Sinister: so I am glad

[Emily Wilska]

Friends, Romans, Countrypeeps:

I promised in my last post that, having nattered on for a few paragraphs, I
would resume my status as a lurker.  It was a horrid lie, I tell you.  

Ian C. was fab enough not only to mention Dave Eggers, but indeed to post
his words on selloutdom.  And Dave Eggers is fab enough to admit to digging
cash and attention and accolades without wallowing in guilt and without
being apologetic for either what he's done or what he's chosen.  This means
that a.) you all really should visit www.mcsweeneys.net, because it features
lots of trenchant and witty and sometimes just bizarre writing; and b.)
perhaps the debate over selling out should please god please just die now.
(I write this knowing full damn well that I am fanning the flames of the
very fire I'm trying to extinguish.  Carry on.)

Yes.

I may take this all back the day I walk into my local taqueria and see Belle
& Sebastian Chupa Chups (tm), but in the meantime, I stand my ground and
cover my ears and swear to scroll through all future posts in which the
words "sell" and "out" appear in close proximity.

Stopping now.

Woo hoo!  Mermaid Avenue Part Deux.  Very exciting.  I am fascinated by the
idea of words and music being created so separately yet working so well
together.  Every time I hear *Eisler On the Go*, I think, Woody Guthrie
could not possibly have intended that song to be so slow and mournful.  But
it's absolutely brilliant, stunning, haunting--and I don't think I'd want it
any other way.

Not that it's all about me.  Not always, at least.

The trees outside my window--coquettish, coquettish things--look just lovely
in the sunshine of a California afternoon.  I think I shall grab a few
Swedish oat cakes (mmmmm--Ikea) and go join them for a while.

You're all welcome along, too.

Not making any more promises I can't keep,
Emily
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