18th
I am a stupid.
I just emailed my favourite Internet writer Choire Sicha because I really liked his piece for Radar today, even though it was kind of about being pestered by the youngs! Like me!
And now I feel really stupid about sending it, because it was kind of nonsensical and annoyingly gushy, and I would hate to have him think of me as a suck-up or media leech who would ever stoop to wearing a dress made out of I don’t know condoms to get attention and publicity, which is weird because I suppose his opinion of me should have no bearing on me. I don’t know. I wish I could somehow reach into his inbox and, like, delete my email forever.
Whatever, I guess it will give him something to roll his eyes at.
This is kind of how I felt when I read Sheila’s rant on Gawker about dumb commenters on Emily Gould’s blog, knowing I had commented a few times and kind of regretting it (although, traffic!). I’m pretty sure (as in 100 percent) I didn’t call her “hon” or anything stupid like that or offer life advice (except to read Schopenhauer, which I say to everyone), but it made me wonder if I’m too old to be writing gushy I-love-your-writing fan comments. (Answer: yes!)
On a different note, I loved that Choire pointed out how relentlessly heterosexual the whole Brooklyn literary scene is. Whenever I read about it (and since I have no first-hand knowledge, this is just a sense), I feel like I’ve entered the same horribly suffocating world created/described by Roth/Updike and company in which the gays don’t exist. It’s highbrow, perhaps, but ultimately very suburban/conventional, which come to think of it is a pretty good description of my college (Cornell).