March 18, 2003
3/18/03 Brooklyn, NY Yes, it's
Yes, it's 5:29am, and I just spent the night writing another article for Salon, although the kicker is this: it might not see the light of day. I pitched a sort of "War and Generation Y" piece last week, and it was accepted, but in the meantime, Bush drop-kicked Iraq in the nuts, giving everything in the news pipeline the half-life of an unrefrigerated raw egg. So I got all the quotes I could, transcribed hours of dialogue, and wove it into a fabric that may or may not provide literary warmth.
Which is okay. One needs to be challenged, and I haven't stayed up all night writing a paper since Philosophy 32 in 1990. It feels the same, the vague sense of light appearing, the citrus wafts of long-flat Coke (actually Red Bull), the realization that you will probably be lacking a few motor neurons tomorrow.
I don't know why, but I'm reminded of this picture:
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me and Sean zonked out after one of Mom & Dad's enchilada parties, circa 1974