Monday, January 03, 2005
(6:17 PM) | Adam R:
The McMcLemee
I still smoke, you might say, because of the hot chick in the red dress a'cover Bob Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home. Accordingly, I still fashion myself a bookworm because of one bitchin' picture I came across years ago -- a black and white of Blaise Cendrars leaning on a tower of books. You've probably seen it, you dirty fags, so I won't bother combing the internet to find it. I can't read French anyway.One thing else I took from Cendrars is the line, "Shit, I just stepped in the face of God," which I always say when I step in a pile of dog doo. Then, just like Moravagine, I scrape so as to take the least amount away with me.
Once, while still a young scholar, I found Paul Tillich's obit in the pages of a dusty paperback. I snuck it into my pocket and out of the doomed used bookstore, then -- who knows why -- I framed it and hung it over my desk. Today I have an autographed cast photo of The West Wing. Donna Moss is on fire (not literally).
I didn't start reading until I was in tenth grade. Then I lit into the whole thing without stopping -- until about a month ago. The first book I read was The Grapes of Wrath. The last was The Poisonwood Bible. I paid special attention to Beckett, Bukowski, PK Dick, Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Kierkegaard, Roth and Vonnegut.
I don't know why, but that's all over now. Baby blue. These day I can't read a word. I just keep my library because don't it look sexy, those straight bindings framing my gay ass as I write for The Weblog (which, by the way, is the only writing I do anymore)?
You'll be happy to know I'm boosting my career as a legitimate reporter. I've got two small fishes lookin' to hire. Whaddaya know? Call me Skip, put an Ace in my derby. Nothing in the boat, yet, though, so don't call me late for dinner until further notice.
Thirty-five more years as a journalist and maybe I'll start reading books again. Until then, though, load up the chopper and embed me somewhere. Gimme one of them beige vests with all the pockets.
