Hmm
Is it just my imagination, or does everyone Gen X and younger have panic attacks on a regular basis? I blame high fructose corn syrup.
Is it also just my imagination, or does everyone younger than Gen X (What are y’all – Gen Y?) have experience with cutting themselves? What’s up with that? Nutrasweet, maybe?
What will the next generation’s issue be? Besides being born with adult diabetes, I mean?
What will Splenda bring?
Seriously
I know this is going to sound weird and maybe a little bit disgusting, but I pretty much love 90% of my coworkers very much. I like to see them in the elevators and trade pleasant small talk with them on the way home. I empathize with them and wish them well.
Or maybe it’s just PMS.
Seriously as Hell – Why I Hated The Unconsoled
It wasn’t that it was told as a dream. It wasn’t that I’m too dumb to follow it. It wasn’t that everyone in it talked like the butler from Remains of the Day.
No.
It was that the narrator being an asshole was supposed to cover Ishiguro being self-deprecating, which in turn was supposed to cover the narrator(/author) feeling sorry for himself for lame-ass, petty reasons.
When your parents don’t support your art, you’re not supposed to write a big book about a bunch of people’s parents not supporting their art. You’re supposed to write a small book (or a series of them) eviscerating people just like your parents, and presenting fictionalized theories on how they came to be so fucked up. That is what cures you. (Because nothing you can write will make them change. You can only change yourself.)
When you want to complain about and simultaneously apologize to a lover or ex-lover, you don’t write a big book containing three or four versions of her. No. You write several books containing those versions, and you make one of them a man so as to disguise your whininess better.
Don’t be a baby, Kazuo! Exploit your personal slights the time-honored way.
