By John Montague
Flat on the bank I parted
Rushes to ease my hands
In the water without a ripple
And tilt them slowly downstream
To where he lay, tendril-light,
In his fluid sensual dream.
Bodiless lord of creation
I hung briefly above him
Savouring my own absence,
Senses expanding in the slow
Motion, the photographic calm
That grows before action.
As the curve of my hands
Swung under his body
He surged, with visible pleasure.
I was so preternaturally close
I could count every stipple
But still cast no shadow, until
The two palms crossed in a cage
Under the lightly pulsing gills.
Then (entering my own enlarged
Shape, which rode on the water)
I gripped. To this day I can
Taste his terror on my hands.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
I'll have my Pope slathered in lox, thx.
I talked to my mom on the phone today.This may seem like a rather commonplace revelation, but in truth, ever since she started working with her boys, at a place I now realize I don't even know the name of, we don't get to talk ever. Her schedule defies my habit of calling people while I walk home from work.
But today she called me at lunch time and sadly, she had all sorts of bad news for me. It's all of those bits of bad news floating around in my head that have finally inspired me to write about all the good things that happened in the past couple of weeks. There's always something to be said for catharsis, I guess.
Thanks to my co-worker David, who is something like a walking magic hat of sorts (that is, anything you request, he will produce it in a puff of smoke, no mirrors required), Tim and I were able to attend the first and probably only Catholic mass of our lives, officiated by none other than his pope-iness himself, Bendict XVI.
I figure if you're only going to be Catholic for 2 hours, you should do it in the presence of the Pope. I have to say, I'm suspicious that few true Catholics are privileged to attend masses so entertaining as this one. Beside he awesome spectacle of watching the Pope make a victory lap around the field in the Popemobile, we also got to see 9,998 people take communion at once (talk about awkward, being the only two people NOT taking it...), a passed-out nun who had to be carried out on a stretcher, and Placido Domingo sing. I'm quite sure that most masses are not privileged with these sights, or with the frequent chanting of "VIVA PAPI!" and seemingly random and inappropriate cheering which rippled though the more daring and less reverent sections of the stadium.On top of that we got free schwag bags of Pope goodies out of the deal, and we spent the morning outside on one of the first days of truly beautiful weather yet this year.
But honestly, as cool as it was to see the pope, I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I enjoyed my trip to Seattle with Jared to see Kacie. Honestly, if I had to choose between Kacie and the Pope, I'd pick Kacie any day.
Overall, I think the best word to describe this trip is "successful." It sounds a little cold and rigid maybe, but it really was a successful trip. The three of successfully ate entire neighborhoods down to the bare ground. We successfully saw and conquered everything in Seattle that has been or ever will be famous. We successfully met Kacie's new friends, particularly Amy, whom I've been secretly stalking on Facebook for at least a couple of months. She turned out to be exactly as awesome (or more) as Kacie (and Facebook) had insinuated she might be.
We knew it was going to be the perfect trip when Jared and I showed up and Kacie had made not ONE but TWO varieties of homemade enchiladas. Honestly, it still probably would have been fun if had showed up and Kacie had asked us to scrub her floors while she drank cocktails and talked on the phone.
After we had enchiladas, Jared got attacked by a giant salmon and we had to take him through the pouring rain of Starbucks coffee to Seattle Grace, where the doctors were too busy making out to operate on him. Kacie ended up calling Frasier Crane who was gracious enough to step out of his role as psychiatrist and walk her through the process of giving Jared stitches. Then we all met Meg Ryan at the top of the Empire State Building and lived happily ever after.
Ok, none of that really happened. But we really did have a lot of adventures.
It was so great to see where Kacie lives and to eat more food in four days that I normally eat in two weeks. We had farmers' market crepes with fresh cheese, towering mounds of sushi, platters of all kind of deep fried craziness and beer, the best brunch in the WORLD at Salty's on Alki, excellent Italian delivered to the door, fancy cheese-steaks, nachos, chicken sandwiches, crab cakes, omelets....
We managed NOT to eat anything swimming in the aquarium.
