READ ME!


READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.


june 14, 1996: the good, the bad and the ugly.


I am fighting hard-- and losing pathetically -- the urge to be rambling, annoying and psuedo-philosophical, like in the old days . It is freezing out, there is not an ounce of food in my apartment, and there is no one interesting on line.

I need to get out of here.

I received so many letters over the past week, that I cannot answer them here. I answered a lot of them personally. That took seven hours last night. It was odd.

How could more than a week have passed since I updated this page? I must really suck. I guess it is time for me to indulge myself by listing a few of my excuses.

Over the past few months, as a freelance writer, my whole life generally could be divided into three segments: 10 percent hope, 30 percent disappointment, and 60 percent waiting.

In the past, I somehow deluded myself into believing that impatience was a character trait I was stuck with -- some sort of aries curse that I could not change. I was wrong. I am becoming more patient. And the more patient I become, the more things start looking like they might be happening.

I landed a few new cool gigs, (which, mind you, these links may or may not have anything to do with -- sheesh, how nosy can you get?), was interviewed by a cool gurl, did my hair just right this time, and shed a few of those extra pesky pounds. Last weekend, I donned my cocktail mini, and shook my groove thang.

And suck linked to me again. I would link you to the specific article, but now that they have (argh) frames, I cannot get you there. Well, the date was June 12, 1996, and they linked to my ice-t story. I swear to god that every person that followed the suck link to me dropped me a line to tell me about it. That was cool, since I love mail, but I do confess that it was slightly time consuming.

Even more strangely, over the past week, a few page-readers decided that they wanted to send me gifts, and I received both a generous check and a lovely bottle of wine. People will do the damndest things.

Finally, lest we not forget, I am getting laid occasionally these days.

(not enough, though).

(Non-sequitor: I think that if someone is going to crash in your apartment, they should be required to do your bidding.)

Most of the time, I have been sublimating my denial into continuing my obsessive pursuit of connectivity, as if finally getting myself a respectible line to the internet is somehow going to help me write the Great American Novel, or film the Movie That Breaks The Most New Ground.

And I am finally submitting some of my writing to real live publishers. Who may actually pay me.

We will see.

In the meanwhile, I am getting the fuck out of here, and driving down to Los Angeles this weekend, to watch a dear friend perform in a Cutting Edge Feminist Drama and, basically, to reboot.

So that is what is new with me: less waiting, more hope. Platinum hair. Good vibes. Fresh air.

Good, bad, and not so ugly.


today

tomorrow

yesterday

THE README INDEX

or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge


Copyright 1996 Rebecca Eisenberg mars@bossanova.com