I’m really going to do it, it’s happening, tonight is the night I fall in love with Edith Wharton.
Said Steve Martin, of his long-time friend, artist Ed Ruscha: “I always feel like I’m meeting Ed for the first time.” “Hey, Steve,” I said. “It’s me, your long-time friend, artist Ed Ruscha.”
The more I use the internet the less capable I am of empathizing, which is weird because I am ostensibly interacting with other human beings. But it all comes down to how I use the internet. For example, I don’t care more about asteroids when I play Asteroids. I care about my high score. Like my fucking post, asshole.
I hate money and I hate people who have money and I especially hate young people who have money. It’s hard to believe such people exist, and when I see them I gawk at them like they were an open wound. But if I had money I would bathe in expensive mink oil every night. Every single night.
I feel happiest when I’m able to hate something I usually love.
Person at bar: “I like women who don’t seem like women yet. It’s not an age thing. It’s about maturity.” He smiles wistfully. “I guess, in my heart, I’m a pedophile…”
Laughing at a Facebook status while sitting by yourself on the patio is like watching television during sex.
What I regret most are all the hours I spent playing Unreal Tournament: 2003. God, what a stupid fucking regret.