The weather was beautiful beyond belief (except for the few hours where it rained and we ducked into a theater to see "Smart People"). This was my third trip to Seattle and every time I like it better than the last time. Probably because every time the weather is gorgeous, the food is great, the people are nice and I'm on vacation.
This time I also happened to find my new favorite t-shirt for $5 in a junk shop/antique store.
Really it couldn't have been any more awesome (except if Tim had been able to come).
In other news, today I felt my first real earth quake (I was in another one in San Diego years ago, but I was in the shower and I missed it somehow...). Also, Tim and I are going to Shreveport for Carly's graduation in two days and today, Tim finished his first year of Graduate school!!!
Hooray!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Three fictions and a speculative truth...
Well, another week has passed somehow and, as I'm the very last person in my office of twelve people to catch this flu/cold/allergy/ebola virus (even my invincible boss caught it a week or so ago, but I still thought I was in the clear), I am here wrapped in a puffy comforter, under a pile of kleenexes and vitamins, with no excuse not to write about the four books I've devoured since I promised to start writing about them on my blog.
Were you looking closely? That was one sentence.
These are the last four books I read, not counting Jane Eyre, which I am currently reading and would be impossible for me ever to review because it's Jane Eyre and there's nothing I can say about it that hasn't been said... and because I haven't finished it yet.
A Confederacy of Dunces
By John Kennedy Toole
"V.
Dr. Talc lit a Benson & Hedges, looking out of the window of his office in the Social Studies Building. Across the dark campus he saw some lights from the night classes in other buildings. All night he had been ransacking his desk for his notes on the British monarch of legend, notes hurredly copied from a hundred-page survey of British history that he had once read in paperback. The lecture was to be given tomorrow, and it was now almost eight-thirty. As a lecturer Dr. Talc was renowned for the facile and sarcastic wit and easily digested generalizations that made him popular among the girl students and helped to conceal his lack of knowledge about almost everything in general and British history in particular.
But even Talc realized that his reputation for sophistication and glibness would not save him in the face of being able to remember absolutely anything about Lear and Arthur aside from the fact that the former had some children. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and began on the bottom drawer again. In the rear of the drawer there was a stack of old papers that he had not examined very thoroughly during his first search through the desk. Placing the papers in his lap, the thumbed through them one by one and found that they were, as he had imagined, principally unreturned essays that had accumulated over a period of more than five years. As he turned over one essay, his eye fell upon a rough, yellowed sheet of Big Chief tablet paper on which was printed with a red crayon:
Your total ignorance of that which you profess to teach merits the death penalty. I doubt whether you would know that St. Cassian of Imola was stabbed to death by his students with their styli. His death, a martyr's honorable one, made him a patron saint of teachers
Pray to him, you deluded fool, you "anyone for tennis?" golf-playing, cocktail-quaffing pseudo -pedant, for you do indeed need a heavenly patron.
Although your days are numbered, you will not die as a martyr--for you further no holy cause--but as the total ass which you really are.
ZORRO
A sword was drawn on the last line of the page.
'Oh, I wonder whatever happened to him,' Talc said aloud."
-JKT, pages 127-128
The "ZORRO" in the above passage is the hero of this book, Ignatius J. Reilly. I can't think of a single book that I've read in the past five years that made me laugh harder than this one. The characters are generally flawed, floundering, ridiculous people thrust by "Fortuna, that vicious slut" into the path of one particularly despicable, pirate-costumed, hotdog cart-pushing, riot-starting, gaseous ball of pompous genius in a green hunting cap. All of the characters, that is, except the smoke enshrouded Jones--who is a spark of brilliance all his own. Really, I can't recommend this book highly enough--especially if you're the type who is particularly fond of Irony, Madness, or New Orleans (which most of my friends inevitably are).
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Everyone. But especially my Dad and Patrick Cole.
The World Without Us
By Alan Weisman
How you respond to the following question says a lot about your character and how you view the world.
What would the world be like if every human being, all at once, simply disappeared?
