Loser lit antiheroes aren’t well intentioned or earnest; they don’t care whether you like them or not. They’re self-mocking, ironic and inventive; they narrate their downfalls with manic wordplay, rampant metaphors, wisecracks, and escalating flights of spleen-fueled lyricism.
With technology and social media and citizen journalism, every rock that used to go unturned is now being flipped, lit and put on TV.
Chick lit was amazing, and I was thrilled to be part of it.
In Vancouver, in Sydney and in Orange County, we live among fluorescent stores and streets so brightly lit that you can read a book after dark; in other places across our global body, there are blackouts and curfews every night.
That’s what takes people out of the fight half the time. They get hit and half the reaction is your ego is saying, ‘I cannot believe that person just lit me up – how humiliating.’
Miami is always super, duper lit.
I can’t live without my beauty products. I love to be in my bathroom with my candles lit, morning, noon and night. I like taking hot baths and hot showers, using my body scrubs and lotions.
I don’t think I’m vain… but I do like to be lit well.
When I was in my late 30s, I lit a figure on fire on Baker Beach in San Francisco. It was me, a friend, and maybe eight people, tops. There wasn’t any premeditation to it at all. It was really just a product of San Franciscan bohemian milieu.
A poet could write volumes about diners, because they’re so beautiful. They’re brightly lit, with chrome and booths and Naugahyde and great waitresses. Now, it might not be so great in the health department, but I think diner food is really worth experiencing periodically.
In New York, lights are on the whole night; there are offices where not a single person is working, but all lights are on. The street lights at the White House are lit all the day. Why? And we are being told not to use coal.
