What's In A Name?

(Source)

As noted before, I kinda have a thing for Mark Twain.

No, I was not able to get through A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.  And no, I never read Tom Sawyer in high school.  (Though to be fair, I didn't really read any books in high school.  That shouldn't be taken as a personal slight against Twain.)

Still - there's just something about him.  He was so d*mn cheeky and pithy; a rogue in the best sense of the word.

Recently I ran across this picture of one of Twain's notebooks.  A collection of funny-sounding names?  I have a similar list in a Moleskin of my own.  Kindred spirits?  I'd like to think so.

"Clemens always carried with him a small notebook in which he recorded matters great and trivial—business notes, addresses, personal errands, literary ideas. 

In the spring of 1884, momentarily toying with the notion of a physician trying to write a play, he filled seven pages of his notebook with a list of potential characters, including "Rectum Jones" and "Scrofula St. Augustine.""  - MT at Play

And don't forget -

Siphillis Briggs!!

Dysentery Jones!!

Diarrhea Hutchinson!!


Tell me my love is not justified.

Lots of Little Things  

Items of recent note:

Once upon a time, I lived in Amsterdam. Years later, I'm still adoring of all things Dutch.  (With the exception of 'zout drop.'  Have you ever had salted licorice?  It's the worst, man. The worst.)  In any case, I loved-loved this article in the Times:

Amsterdam Tries to Change Culture With Repair Cafes

What a great concept, right?  I love the communal aspect - bringing people together to match needs with skills.  And I love the attempt to change this throw-away culture in which we (the privileged) live.  Plus, there's some sort of redemption message here, isn't there?  New life for the broken, and all that.  Maybe I'm reading too far in.  Nevertheless, I'd like to see this Repair Cafe thing catch on.

* * *

I always get a lot out of Amy Julia Becker's site, frequently focusing on how our lives (...and culture... and communities) are enriched by the presence of individuals with disabilities.  Recently she shared a eulogy written by a reader - Seeing Delane As One of Us.  Loved it. What a beautiful image.

* * *

Sage advice (although no advice about sage) from Joy the Baker:

These Things I've Learned in Thirty Years

* * *

I miss Downton Abbey.  The third season isn't releasing for like, eleventy million years, so in the interim I'll gladly get my fix via Fallon's funny spoof:

Downton Sixby, Episode 1  and Downton Sixby, Episode 2

* * *

I'm no Instagram-hater; I love seeing little day-in-the-life snippets from my Breakfast Club and other friends.  Nevertheless, I found this article in the Times intriguing: Everyone's Lives, in Pictures.  In particular, one sentence has stuck with me:

"The act of snapping a picture is no longer enough to confirm reality and enhance experience; only sharing can give us that validation."

Mulling that over, I notice how often my thoughts veer towards "How can I best share this later?" versus "How can I best just be present in the moment now?"  Nothing wrong with sharing my life (quite the opposite) but am I sharing for the sake of being truly known by my community and/or to enrich others, or am I sharing to gain personal validation?  So many questions raised by this social-mediated world of ours.  But questions are always good for the askin'.


So...what cool/interesting/inspiring/weird/wonderful things have you run across recently?

Share away :)

Together in Greeneland

Once upon a time, on a train to Vienna

There was an article a couple of months ago in The Guardian, a brief tribute by author/former bishop Richard Holloway to his literary hero, Graham Greene.  Writes Holloway: "I loved him then and love him now because his art deals with the spiritual loser's lust for redemption."

Greene is a favorite of mine, as well.  His dark-but-beautiful romance The End of the Affair is one I've read several times. (Fair warning: the book is wonderful but the movie is rubbish.  Yes, it has Ralph Fiennes, but they've changed the ending and ruined the whole darn thing.  In my little opinion.)  Greene - a journalist as well as a novelist - was not a one-note wonder.  Our Man In Havana is absurd and hilarious.  The Power & The Glory is a little heart-breaking.  Monsignor Quixote is a modern fable and homage to Cervantes' classic novel. The Third Man is a tale of murder and mystery.  The Quiet American makes you think and wonder about things.

