I read David Foster Wallace's "Infinite Jest," which had its moments of brilliance, but was ultimately disappointing considering the huge investment of time it required. But that was a few years ago, so I'm giving him another shot. He's very McSweeneyian (if you know what I mean, and if you don't, that's OK), and also reminds me of Douglas Coupland a little. The writing is engaging, but like "Infinite Jest," he throws out a lot of characters and story threads whose trajectory isn't immediately apparent. And may never be. Well, I'm just along for the ride, and it's not a tome this time, so I'm less invested in a payoff.
What I'm watching: A throwback to a bygone era of punk, "updated" with a touch of grunge.
Ironic or earnest? I have no idea.