace Shawn for Julian.

The icing on the cake was Tartt's fucking pitch-perfect satire of how ridiculous a tiny elite liberal arts college can be. It takes place in Vermont at a thinly veiled fictional Bennington called Hampden and the faculty, the drug-drenched student body, everything just rings so true. One main character wears pince-nez which of course turn out to be lensless, the way so many people at Sarah Lawrence had some affectation-by-way-of-prop like a cape or exotic pet. We used to call one kid "The Mayor" (of McCheese fame) because he tried to get all WC Fields with a top hat and cane every day. 
"Hampden College, as a body, was always strangely prone to hysteria. Whether from isolation, malice, or simple boredom, people there were far more credulous and excitable than educated people are generally thought to be, and this hermetic, overheated atmosphere made it a thriving black petri dish of melodrama and distortion. I remember well, for instance, the blind animal terror which ensued when some townie set off the civil defense sirens as a joke. Someone said it was a nuclear attack; TV and radio reception, never good there in the mountains, happened to be particularly bad that night, and in the ensuing stampede for the telephones, the switchboard shorted out, plunging the school into a violent and almost unimaginable panic. Cars collided in the parking lot. People screamed, wept, gave away their possessions, huddled in small groups for comfort and warmth. Some hippies barricaded themselves in the Science Building, in the lone bomb shelter, and refused to let anyone in who didn't know the words to "Sugar Magnolia." Factions formed, leaders rose from the chaos. Though the world, in fact, was not destroyed, everyone had a marvelous time and people spoke fondly of the event for years afterward."
The fact that the story takes place in this environment goes a long way in making the cultish central friendship believable enough, and lends a sort of No Exit feel to their dynamic by degrees as the book goes on. I won't say I have separation anxiety from the characters, but I'm definitely thinking about them and wondering what they're up to.

The Velvet Underground - Ocean

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Let's Get Romantical



In 2002 I had a job at 43rd and Lexington and would walk through Grand Central every day to get on the 6. On Valentine's Day that year, heading to the subway at around 6pm, I saw a line of men about one city block long leading up to the tiny Godiva shop in the train station. Men of all age, race, and class, some holding cellophane-wrapped flowers but most not, collectively sent me the indelible message that roses and candy on this day of all days said: "I have put the minimal amount of thought into this."

I've never been into Valentine's Day because of that sort of by-the-numbers feel, and I ended a relationship pretty recently so I'm rollin' solo this Monday. But maybe that's exactly why this year's Valentine's Day Mix is 100% free of bitterness and irony. Just 15 of my favorite love songs of all time (let it be known that "Nitemare Hippy Girl" is for my money the most romantic song ever written). We've got to keep loving love, right?

LUFF SONGS: Click here to download

  1. I Need Love - Sexton Blake
  2. Nitemare Hippy Girl - Beck
  3. Just Really Wanna See You - Shudder to Think
  4. Tim, I Wish You Were Born a Girl - Of Montreal
  5. A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off - The Magnetic Fields
  6. Intimate Friends - Eddie Kendricks
  7. Good Timin' - Jimmy Jones
  8. Everyday Clothes - Jonathan Richman
  9. I'm on Fire - Bruce Springsteen
  10. You Are the Blood - The Castanets
  11. Love Profusion - Regina Spektor
  12. The Way I Feel Inside - The Zombies
  13. T Ser s Mi Baby - Surfs
  14. Put Your Hand in My Hand - Lungfish
  15. I Touch Myself - Scala & Kolacny Brothers

Tuesday, January 25, 2011



Grimes is a woman named Claire Boucher from Montreal. Her stuff sounds kind of like if Pictureplane and Enya had a baby, and the result makes me want to hold onto a unicorn's silvery mane and ride deep into some Legend-type woods to consort with furry tree-dwelling creatures that speak their own language. My sloppy pastiche of 1980s fantasy movie references does no justice to the genuine imagination present in the entire Halfaxa album.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Nerd Alert: I See What You Did There, Fringe.