Disparate though the tones and genres of Greene's work may be, there is a unifying theme that runs throughout: most of his characters seem to wrestle with God in one way or another.  And it's this wrestling, the questioning, the searching, that I find so beautiful, that makes me want to read everything he's ever written.

The rest of that brief Guardian piece sums it up quite nicely:

"Being a broken man himself, Greene knew how to probe the pain and romance of faith and its failed practitioners better than anyone else. Even those of us who never ended up in a prison in Mexico waiting for execution, like the whisky priest in The Power and the Glory, knew what his self-disgust felt like. We knew what Greene was on about when he described the sadness of missing happiness by seconds at an appointed place. A little more self-discipline and maybe our tormented hearts would have ceased tormenting yet. But we also knew somewhere inside that it was our failures that kept us human.

Being a priesthood themselves, great writers understand this better than most. Tennessee Williams knew that if he’d exorcised his demons he’d have destroyed his angels as well. And the poet Ian Crichton Smith understood that “from our weakness only are we kind.” Greene would have agreed with them both. There was human solidarity in weakness, fellowship in failure. That’s why the spoiled priest in his greatest novel was overwhelmed with compassion for other losers. When you looked at other men and women, “you could always begin to feel pity. When you saw the lines at the corners of the eyes, the shape of the mouth, how the hair grew, it was impossible to hate. Hate was just a failure of imagination.” And that had to include self-hatred. In Greeneland, in the end, everyone is forgiven because everyone is understood."

Show Me...The Way?

(Source: Thx Thx Thx)

Have you ever read The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron?

I've tried - at least twice, maybe three times - to get through it, but I always end up quitting somewhere around chapter 4.

[Note: This should not be taken as a reflection on the book's goodness, so much as it is a statement on my quitter-tude. I really did like the parts I read, just never pushed on through to the end.]

Lately this book keeps popping up everywhere - in Facebook statuses, and the mouths of friends, in articles, and that blog post pictured above.

You know how sometimes things (or persons) (or ideas) (or metaphorical unicorns*) just keep appearing - over and over and everywhere - until you're like, "All righty, I got it!  I see you, already, I see you!"

So, hey, The Artist's Way?  I see you already.  Maybe I'll dust off my old copy soon and give you another go.  Maybe.  But right now - rest assured - I see you.


*I have no idea.

Novel Skills

Central Park

"Let me underscore the obvious here: 

Reading fiction is important. It is a vital means of imagining a life other than our own, which in turn makes us more empathetic beings. 

Following complex story lines stretches our brains beyond the 140 characters of sound-bite thinking, and staying within the world of a novel gives us the ability to be quiet and alone, two skills that are disappearing faster than the polar icecaps." 

- From And the Winner Isn't... 
Ann Patchett, NY Times
  

Author Ann Patchett wrote this Op Ed in reaction to the Pulitzer Prize committee's failure to award a prize for fiction this year.  I don't really have anything to say about that.

But I am mulling over her point, highlighted above, about the benefits of reading fiction.  Interesting, no?  Over the past few years, I've noticed in myself an increasing inability "to be quiet and alone."  I attributed it partially to too much time spent on social-networking sites.  Now I wonder if the antidote isn't a two-pronged solution: less of the Facebook and more of the other kind of books - that wonderful & wide world of fiction.

Can somebody recommend me a book I can go get lost in - quiet and alone - for a bit?

Quoting Kaling

Gramercy Park

I recently finished Mindy Kaling's Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns).  It's a quick and funny read, although not as funny as Tina Fey's Bossypants. You can't really hold this against Kaling, however, as she addresses it directly in the book's introduction (to the tune of "Sorry I'm not as funny as Tina.")

This collection of essays is all over the map, in terms of topics addressed. Which means that while reading it, I was able to work it into every conversation I had, because something in it applied to every conversation I had.

"I was just reading about creative success in Mindy Kaling's book..." or "Oh yeah, Mindy Kaling talks about how women characters in romantic comedies do not exist in real life..." and also "I share a similar karaoke philosophy with Mindy Kaling, as described in her book..."

My roommate poked her head into my room to discuss the difference between a certain man in her life and all the other boys, at the exact moment I was reading the chapter entitled "Men and Boys." Kaling-kismet, that's what that is.

