८ जुलै, २००८
"Approaching the nearer vase, I pushed aside the greens and then I vomited — hideously, pungently, gloriously — into the vase's depths."
Hold on to your crockery! It's roman à clef about Laura Bush!
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Hey, I ate lunch not too long ago!
Approaching that sentence, I nearly vomited --- hideously, pungently, gloriously --- all over my keyboard.
Had that happened, either you or Curtis Sittenfield was going to be strongly encouraged to provide me with a replacement.
(You're lucky I have a nearly cast-iron stomach, I think my current no-vomitting streak is up to 6 years, and my longest such streak is over a decade)
I haven't vomited since the 70s.
The 70s were the heyday of vomiting.
What, no "presidential plumbing" or "cute little butt" tag?
And, sheesh, I puked only yesterday (but not hideously, pungently or, God knows, gloriously). Since we're sharing, and all.
I only vomited twice in the 70s.
I've only vomited twice as an adult.
Once from eating bad sausage in the dorm cafeteria, and once from drinking whiskey sours and champagne at a wedding!
Ah, I see there are fellow rodents here....
I first vomited in the 70s when my mother put on her England Dan & John Ford Coley album.
"Etiquette tip: More people will get out of your way if you say "I'm gonna puke!" than if you say "Excuse me."--source unknown
Vomiting gloriously only happens in books, smelly third rate books.
"a young novelist schooled at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop"
Translated:
WARNING: BAD WRITING AHEAD
The US Surgeon General has determined that books containing material from the Iowa Writer’s Workshop are horrific soul-stealing crap. You will feel angry and become stupider for having read it. May God have mercy on your soul.
Some cancers are now curable.
But not the Iowa Writer’s Workshop.
"...that is sure to send the White House into a fury."
Don't they hope!
How about vomiting artfully? I'm surprised some "artist" hasn't made a name for himself by displaying paintings comprised of his vomitus on a canvas. And if we complain, who are we to judge?
Now I can die happy, knowing La Althouse's vomiting history.
Reading the reviews at the end of that article brought on a pet peeve of mine: the labeling of performances or writing as "brave." Sure, blogging in Iran right now is brave. There are many examples of brave writing. But a work of satirical fiction, in our open society, brave? Not so much. I'm just sick of how misused that word is in our entertainment industry. An actress plays a role that requires her to show her age? Brave. An actor plays gay? Brave. It's on the verge of being a drinking game.
Well, truthfully I didn't before and I don't now care about Althouse's vomiting history. Still, it's hard not to be--however fleetingly--impressed, on at least a level or two. Just sayin'.
How about vomiting artfully?
If this is possible, it probably can't simply be called "vomiting" anymore; it has to have some sort of fancy description such as "technicolor yawn."
I've always liked that term far better than hurling, blowing chunks, etc. And we never called it ralphing, because Ralph is my dad's middle name. (And his first name is John, so referring to the act as ralphing in the john would be totally out of the question at my house.)
Still, it's hard not to be--however fleetingly--impressed, on at least a level or two. Just sayin'.
As someone who's vomiting history is similar, it's not really a good thing. I mean, maybe it is for Ms. A, but for me, it's probably meant that I've endured some horrible stuff after eating something not-quite-right. Most people would just expurge it but, no, Mr. "Never Drives The Porcelain Bus" has to endure it going through the entire seven yards of intestine.
Well, truthfully I didn't before and I don't now care about Althouse's vomiting history. Still, it's hard not to be--however fleetingly--impressed, on at least a level or two. Just sayin'.
Especially considering two pregnancies in that time period.
And my apologies, this thread could have been just about really horrible, vomit-inducing writing, instead I turned into a thread about My Upchucks (or not Upchucking) With Andre.
I can't claim Althouse's cast-iron stomach, but I'm pretty immune to such problems, too. I just read the review, and I am getting a little queasy, though.
Hmmm...maybe this book could be marketed as part of a weight-loss program: the Appetite Supressing Book Club Diet Plan.
The Vomitous Literature Weight Loss Series seemed a little harsh.
Can we somehow communicate to artists everywhere that the vomiting = strong emotions thingy is looking a bit shopworn?
How about raised voices or staring off into space instead?
They haven't been used in awhile.
I vomit more often than Prof. A, but I get migraines occasionally. And vomiting then is a blessed relief. I vomit into the depths of the porcelain god, not into the shrubbery.
I just wanted to introduce the fine old phrase "commode-huggin' drunk".
That is all.
Beth, I think you may have identified a misspelling in there. When you consider these "brave" souls and their cheerleaders as the asses that they are, perhaps they mean to be calling themselves and each other "bray've" instead...
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