nUiT bLAnCHe
Sometimes, you just don't want to write in your blog. Sometimes, the purpose of things is just out of reach. Not too far out of reach because there's still memory to remind you what you're supposed to feel. Just tip-of-the-fingers out of reach. That's enough, though.
With Raph around, it took many sleepless nights to complete my application. Some elements are still missing, but I've been told that they can wait. I wrote down my Statement of Purpose and had it edited by Sara who told me that I was writing too much. I cannot write grammatically sound sentences in English that are short as well. I told her so. I can write short sentences, but in a way that university professors don't like. She said there was too much repetition. I said I like repetitions. Two of my favorites writers use them extensively. I managed to cut down my text from 900+ words to 700, and Sara further shortened it to 636 or something. They said "approximately 500." Who can write a structured letter of that importance in 500 words? A mime?!
Overall, Sara said she liked my letter. She wanted to know if the story was true and why I chose to tell it. Actually, I had read about 30 pages of this book about what to write for your application essay. And the two or three contributors I read seemed to agree that the texts they liked most were original, telling a story or funny. Being funny in English is something tricky for a foreigners. Not only because of language. This is even more true when it comes to make a scholar laugh his ass out, so yeah, I can tell a story. And then I realized how short 500 words were.
Sometimes you really don't want to write in your blog and it takes a lot of Tom Waits to get something done.
I had to take a week off to complete my application. I don't know if I still have the job. It is time for me to find a new one anyway. I need money. Otherwise, I don't see how I can stay in the U.S. This job doesn't pay and my boss (who is a subject of Her Majesty which, I came to believe, does not help in our relationship) has the knack to awake these homicidal tendencies of mine. So why hang on to it for so long? Because even a little money is still better than no cash coming in. Or because you can be a loser and still like to avoid failure in all of its forms.
Wednesday night, I took Sara to a steak house near Madison Square Garden to thank her for her 4 a.m. editing skills. I had my first real meal in weeks... probably months. I am so tired of meat here. Chinese food and those tiny little pre-cut pieces of meat. Same everywhere. I was really craving for a piece of real meat. A real fucking steak. With bread. Real bread. Not the mellow stuff you find in supermarket. Bread you can BITE into. The way I see the American nation in 50 years is that of a nation of toothless people. You don't need to use your teeth often enough guys. Watch out or they gonna be obsolete soon. And Nature does not like what is obsolete.
Which brings me to my sexual life. No, I'm kidding guys. C'est pas le genre de la maison. If you want that, just go to the next blog. You'll find plenty of blogs by hookers. It must definitely be has been to be a whore and not have a blog. You know the type. "Yes I am a whore and I like it and I truly believe I am helping the world by relieving tensions." Girls from a well-off background who tend to forget that 90% of the prostitutes did not have a voice in the choosing of their new career. Girls who work off the sidewalk, without a pimp, and for n times the price of the other girls who have been forced into this business.
Whatever.
Got a phone call from L. today. "Your asshole of a boyfriend is still beating you up?
-- No, it's ok now. He's in Briancon with his brother and--
-- So, it's ok only when he is not at punching distance, uh?
-- Er... yeah...
-- Wow... big deal. You gonna dump this piece of shit?
-- Er... no.
-- Let's change the subject, then."
Whatever.
On Tuesday, I went to JFK to see Raph take the plane that would bring him back to France.
Raph, levant la tete pour embrasser l'immensite de Terminal One: Ca te donne pas envie de rentrer?
Moi: Nan. J'ai plutot les boules qu'un type me prenne pour quelqu'un d'autre et me foute de force dans un avion pour la France.
With Raph around, it took many sleepless nights to complete my application. Some elements are still missing, but I've been told that they can wait. I wrote down my Statement of Purpose and had it edited by Sara who told me that I was writing too much. I cannot write grammatically sound sentences in English that are short as well. I told her so. I can write short sentences, but in a way that university professors don't like. She said there was too much repetition. I said I like repetitions. Two of my favorites writers use them extensively. I managed to cut down my text from 900+ words to 700, and Sara further shortened it to 636 or something. They said "approximately 500." Who can write a structured letter of that importance in 500 words? A mime?!
Overall, Sara said she liked my letter. She wanted to know if the story was true and why I chose to tell it. Actually, I had read about 30 pages of this book about what to write for your application essay. And the two or three contributors I read seemed to agree that the texts they liked most were original, telling a story or funny. Being funny in English is something tricky for a foreigners. Not only because of language. This is even more true when it comes to make a scholar laugh his ass out, so yeah, I can tell a story. And then I realized how short 500 words were.
Sometimes you really don't want to write in your blog and it takes a lot of Tom Waits to get something done.
I had to take a week off to complete my application. I don't know if I still have the job. It is time for me to find a new one anyway. I need money. Otherwise, I don't see how I can stay in the U.S. This job doesn't pay and my boss (who is a subject of Her Majesty which, I came to believe, does not help in our relationship) has the knack to awake these homicidal tendencies of mine. So why hang on to it for so long? Because even a little money is still better than no cash coming in. Or because you can be a loser and still like to avoid failure in all of its forms.
Wednesday night, I took Sara to a steak house near Madison Square Garden to thank her for her 4 a.m. editing skills. I had my first real meal in weeks... probably months. I am so tired of meat here. Chinese food and those tiny little pre-cut pieces of meat. Same everywhere. I was really craving for a piece of real meat. A real fucking steak. With bread. Real bread. Not the mellow stuff you find in supermarket. Bread you can BITE into. The way I see the American nation in 50 years is that of a nation of toothless people. You don't need to use your teeth often enough guys. Watch out or they gonna be obsolete soon. And Nature does not like what is obsolete.
Which brings me to my sexual life. No, I'm kidding guys. C'est pas le genre de la maison. If you want that, just go to the next blog. You'll find plenty of blogs by hookers. It must definitely be has been to be a whore and not have a blog. You know the type. "Yes I am a whore and I like it and I truly believe I am helping the world by relieving tensions." Girls from a well-off background who tend to forget that 90% of the prostitutes did not have a voice in the choosing of their new career. Girls who work off the sidewalk, without a pimp, and for n times the price of the other girls who have been forced into this business.
Whatever.
Got a phone call from L. today. "Your asshole of a boyfriend is still beating you up?
-- No, it's ok now. He's in Briancon with his brother and--
-- So, it's ok only when he is not at punching distance, uh?
-- Er... yeah...
-- Wow... big deal. You gonna dump this piece of shit?
-- Er... no.
-- Let's change the subject, then."
Whatever.
On Tuesday, I went to JFK to see Raph take the plane that would bring him back to France.
Raph, levant la tete pour embrasser l'immensite de Terminal One: Ca te donne pas envie de rentrer?
Moi: Nan. J'ai plutot les boules qu'un type me prenne pour quelqu'un d'autre et me foute de force dans un avion pour la France.
posted by Cecyl at 6:42 AM
1 Comments:
Why don´t you sell your body as a job? i can be your promoter here in México if you want hehe... ok stupid joke-advice i know, i just wanna say hi, i am leaving this blog thinking about the hard bread, i wanna bite it for to prove your theory, i really like the image of the american people teethless, beautiful! if it is true send me a lot of those breads for to feed the politicians in my country, for beauty i will pay! (this is not about racism, no sir, not at all...)
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