Famous Corpses

We're now searchable on Amazon.com.

Score.

The book will officially be for sale in North Carolina at the NCN Convention the first week of November. That's pretty neat. The book looks great-- excellent illustrations and layout, etc.

Oh hayy

So, I don't know. It's pretty late, and I feel pretty sick. What do I do in that case? I stare blankly at my computer screen. This time I found myself looking at my flickr photos. Here are some awkward shots of me from a birthday party/warehouse party/karaoke party from May.

I appear to have been fighting between just two emotions that evening. Sassy, and aghast.

The book should be coming soon....

Anticipation. Anticipation of more boxes in my life, to trip over...

Missed Encounter - 6 Train Around 7:30pm m4w

Tall short haired man in a black leather jacket meets the most beautiful woman he's ever met (redhead). You were engrossed in the instructions on the back of your can of oven cleaner. You wrinkled your forehead. I once bought oven cleaner too; my oven was really dirty. I was weirded out when the instructions explicitly told me to wear long rubber gloves and not to breathe in. I guessed that's what you wrinkled your forehead about. Really though, it's no sweat; I thought it'd be really hard to clean my oven but it wasn't. You just follow the instructions and it's pretty easy. You read the back of the can for approximately 1.5 stops, between 77th and 59th Streets. Then you got off at 59th. I wanted ask you if you were cleaning your oven because you liked to bake but I felt silly approaching you. Maybe I should have. Live n Learn.
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This is a Craigslist ad that absolutely no one will write about me tonight, but I wish they would. Because that shit is great.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.

So there's this bar that just opened up on Queens Boulevard, just off the 46th street stop, and when I walk by it, I can't help but look at it and think of this movie:



This is, of course, the movie based on the book, that unless you are French and were reading books in the 90's you were unfamiliar with until Julian Schnabel decided to up and direct the film adaptation.

So anyway, it's an autobiography; a story told from the point of view of a gentleman, a former successful magazine editor who was inexplicably and suddenly impaired by a stroke. He suffered from what is referred to as "locked-in-syndrome", meaning the man was imprisoned inside his own body. He could see, and hear, but that was it. He couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't eat, etc.

So he figured out a way to communicate via blinking; a nurse would hold up the alphabet, or recite it, and he'd blink when she hit a letter he wanted. They'd spell out words this way.

And the man wrote a book. And then he died.

So Julian Schnabel made this movie. And it's a fantastic movie. Lots of excellent filmmaking here, kids. The shot where you're seeing the protagonist's eye being sewn shut from the point of view of his own fucking eye is pretty astounding. If not gross. I have an eye thing. Maybe it's just me. I kind of felt like barfing, or digging my own hands into my own eye, but it was still all in all a great shot.

The thing that blows me away is that I kept hearing reviews prior to my viewing this soul crusher of a movie was how "life affirming" it was. And something something about the human spirit.

Yeah, it's life affirming, like most things that you look at and say, "Wow, I am so glad that didn't happen to me". I'm glad a lot of things didn't happen to me! It affirms my life when bad things happen to other people and not to me. Sometimes I even giggle a little bit, that's how much my life gets affirmed. Like if you get kicked in the balls-- look, that's hilarious. And I'm glad that (or the female equivalent) didn't happen to me. And I'm extra glad I didn't have a stroke and get locked-in-syndrome, because God knows I procrastinate enough, and without the use of my hands I'd absolutely never get anything done. This blog alone took me 8 years to type.



So no, I won't be going to that bar. I mean, I know what a diving bell is, but all I correlate the name with is the most depressing French movie I've seen. Besides that one where Meg Ryan runs off to France and meets Kevin Kline and he's French and an ass and of course they fall in love and like, get a vineyard or something. That movie is in english but I sure was depressed I watched that shit.