boys in the bedroom

i read a lot. i think that's a good thing. keeps me out of trouble.
the only problem is that stuff tends to stick in my head, often at the least ideal moment..
david baddiel for instance. the guy's a bit of a knobhead, but i really enjoyed his second book (whatever love means) and bits of the first (time for bed). however, i will never be able to forgive the fucker for this popping up in my head at the most inopportune moments. and giving me the urge to say 'sausages' at incredibly inappropriate times.
another one's david foster wallace... he's a bit of a hero of mine. i adore the way he writes, he did an entire essay on growing up in windy midwestern america and being heavily involved in the junior tennis circuit. described how the weather would affect the games and his strategies, his feelings before matches, his techniques.. all down to a tee. and then i read that he's never actually played a game of tennis in his life.
he wrote the fantastic short story collection 'brief interviews with hideous men', which obviously i loved to bits, except for this excerpt.
david foster wallace, after i had read that, came pretty close to ruining my sex life forever*.

thank god he didn't succeed.




*(still vaguely continuing - hand + stomach = arghdavidfosterwallacedamnyoureyes.)