PEOPLE YOUR AGE
Remember when the only famous people your age were Macully Culkin?
I recently looked at a trading card of Cecilia Cheung -- Hong Kong actress -- twisting round to show off both tit and ass in a wet bathing suit, oogling her body in much the same way I might secretly oogle my friend's sexy mother...until I checked her stats on the trading card: she's only 6 months older than me!
Where's my fucking trading card?
A party tonight thrown by a stringer for a US newspaper. The apartment easily could have fit all the population of China. As with any party, people had to shout to be heard...but not because of the loud music, just because your voice was instantly lost in the void of interior decoration. My girl and I came empty handed -- a broken bottle of red on the pavement along the way. Looking at the consumption table we were the only ones: bottles of all shapes and sizes, all bearing a single shared sticker: import. Some parties you are required to bring more than a penis.
The talk of the party was property: housing for sale, housing to buy, artwork, degrees to frame. I bought my first bookcase just last month. I just bought the bookcase, because I figured springing for the bedside table would be too extravagent. Meanwhile people my age own cars. Pieces of real estate on wheels. A guy at the party said, "I've been thinking of buying a place this size." He trades airlines. Who are these people? Today I traded some powdered coffee for a sachel of green tea with my coworker.
Then I realized the whole apartment was owned and furnished by said US newspaper. And the stringers strung through the years ran in and out, filing stories in the office space. The furniture was newspaper furniture, the artwork newspaper photos, the books all leftovers the former reporters thought to troublesome to ship back home. It was the home of a company.
I ain't idealistic about this shit anymore. You got one guy living on a football field on the 22nd floor. Meanwhile his doorman lives in a closet that's about to be torn down by the government. The stringer interviews his doorman, files it, it appears on page 5, stringer returns to his ermpoer-sized bed, job well down.
Remember when the only famous people your age were Macully Culkin?
I recently looked at a trading card of Cecilia Cheung -- Hong Kong actress -- twisting round to show off both tit and ass in a wet bathing suit, oogling her body in much the same way I might secretly oogle my friend's sexy mother...until I checked her stats on the trading card: she's only 6 months older than me!
Where's my fucking trading card?
A party tonight thrown by a stringer for a US newspaper. The apartment easily could have fit all the population of China. As with any party, people had to shout to be heard...but not because of the loud music, just because your voice was instantly lost in the void of interior decoration. My girl and I came empty handed -- a broken bottle of red on the pavement along the way. Looking at the consumption table we were the only ones: bottles of all shapes and sizes, all bearing a single shared sticker: import. Some parties you are required to bring more than a penis.
The talk of the party was property: housing for sale, housing to buy, artwork, degrees to frame. I bought my first bookcase just last month. I just bought the bookcase, because I figured springing for the bedside table would be too extravagent. Meanwhile people my age own cars. Pieces of real estate on wheels. A guy at the party said, "I've been thinking of buying a place this size." He trades airlines. Who are these people? Today I traded some powdered coffee for a sachel of green tea with my coworker.
Then I realized the whole apartment was owned and furnished by said US newspaper. And the stringers strung through the years ran in and out, filing stories in the office space. The furniture was newspaper furniture, the artwork newspaper photos, the books all leftovers the former reporters thought to troublesome to ship back home. It was the home of a company.
I ain't idealistic about this shit anymore. You got one guy living on a football field on the 22nd floor. Meanwhile his doorman lives in a closet that's about to be torn down by the government. The stringer interviews his doorman, files it, it appears on page 5, stringer returns to his ermpoer-sized bed, job well down.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
thirtyseven:
don't stop posting.
brubaker:
Dude, Ceclia Cheung has a trading card? You ar fucking shitting me? Yeah, she's cute and everything, but still. Oh, and I've finally gotten around to watching The Promise, btw. Really fucking bad. I mean REALLY fucking bad. You were right. For some odd reason, though, it got really good reviews here in the States. Plus, I just found out that that was the same director that did th at soft porn that Heather Graham did a bunch of years ago, Killing Me Softly. How do you go from Raise The Red Lantern to that?