March 17, 2005
Yeah, I ordered a set of Moleskine Cahiers. Because I wanted them. Because I keep telling myself that I'm going to start writing all these short stories I keep putting off writing. Because they are pretty, and I can't wait to touch that "buff" cover. It guess these are notebooks that work out and watch what they eat, to get so buff. If I were a notebook, I'd be a little round in the middle but otherwise slender, fuzzy and quiet and with dirty words just inside the cover so that no one would see them, but so that they would still be there for me to know, and for people who know me really well to know and to hear and to read and to experience. I would prefer cedar pencils. I would accept mis-spelled words as the best part of being human. I would look like a regular notebook, though, brown cover, normally lined pages and all. I would like to be taken outside and to have some dirty earth smeared onto me sometimes. I would want to get wet. I would not be as rugged or prestigious as a Moleskine. Hemingway and Chatwin would never write in me, that's for sure. But university students and academics would appreciate my modest price, excessive quality, and moderate ability to soak up coffee. If I were a notebook, I would always protect your thoughts and affections and rememberings and reminders. I would not care if you ripped a page out of me to take down a phone number for a booty call or if you took notes on Sartre or Shakespeare in me. If I were a notebook I would never be a waste of money. And I would never let you down.