i bought a bread basket. i’m not procrastinating anymore. in the end, i blame the pollen. the pollen made me what i am today (shut up, spitz, you’re just another white, suburban punk like me)… i know but it still hurts….
this is the bread basket. i keep my baked goods in the freezer and have no cause for the bread basket really except perhaps some top storage, and to speed up avocado ripening (no small thing) and banana ripening (a smaller thing since they seem to riper on their own in about 30 seconds and die in about a minute and a half around here).
i hope you like the bread basket. i hope you will like the book i’m working on. my mother seems to think it’s fascinating (book not basket) which is usually a good sign because sometimes i describe my works in progress to her and she says, “marc, who is going to read/see that.”
Things I am doing besides writing my book or coming up with new magazine/newspaper story ideas at the moment: waiting for the mailman to deliver my Klonopin scrip, watching Roger Federer lose to Stan Wawrinka at the French Open (and feeling like tennis more than any other sport is unforgiving when it comes to youth vs. experience and talent), wondering if the fish tank vacuum I bought from China is going to make any difference, thinking about Alan Moyle and what he wanted to say about youth… vs. experience and talent (hopefully I will get to interview him), drinking very sugary coffee from a cart on 14th street (no from a cup silly), reading Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf for the second time in my life and thinking that it really is an amazing title, wondering when I will really begin my new play, which has a story outline and characters and names for those characters… it’s been three years since i wrote a play, geez, thinking that the Dream Catcher I bought and placed over my bed to ward off nightmares might be defective (I often dream of The Strokes, i don’t know why… the young Strokes and in this dream we are at a beach party on the shore of shark infested water and there was a sign saying, ‘Be Warned, the Sharks will go after the tallest first.” And sure enough Nick Valensi got eaten by a shark, what else?, did I mention that I am out of Klonopin? How did I write books without it? (answer: Xanax), feeling proud of myself that I found a Harold Pinter postcard on line (and bought it). it was one of those moments where you are bored and searching and saying “Let’s see if theres a Harold Pinter postcard…” I read The Caretaker recently (always having a play opened now… for inspiration) and it blew my head off… Wondering when and how Morrissey is going to cancel his show at MSG this month (i.e. should i buy tickets and can I afford to wait for them to be refunded), wondering why Bill Nelson was not a bigger pop star (acceleration) and now watching the Tsonga match (unforgiving in Paris).