…is inconvenient. It gave me a cramp in my forehead, the cold did. I thought we might have a nice fall, but no.
The best thing that my therapist has given to me is suggesting that my procrastinating is maybe my process just happening in my head. I mean, I’m aware that that’s probably a version of bullshit, but I HAVE to live with myself, right? I don’t know. It has made things a lot easier and maybe, just maybe is a little true? Maybe.
Last night, Tucker Max came into the restaurant where I work. Fine- he is who he is and I don’t really know how I feel about him. I think he’s not a bad writer, but if he actually acts the way he reports that he does, of course he’s a horrible person. There’s some interesting aggressive philosophy at the heart of his persona that is kind of compelling, but the addiction and dangerous sexual health issues make him seem sort of scary to me. Anyway, my point is, I can understand why he has an audience. I think he’s a pretty good writer. BUT, this girl who works with me tells me that he’s there and says, with not even the smallest tiniest drop of irony, that she would love to fuck Tucker Max and have him write about it. I am not a pearl-clutcher by any stretch of the imagination, working in internet media stuff has made me super numb to people’s outrage over everything all of the time; but this is beyond the pale. A GIRL wants to have this guy talk about her like she’s trash? A receptacle? I just don’t understand the appeal. Maybe the real story here is that I work with the dumbest person in New York. If the news is that there are more girls out there like this, we’re in trouble. I don’t know what this trouble spells, but I’m imagining it’s gonorrhea or bulimia or something like that.