Can’t think of a good one.

1 Sep

I just finished Everybody Into the Pool by Beth Lisick. It was a light read; a collection of Sedaris-y type short stories, centralized in the Bay Area. It was pretty neat to be able to read something and understand exactly what the author is talking about in terms of place. Lisick once lived in a warehouse on the corner of 16th and Mission in SF, where I found myself just a couple days ago. “The Mission” was a hot bed of run down businesses, drug activity and underground art scenes (it still is these things to some degree, though it has been gentrified and hipster-ified). Lisick writes about the “shit shower” that forced her out of her illegal living situation there, while I was thinking about the random act of hatred that was forced upon my car in the very same spot. She also describes “Brokely” (the border of Oakland/Berkeley) to a T; including the interesting racial dynamics that inevitably take place in that part of the Bay Area.

I revel at her ability to never borrow money from her parents; live in cheap, raccoon-infested digs and take on random jobs. For some reason, I cannot seem to do any of the above – and it feels like if I could, life would be easier and/or funnier.

Now, I am reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers. I know I’m late, but I want to see what all the hub-bub is about. It will probably take me 5 years to finish… because I am only on page 38, and I am already thinking, “who cares?” and, “you can only write like this because you are a white man,” and “you are an over-aged hipster.” So… we’ll see how that goes.


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