Monday, March 20, 2006


I left the house for about five hours in total this weekend. Which was also how long I was out of my pajamas. I think I'm going to look into being a hermit. There's got to be a way to get some company to sponsor me for living in my terrycloth green pants, surviving only on what I can get delivered, and watching Lifetime.

I don't know what's up with me. I know that my eyeballs have slowed down, and I think the rest of me is following. I've read three books in the past month, which is really unusual. Typically I can polish off a novel with three or four days' worth of commuting to work on the D train, but Love in the Time of Cholera alone took me a good two weeks to read. Including weekends. And it's not that I didn't enjoy it (even though Florentino Ariza creeped me out like no one else in all of literary history), because I did. I just think my eyeballs need a vacation. On the couch. For two or three weeks. Doing nothing more strenuous than watching Tyra and monitoring the Hot Pocket in the microwave for the telltale fissures that let you know it's reached its perfect molten state.

Well, actually, I did read another book in three hours on Friday. I think I actually might return it, that's how bad it was. But, I mean, it was Macaulay Culkin's book Junior, so I don't know what I was expecting. No, you know what? I'm not letting him off the hook that easy. I kind of like grown up, Party Monster Macaulay Culkin, and I was expecting more than I got. Which was a hundred and fifty pages in an annoying fake typewriter font. Interspersed with stick figure comic strips. And check-in points to tell you how many words you had read. And lists of his nineteen favorite movies. And six introductions and seven endings. And pages that were blank except for the tiny text (blank) in the middle. And a couple of decent anecdotes about "the main character's" dad, because it was a novel, not an autobiography, but really it wasn't either of those, because something has to happen anywhere in the book for it to qualify. Which in the case of Junior, it doesn't.

I guess what it boils down to is that I'm looking for someone to pay me to be mediocre. And I mean PAY with a capital "$". I've thought about writing a book several times in my life, and the reason I don't is because I fear in the depths of my soul that whatever I write will turn out like Junior. If you're going to get paid and get published with something that looks like it was written by a group of ninth graders who'd gotten into the Dave Eggers and their older sister's Apple Pucker, you had better be famous. Which, unfortunately, I am not.

But I'm willing to entertain offers. If someone would like to pay me to do something thoroughly mediocre, I might be down for it. Judging by this weekend, I have a natural aptitude for living my life like a shut-in, and I might be willing to write an insipid account of life in my pajamas. Or I'm sure I could churn out a couple of high school related, surefire hit ballads that are destined to kill at prom time. You all think about it. I'll be here on the couch.

Offers submitted on the back of a bag of Sun Chips (French Onion only) will be given preferential treatment.


Blogger Amnesia Sparkles said...

Kathy, I know how you can make money! You should start your own Saturday night dance party in the city called "Agoraphobia." I have a feeling not a lot of people might attend...that's why you sell the tickets in advance! No Refunds! Genius!

10:24 AM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Total genius. I'll work on a flyer. But I'll probably give up halfway through if Roseanne's on Nick at Night.

Although I AM going to put on pants tonight and go to your shindig at the Bowery Poetry Club. It'll be the latest I've been awake in a while.

10:33 AM  
Anonymous gabeatron said...

if you wrote an account of life in your pajamas, i'd probably read it. just so's you know.

1:34 AM  

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