Stay with me, I swear this relates:
I think it occurred last summer at Union Pool, early evening. Some friends had a law student friend in town, nice guy, not a douchebag or anything but totally had no problem with working for an $evil$ law firm once he graduated, knowing full well that he would be comfortable beyond his wildest dreams for the rest of his days. I mean he was just so Zen about the deal that I, who’d been in the sun all day, on my second margarita, and forgetting that he was a born and bred Southern Californian (no hate meant, it’s just that those folks seem better equipped to work mega$$$’d jobs that would suck the souls right out of their friends in more Northern and Eastern regions, because at 4:55PM they can scram their cube hell and right themselves by windsurfing or jetskiing or just drinking 40’s on the beach, I’d like to think)…
Um hi, I have I problem finishing sentences I interrupt with parenthetical thought. Anyway, that night I tried to convince myself I had dollar signs in my eyes. I was going to ditch publishing, take the LSAT, and become a LAWYER AT A HUUUUUGE FIRM! But maybe I could fight for good sometimes? And make mega $$$$$$$$$$$’s doing it? Yaaaa?
So the next day at work I wrote to my dear friend Sorry Charles, “Hey, I’ve got dollar signs in my eyes! I’m going to go to LAW SCHOOL!!!”
And Sorry C, who is never sorry about anything, was sorry that I was attempting this act which so clearly to him and all that was holy did not vibe with my “ennobled by poverty” scampish persona. But! I peevishly thought he was just being an artsy fartsy pooper-pants. So I wrote the same thing to my gentleman caller, The French Toast Avenger, who I thought would be thrilled to have a $$$$blinged$$$$-out lady. But his response was basically the same response given to all the French toast he’s ever had at brunches in Williamsburg.
Mild horror and abject disgust with the fancypants renderings of an American classic.
And after further discussion and anti-testimonials by real life lawyers, I realized that sometimes I strike out the totally wrong way, just to eff-up and realize that the exact opposite way is where I ought to be heading. And historically, that path has lead me down a decent existence.
And so. Dear Drunk Girl was a bit of the same, in that I envisioned it to be an advice column (which, to be fair to myself, I really, really do like giving advice and I’m mostly always sincere about it) by a “drunk girl”, which I found hilarious. But, the $$$$ in my eyes part lay in the bit where I’d be giving advice while promoting a bar, beer, liquor brand ect., and billions of millions of trillions of advertising $$$ would roll in and I would go windsurfing or jetskiing or just drink 40’s on my own private beach. And I took a copywriting class and wrote funny, snarky ad copy and the whole class just loved it. Trouble is, it’s not really me. I’m not that social and I’m not always that drunk and if I am I certainly can’t write about it unless I have insomnia like now.
So. Not that it really needs reinvention because it never became what it portended to be, but the bio is going to change to reflect what I feel it really is and should and will be.
And “drunk” means drunk on a number of things; like, most recently, poetry and writing in general. And for that I thank Sorry C’s poetic efforts and TFTA for blabbering on and on about his own rediscovery of poetry until one day I finally listened. And then, *see last post. And then, I started writing some of my own, which I haven’t even attempted in literally ten years.
Which finally brings us to tonight and these thoughts which have kept me from sleeping when I have to be up in, now, 2 and a half hours. But also a shout out to my excitement for 1.) writing a zine for A Mutual Respect, and 2.) randomly going into a new comic and bookshop on Metropolitan Ave. called Desert Island and randomly picking up a pretty little book of prints about Lucky Ello
and most importantly 3.) for grabbing not one, not two, but three of Troy Swain’s wonderful zines called “Book Review”, because that’s what they are. Comics drawn to accompany reviews of books like Proust’s Guermantes Way and Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. And it’s super great that he gives props to other comic artists by doing each review in somebody’s style. I especially love the wordless review of Pimp by Iceberg Slim in Lewis Trondheim’s really cute jellybean-people style (look see, I know nothing about comic art, but i know I don’t enjoy reading book reviews very often and I just read three whole little books of them in one sitting!)
When I got out of bed and hour ago I thought drinking a beer and reading these reviews would help make me sleepy again. Fortunately they had quite the opposite effect.
But I obviously should have been blogging to put myself to sleep, because now I am too sleepy to continue on about why Book Review is so great. But I think you get it. I’ll probably repost it cuz it took a long time to get through my $$$$ spiel.
Work tooooo sooon! (the above is also by Troy Swain)
To reinvention and rediscovery! To sleep!
xo,
ZZZZzzzzzz in my eyezzz…
