Might as well get my main point across. McCain's choice of VP was an extraordinarily bad judgment call - instead of picking a well-rounded candidate with good credentials and a solid track list of achievements, he just goes straight for the renegade democrats, the Obama haters. And while he certainly scoops up those morons, he alienates everyone else in his party, the Republicans who actually want someone decent for the Vice Presidency.
Palin is simply Dick Cheney with a vagina turned down to a softer volume. She supports the NRA, anti-abortion, supports the teaching of Creationism, and basically sucks the long, metallic dick of the oil companies. I initially thought, being the Alaskan governor, that she'd be all for the creation of alternate fuels and cutting down greenhouse gas emissions, but she's not. In fact, she denies that global warming is man-made, despite the damn near avalanche of proof that says otherwise. On top of that, this woman is even more "inexperienced" than Barack Obama, only this time, the argument actually works. She's been an office a total of two years, never served a full term, and has absolutely PISS ZERO foreign policy experience. Good call, McCain!
All in all, Sarah Palin exemplifies everything that's wrong with this nation. Backwards, ignorant, reliant on what's essentially heroin. The least you could say about her is that she shakes things up - a woman VP running with an old senile fart against a young, idealistic black man and an old senile fart. The drama will be on this November. I didn't think McCain would be savvy enough to pull off this move, but I gotta give credit to the old dog. But hey, he still picked a shitty candidate, so what little props I give him are immediately repossessed.
PS. Blog reverts to a semi-weekly updated basis.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
A Travelogue Part Deux
So, I spent the day in Berkeley yesterday, so the only thing to do about it, obviously, is to write another travelogue about it. And here we...go.
Austin picks me up, Bela's in the car. I bring along a box of chocolates and we head off to pick up Dolan. After doing so, we drive over to a liquor store to procure an item of sensitive nature. And from there, after comparing a certain flavor of gum to my feces, we headed to the BART station. After getting all the ticket bullshit sorted out, we get on the train, and play Six Degrees of Separation, which is a fucking hard game. I had a really good one, but Robert Rodriguez just had to make From Dusk till Dawn. This weird black lady makes fun of me for holding onto the box of chocolates, claiming that it will have already melted by the time it's opened. So we opened it and are greeted with gloop and liqueur. So after we promptly ravage it and trash it once we reach Berkeley, with Dolan spitting some of it back up, disgustingly. It looked like smeared shit all over the clean, white nutrition facts.
Anyway, we arrive in Berkeley and Bela decides we'll meet up with her sister later. We walk around Starbucks and some pizza place before we go into the campus. We take our own tour of campus, avoiding the heat by dodging into the shade. We go by a few impressive and imposing buildings (Biology building is fucking huge). I figure I better get used to the feeling of being a smaller cog in a greater machine, otherwise I'm going to hate college. But the walk was fun. After that, we hit up another Starbucks where I futilely try to use Bela's BlackBerry to check the score of the Giants/Patriots grudge match. (Pats lost, fuck yes). Anyhow, Bela's sister, Luba, meets up with us in Starbucks and starts talking about Cal, how, when you're at a public institution, there's a veil of anonymity between you and everyone else, how the admissions process works, the sometimes utter stupidity of students (For an essay exam, a student emailed her asking whether or not they needed a Scantron. For fuck's sake). It was pretty enlightening, much more informative than what that admissions officer said to us the summer previous.
She said my friends should act out my play too. As if anyone would want to be in that production. >_<
So shortly after that, we walk towards Telegraph, a huge busy street full of shops and restaurants and shit. We go to this store called "The T-Shirt Orgy," which has some really cool stuff, but I decide against buying something. Missed opportunity, because that shirt was off the hook. And so was this "Ace of Spades" shirt I saw on a rack. Oh well.
We walk down to a four-floor bookstore which shocks me. I browsed the basement and the second floor, found Choke by Chuck Palahniuk and Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh. After I bought Lolita, I swore on my life not buy another book. But I fucking caved and spent 18 bucks on both of them. I'm a weakling.
