mercredi, janvier 31, 2007

Flushing, NY. At Ava and Eva's.

Eva sets down a plate of freshly baked brownie, with a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream. "You don't have to eat it all, " she says, "but make sure you taste it!"

The Stills are playing in the background. Lola.

There is a glass of red wine in front of me. I leave tomorrow for Singapore.

The boy who rode on, slightly before him, sat a horse not only as if he'd been born to it - which he was - but as if, were he begot by malice or mischance into some queer land where horses never were, he would have found them anyway: would have known there was something missing for the world to be right, or he right in it, and would have set forth to wander wherever it was needed for as long as it took until he came upon one, and he would have known that that was what he sought, and it would have been.

- All the Pretty Horses, Cormac McCarthy

i spaced out and left my awesome white and orange beanie at the harvard t stop. fuck. fuck. really liked that one.

vendredi, janvier 26, 2007

Iconoclast Books, Ketchum, Idaho.


I can't seem to find anything to buy. I'm haphazardly browsing the shelves for the fifth time. Fiction. Eastern Religion. Non-Fiction. American Art. Current Affairs. The cute blond working here must think I'm weird as shit.


Augusten Burroughs. Magical Thinking. Running with Scissors. Sellevision.

Cormac McCarthy. All the Pretty Horses. Blood Meridian. The Road.

Don Delillo. Cosmopolis. Underworld. White Noise. Cosmopolis sucked.

Jodi Picoult. My Sister's Keeper. I've seen this everywhere.

Steve Hodel. Black Dahlia Avenger: The True Story. Oh God no.

Franzen. Franzen. Nada. Ann and Tina just started a bookclub and Mo proposed Jonathan Franzen's new book. I don't see it here.


We were at Chapter One Books earlier this afternoon and I couldn't find anything either.

Haruki Murakami. Dance Dance Dance. Norwgian Wood. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Don't want to touch this right now. He's her favorite author and I'm trying to escape her gravitational pull. Flee. Run away.

I like books about lonely people. Sometimes I buy books because I like their covers. I'd buy The Hours but I really hate books with "Now a major motion picture" on the front.

Hemingway. The Sun Also Rises. I like that one. There's a lot of Hemingway here. He wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls in room 206 at the Sun Valley Lodge. The Old Man and The Sea. A Farewell to Arms. He chose to take his life in Ketchum. I'm tempted to get The Garden of Eden. Not today.

At the last minute I grab the Cormac McCarthy. All the Pretty Horses.

jeudi, janvier 25, 2007

We skied a half day yesterday, and a half day today. Lazy has been the magic word, and so we crawled slowly out of our beds and made decadent breakfasts and took hours to decide if we wanted to hit the slopes.


After a few beers at Grumpy's, we stopped at the video store and rented a playstation and a Tony Hawk game. We flirted with the girls who worked there and they flirted back.


It's bright beautiful out and there are snow peaked mountains rising up on all sides and we've a five bedroom house to run around in, with amazing paintings in every room and hallway, and a magnificent kitchen designed for a catering crew of ten or twelve. Gerri has more cookbooks than I've ever seen in my life.

mercredi, janvier 24, 2007

Sun Valley, Idaho.


We arrived late last night and got in at about three this morning. Got stopped by a cop whilst driving through Ketchum.


Did you know you were going 33? In a 25 zone. 33 and rising.

Wait, that sign up front says it's 35.

That's up front - it's 25 through town.


lundi, janvier 22, 2007


lundi, janvier 01, 2007