26: The financial Lives of The poets

by Jess Walter

it’s one of the better reads that i’ve had the pleasure of this year.

it’s funny and it’s poetic, as in literally, there are poems in this book.

the poems are funny, and intriguing and i understand them ALL without having to go into a group discussion about ireland’s potato farmers.

the story is about a dude named Matt who is screwed up, he has two very adorable boys, franklin and teddy, and a wife (who’s kind of annoying) named Lisa.

Matt is screwed up because he tried to start a start up called poetfolio.com which is like a website that gives you investment news in limericks and haikus, a brilliant idea, i would so read that website but of course it went under and he’s going to lose his house in a week.

the book opens with matt going to 7-11 to buy $9 a gallon of milk, and he gets hit up by some youngsters and their weed, well basically they ask him to give them a ride to a party and he smokes weed with them.

later on, he gets caught in some nasty business and basically the entire book is about how matt got to where he got to.

but seriously? Lisa? Lisa is the type of woman that is ungrateful and selfish, i don’t know why the author meant to paint her in a positive light, but she’s the type of woman who lives in a half a million dollar house and wants a three million dollar house.

LIVE WITHIN YOUR MEANS!

fucking people, this is why we’re in a fucking financial crisis.

anyways, eventually things work out (but not the way you think it does) and Matt’s pretty grateful that Lisa’s still with him. I guess that’s cool of her, but i really feel like she didn’t really help the situation.

lisa’s alright, im just bitter about everything.

i like jamie, jamie was my favorite character.

page 2: For year,s recent immigrants like Rahjive have been a political Roschach: see turban, think terrorist and you’re a Red ‘Merican. Assume Indian neurosurgeon fluent in five languages, stuck serving morons at midnight for minimum wage, and you’re Blue, like me. Of course I have no more proof that Rahjiv was a doctor in Delhi than some Texas trucker does that he’s a bomber. Rahjiv may have jockeyed a 7/11 in India too for all we know – so impeccable is he with change, effortlessly plastic-bagging Hostess Sno Balls and Little debbies, Power Bars and Mountain Dews – “No wait…dude. chocolate milk! and pork rinds” – as yet another stoner reassesses the aisles – “And ooh, ooh, Cool Ranch Doritos!”

page 55: Airline Deal proposed
Butffeted by fuel costs oaring
and with labor costs surging
Delta and Northwest are exploring
the possibility of merging.

page 66: (truth by the way)

But I never disliked my job. Worse (and it’s with great shame and I admit this), I took my job for granted. Worse yet, I never believed that my job is worthy of me. I thought of myself as more than a simple newspaper reporter, somehow better than the mean of my colleagues. I offer no excuses for this arrogance, and no rationale, either; I simply felt bigger than what I did for a living, like I was slumming, like I deserved more money, more respect and more esteem than any grubby newspaper could offer.

Posted: July 17th, 2011
Categories: 52 weeks, BOOKS
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