It’s Friday, do a dance…

I don’t have much to actually say, but here’s some things I like or found today:

I am eternally grateful.. for my knack of finding in great books, some of them very funny books, reason enough to feel honored to be alive, no matter what else might be going on.
Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake, 1997

I have to agree. I get excited about little things like a new pair of shoes, or hitting a traffic lull on my way home, and that puts me in a good mood. But there’s another feeling I have when I’m around books I love, around authors I love, reading what I love. Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, I am absolutely positively gay for books.

You need a buddy to come to the bookstore with you?

Why, of course! Let me get my wallet!

It’s a giddy, “send shock waves through your veins” kind of happy. Like you’ve resorted back to Christmas when you’re 7 years old and you got the pink Barbie dream house! Your day is absolutely rocking! That kind of feeling. And I hope that I never, never lose that.

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Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.
Kurt Vonnegut, A Man without a Country

I love a man that can successfully poke fun at himself. And to be honest, I still haven’t quite grasped the semicolon usage; it’s confusing.

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I can’t stop listening to St. Vincent’s album, Marry Me. Particularly track 5, Paris is Burning. It’s so, orchestrated? There’s so much going on, you can just lose yourself in the sounds. Moulin Rouge-like, maybe? Anyway, enough of my feeble attempts to describe it. Find it, listen to it, see what you think, oui?

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Lastly, I’m finding I’m a sucker for “Fixer-Upper”books, particularly as I encroach upon my quarter-life crisis year. “Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued,” “The Modern Girl’s Guide to Life,” “You Grow Girl” The Groundbreaking Guide to Gardening,” “The Turbulent Twenties Survival Guide”… The list goes on. I guess I’d rather read nonfiction than new fiction. Bizarre, n’est pas?

travail de travail de travail…