With A Bullet

Some things that have happened over the past few days:

-my independent study proposal ('End Scene Fade': The Cinema and Its Influence on Fiction Writing) was accepted, which means everything's coming into place
-made a collage based on Dorothy Parker's poem "Resumé," an oldie but a goody (pictures forthcoming)
-attended the Teahaus grand opening and got to see my friend Chris perform, which is always lovely; he's the one who introduced me to The Frames and his passion for folk music, poetry, and the good things in life brings light...he also has a new band
-cooked French toast for the first time; infusing it with cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and vanilla was a good idea
-had my interview for Sadie Lou, which went well
-finally watched some Cassavetes films
-talked to my mom (and various other people) about how I'm getting out of here once I graduate
-hung out and drank and discussed computer geek stuff
-hung out and did not drink and read up on comic (as in 'book') theory
-reunited, albeit briefly with the kids from my Dublin program at one of their apartments in Alphabet City
-wrote a coherent text message of epic proportions despite the fact that I was pretty much off my face


Oh, and David Foster Wallace decided the world wasn't worth living in anymore. I don't know how I feel about this. On one hand, I never saw the man read. Never read his work, save for some excerpts from Brief Interviews With Hideous Men (my mom, much more of a reader than me, made her way through Infinite Jest--or tried to, anyway). Never really investigated who he was or what he stood for in the writing community at large. But, on the other hand, it's always a bit jarring when someone artistic dies, especially someone who is young and has paved some sort of path within his or her medium, despite being young. I know some up-and-coming writers who emulated his work, who looked up to him like he was next to sliced bread on the "best things" list. I feel mostly for them. When Sarah Kane also decided the world was too unwelcoming a place to thrive in any longer, I felt the blow. And I continue to feel that every time I go back and reread one of her plays , or see one of the pieces performed. She's not going to create anymore. This person who I consider to be one of the most influential artists in my own life can only inspire me so much. There are limitations. I have to be thankful for what I have. So, yes, I understand. It's sad, but more so a shame. Because I'm sure David Foster Wallace is just as good and radical and eye-opening as everyone's saying. The hard part will be using the past tense from now on.