A Fan's Notes

A quick snapshot of an author and his only (good) novel (memoire):

Frederick Exley published his first and only (good) novel A Fan's Notes in 1968 which detailed the chaotic life and experiences of a man named "Fred Exley", whose struggles with alcohol (as well as his erratic behavior) landed him in psychiatric institutions more than once. The novel's misfit antihero is fixated on football, and obsesses over Frank Gifford to the point of institutionalization. A Fan's Notes was initially intended to be published as an explicitly autobiographical piece however the publishers considered the format of the novel to be more financially viable, so it was dubbed "a Fictional Memoir" on the front page to fit within the standards of the narrative. It's a fairly ironic rhetorical turn on their part, I'd say. Regardless of it's placement within the library stacks, this is probably the best novel you've never heard of.

Exley did manage to write another 2 books after A Fan's Notes but both were unlikely sequels to his tour-de-force first effort. His most significant piece of work besides A Fan's Notes was a series of interviews he conducted with Gloria Steinem, published in Playboy in July of 1974 titled "Saint Gloria and the Troll". Frederick Exley died in June of 1992 in virtual anonymity.

If you like boozy and cerebral man-lit, this is some of the best.

Again Returning Again

After another haitus, I think I'll try to do this again. First, I'd like to clear my chest of a few things. Number 1: I really hate the word "blog". It's awful. It's flat, and contains both the sound Blah (as in BLAH-BLAH-BLAH) as well as the word "Log". It also has an abrupt end to it- that g'uh sound. But besides the phonetic blunders, the blog really is a remarkable thing. It's like having your own publishing house to print your shitty, uneducated points of view and, theoretically, that's pretty great. So, with those two things aside, I'd like to give this shit another try. Hopefully I can get into some other topics besides the medium itself and eventually (maybe-just-maybe) I'll tackle that final flaw within the blog structure... the complete absence of readers.

So, before I sign off, I'd like to make an official post on a topic other than this blog:

Today I went to a diner to have breakfast. It's the kind of diner that's slightly retrofitted with vinyl seats and a bar with swivel seats. And yes, it's a little bit cool in the worst way... but only a little bit. Anyway, I'm sitting at the bar (there were no booths available) and in walk these three people (2 guys and a girl). And they are also the worst way of cool. And just as they walk in, one of the guys remarks "Ya know, I don't remember Toronto having so many diners..." ... ... Okay. The first thing that came to mind was "Are you fucking retarded?" Is that even a thought? First of all, where has this guy been? Montreal, Paris, New York, Beijing? Obviously Toronto has a shit load of diners, it's the biggest city (by like 2 million) in the country. And second, people like to eat and not do dishes. So yes, there are diners here. But the worst part was how he said it... it wasn't some sort of comment on urban development or small business practice or something like that. It was completely him saying "Wow! Where I live now (a place obviously cooler than this) we have loads of cool diners and this one is also cool. It's cooler than I thought they had here in Toronto." Okay. Thank you for your almost-commentary on something, you mental defective. Now please leave and go back to wherever you came from, so you can say things like "D'you know what I love about this city (a cool city of your choice)?... The culture."

That's nearly a thought.

#shitregularpeoplesay

A Dangerous Time for Lonely People

In the previous post, I mentioned a bog of solipsism and I think I'd like to talk a bit more about that.

The internet is obviously some sort of ever expanding virtual landscape that moves exponentially faster than we do... it helps us to connect and disconnect... to plug-in and unplug simultaneously. (God, I love ellipses).

Now, more than ever before, I sense a certain pulling away... a new type of solitude. For me it's a voyeuristic fascination with the online narrative- it's a narrative that is by no means truthful or rooted in reality. It's the narrative of our virtual lives. I'm not suggesting some sort of Tron phenomenon, certainly not. It's more of a visual/textual experiencing of each other. I can see you and hear you but that's about it... There isn't much choice for us to touch or feel. Rarely does anything I read or see (vis-a-vis a video or image) on Facebook or Twitter or in the blogisphere, rarely am I moved emotionally. And never physically. It's only an optical sensation... (text is, after all, exceptionally visual). There is no real violence in social networking... no flesh to flesh contact. Occasionally physical connections are facilitated on the internet (see Facebook, Lavalife, plentyoffish, etc.). And my friends no longer seem like friends. My enemies either. It is a dangerous time for lonely people. I've fallen in love with one of these lifelike cyber narratives once. I've yet to forgive myself... I broke my own heart. It was a time before I learned that there is no place for heart within a virtual and electronic world.

Tweets.

Alright... maybe I've been a bit harsh. But this 21st century demands a harsh voice- something with a little rasp... right?