So at this point, we're all starving balls. We head to "Smart Alec's," a health food joint which is also a damn tasty place to eat. At this point, Lucas comes down, looking very angry. Apparently, he had wanted to go to SF, but we went to Berkeley instead and he had to go home at 9 to go to a party or some shit...I don't fucking know. I do know it was a blight on my meal, the best damn chicken sandwich I ever had that someone else paid for (fucking books!). Anyway, we finish eating and go outside, pondering what to do next that doesn't involve money. As we ponder, Lucas decides to peace out and says quickly "I'm going to Rasputin's." Despite his continuous protests, we clearly see he's pissed as shit. We go to find him in Rasputin's, but he isn't there, having fucked off to Amoeba, another indie music store. So we spend some time browsing the records and CDs, it's really cool. I wish I had a record player, that'd be like the most novel thing ever.
Austin gets a call from his dad, asking him to pick up a copy of "The Kids are Alright," a rockumentary featuring the Who. Amoeba doesn't have it, so we go back to Rasputin's. Turns out they don't have it either, so we just browse the store. Lucas decides to leave without telling anyone, and he's gone. How rude, right? But whatever. Bela picks up a poster and we head back out. The Game was actually signing shit in Rasputin's - I saw a frail Asian man with miscellaneous Game merchandise running excitedly home. I throw some change into a bum's cup, to which he happily replies "God bless you!"
Anyway, we decide to go home, but not after I piss out an aquarium's worth of urine in Starbucks, exacerbated by the fact that you have to fucking buy something before you can use it. Twats. So we go to our train, and begin to wait. And here's where shit gets real. Another bum, covered head to toe in a black shroud thing pushing a shopping cart full with what I assume is shit asks this guy for some cash, to which he politely rebukes her. She mumbles something and walks along, looking at mine and Bela's cellphones. She begins to loudly curse and swear, something about "Fuck you Whitey, five hundred dollars, phones, Fuck you to hell, go to hell, you son of a bitch, I'll stab you and make you bleed over the tracks, fucking whitey, fuck, shit, kill you." She was out of her goddamn mind, so we all just kept ignoring her, to which she responded by swearing louder. I didn't feel threatened or anything, I was just weirded out.
Then we got on BART and went home. Dolan pitched the idea of a screenplay to me, which I finished this morning. Should be interesting to see how that goes.
Austin picks me up, Bela's in the car. I bring along a box of chocolates and we head off to pick up Dolan. After doing so, we drive over to a liquor store to procure an item of sensitive nature. And from there, after comparing a certain flavor of gum to my feces, we headed to the BART station. After getting all the ticket bullshit sorted out, we get on the train, and play Six Degrees of Separation, which is a fucking hard game. I had a really good one, but Robert Rodriguez just had to make From Dusk till Dawn. This weird black lady makes fun of me for holding onto the box of chocolates, claiming that it will have already melted by the time it's opened. So we opened it and are greeted with gloop and liqueur. So after we promptly ravage it and trash it once we reach Berkeley, with Dolan spitting some of it back up, disgustingly. It looked like smeared shit all over the clean, white nutrition facts.
Anyway, we arrive in Berkeley and Bela decides we'll meet up with her sister later. We walk around Starbucks and some pizza place before we go into the campus. We take our own tour of campus, avoiding the heat by dodging into the shade. We go by a few impressive and imposing buildings (Biology building is fucking huge). I figure I better get used to the feeling of being a smaller cog in a greater machine, otherwise I'm going to hate college. But the walk was fun. After that, we hit up another Starbucks where I futilely try to use Bela's BlackBerry to check the score of the Giants/Patriots grudge match. (Pats lost, fuck yes). Anyhow, Bela's sister, Luba, meets up with us in Starbucks and starts talking about Cal, how, when you're at a public institution, there's a veil of anonymity between you and everyone else, how the admissions process works, the sometimes utter stupidity of students (For an essay exam, a student emailed her asking whether or not they needed a Scantron. For fuck's sake). It was pretty enlightening, much more informative than what that admissions officer said to us the summer previous.
She said my friends should act out my play too. As if anyone would want to be in that production. >_<
So shortly after that, we walk towards Telegraph, a huge busy street full of shops and restaurants and shit. We go to this store called "The T-Shirt Orgy," which has some really cool stuff, but I decide against buying something. Missed opportunity, because that shirt was off the hook. And so was this "Ace of Spades" shirt I saw on a rack. Oh well.
