OK. Nobody's even bothered to comment on my narcissistic ramblings. That sucks. Is that even normal? Or are my narcissistic ramblings even worse than most of the drek here on the Interwebs. Everybody seems to love Lena Dunham's angst, but it's not pretty when you're more grown up (and less pretty).
For the past year I've been trying to read Infinite Jest on my Kindle. I feel like I'm supposed to like it, and it's kind of interesting in spurts, but very hard to follow. What I hate most of all about the Kindle is I can't count ahead to the end of a chapter and see how many more pages I have to read before coming to a satisfying stopping place before putting te book aside again. And since I can't wade through it, I'm not really reading anything else I could be reading in the meantime as I read chapter after chapter, sometimes again and again, not really getting all that much out of it or seeing what one chapter has to do with the other knowing the author eventually hanged himself in suburban Claremont, CA, a place I know all too well.
I've lived all over. Washington, Philadelphia, NYC, Boston, LA, SF, Miami, you name it, chances are I've sojourned there. I'm ready t pick up and move again, but it gets harder and harder as you get older and older, you know?
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