January 08, 2008


It is Jan. 8th in Chicago, Il and so warm I have been sleeping with the windows open for two nights. I do not mind this, but ice bears (Knut, Iorek, etc) and others are surely effed. Chris said he saw a bumblebee last night. Maybe they are waking up/thawing early. Enviormental karmageddon, dudes--HIGH OF 64 FUCKING DEGREES. See you at the pool!

Also, on the totally depressing tip, the segment from yesterdays 848 about whats happening to people who got forced out of Cabrini and Robert Taylor Homes and the new work requirements for people in public housing: it's as bad as you assumed it would be. I'm looking around to find if there are any sort of related advocacy volunteer ops and those kind of things. Will post it once I do.

Also, still reading/re-reading Mamet--more helpful snaps for New Years Resolutions. His sister's inferred line in "True Stories of Bitches", when he complains about eating the pastrami sandwich he ordered: "You are a fool," she was saying "you are a fool to be eating food you disapprove of. Your inability to rule your life according to your perceptions is an unfortunate trait." At the White/Light show last night, inside and outside in the smokers line under the overhanging, people complained abt. resolutions on habits that are not being held to. Doing stuff they don't want to be doing, because the tide of their life and habits is taking them there, inexplicably taking them on dates with dudes who are a-holes. Perhaps it's time for one big holistic resolution, shorten an impossible to manage epic list of feelings and actions to be curtailed or expanded, and pledge, simply:
Quit ordering the proverbial pastrami sandwich you hates!

Also, The Julie Doucet book, 365, is hard to put down. Hard as heck. Not because of a feeling of anticipation of what will happen next, but because what won't. I have always felt that true artists surely adhere to a gilded/rigorous path that doesn't look terribly like normal life. You know, solitude and tortured drinking, sensual feteing all the live long, breach birthing ideas, untenable disciplines. But reading this, Julie Doucets diary of 2002-03, it is the routine of it that is comforting. The boon of worth and productivity she feels when she gets a check in the mail. Hovering just above poverty. Slogging through creative lulls, wanting things to be exciting. Being envious of the ease of other peoples creative successes. It's pretty wonderful to read. Reassuring and inspiring--that you don't have to be Mark Rothko, pacing and cursing and suicidal, in order to be an artist.

Posted by Jessica at January 8, 2008 11:04 AM | TrackBack