We walk down to a four-floor bookstore which shocks me. I browsed the basement and the second floor, found Choke by Chuck Palahniuk and Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh. After I bought Lolita, I swore on my life not buy another book. But I fucking caved and spent 18 bucks on both of them. I'm a weakling.
So at this point, we're all starving balls. We head to "Smart Alec's," a health food joint which is also a damn tasty place to eat. At this point, Lucas comes down, looking very angry. Apparently, he had wanted to go to SF, but we went to Berkeley instead and he had to go home at 9 to go to a party or some shit...I don't fucking know. I do know it was a blight on my meal, the best damn chicken sandwich I ever had that someone else paid for (fucking books!). Anyway, we finish eating and go outside, pondering what to do next that doesn't involve money. As we ponder, Lucas decides to peace out and says quickly "I'm going to Rasputin's." Despite his continuous protests, we clearly see he's pissed as shit. We go to find him in Rasputin's, but he isn't there, having fucked off to Amoeba, another indie music store. So we spend some time browsing the records and CDs, it's really cool. I wish I had a record player, that'd be like the most novel thing ever.
Austin gets a call from his dad, asking him to pick up a copy of "The Kids are Alright," a rockumentary featuring the Who. Amoeba doesn't have it, so we go back to Rasputin's. Turns out they don't have it either, so we just browse the store. Lucas decides to leave without telling anyone, and he's gone. How rude, right? But whatever. Bela picks up a poster and we head back out. The Game was actually signing shit in Rasputin's - I saw a frail Asian man with miscellaneous Game merchandise running excitedly home. I throw some change into a bum's cup, to which he happily replies "God bless you!"
Anyway, we decide to go home, but not after I piss out an aquarium's worth of urine in Starbucks, exacerbated by the fact that you have to fucking buy something before you can use it. Twats. So we go to our train, and begin to wait. And here's where shit gets real. Another bum, covered head to toe in a black shroud thing pushing a shopping cart full with what I assume is shit asks this guy for some cash, to which he politely rebukes her. She mumbles something and walks along, looking at mine and Bela's cellphones. She begins to loudly curse and swear, something about "Fuck you Whitey, five hundred dollars, phones, Fuck you to hell, go to hell, you son of a bitch, I'll stab you and make you bleed over the tracks, fucking whitey, fuck, shit, kill you." She was out of her goddamn mind, so we all just kept ignoring her, to which she responded by swearing louder. I didn't feel threatened or anything, I was just weirded out.
Then we got on BART and went home. Dolan pitched the idea of a screenplay to me, which I finished this morning. Should be interesting to see how that goes.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Someone tell me I'm healthy
So I've given vague details as to my exercise and dietary regimen, and the declarations have been mixed, ranging from "That's pretty good" to "You're developing an eating disorder. So here's the skinny on what I do. Comment on it and judge whether or not I'm only my way to becoming the next Mr. Olympia or some emaciated monstrosity destined for a spot on Dr. Phil.
I usually fall asleep around 1:30, wake up around noon. 11 or so hours of sleep. I almost never have breakfast. After waking up, I usually eat lunch, which usually involves some kind of meat, chicken, beef, pork, what have you with (yeah) white rice. Although I try to limit the amount of rice I have - there's a lot of sugar in it.
After that, I usually take a walk, around half a mile, just to get the heart pumping. I'm too much of a weakling to go running. I mean, I can, but I get tired too damn easily and just end up walking anyway. So I walk to various places near my house, Borders, Barnes and Noble, what have you. If I go to a bookstore, I usually spend about an hour or two reading and stuff.
Then I walk back and get started with the exercises. Forty pushups, forty sit-ups, 100 crunches. Then I go outside and work on the home gym, 40 on every machine. I also do curls with a ten pound weight.
I walk every day, 5 days a week, but work out only three days a week, MWF. I work out everything on these days instead of the specially targeted regimen I had adopted earlier.
Dinner usually consists of moar meat and rice, with as little rice as possible. Vegetables are usually thrown in too, brocoli, sprouts, asparagus. Not raw, though.
