Losers are tiresome

Reading Home Land by Sam Lipsyte, because it was mentioned in either GQ or Vanity Fair, SF Flavorpill, and something else. Plus, I'd finished reading everything worth while in Punk Planet's We Owe You Nothing. You read about these driven individuals, and it makes you want to do something great with your life. Then, you keep picking up fiction that's about, well, losers and failures. Why aren't more writers atleast a little more upbeat? I read Steve Martin' book, and it was droll as well. Home Land is good, and its funny in that fucked up way, like how American Psycho is funny. But the narrator? Another loser. Tired of reading about the losers, I must say.

Weekend was quite a time. Though Friday was pretty uneventful, Saturday was The Court and Spark at Cafe Du Nord. First time there, and was definitely impressed. Late nite ensued, and pictures are posted above to prove it.

Work. I dug fingernails under my skin trying to find a job here. Getting one has thrown me back into the cycle, where I concentrate on four hundred things all day, then live vicariously through whatever TV on DVD series we have at the apartment. I look forward to that. And it is the most pathetic thing on earth. What we all need isn't television or magazines to constantly tell us we aren't good enough or successful enough (I've got the twenty Lexus / Mercedes / BMW's I walk by on Montgomery Street every fucking morning to tell me that). We need one person to tell us we are doing the right thing. One person. One person that we can actually trust knows what they are talking about, and tell us that we are right. Being out here in SF, without the comfort of hundreds of people telling you how great you are every night, I really could use one person who has already made it to say, "Yep, you're right on track, man." That's all. I'm so busy now, my friends get neglected, and voicemails go unanswered. But right now, I can't promise its worth it.