Frust Feb

Didion and Shields

I rampaged the net for material/interviews and articles on Joan Didion and Carol Shields.Someone once told me I wrote like Carol Shields (whose "Unless" I inhaled) , I spasmed somewhere between humiliation and gratitude. Didion I fell in love with after reading excerpts from Slouching Towards Belthlehelm.Anywho, scrmabled around on the net yesterday and though data on Shields was limited, Didion had spawned trails of material on cyberspace. One of the relevant pieces was interesting. Ten authors admitted to "stealing" stuff from Didion i.e. not direct plaigarism but adopting her style of writing, her turn of phrases and as I read their confession, I didn't entirely feel put off with their admission. Yes, someone came up with the style before but if it echoes what you wanted to express does not mean you cannot lay claim to it in a certain way. Didion herself used to practice her sense of structure by penning Henry James's sentences repeatedly. It's a difficult business to write anything down and I really can't figure out where people get their individual sense of style from.

Stevie's Golden Wok

Munch and I collapsed into the rickshaw and staggered back into LUMS supporting each other, dying to unbelt our jeans to let our stomachs breathe.Awful scrumptious fare. After longing for Thai and Chinese dinner (and not those one rush stops either and instead a proper sit-down "so tell what the Buddhist mailed you? and let's weigh Dubai against India" lunch) we ended up going today and stuffed ourself so much on the first course that only the killer thought of dishing out 400/person (and one quarter of that we gave in coins because I hate giving up my lovely new red 20 rupee notes) for Tom Yin something soup kept us going.She was lying on my lap in the rick and I kept pinching her cheeks until I saw the rickwala giving us bemused looks.They must be used to Luminite freaks by now.Don't want to see food till tomorrow.