Whether you view it as a the greatest possible tragedy, or a massive environmental sigh of relief, there is something is this book that will be worth reading for you if the question holds your imagination at all. Weisman's book asks "what if" from a scientific point of view. What have we created that will last until the dying sun engulfs the Earth? What seemingly-timeless structures would fall before before our pets even noticed we were missing? If you read nothing else, read Chapters 7 and 8: What Falls Apart, and What Lasts; and Chapter 9: Polymers are Forever. They contain fascinating research about subjects I never, ever, in a million years would have known anything about and am so glad to have discovered.
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Jason Holland
The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure
By William Goldman
"Fool!" cried the hunchback. "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia,' but only slightly less well known is this; 'Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."
-WG, p. 165
I probably would not have picked this up if my Mom hadn't given it to me, not because I didn't want to read it, but because this story, for me, is first and foremost a movie--it's just not the same without Andre the Giant. The same applies to "The Neverending Story" (minus the bit about Andre the Giant). Of course, that's not really correct, since both novels came before their films and not the other way around. But both films came out before I was even in Kindergarten and were part of psyche well before I could read. So there you go.
Everyone knows that 99 times out of 100 the book is better than the movie. So I have NO idea why I thought this book wouldn't be that great. I just didn't. But, of course, I was wrong. If you love the movie, however, be warned: the book is so much more than what you're expecting, especially if you're not expecting to find Andre the Giant. He's in there, along with a few strokes that had me quite unable to distinguish fact from fiction. I feel like I'm typically fairly astute but I had to pull out Wikipedia a number of times to make sure I wasn't being duped, which I inevitably was. But I enjoyed falling for it.
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Amber Monette
The Tracey Fragments
By Maureen Medved
Honestly, I picked up this book because I love the title and cover. Well, more accurately, I watched the trailer for the film based on the book because of the title and the cover (and Ellen Page), and after watching the trailer decided to buy the book. Which I did. About five hours ago. I read the whole thing in about two hours and I think I may need to read it again.
The book is, aptly, a series of fragments, more like a poetic novella than anything else. Tracey is exactly the kind of frantic, confused, depressed, dramatic teenager I think I would have been if I had horrible parents, no friends, and a younger brother whom I accidentally hypnotized into believing he's a dog. Luckily, I was spared from the surfeit of tragedy that Tracy experiences; while the result of my teenage boredom and need for passion and adventure harmlessly spilled into my journals, Tracey's results in her telling this sad tale from the back seat of a bus, colorblind, naked, wrapped in a shower curtain, and alone.
If you're not keen on explicit content, stay away. If, however, you were ever a lonely modern teenager, heart all a'thumping with too many emotions and weird biological urges this one's for you.
Person whom to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Kacie, not that I think the description above necessarily applies to her.
Were you looking closely? That was one sentence.
These are the last four books I read, not counting Jane Eyre, which I am currently reading and would be impossible for me ever to review because it's Jane Eyre and there's nothing I can say about it that hasn't been said... and because I haven't finished it yet.
A Confederacy of DuncesBy John Kennedy Toole
"V.
Dr. Talc lit a Benson & Hedges, looking out of the window of his office in the Social Studies Building. Across the dark campus he saw some lights from the night classes in other buildings. All night he had been ransacking his desk for his notes on the British monarch of legend, notes hurredly copied from a hundred-page survey of British history that he had once read in paperback. The lecture was to be given tomorrow, and it was now almost eight-thirty. As a lecturer Dr. Talc was renowned for the facile and sarcastic wit and easily digested generalizations that made him popular among the girl students and helped to conceal his lack of knowledge about almost everything in general and British history in particular.
But even Talc realized that his reputation for sophistication and glibness would not save him in the face of being able to remember absolutely anything about Lear and Arthur aside from the fact that the former had some children. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and began on the bottom drawer again. In the rear of the drawer there was a stack of old papers that he had not examined very thoroughly during his first search through the desk. Placing the papers in his lap, the thumbed through them one by one and found that they were, as he had imagined, principally unreturned essays that had accumulated over a period of more than five years. As he turned over one essay, his eye fell upon a rough, yellowed sheet of Big Chief tablet paper on which was printed with a red crayon:
Your total ignorance of that which you profess to teach merits the death penalty. I doubt whether you would know that St. Cassian of Imola was stabbed to death by his students with their styli. His death, a martyr's honorable one, made him a patron saint of teachers
Pray to him, you deluded fool, you "anyone for tennis?" golf-playing, cocktail-quaffing pseudo -pedant, for you do indeed need a heavenly patron.
