Oh, procrasturbating

AGW is going through a crisis of inaction. After a delightful weekend in Brewster, tha cape, with MommaVoz and a hot immigrant bitch, she came back to the sweltering city with her subconscious determined not. to. work. That's not good when you're ostensibly a self-motivated freelancer. But it's not like I've been sitting doing nothing. I've been tooling around with what was once a "long piece of fiction" but has as of today crossed the 20,000 word mark and become a novel-in-progress. This is nothing new for me. I have several novels-in-progress that are very much not in progress, but this one has made it pretty far, and I'm hoping to do something with it, even if that means just sending it around to my friends, Earl of Rochester style.

Or publishing it in its entirety HERE, on AGW, first.

J/K mah peoples. I would never subject me or you to that.

So on the subject for which this blog was originally created, I wrote a letter to the editor responding to John Tierney the prick, who was in turn responding to a brilliant story in the WSJ. The gist of my letter, which won't be published because it was too long, was: test scores prove that kids can learn regardless of environment. But environment determines whether or not kids will pursue education. So public schools need more, not less money. And why white assholes in suits like tierney don't get that is because they're self-satisfied bigots.

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That aside, I've been reading up a storm, one of the reasons I think I've been inspired to write so much. Here are my (parenthetical) instantaneous reviews:

Fun Books (or as snobs would say, "Summer Reading")

Academy X (about my Alma Mater) by Andrew Trees
The Devil Wears Prada (boring and poorly written but it hooks ya) by Lauren Weisberger
Circle of Friends (seriously made me feel like I was back in Ireland, ohmigod soooooo good) by Maeve Binchy

Depressing books (or as snobs would say, "Real Books.")

In Cold Blood (siiiick, as my brother would say) by Truman Capote
Wide Sargasso Sea (also siiick, Jane Eyre in Reverse and modernist), by Jean Rhys
The Unbearable Lightness of Being (A lot of references to sex and shit for a book with "lightness" in the title. But the style of the translation is haunting and sticks with you.) by some Czech dude. Milan Kundera. word. Thanks, pasty.

Aight, that' s all folken. Til tomorrow, or the next time I'm bored/procrastinating.