Spent some time today reading the New Yorker piece on David Foster Wallace.
He killed himself out in Cali when he had a teaching gig at my alma mater, Pomona College.
I remember my english-major ex-girlfriend picking him up from the airport back in the day when Pomona was courting him for the position.
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If you want to read about an artist whose life was figuratively and literally consumed by his work, it’s a fascinating read.
I really liked this part about when Wallace – who is known for excessive footnotes – updates a tattoo to reflect the name of his eventual wife Karen Green (Mary was an ex…):
Wallace put a strikeout through Mary’s name on his tattoo and an asterisk under the heart; farther down he added another asterisk and Karen’s name, turning his arm into a living footnote. In 2004, Wallace and Green were married in Urbana, in front of his parents. Wallace had by then accepted a new teaching appointment, at Pomona College, in Claremont, California. “I have a lottery-prize-type gig at Pomona,” he bragged to The Believer in 2003. “I get to do more or less what I want.”
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