Although your days are numbered, you will not die as a martyr--for you further no holy cause--but as the total ass which you really are.
ZORRO
A sword was drawn on the last line of the page.
'Oh, I wonder whatever happened to him,' Talc said aloud."
-JKT, pages 127-128
The "ZORRO" in the above passage is the hero of this book, Ignatius J. Reilly. I can't think of a single book that I've read in the past five years that made me laugh harder than this one. The characters are generally flawed, floundering, ridiculous people thrust by "Fortuna, that vicious slut" into the path of one particularly despicable, pirate-costumed, hotdog cart-pushing, riot-starting, gaseous ball of pompous genius in a green hunting cap. All of the characters, that is, except the smoke enshrouded Jones--who is a spark of brilliance all his own. Really, I can't recommend this book highly enough--especially if you're the type who is particularly fond of Irony, Madness, or New Orleans (which most of my friends inevitably are).
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Everyone. But especially my Dad and Patrick Cole.
The World Without UsBy Alan Weisman
How you respond to the following question says a lot about your character and how you view the world.
What would the world be like if every human being, all at once, simply disappeared?
Whether you view it as a the greatest possible tragedy, or a massive environmental sigh of relief, there is something is this book that will be worth reading for you if the question holds your imagination at all. Weisman's book asks "what if" from a scientific point of view. What have we created that will last until the dying sun engulfs the Earth? What seemingly-timeless structures would fall before before our pets even noticed we were missing? If you read nothing else, read Chapters 7 and 8: What Falls Apart, and What Lasts; and Chapter 9: Polymers are Forever. They contain fascinating research about subjects I never, ever, in a million years would have known anything about and am so glad to have discovered.
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Jason Holland
The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High AdventureBy William Goldman
"Fool!" cried the hunchback. "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is 'Never get involved in a land war in Asia,' but only slightly less well known is this; 'Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."
-WG, p. 165
I probably would not have picked this up if my Mom hadn't given it to me, not because I didn't want to read it, but because this story, for me, is first and foremost a movie--it's just not the same without Andre the Giant. The same applies to "The Neverending Story" (minus the bit about Andre the Giant). Of course, that's not really correct, since both novels came before their films and not the other way around. But both films came out before I was even in Kindergarten and were part of psyche well before I could read. So there you go.
Everyone knows that 99 times out of 100 the book is better than the movie. So I have NO idea why I thought this book wouldn't be that great. I just didn't. But, of course, I was wrong. If you love the movie, however, be warned: the book is so much more than what you're expecting, especially if you're not expecting to find Andre the Giant. He's in there, along with a few strokes that had me quite unable to distinguish fact from fiction. I feel like I'm typically fairly astute but I had to pull out Wikipedia a number of times to make sure I wasn't being duped, which I inevitably was. But I enjoyed falling for it.
Person to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Amber Monette
The Tracey FragmentsBy Maureen Medved
Honestly, I picked up this book because I love the title and cover. Well, more accurately, I watched the trailer for the film based on the book because of the title and the cover (and Ellen Page), and after watching the trailer decided to buy the book. Which I did. About five hours ago. I read the whole thing in about two hours and I think I may need to read it again.
The book is, aptly, a series of fragments, more like a poetic novella than anything else. Tracey is exactly the kind of frantic, confused, depressed, dramatic teenager I think I would have been if I had horrible parents, no friends, and a younger brother whom I accidentally hypnotized into believing he's a dog. Luckily, I was spared from the surfeit of tragedy that Tracy experiences; while the result of my teenage boredom and need for passion and adventure harmlessly spilled into my journals, Tracey's results in her telling this sad tale from the back seat of a bus, colorblind, naked, wrapped in a shower curtain, and alone.