“These were created by my old friend of mine, Dr Jacoby from Washington State.”

  1. Fringe has gone from mediocre to good with this season. Finally, having no standards for the sci fi shows I watch pays off!  I'm not just in it for the Pacey anymore. 
  2. It's the point of winter in Chicago when it is so cold that I've been watching Hulu in bed all Saturday, which I felt guilty about until I remembered that sports fans spend EVERY Saturday and/or Sunday just sitting and looking. With beer. Ooh, a beer does sound kind of good right now though.
  3. The Twin Peaks soundtrack (and by extension Julee Cruise's album) got a lot of play in my parents' house circa 1990. 

Angelo Badalamenti - Dance of the Dream Man 

Saturday, January 8, 2011

I like big bones and I cannot lie



A: This is totally not weird at all. Definitely mention the 'bones are the only things left behind when we die' thing on the first date as you take one of her hands, testing its heft and running your fingers over her phalanges to see if they protrude enough. Say it exactly like you said it here.


via Time Out Chicago

Thursday, January 6, 2011

1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and get them sit ups riiight and

I joined a gym this week because, as I wrote as my reason on the registration form, "it's a real slippery slope to suddenly being full on fat." I have a crippling fear of exercising in front of others. This is why I like jogging, because I can just run right by people so even if they know me they barely have time to realize it before I'm gone. But it's cold, and fears were meant to be conquered, and the fat-slope has gotten slipperier in the past few months. A beefy man with a shaved bald head and beady eyes sold me my membership. He looked like a guy who would get into a fight at a bar. Actually, he looked like that idiotic cop Herc from The Wire.

Tonight I went in for my free training session, in which I explained my aforementioned crippling fear to the nice lady and asked her to show me how to use all of the machines. Even the ones with actual instructional illustrations on them. She was the only employee wearing glasses who didn't have a creepy hard face to go with the hard body, so I lucked out. I saw two coworkers and I'm afraid I'll totally see more people I know basically every time I go. Damn you, Chicago! I did alright, meaning I managed to completely ignore the fat 50 year old man sitting on a weight machine, blatantly staring at all of our squatting and lunging and not even pretending to exercise for 15 minutes.

Oh and when I stood by the front desk, nervously fiddling with my paperwork while waiting for the personal trainer and staring into space, some older dude started asking me to help him sign up. I said I just joined and he was like "Oh I'm sorry, you look like you work here!" I guess I just command an air of authority and have an amazing body. Definitely wasn't because I was standing right at the door holding a form. Yup, 35% body fat according go this weird gadget, jeeealous?

Sunday, January 2, 2011

That happened, I knew you, we were there.

My mom's memorial was five days ago. She's in a purple flower patterned porcelain urn and I touched the top of it to make it feel more concrete to me, the whole concept in general. Relatives that I haven't seen in years came and it turned out to be more welcome than nerve wracking. I read, and then her siblings said some stuff, and then a Kenyan priest from my uncle's church in New Rochelle arrived to say some prayers. After he asked who everyone was, he asked if I had any brothers or sisters. I don't have any from my mom, so he said in his South African accent, "Jesus was an only child. You should be the female Jesus." During his prayers and wandering strange homily (my friend Jeff: "You know, I didn't know where he was going for a while but he totally brought it back around, kind of!") I stared at the flowers and checked out. We couldn't bury Mom with her mother that day because the cemetery was closed from the blizzard, so we all drove to an Italian restaurant in a small strip mall and ate a lot. People brought a lot of great photos from family parties decades ago in Brooklyn, Philadelphia, and the Bronx.

Standing in front of the podium next to my mother's ashes, with everybody staring at me while I got ready to read my eulogy, was one of the strangest experiences I have ever had. Definite life milestone. Anyway, I wrote it the day before but I think it turned out pretty well, and so I'm posting it for my own posterity: