The room

I have just finished moving everything in my room because my roommate (the one with the modem and router) wanted to move his computer into his room and all the cables were suddenly way too short to reach my computer which is in my room. Eventually, after I re-installed his computer and moved everything in my own room to get my computer closer to the hall, it turned out that it was useless and the cables are finally long enough. ARrrrrgh... basically, all I have been doing is cleaning my room while I thought I was saving my access to the net. Cleaning my room! How degrading. I'll probably go to hell for that. Or be canonized. No way you can tell one from the other. This is the 21st Century, man. Nobody should have to bear such an ordeal.

Anyway it's 3 in the morning now. There are only infocommercials on TV trying to convince me that I should really consider losing weight and getting rich ASAP. The guy who used to play in Chips has been trying to convince me for months that there are almost no properties left in Florida for me to buy. It's 3 and even by my standards it's too late to go to the laundry now. It's 3 in the morning and my room looks so organized it makes me nervous. In my email box, there are emails telling me that I should consider having a larger penis. I'm broke, but I've received 6 different emails from banks I've never contacted telling me my file has been approved and please would you contact us to get your $25,000 loans. They'll probably have to seize my kidneys and lungs and sell them to rich old dying people just to get their loan back. I don't even wanna think about how I'll have to pay for the interest. In another email, a perfect stranger is worried and is about to get himself a first class meningitis trying to figure out why I haven't replied to his previous emails and claimed my $1,000,000 prize that I have won, even though there still seem to be a lottery ahead, but I need not worry since I have already qualified by doing nothing. And also, I have been deemed eligible to some credit card I don't need. My life is so exciting...

Washington Square Park at night

Sunday night, I went to Washington Square Park. There was a band playing there and people around. Listening. The night was not warm. But not cold either. The band was good. No briefcase opened in the front. These guys were playing for the hell of it. Music for music's sake. People would come, turn into musicians and go. A singer. A saxophonist.

And across from me, there was this girl. She was alone, having a good time. Beautiful girls, often they look distant. Acting. No matter how beautiful they might look, it taints their beauty. This girl, you could see she was alive. And that made her beautiful. Maybe she was not beautiful according to contemporary canons. But she was not wearing flip-flops, which immediately put her No. 1 far ahead of any professional-model-food-disorder-skinny bitch any time.

I can still see her smile. And the way she would let her dark hair cover her eye(s). An old rastaman showed up. When she left, he walked her to the subway. Or home. Or wherever dreams live.

a bug is a bug is a bug

I hate to say this. But after having wasted quite a few hours working on this page, I give up.

The idea was to create links in the sidebar of this page. Links that would refer to books that I think are interesting. I was so frustrated when I started filling in my profile that I couldn't include all of the titles I wanted to.

It seems that the Blogger Magical Way of doing it is to create 2 blogs and somehow have them merge into one. Don't quote me on this. I must have gotten it wrong somewhere. Because it never worked.

Not that I haven't found ways to do it. I did find how to create a list of links to books I love. But it was not the way the Blogger guys taught me to do it in their "help" section. And this is very frustrating. God knows how many neurones I've lost trying to figure out why it wouldn't work when I was doing exactly what they were saying -- as well as all the possibilities in between what they recommended and total nonsense.

Shoulda worked. Don't understand.

Fuck it.

Later. I can still post links to some of my friends website, now. Coulda done that with the Books section, but the updating process would have been more laborious than the Blogger Way of Doing It.

Anyway, it's not like I'm going to revolutionize anybody's library. On the other hand, my Blogger User's Stat seems quite out of sync to me. Fuck it too.

Somehow, I haven't give up. Can't. Still thinking of ways. Still thinking of "what if." I'll go slowly. Step by step. That damn computer won't even see me coming when BAM! it'll work!! I'll have my favorite books list of links. In the sidebar. With fancy font, color and all the shit.

Step by step. Change a margin here. A font there. You'll see...

Freelance

Went to this agency in Manhattan to meet this woman interested in graphic novels. Graphic novels are not my specialty, but hey, who am I to be critical?

What all those female models were doing there, passing by while I was sitting on the couch, waiting for my appointment to arrive, I don't know. I checked their website today and they don't seem to represent models. Not that it was unpleasant. Just hard to keep yourself focused before a job interview. I made it somehow, though. My first job as a freelance!

Dunno how long it'll take to find out & translate what she's looking for. Nor how much it's gonna pay. Hopefully, no worry over the rent this month.

Prison Library Copy

So yesterday I went to the reading at Cooper Union. It was supposed to start at 6:30 pm. I arrived there at 5:30 and as usual, Chuck had already started signing books. The queue was long enough to go from the Great Hall (where the reading would take place), up the stairs and almost to the front door of the building. For the first time in my life I wished that this never ending line was the restrooms queue but... So I took CHOKE and the new edition of FIGHT CLUB out of my bag and stepped at the end of the line.

Wouldn't you?

It lasted forever. Chuck was cool, as usual. He signed everything people wanted signed. Shook all the hands he could. When it was my turn, I reminded him that two persons fainted last year during his NYC reading of his short story "Guts." I asked him whether he planned to do better this year. He said that since last year, 52 people had collapsed listening to this story. Signing my books, he said he was unsure on what he should read tonight. He asked me if I'd prefer "Guts" or a new story. I said that I'd prefer to hear a new one. But that probably a lot of people would love to hear "Guts."

He stamped one of my book and looked up at me. He said, We'll see. And he handed me my books. I thanked him and found a seat in the amphitheater. I checked out my books but couldn't find the stamp.

Chuck arrived on stage 20-30 minutes later. This guy is just made to be on stage behind a mic. He made a few jokes, told a couple of anecdotes. He asked people if they wanted to hear "Guts" or another story. A massive number of hands raised when he said "Guts." And so much for my influence over this guy...

Nobody fainted that night. Which was a big disappointment for Chuck. And for a lot of people, for sure. When he mentioned that, someone in the crowd cried, This is New York, man.

He asked people who had never attended a book reading before to raised their hands. Many did. Not most of the audience. But still, quite a lot. The audience looked just like what you see at a punkrock concert just before they let people in. OK, maybe those kids were cleaner. And sober. And people tend not to attend punkrock concerts with arms full of first edition books. But you get the idea.

So Chuck read "Guts" and nobody fainted. He estimated that he was ahead in his book signing and he offered to maybe read a second short story. Loud cheer.

This short story, "Hot Potting" was quite long and good but not as disgusting as "Guts."

After that, it was time for Q&A. Chuck opened a box on stage, and pulled out a couple of bloody, severed limbs that he threw away at the persons before they ask their questions. In all, there were maybe 10 or so questions and each time a severed hand, leg or arm would fly across the vast room more or less accurately towards the lucky chosen one. Sometimes, that person had to ask their question while chasing their bloody gift that was rolling down the aisle to the stage.

They were not real limbs, of course. Some sort of Styrofoam stuff. With a yellow/white bone sticking out and what looked like flesh and blood.

Anyway, that was a great night. I think that Chuck shouldn't warn people so much about that story. That is, if he wants some of them to faint. He should keep his great anecdotes about past violent reactions to this story for AFTER the reading.

On the way out I checked my book again for that stamp and here it was: "PRISON LIBRARY COPY."
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Spent today at the Alliance Francaise on 64th St. Looking for interesting graphic novels. Hope everything will be fine tomorrow. Already got about 10 interesting Graphic Novels. I don't know yet if I'll get paid for the research or just for the translation.

From your informer in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.
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! Chuck Palahniuk in NYC - TONIGHT ONLY !

MONDAY, September 20th - 6:30pm

Cooper Union

7 E 7th St.

New York, NY

212-353-4198

Contact: David Greenstein

*Reading & Signing

For other cities and dates, click here.

en cas d'urgence...

Report No. Bklyn - 2

People, they say: "Come back on Sunday." They say: "The manager is not here today."

No matter where you go, no matter whether it looks like a hip or a dive bar, you know you'll probably have to come back here at least one more time to get anything done. Getting anything done generally means hearing, "I'm sorry," "Come back from time to time."

Today, the City was ungrateful. Her streets were cold and rainy and windy. After a sleepless night, you don't want to go out there, trying to look your best. Looking pathetic. You know that before you've reached the elevated subway you'll be drenched. Trying to look your poor-ass best in the weak light till you reach the bar. The restaurant. The 24/7 laundry.

Why bother? Wet in the rain then frozen in the subways' AC. You get the idea. Just to hear, "We'll take your resume if you want." To hear, "We'll give you a call."

From your informer in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, NY.

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Report No. bklyn - 1

One...Two... one two...
This is just a test.Really.
Before it's too late.
You'll have to excuse my English too. I'm not a native English speaker.

It is still early. One in the morning. Soon there'll be a couple of evil male midgets standing at the feet of tall california-style sexy women, trying to sell me my fortune. My future fortune, that is.
So you understand.

You understand I can't really linger here.

There must be a reason why I created this page.
Keep tracks of all this shit that keeps hitting the fan again and again every day.
This is just a test.

The funny thing is that people might read this.
Me, writing this. Writing my way out. Here. In the City that never sleeps.
The awful thing is that people might read this.

From your informer in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, NY.
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Grenoble, France - 2003