If you're not keen on explicit content, stay away. If, however, you were ever a lonely modern teenager, heart all a'thumping with too many emotions and weird biological urges this one's for you.
Person whom to whom I would recommend this book, hands down: Kacie, not that I think the description above necessarily applies to her.
Monday, March 24, 2008
The reddest lipstick in the world...
I just found my new favorite website of the moment.The Library of Congress has posted this rather hefty collection of original color photos from the 1930's and 40's on Flickr. First of all, I think it's brilliant that the LOC post photos using Flickr (it's a Flickr subscription like $25 a year? What an incredibly brilliant use of tax-payer money. I'm not kidding. This is great!).
Second, I really had no idea that color photography existed in the 30's and 40's. Probably because I never really thought about it. But for me, there's something insane and surreal and delightful about seeing these people and places in color. They seem much more real, but because it's unfamiliar, they also seem staged in a way that the black and white photos don't.
One way or another, this photo collection mesmerizes me. There are about 1,600 on the site and most of them are farms and buildings, which can get a little old. However, when you stumble on one with people in in it, or one from your own stomping grounds (like this one, taken at the Delta County Fair--or the one on the right, from Natchitoches, La.), they're really incredible.
If nothing else, check out the last few pages, which feature a lot of pictures of women factory workers fuselages and other indescribable aircraft parts.
The only downside is having to ignore the multitude of idiotic tags from comedic American whippersnappers. Maybe I'm just more elderly and humorless than I had assumed--but I can do without the comments from the peanut gallery, thank you.Clicking on any of these three pictures will take you to their original sites. Or you can click here and go to the first page of the Flickr album.
If you see one that you really like (or really hate, I guess) let me know. I'm curious.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Here comes the sun...
This snow tyrannosaurus has nothing to do with the following post. RARRRRRRR.So I'm getting the distinct impression that this weekend might be pretty good (since I got off early today AND I got a witty postcard from Erin McQ--lucky...) but maybe not as good as last weekend.
Last weekend started with Friday being the first time in sixth months that I was allowed to wear a t-shirt on a weekday. I also got to sleep in and come to work late since I had to go to one of the firms in the evening. On the walk to work in the morning I found a $20 bill on the ground, which made it possible for Tim and I to see Horton Hears a Who after he took us out to dinner for the first time in FOR-EV-ER. (P.S. Being poor sucks.)
On Saturday, we went to see the Harlem Globetrotters at the Verizon Center. One of them is a Centenary Graduate!! Why didn't I know that? I think Centenary should definitely advertise that there's a Gent on the Trotters' team. I mean, Bill Cosby and Pope JPII are honorary Globetrotters, which basically means that the Pope went to Centenary, in my opinion.
After the game (The Trotter's beat the Washington Generals, as you might expect), Tim and I walked to the National Mall, got an oreo shake and then ended up going to see "Cosmic Collisions" at the Einstein Planetarium (in the Air and Space Museum). It was such a beautiful, sunny day that the good mood even carried over into the rainy, muggy Sunday.
I'm so glad Tim is fun. Schwooooo.
I doubt this weekend will be quite so active, mostly because Tim has two huge papers due next week. I'll keep attacking that pile of literature. I've read three more books since the last time I posted and I hope to write about them this weekend. All I want to do is lay in a hammock, drinking lemonaid and reading, all weekend. But since I have no hammock I'll probably just sit in my chair with a book in my lap and fall asleep (which inevitably happens from 4:00 to 6:00 ever Saturday and Sunday).
On another note, I'm not certain about anything (surprise, surprise) but I'm thinking about applying for Graduate school in English Literature. Maybe. Or Gender Studies. Maybe. Or Forestry. Who the hell knows? Maybe I should just try surviving the GRE first. I just can't decide what to do. I've wanted to get a PhD in English for so long that I don't really know what happened to knock me off that track or even if I want to get back on it. Though, for about 18 years of my life I wanted to be an artist so there's no accounting for my "plans."
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
So it ain't all bad.
There has been one really thrilling part of being a college graduate (besides getting to share an apartment with Tim, which I really cannot get enough of). I have had the BEST time picking out my own books over the past few months.
Don't get me wrong. Working in the bookstore was always a challenge for me because Centenary's professors (or most professors, really), in general, have great taste in books. It's part of the turf of being a professor, I believe. So the bookstore was a mixed blessing because I always ended up coming home with at least four books that weren't on my required reading list--it didn't hurt (or help?) that I had a ten percent discount and my pick of the best used copies of everything.
Anyway, since moving I miss the bookstore horribly, and I've replaced it with something worse--which is to say, a Borders Rewards card and a full-time job with a salary. I've developed another "problem" to go along with my "t-shirt problem" and my "pen problem" and my "cd problem" and my "wii problem" and my "food-in-general problem." Did I forget to mention my meatball problem?
For better or worse, this is the stack of books I've amassed to read. Piled up like this, they actually look less intimidating to me than they should, especially considering that I'm spending more money now "per semester" on books than I was in college.
And even though I feel like I blaze through them, this ---> is the pile of books that I've read since I graduated! Not nearly as towering as I'd hoped, but still beautiful if for no other reason than that I read every single one of these by my own free will. (Also, I think it's shorter than I thought because between the two members of this household we have subscriptions to--in no particular order--Rollingstone, Foreign Affairs, The Sun, Domino, Time, Ready Made, Smithsonian, and Lucky magazines--as well as The Washington Post. [In my defense, Lucky and Domino were free {God, I'm a horrible environmentalist}].)
All through college I complained that I never had enough time for art, for just futzing around, listening to music... And I STILL don't futz around nearly enough, mostly because I want to rip through that stack of books like an angry bull with a speed addiction and its reading glasses on.
As a psychological trick to make me feel less guilty about that, I think I'm going to start writing short book reviews on the Blog. And more recipes too. If you want to read them (the books OR the reviews), awesome. If not, you can just look at the covers. Whatev. For now, these books are the highlight of that second pile.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
by Jonathan Safran Foer.
I had the luxury of reading this book in one sitting, from the Dublin airport all the way back to the states. Even if you don't have that kind of time on your hands, this is almost certainly one of those marathon books that will leave you mesmerized and glued to your chair. The words "post-9-11" trigger my gag reflex a little bit, but this book's characters are engaged with tragedy in a timeless, sensitive, glittering, and wholly original way. If this book had a face, it would have a wan smile and a self-reserved, defiant twinkle behind it's long eyelashes. Just FYI--I'm betting that none of my book reviews will tell you the slightest bit of what a book is actually about--that's largely because I (a) don't like to know what books are about before I read them and (b) can't remember what they're about as much as how they make me feel. So that's that.
Eiger Dreams
by Jon Krakauer
If you're a fan of Krakauer's other books (which are all incredibly gripping as well as enlightening), it's good to know that these are short stories before you dive in, hoping for another novel-length work. Krakauer primarily writes short pieces for magazines and other publications and these are some of his best from before 1990. If you're even remotely interested in mountaineering, rock climbing, or people doing utterly insane things for fun and self-flagellation, you'll enjoy this. Compared to his other books, it's simply not as engrossing, but as a stand alone, the stories offer a particularly great read for people who have short attention spans and need a lot of excitement. (nb: this book talks about Boulder, where I was born, and about pilots in Petersburg, Alaska, where my best friend (whose father was a pilot) was born--so I found it exciting just for that.)
Fight Club
by Chuck Palahniuk
This book is disgusting and delicious like a giant, violent, molten chocolate cake. It is decadent in the true sense of the word.
I waited six long years to read this book and finally read it in one long sitting. Be careful. You might chip a tooth.
His Dark Materials trilogy
The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass
by Philip Pullman
It's true, I never would have picked this up if the movie hadn't come out. I don't follow the children's fantasy scene very closely, if you know what I mean. But it was on sale and I had read somewhere that Pullman's series had a more positive treatment not only of women but of the whole good-versus-evil thing than the Chronicles of Narnia. I LOVED the Chronicles, but I really don't dig the black and white, cut and dry, good and evil thing so I carried this 929-page brick around with me for a month. The verdict? It was incredible. It was both more violent and more gentle than I expected it to be, somehow. I'm glad I read it. If children's fantasy doesn't make you cringe, I highly recommend these books.
Ja.
Don't get me wrong. Working in the bookstore was always a challenge for me because Centenary's professors (or most professors, really), in general, have great taste in books. It's part of the turf of being a professor, I believe. So the bookstore was a mixed blessing because I always ended up coming home with at least four books that weren't on my required reading list--it didn't hurt (or help?) that I had a ten percent discount and my pick of the best used copies of everything.
Anyway, since moving I miss the bookstore horribly, and I've replaced it with something worse--which is to say, a Borders Rewards card and a full-time job with a salary. I've developed another "problem" to go along with my "t-shirt problem" and my "pen problem" and my "cd problem" and my "wii problem" and my "food-in-general problem." Did I forget to mention my meatball problem?
For better or worse, this is the stack of books I've amassed to read. Piled up like this, they actually look less intimidating to me than they should, especially considering that I'm spending more money now "per semester" on books than I was in college.
And even though I feel like I blaze through them, this ---> is the pile of books that I've read since I graduated! Not nearly as towering as I'd hoped, but still beautiful if for no other reason than that I read every single one of these by my own free will. (Also, I think it's shorter than I thought because between the two members of this household we have subscriptions to--in no particular order--Rollingstone, Foreign Affairs, The Sun, Domino, Time, Ready Made, Smithsonian, and Lucky magazines--as well as The Washington Post. [In my defense, Lucky and Domino were free {God, I'm a horrible environmentalist}].) All through college I complained that I never had enough time for art, for just futzing around, listening to music... And I STILL don't futz around nearly enough, mostly because I want to rip through that stack of books like an angry bull with a speed addiction and its reading glasses on.
As a psychological trick to make me feel less guilty about that, I think I'm going to start writing short book reviews on the Blog. And more recipes too. If you want to read them (the books OR the reviews), awesome. If not, you can just look at the covers. Whatev. For now, these books are the highlight of that second pile.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.
I had the luxury of reading this book in one sitting, from the Dublin airport all the way back to the states. Even if you don't have that kind of time on your hands, this is almost certainly one of those marathon books that will leave you mesmerized and glued to your chair. The words "post-9-11" trigger my gag reflex a little bit, but this book's characters are engaged with tragedy in a timeless, sensitive, glittering, and wholly original way. If this book had a face, it would have a wan smile and a self-reserved, defiant twinkle behind it's long eyelashes. Just FYI--I'm betting that none of my book reviews will tell you the slightest bit of what a book is actually about--that's largely because I (a) don't like to know what books are about before I read them and (b) can't remember what they're about as much as how they make me feel. So that's that.
Eiger Dreams by Jon Krakauer
If you're a fan of Krakauer's other books (which are all incredibly gripping as well as enlightening), it's good to know that these are short stories before you dive in, hoping for another novel-length work. Krakauer primarily writes short pieces for magazines and other publications and these are some of his best from before 1990. If you're even remotely interested in mountaineering, rock climbing, or people doing utterly insane things for fun and self-flagellation, you'll enjoy this. Compared to his other books, it's simply not as engrossing, but as a stand alone, the stories offer a particularly great read for people who have short attention spans and need a lot of excitement. (nb: this book talks about Boulder, where I was born, and about pilots in Petersburg, Alaska, where my best friend (whose father was a pilot) was born--so I found it exciting just for that.)
Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk
This book is disgusting and delicious like a giant, violent, molten chocolate cake. It is decadent in the true sense of the word.
I waited six long years to read this book and finally read it in one long sitting. Be careful. You might chip a tooth. 