A couple of glasses of milk spread throughout the week. Also, I usually snack on whatever fruits I can find. Oranges, bananas, whatever.
I also have a bad habit of drinking fruit juice instead of water. It's like 100% though, but that's still bad because you're better off eating the fruit than drinking its tasty blood.
I have been noticing results, not too drastic, but results nonetheless. It is making me quite happy, but then I crash back to earth after five minutes.
PS. I'm peeling, what the fuck?!
I usually fall asleep around 1:30, wake up around noon. 11 or so hours of sleep. I almost never have breakfast. After waking up, I usually eat lunch, which usually involves some kind of meat, chicken, beef, pork, what have you with (yeah) white rice. Although I try to limit the amount of rice I have - there's a lot of sugar in it.
After that, I usually take a walk, around half a mile, just to get the heart pumping. I'm too much of a weakling to go running. I mean, I can, but I get tired too damn easily and just end up walking anyway. So I walk to various places near my house, Borders, Barnes and Noble, what have you. If I go to a bookstore, I usually spend about an hour or two reading and stuff.
Then I walk back and get started with the exercises. Forty pushups, forty sit-ups, 100 crunches. Then I go outside and work on the home gym, 40 on every machine. I also do curls with a ten pound weight.
I walk every day, 5 days a week, but work out only three days a week, MWF. I work out everything on these days instead of the specially targeted regimen I had adopted earlier.
Dinner usually consists of moar meat and rice, with as little rice as possible. Vegetables are usually thrown in too, brocoli, sprouts, asparagus. Not raw, though.
A couple of glasses of milk spread throughout the week. Also, I usually snack on whatever fruits I can find. Oranges, bananas, whatever.
I also have a bad habit of drinking fruit juice instead of water. It's like 100% though, but that's still bad because you're better off eating the fruit than drinking its tasty blood.
I have been noticing results, not too drastic, but results nonetheless. It is making me quite happy, but then I crash back to earth after five minutes.
PS. I'm peeling, what the fuck?!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A puzzle
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone.
Horatio!
Anarchy.
They may take our lives, but they may never take our FREEDOM!
Eat this, you'll feel better.
Made it Ma, top of the world!
YOUUUUUUUU, crank dat soulja boy
OCTOPI
Bold and Brash. More like, belongs in the trash!
Sexy
The Man on the Silver Mountain!
Attack of the Show, attack.
Cash rules everything around me, CREAM, get the money. Dolla dolla bill y'all
Lolita
Evil men do what good mean dream of
Silent night, holy night.
The Firsts
Horatio!
Anarchy.
They may take our lives, but they may never take our FREEDOM!
Eat this, you'll feel better.
Made it Ma, top of the world!
YOUUUUUUUU, crank dat soulja boy
OCTOPI
Bold and Brash. More like, belongs in the trash!
Sexy
The Man on the Silver Mountain!
Attack of the Show, attack.
Cash rules everything around me, CREAM, get the money. Dolla dolla bill y'all
Lolita
Evil men do what good mean dream of
Silent night, holy night.
The Firsts
Monday, August 25, 2008
Book Mobile
My entire summer has been rife with just reading and writing. I'm a literary fag. But for some reason, I take extreme joy in reading massive piles of novels, comics, and whatever else is on my desk. So, time to run through what I've read and judge it.
I read the following:
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway. How to describe it? Dreary, boring, slow, and a pitiful payoff. I appreciate the themes presented in the story, and Hemmingway writes a great character, but the entire novella consists of an old man in a boat fishing. That's about as exciting as it sounds.
Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmund Rostand. Brilliant play with lots of action, snarky dialogue, strong characterization, and happy romance. Frankly the best damn play I've ever read. Hell, I'd go so far to say that it's one of the best pieces of literature I've ever laid eyes on.
Watchmen by Alan Moore. I thought this was a damn good graphic novel. It was my first comic book, so that might have something to do with it. But the exposition, characters, action, all of it is flawlessly executed. The entire cast of characters is so memorable, you might as well relabel them the A-Team instead of the Watchmen.
