went to a book talk last night at olsson's. it was a biography of the guy who wrote peanuts by someone who writes for the nytimes. didn't read the book, didn't really know anything about the guy, never really considered myself a fan of the strip even. the episode where linus waits for the great pumpkin kinda gets me nostalgic. but i like books and it was free and, save applying for food stamps or taking up drugs, i really had nothing better to do. plus, i hate to think that i'm falling into a rut of only doing things that are hip and ironicly uncool so it makes me cool but not if i admit that i liked it vomit vomit vomit.
but it honestly was so boring. and like so many of my generation raised on matrix pikachou myspace telefurbys, after 5 seconds without immediate visceral stimulation, i lost interest and began to doodle. here is what i found myself scribbling on the back of a pay stub i found in my purse:
talks too fast
went to schulz's house, studio, found dandruff on back of his chair (gross)
posthumous biography - scary prospect -> who knows you when you're alive, and after death? (who cares?)
still boring
art imitates life - and the reverse - its true
seriously what is the point of this book?
gnarly split ends on girl (page?) seated in front of me
floral bag-dress and dusty stockings on senior next to me (old. people)
maybe i don't know enough about peanuts
f scott fitzgerald was from Minn. - really
wawawawawa (teacher, all adults)
i'm surrounded by true dc elite of the styleless and fug
happy halloween (almost).
1 comment:
I always want to take notes like this at events I attend, but am terrified people are looking over my shoulder. i could have written a multi-volume epic about this creepy dude who sat next to me and Katy during a class we took in Dublin one summer. Remind me to tell you about the "Teddy Bear" some time.
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