once one is out of college and/or one's early twenties, i'd argue that needing a (sexy!)* halloween costume is a red flag for self esteem issues; at the ripe old age of 27, i feel no need to tart it up for the 'ween (and hey, gross is fun). not so for my co-workers, so i hid out in my office with electrified hair and undead makeup (i was "the secretary of frankenstein") while they ran around prom-squealing and taking pictures. that's not work-bitterness you smell - i was a plain old halloween hater, as i came down with a horrid cold halfway through the day and wanted to be left alone (tough when you're 6'4" with hair and heels). pesky kids.

speaking of hating, i finally found and read my copy of chuck klosterman's killing yourself to live. with his sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs under my belt, i knew better than to expect klosterman to stick to rock or, well, any subject; that self-preparation was key to avoiding The Anger.** nominally an account of visits to musicians' death-sites (an expansion of a feature for spin), KYTL is actually a latter-day high fidelity - which would be fine, as most memoirs involving music are going to recall nick hornby's (or cameron crowe's) for some time. this becomes problematic when klosterman subjects us to a conversation with his co-worker, who notes that his current book is a bad idea and will be compared (unfavorably) to high fidelity (by, if memory serves, "idiot bloggers"). ooh, snap! this happens maybe a hundred pages after he goes all dave eggers to let us know that he knows he's going all dave eggers. oh, chuck. going meta triggered The Anger in a new and special way. there's also a bit of douglas coupland (circa girlfriend in a coma, novel of a thousand wink-wink smiths references) knocking about here*** - klosterman's attorney's cat is a "super furry animal" (groan) and "the kids are alright" (where's my knife?) in at least three situations. compound this with klosterman's painful, paragraph-length intros for throwaway one-liners, and - for the love of god, man, stick to rock crit.

*"i'm a (sexy!) zombie," "i'm a (sexy!) harriet miers," etc.

**both jake and i have been known to experience hulk-like rage while reading klosterman.

***i probably should have expected this as well, given coupland's "thank god for chuck" blurb on the book jacket.


sara said...

umm, i was a college student this hallowe'en. and sexy only counts if the broadcast tshirt i was wearing showed off my boobs enough. ha!
in other news: dang, girl! you read like a fiend! i'm jealous! come <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org>write a novel</a> with me instead!

bassett h-q said...

Oh gee. That is always something I've wanted to do. Actually put a couple of words together once, but the plot was always getting stuck. But this is an interesting idea.

I'm all for it.

V said...

Re: sexy, I can only ask for clemency on the grounds that a) I had a show, b) my band is all women, and c) En Vogue is readily available on LimeWire.

lauren said...

i don't mean to condemn sexy as a general proposition; my little sis, for instance, got away with being a pussycat doll because she stitched most of the costume herself. i'm snarking on sexy! sans creativity - which will never be a problem for you, dear.