V for Vendetta by Alan Moore. As soon as I finished Watchmen, I wanted more of Moore's (ba-dum-tish) amazing writing. This graphic novel shares some similarities with the movie (obviously), but the characters couldn't be more different. V isn't the romantic, hesitant killer he is in McTiernan's adaptation, he's a cold, ruthless terrorist who seeks anarchy. It's so much damn fun to watch him work. Another winner from Moore.
World War Z by Max Brooks. The definitive dystopia novel. Forget 1984 and Brave New World, Brooks' exposition on the zombie apocalypse is more touching than those classics. His narrative, a fragmented exposition on survivors of the Zombie War, is realistic and frightening, making it all the more brilliant.
Candide by Voltaire. Voltaire's magnum opus is bitingly sarcastic, fast-paced, and hilarious in its bluntness. Not to mention it pretty much destroys the very premise of optimism throughout the entire adventure, stomping on its face every chapter to remind you of how foolish it is to be hopeful, but also lampoons adventure story cliches with outrageous and ironic descriptions of torture and violence. In short, it's damn funny.
Batman: Year One by Frank Miller. The excellence of The Dark Knight inspired me to check out the works that inspired it, starting with this one, Frank Miller's best work. Year One develops Batman and James Gordon in the same light, people trying to do the right thing in a city that only wants to do wrong. It is remarkably dark and serious, which is up my alley, for sure.
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I love dystopia novels, obviously. Like World War Z, BNW scares the living bejesus out of you by ironically describing a utopia and the life that the citizens live. Drugs, sleep hypnosis, castes, suppression of individuality, and vast amounts of sex characterize the ironic dystopian utopia of the World State. It's bone-chilling but also fucking awesome.
Batman: The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb. While Frank Miller writes a mean Batman story, nothing can compare to Loeb's The Long Halloween. The story is heavily inspired by film-noir elements, realistic and dark, and yet Loeb still manages to slip the like of Poison Ivy and the Riddler in without disturbing the setting. The mystery is intriguing and well-written. It has everything a Batman fan would want.
Batman: Dark Victory by Jeph Loeb. This one was good, really good actually. Featuring Two-Face as the main villain, Dark Victory is a direct sequel to The Long Halloween, and its tale is pretty compelling, if a bit reliant on the plot of its predecessor. It's comfortable, and introduces Robin, which isn't exactly too great of a plot point. Ugh. Robin.
And currently in progress we have:
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I really love this book - I'm halfway through. The tales of random Russian citizens getting fucked up by Satan's retinue is endlessly entertaining. When you put a hippo-sized tomcat with an affinity for vodka and pistols with Satan's personal hitman, a fanged, redhaired cyclops and his personal assistant, a jabbering little man with a pince-nez, you have a formula that cannot be beaten.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Austin heartily recommended this one to me, and I already really like it. The character of Humbert Humbert is both fascinating and creepy, like a peeping tom with the most advanced satellite technology or something. I am definitely not giving up on this one.
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. This is a pretty hilarious book; Ignatius P. Reilly, a spoiled as shit manchild is a perfect protagonist. He's like the literary form of Will Ferrel in Step Brothers.
Stuff I gave up on:
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. There's only so much weirdness I can take. I stomached and loved Slaughterhouse Five, but this one is like Slaughterhouse Five combined with Eraserhead combined with a Max Ernst painting.
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. SLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. I feel really bad for giving up on this. The made-up vocabulary kinda turned me off, but I reckon I'll get back to it some day.
Dune by Frank Herbert. Like LOTR, there's so much to keep track of, such a huge overarching mythology that it's just too damn intimidating.
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. I just got really damn bored with it.
Stuff in the future:
Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
The Plague by Albert Camus
Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
On the Roadby Jack Kerouac
I leave you with a quote from Dr. House:
"Read less, more TV."
I read the following:
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway. How to describe it? Dreary, boring, slow, and a pitiful payoff. I appreciate the themes presented in the story, and Hemmingway writes a great character, but the entire novella consists of an old man in a boat fishing. That's about as exciting as it sounds.
Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmund Rostand. Brilliant play with lots of action, snarky dialogue, strong characterization, and happy romance. Frankly the best damn play I've ever read. Hell, I'd go so far to say that it's one of the best pieces of literature I've ever laid eyes on.
