Stylish sinners all, I don't raise my hand too often in class, but the days they are shortening. I hope all listees are having a pleasant week...herewith my once-a-season stammer. TIME IS ON MY SIDE I've heard part of Storytelling, and so far everything has reminded me of something else, whether that be the theme song to "Taxi" (which itself makes me nostalgic for the 70's--a decade I can't remember--is that possible?) or the 60's Rolling Stones, though that's perhaps because I've been playing them too often. (B&S cover suggestion: Play With Fire, or maybe Congratulations?) I think soundtracks are supposed to make you nostalgic though--for the movie itself or for how the movie made you feel, what it reminded you of, etc. Therein also lies the virtue of replaying old mix tapes. I refuse to see the film itself however--instead I'm going to see a movie about skater boys tomorrow, rowr etc. THE ONLY LIVING GIRL IN NEW CROSS Last weekend I attended an academic conference (professionalism--gasp!) for the first time ever. I actually managed to see Iain Sinclair speak, the man whose works I'm writing a dissertation about, and then lacked the guts to ask him a question. "uh, erm, what do you think about, uh, the function of decay, in the...urban?...environment?" would've been something like it, if only I'd been even that articulate at the time. Then afterwards a girl in a long polka-dot dress managed to approach him and start talking about her work, which I should've done had I the self-promotion instincts that every other human seems to have. Instead I ducked out of all social situations and jumped over the puddles that had meanwhile flooded Goldsmith's black and white floor tiles, then headed out and down to the tube stop amid blooming buddleia. Networking, feh. I ONLY BUY A BOOK FOR HOW HEAVY IT LOOKS It's (more or less) summer, which means I dust off my clogs once again. And they are very dusty, since I can't wear them as much in London (land of much more walking) as I did last year in Chicago (land where El stop and destinations were close enough to excuse the wearing of potentially awkward shoes). In her penultimate (sorry, I'm slow--but hey: I think technically, final punctuation should go inside parenthesis if parenthetical content is a stand-alone sentence) Robyn, and somewhere behind a fashionably turned-up acid-washed collar, the Boy G I'm sure, mentioned David Foster Wallace. The man pretty much owns the postmodern footnote (he got there before Dave Eggers after all), as well as the words "rictus" and "micturate." I sat at home last Bloomsday reading Infinite Jest and surviving only on cans of Dr Pepper--it was that good that I didn't need food. Infinite Jest (erm, not Expectations) inspired me to wear clogs in the first place, and if choice of footwear based solely upon a literary character isn't a high compliment I sure as fuck don't know what is. As for other attempted emulations of the PGOAT (for those in the know) I don't go so far as to wear a veil or smoke crack out of a Big Red Soda Water bottle. But there's time yet. D EQUALS R TIMES T...IT'S EDUCATIONAL... Further to verbal matters, Robyn, and no doubt others, said "blog" too and I will concur that I think it sounds almost as bad as "signage," perpetual bane of the chain bookstore merch employee, a role I once played. Blogging seems to be the new posting, which was the new lurking, which may have been the new having a life... I write this with full knowledge that I too am potentially locked into this evolution. Gack. I confess I had a zine in high school, back in the pre-internet days (double gasp!) so perhaps that's the cro-magnon ancestor of a weblog. "Blog" itself however connotes indigestion to me...I think it should count among Rachel Fruitloop's mantra of "crap hell doody boob on a shingle." And with that filth I end my intellectual niceties, rah! YOU THINK I'M DEAD, BUT I'VE SAILED AWAY... I gotta say my time in London has been made much brighter and more lovely due to the kind people from this list I've met/been shy around/bowled with/gotten tipsy with over the past 10 months. Mad props, y'all. I'm due to imitate Breams and Bappsy and head to another hemisphere before long. Before I could even suggest it, Ken's beaten me to the punch with a rallying call to the London Sinister Bowling League this weekend--can we get a t-shirt please? I'll also spread some homemade oatmeal raisin cookies around when I see some of you at the July 13th gathering...pretty soon Miss Mandee May in the environs of Denver will be the only fellow sinisterian upon whom I'll get to foist my baked goods...mayhap a Denver Massive is in my future, should a Massive be possible with 2. Certainly our 2 Simi Valley residents, and also I am sure those singular souls in more isolated locales, prove that they fucking represent. love and clogs, xox SGS PS: I still can't tell the story of how I found one of the obscure treasure hunt clues and how damn special it made me feel since the fucking answers will never be revealed for the goddamn peace of mind of my ENzyme crew that did search for them so ardently... Son of PS: Marianna gives good Reporting Back. When it's 11:30 and the club is jumpin' jumpin' she also makes it hott! hott! Bride of PS: my dearest JennPB when will you again grace our digests with your sparkly charm? PS, the Next Generation: Mad props and xxx's most of all to lovely listmums Honey and Linda! _________________________________________________________________ Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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