Conversation with W., who likes it when I whine here at Spurious. I haven’t written for the past few days, I tell him, because I feel a little ill. Write about being ill, he says, I like it when you whine. He reminds me I ripped him off in comparing Cat Power to Josephine the Mouse Singer a few posts ago (he is right of course). Then he reminds me how much we admired the singers at All Tomorrow’s Parties who 1) were fat (or at least plump), 2) swigged wine out of bottles, 3) had tattooes – i.e., the guy from Modest Mouse and the guy from Arab Strap. Both were slightly menacing, too – the guy from Modest Mouse reprimanded people in the crowd for throwing flyers at the band and both were self-deprecating.
Yes, we liked these singers, we felt (as I said at the time) in the presence of greatness as much as we disliked Vincent Gallo. I had already agreed with W. to let myself get obese, but he reminds me that my new hobby of hillwalking is an obstacle to this plan. I tell him I walked 33 miles last weekend and he says, you’re always like that – you throw yourself into something, and then you know how it ends up? In tears, I say. W. and I speak of our vehement dislike of administration and bureaucracy. I speak wistfully about writing a book on ethics next year. I’m tired of commentary, I tell him. But what are you going to say?, he asks me. I don’t know.
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