Watchmen by Alan Moore. I thought this was a damn good graphic novel. It was my first comic book, so that might have something to do with it. But the exposition, characters, action, all of it is flawlessly executed. The entire cast of characters is so memorable, you might as well relabel them the A-Team instead of the Watchmen.
V for Vendetta by Alan Moore. As soon as I finished Watchmen, I wanted more of Moore's (ba-dum-tish) amazing writing. This graphic novel shares some similarities with the movie (obviously), but the characters couldn't be more different. V isn't the romantic, hesitant killer he is in McTiernan's adaptation, he's a cold, ruthless terrorist who seeks anarchy. It's so much damn fun to watch him work. Another winner from Moore.
World War Z by Max Brooks. The definitive dystopia novel. Forget 1984 and Brave New World, Brooks' exposition on the zombie apocalypse is more touching than those classics. His narrative, a fragmented exposition on survivors of the Zombie War, is realistic and frightening, making it all the more brilliant.
Candide by Voltaire. Voltaire's magnum opus is bitingly sarcastic, fast-paced, and hilarious in its bluntness. Not to mention it pretty much destroys the very premise of optimism throughout the entire adventure, stomping on its face every chapter to remind you of how foolish it is to be hopeful, but also lampoons adventure story cliches with outrageous and ironic descriptions of torture and violence. In short, it's damn funny.
Batman: Year One by Frank Miller. The excellence of The Dark Knight inspired me to check out the works that inspired it, starting with this one, Frank Miller's best work. Year One develops Batman and James Gordon in the same light, people trying to do the right thing in a city that only wants to do wrong. It is remarkably dark and serious, which is up my alley, for sure.
Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I love dystopia novels, obviously. Like World War Z, BNW scares the living bejesus out of you by ironically describing a utopia and the life that the citizens live. Drugs, sleep hypnosis, castes, suppression of individuality, and vast amounts of sex characterize the ironic dystopian utopia of the World State. It's bone-chilling but also fucking awesome.
Batman: The Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb. While Frank Miller writes a mean Batman story, nothing can compare to Loeb's The Long Halloween. The story is heavily inspired by film-noir elements, realistic and dark, and yet Loeb still manages to slip the like of Poison Ivy and the Riddler in without disturbing the setting. The mystery is intriguing and well-written. It has everything a Batman fan would want.
Batman: Dark Victory by Jeph Loeb. This one was good, really good actually. Featuring Two-Face as the main villain, Dark Victory is a direct sequel to The Long Halloween, and its tale is pretty compelling, if a bit reliant on the plot of its predecessor. It's comfortable, and introduces Robin, which isn't exactly too great of a plot point. Ugh. Robin.
And currently in progress we have:
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. I really love this book - I'm halfway through. The tales of random Russian citizens getting fucked up by Satan's retinue is endlessly entertaining. When you put a hippo-sized tomcat with an affinity for vodka and pistols with Satan's personal hitman, a fanged, redhaired cyclops and his personal assistant, a jabbering little man with a pince-nez, you have a formula that cannot be beaten.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov. Austin heartily recommended this one to me, and I already really like it. The character of Humbert Humbert is both fascinating and creepy, like a peeping tom with the most advanced satellite technology or something. I am definitely not giving up on this one.
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole. This is a pretty hilarious book; Ignatius P. Reilly, a spoiled as shit manchild is a perfect protagonist. He's like the literary form of Will Ferrel in Step Brothers.
Stuff I gave up on:
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut. There's only so much weirdness I can take. I stomached and loved Slaughterhouse Five, but this one is like Slaughterhouse Five combined with Eraserhead combined with a Max Ernst painting.
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. SLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. I feel really bad for giving up on this. The made-up vocabulary kinda turned me off, but I reckon I'll get back to it some day.
Dune by Frank Herbert. Like LOTR, there's so much to keep track of, such a huge overarching mythology that it's just too damn intimidating.
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. I just got really damn bored with it.
Stuff in the future:
Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
The Plague by Albert Camus
Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
On the Roadby Jack Kerouac
I leave you with a quote from Dr. House:
"Read less, more TV."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)