His Dark Materials trilogy The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass
by Philip Pullman
It's true, I never would have picked this up if the movie hadn't come out. I don't follow the children's fantasy scene very closely, if you know what I mean. But it was on sale and I had read somewhere that Pullman's series had a more positive treatment not only of women but of the whole good-versus-evil thing than the Chronicles of Narnia. I LOVED the Chronicles, but I really don't dig the black and white, cut and dry, good and evil thing so I carried this 929-page brick around with me for a month. The verdict? It was incredible. It was both more violent and more gentle than I expected it to be, somehow. I'm glad I read it. If children's fantasy doesn't make you cringe, I highly recommend these books.
Ja.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I'm OK, sort of...
I think I've scared just about everybody who knows me, who has ever met me, who is related to anyone who knows me, who knows someone who has ever met me at a party/family barbeque/crawfish boil. Basically, if you and I are related by six degrees or less, you probably heard that I had a "serious" illness and was getting blood tests to see what was wrong with me. I also haven't told anyone except Tim about the results because I truly hate talking about it. I feel absolutely disgusting and I feel absolutely disgusting trying to describe my symptoms. As it turns out, using the most vague and euphemistic terms only prompts people to pry further. I know it's because they care, but the last thing you need when your insides are grossing out is to be grossed out by every social conversation you have.
To kill the suspense, I'm fine. No virus, no bacterial infection, no third world parasite eating its way through my small intestine (that I know of). Which is great, except that you must then consider why I did get sick. Without a physical reason, one must turn to a host of psychological factors that cause, or at least amplify, a bodily illness as severe and unpleasant as I faced. Certainly, I have not adjusted to life here , whether it be the unchallenging 40-hour a week job, a miserable climate, a crowded big city, or being so far from friends and family. It's scary to think that my ball of stress, the ache in the pit of my stomach that I constantly feel, is so physically potent to knock me out of work for a week. In comparison, an Indian überbug that a doctor can treat sounds like a dream.
(This entire passage is written by Tim, and is--in his words--a "summary of the things that have been dictated to him over the past two weeks." I think his offer to write my blog entry came partly from the overwhelming number of people who have asked me to update, and partly because he understands my sincere and extreme desire not to talk about this sickness anymore. The long and short of it is, I have been ill for a number of weeks and all of it culminated in me becoming EXTREMELY sick for a few scary days. No, I won't tell you the details [as much as you know I usually LOVE to give all the bloody plot-twists]. No, I don't really feel better. No, I don't know what's wrong with me. I suspect it has a lot to do with all of the things that Tim so carefully tried to express in my voice in the passage above.
Thank you everyone who has been concerned. Honestly I think it's the fact that I have to tell everyone I love about these things over the phone, or through e-mail instead of face-to-face that's just making me a little crazy and heart sick. I can't wait to get out of this stupid city.)
To kill the suspense, I'm fine. No virus, no bacterial infection, no third world parasite eating its way through my small intestine (that I know of). Which is great, except that you must then consider why I did get sick. Without a physical reason, one must turn to a host of psychological factors that cause, or at least amplify, a bodily illness as severe and unpleasant as I faced. Certainly, I have not adjusted to life here , whether it be the unchallenging 40-hour a week job, a miserable climate, a crowded big city, or being so far from friends and family. It's scary to think that my ball of stress, the ache in the pit of my stomach that I constantly feel, is so physically potent to knock me out of work for a week. In comparison, an Indian überbug that a doctor can treat sounds like a dream.
(This entire passage is written by Tim, and is--in his words--a "summary of the things that have been dictated to him over the past two weeks." I think his offer to write my blog entry came partly from the overwhelming number of people who have asked me to update, and partly because he understands my sincere and extreme desire not to talk about this sickness anymore. The long and short of it is, I have been ill for a number of weeks and all of it culminated in me becoming EXTREMELY sick for a few scary days. No, I won't tell you the details [as much as you know I usually LOVE to give all the bloody plot-twists]. No, I don't really feel better. No, I don't know what's wrong with me. I suspect it has a lot to do with all of the things that Tim so carefully tried to express in my voice in the passage above.
Thank you everyone who has been concerned. Honestly I think it's the fact that I have to tell everyone I love about these things over the phone, or through e-mail instead of face-to-face that's just making me a little crazy and heart sick. I can't wait to get out of this stupid city.)
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