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26.9.02

after spending the evening with my sister and some photographers, i feel even weirder than i did before. not because they’re bad people, or because they made me feel awkward – perhaps because i made myself feel awkward…one of them has a dog, & is adorable, of course [the dog, i mean]. a totally squeezable giant Doberman who likes to play & knows the difference b/t holding my arm & eating it… who likes to snuggle & drools a little but mostly is just asking for love & attention.


maybe i should just date a dog. in fact, there’s a shelter near me that offers the enticing possibility of signing up to walk a dog every once in a while – you simply sign a waiver, and there you are signing out “fred,” taking him for a walk along the waterfront or playing or whatever for a couple of hours – after which you take him back to the shelter & go home to think about why the fuck you don’t just bring him with you. ideal, really… take him out and if you hate him, worst thing that happens is he goes home, gets a chew toy & a nice kibble, and forgets about you. wow.


i dunno. at times i wish i was 20 lbs. lighter. then i get over it… because once upon a time i was, and i swear it didn’t make me a better or a happier person.


so then i wait for the fucking L train [there’s a wonderful Mike Doughty song called “thank you for sending me the F train” but i think it should be called “thank you for sending me the L train”], and i’m riding home like a sardine @ 11:59pm [at least the new trains make it easy to see how long it’s taking you to get under the east river] when i see a lanky kid in a sport jacket reading roland barthes. and not just any barthes, but “the world of wrestling” from Mythologies. now, i was forced to read this when i was a sophomore. it marks a significant moment in my life when i began to think about things in a very difference way. but to read it on the L – that’s taking it to a whole other level… barthes was basically waxing poetic regarding the very concept of spectacle – and i’m looking at this guy…who’s trying so hard to look like he’s not trying at all [like most of the young bougie kids who live in Brooklyn], and i’m thinking to myself:


- what is he trying to prove? the only time i read intellectual bullshit on the train i was thinking people would read over my shoulder & be impressed that i was reading fucking Chomsky.


- has he never read this before? not that it makes me special or anything but i swear, post-structuralism is hardly “new.”


- how could anyone focus enough to read anything in this weird environment, standing up, unless it was John Grisham? the barthes requires attention. otherwise it’s nothing other than an account of a wrestling match. not WWF, either. we’re talking men in weird singlets sliding around on a floor as amateurs in france… then being escorted out by their wives. [_this_ is what i remember after four years. jesus.]


- is this all my education has amounted to…being able to identify obscure literary & otherwise texts over the shoulders of scrawny boys who need haircuts? oye vey.


- perhaps this is in and of itself a form of spectacle.


so i’m getting all excited about all of the above when we get to my stop & i think, “gee i hope he gets off so i can have an interesting conversation or at least an exchange,” but then he stands there like a fucking ROCK while i push past to get off & walk home in the rain. ca va… at least i had something funny to write about. or, rather, at least it was funny to me - & who the fuck cares about all you nonexistent readers to begin with? mwahahahahahahahah.

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