I believe that our social networking is drowning us in ourselves. We've become very selfish. We've become self-centered and self-oriented. To some degree, self-orientation and centeredness is a good thing, it marks a moment of definition. It's like an "I think, therefore..." moment. But it's landed us in a bog of solipsism. It has! Really! (Look at me... A blogger without a blogg-ee). And this scenario is a norm.

Someone once told me that his Twitter account failed because "if you're famous, eating a sandwich is interesting...'what kind of bread is it? what kind of meat? pickles? hotpeppers? do you like pastrami?'... but if you're an average guy, who gives a shit if you like honey mustard?" This is apt. This is true. Maybe the problem lies in the fact that we all think that somebody is concerned with our cold-cuts. We all want somebody to see us. Myself included... But most people aren't concerned with your sandwich and don't care what you're doing with your day-to-day, hour-to-hour... or what your cabbie said.

So let's move on... you'll save the lives of your 55 followers. And possibly yourself.

Interesting/Interested.

Let's talk about interesting people.

In High Fidelity, Rob Gordon says "what really matters is what you like, not what you are like..." Well said! But in this info-frenzied 21st Century, I think the irony of this sentiment has been lost; eroded and gentrified.

Think about it: on our various social-cyber networks we announce daily to the world what books we like, what bands we like, what movies we like, what social causes we endorse, what political parties we back... et cetera-et cetera. But why do we make such proclamations? What is there to gain? I'd say: attention.

When you tell the electronic void that you own a telescope, and that you really like Doolittle or love Marcel Duchamp, you present the cyber-electronic-social-networking community with a picture of yourself as a curious person who appreciates art and has a kick-ass taste in pop music. But in reality, this isn't the case. And you know it. And the cyber world knows it, too. What you really are is a self-conscious person who aims to define his-or-herself by their tastes and longs for acknowledgement and acceptance. Right? Am I being cruel? Maybe.

But even if this is the case, does it really matter now? Everybody (or nearly everybody) has a Facebook account, and nearly everybody uses it to shout into the void of uninterested listeners what Russian novel is their favourite. But the community is not paying attention because the community is busy announcing their own likes and dislikes. So, perhaps "community" is a misnomer.

And sure, maybe you seem interesting because of your tastes, but are you interested? Are you genuinely interested in the things that you say? Are you curious? Are you confused? Are you fascinated to the point of paralysis? Or, do you just like starting stories with "When I was at the Moma/in India/reading Tolstoy..." Because if you are interested, why announce it? Who has the time? But then again, who has the time for a blog?

... I guess that's something to think about... Interesting? Or interested? Until we answer that, I guess you should keep shouting out, into the electronic void that you got into Journalism school.

Congratulations.

Apathetic.

Do you really care?

Or really... why do you care about the things you care about?

I mean. They're not important. Politics. The internet. Music. The Arts. Mid-Term Elections. Municipal elections. Rob Ford. Public Transportation. Partisanship. Nature. Of course, they may be important to you. Obviously some of these things are issues that concern your well being. And Mine. And I certainly care about these things. But why do we make our interests known? Why do we blog about the music we like, and the movies we watch, and the books we've read, and the side we're on. I don't care about that. You don't care about that... Right? If I see an amazing movie. Should I tell you... sure. Should I announce it to the world on a T-Shirt, or a sticker, or in a loud conversation (or a conversation at all). Should I blog about it? Facebook about it?... that I love this movie? I guess if it changes my life, rocks me to the core, if it breaks down and exposes the make-up of space and time... yeah... sure. But if it's your opinion. If it's subjective and unnecessary and boring and unimportant, then why are you telling me... telling other people? Your political outlook! Really. That's fascinating. Left/Right wing, huh! Oh yeah? You're a vegetarian! Really! GREAT! I'm thrilled. I'm quite interested in what you eat. Oh, of course he's an interesting artist. I love his work. His use of colour. His dark themes. Yes. They're a great band. From New York, you say?! Wow. Vienna? Paris! London? Seoul! Calcutta?Art School?! Film School!? The Bank of Montreal?! The National Film Board!? The Young Broke Poets Collective!? Clown College! That's interesting, unique, inspiring, enthralling, educational, professional, profound! Tell me more! Tell us all more! We're all waiting. In silence. To know about this thing that you care about because you did it/saw it/tasted it/ fucked it/wrote it/sang it? We're all waiting.

Please. Go on.

Of Mice and Mad Men.

The Blog was borne through boredom and Mad Men makes me want to drink like a fish. And smoke like the tail-pipe of an 88 Caprice Classic. Is there anything to do anywhere? Is there any work to do? Any playing? It's raining and there isn't much to do about that. They're drinking vodka for lunch on Mad Men and I want to join in. 

There are mice in my apartment and they've learned to outsmart two different types of traps. Should I get an owl? There's no way those rodents can outsmart that ancient wisdom. Valium, anyone?