It's Friday, and I Have an Addiction

I'm currently trying to distract myself from endless clicks of the mouse that will fire more bullets into the already decimated mess that is my checking account. These are making it very difficult. I have a love/hate relationship with American Apparel. I love their clothes and I live in their leggings. But before I had a real job I interviewed there, and they forced me to model a silver tube top without a bra. (Ok, I admit it, the modeling-delusion in me sort of had fun).

The fact of the matter is I cannot afford to buy clothes right now.

No, no, no, no.



*

I will instead focus on my mission against cultural procrasination.

1. Last night I went to the kick off of the FSG Reading Series, hosted by my lovely friend Gena and our editor Lorin, at the Russian Samovar. Click here for more info. Sam Lipsyte and Richard Price read, and it was packed! The Russian Samovar infuses their own vodka. I had the pomegrante, which I highly recommend. The Peach was also a hit. We spotted Zadie Smith, who is even more beautiful in person. In fact, she literally glows.

2. Tonight I'm off to my friend WMC's The PAGE Series reading in tribute to Donald Barthelme. Featured readers include: Ed Hirsch, Donald Antrim, and Ted Mooney. 7pm, The National Arts Club. Free and open to the public!

3. Sometime this weekend I MUST see this movie. It is essential to this weekend. In fact, my weekend will not be COMPLETE until I have seen this film.

4. Also, I have to see There Will Be Blood.

5. And finally, on Tuesday I'll mosey over to The Sartorialist's opening at Danziger Projects, which Joanna pointed out on her fabulous blog this morning.

Hopefully, if my weekend is filled with enough kultur, I can avoid purchasing these:




Sigh.

The Poetry of Sarah Manguso

I just realized that I have been writing so much about film lately! This realization comes along (unsurprisingly) with the quarter-life-crisis epiphany that perhaps I should have applied to Master's programs in Film Studies rather than Ph.D. programs in English Literature. But right now I'm telling myself that English is my sturdy horse and I can always do a film concentration. Hell, I don't even know if I'll get into school!

But along those lines, you all should really read Sarah Manguso.

Look, isn't she pretty? And I'm not just saying you should read her because she happens to be one of my authors (or will be, come June). Even if you don't like poetry, you'll like Manguso. She's an excellent writer and her poetry is the best contemporary poetry I have read in years.

EVERYTHING

Before I gave my eyes to a liar with ruined entrails
I saw the shape for the fifteenth time.

I thought I saw how the story got told.
And I gave it everything.

Blind I listen to all the little sounds.
How pretty they are.
I arrive and arrive.
Look——I am the statue that thinks it's running.


I don't know about you, but that last line really kicks me in the gut.

This poem is from her second collection of poetry, called, Siste Viator. Her first collection is entitled The Captain Lands in Paradise. See these and more (like a short story collection from McSweeney's) at her website.

Manguso's upcoming book (with us) is The Two Kinds of Decay, a memoir about a life-threatening illness that struck her when she was a freshman at Harvard. I hate illness memoirs, but I can honestly say this is one of the best books I've read, ever. Manguso's poetry (and her prose, which reads like poetry) has a psychic, celestial quality to it, and her comfort with violence and death is perplexingly both refreshing and terrifying. Siste Viator has been my amulet against bad blood and feelings of helplessness many a time. I recommend it for constant-carrying in your bag.

I'll let Sarah do the work here, but do let me know what you think.


BEAUTIFUL THINGS

Sometimes I think I understand the way things work
And then I find out that on Neptune it rains diamonds.
On this world you can get out of work early, unclog the drain,
hear music. Any of the above should prove the existence
of God or at least some kind of beautifying engine
but in Germany when they couldn't figure out
how to tranquilize the polar bear and he was standing
in the park, the cage door broken, they shot him dead.
Nine hundred pounds——that's a lot of dead bear.
Neptune's pretty close to immortal,
as we understand the word, and I wouldn't like to be
that planet. But if I had to I would take it,
the decades of punishing rain, and the fires
on neighboring planets I would watch,
thankful I was never touched by them,
and that the diamonds were mine.

My Criterion Collection Film Series

Last night was the inaugural meeting of my newly minted Criterion Collection Film Series. I hope to show a film from the collection (if you are unfamilar, check out their website in my links) every week at my apartment. Last night we watched M, the 1931 film by Fritz Lang about a group of criminals who decide to take the capture of a child-murderer into their own hands after the increased police presence starts to hurt their business. Peter Lorre, in his first talkie, plays the murderer, and is absolutely terrifying. It's refreshing to watch movies in which people look like people (or in this case, monsters) not airbrushed twits with nose-jobs. I think we'll move on to something a little lighter next week, perhaps French New Wave, but if you're in the area and interested in seeing great films, let me know!