(Apologies to people who were party to more than one of these conversations; I promise to stop quoting Mindy Kaling now.)

(Just a head's up: Next week I will be exhaustively quoting from Ronald Rolheiser. I like to mix things up, genre-wise.)

The following are various quotes I probably would have underlined in the book, had it not been a library copy:

"For example, I don't think it should be socially acceptable for people to say they are "bad with names." No one is bad with names. That is not a real thing. Not knowing people's names isn't a neurological condition; it's a choice. You choose not to make learning people's names a priority. It's like saying, "Hey, a disclaimer about me: I'm rude." For heaven's sake, if you don't know someone's name, just pretend you do. Do that thing everyone else does, where you vaguely say, "Nice to see you!" and make weak eye contact." (p. 4) 

I am a person who is good with names. On a rare occasion, I will appear to forget someone's name, but that is actually just a ruse to make myself seem less stalker-ish. In actuality, of course I remember their name. How else could I have google'd it to learn everything about them, including their alma mater and the approximate ages of their siblings??

I get that some people's minds are wired differently, and names don't seem to stick in their brains like they stick in mine. I get that, on an intellectual level. But on an emotional level, I don't get it. What I do get is annoyed, when I have to meet someone for the fourth time because they never can seem to remember my name and/or face. So I say an emotional "Amen!" to Mindy on this point.

"So things were coming together nicely for me to embark on a full-fledged depression. One good thing about New York is that most people function daily while in a low-grade depression.  It's not like if you're in Los Angeles, where everyone's so actively working on cheerfulness and mental and physical health that if they sense you're down, they shun you...In New York, even in your misery, you feel like you belong." (p. 57) 

This is very true. One of my Improv friends, when asked (in a get-to-know-you type exercise at the beginning of class) why she was doing Improv, replied, "Because my therapist thought it would be good for me. And I bet I'm not the only one!"  She was not.

Sometimes I get the feeling that most New Yorkers are in therapy, or were recently in therapy, or are currently shopping for a new therapist. And those who aren't probably maybe sorta should be. There is no stigma around therapy in this town. It is one of the things that binds us together (much like our collective hatred of Times Square, our shared terror of bed bugs, and our fondness for Shake Shack).

* * *

"That's one nice thing about being a dork about men: you can sometimes play it off as restrained and classy." (p. 74) 

Stop giving away all my secrets, Mindy Kaling.

On crying while listening to every song on the album Graceland: "The secret I learned is that albums that remind me of my childhood happiness make me incredibly sad now. I only have perfect memories of singing along to Graceland with my parents on long car rides to Virginia Beach to visit my parents' friends. It's sort of my go-to stock image of my childhood, actually. I think it has something to do with knowing I'll never be able to go back to that time that makes me cry every time I listen to it." (p. 170)

I can relate.  Certain Elton John songs, the Back to the Future soundtrack, and "Cherish" by Kool & The Gang all viscerally remind me of happy childhood car rides.  I am likely to burst into (ridiculous) involuntary tears when listening to any of this music.

All right, enough quoting!  If you want to read more, go buy the book yourself.  Or better yet, check it out from your trusty public library.  (You pay taxes, don't you?  Reap what you sow and go check out a funny book for free.)

Doing [blank] the [blank] Way

I have no intention of reading this book, because it really is about running a dental practice, but I find the title to be totally comedically inspiring:

Managing A Dental Practice The Genghis Khan Way

How else could we emulate a fierce Mongolian conqueror? 

• Raising Children...The Genghis Khan Way
• Navigating Your Divorce...The Genghis Khan Way
• Achieve Financial Security...The Genghis Khan Way
• Diet & Exercise...The Genghis Khan Way
• Gardening for Dummies...The Genghis Khan Way

And how else could we marry a historical figure/celebrity to a seemingly disparate field of study?

• Ryan Seacrest's DIY Manual for HVAC Maintenance and Repairs

• Lincoln Blogs: Lessons on Search Engine Optimization from America's 16th President

• What Would Jesus Roux? A Faith-Based Guide to French Cuisine

If you think of any others, let me know.  Inventing ridiculous book titles is now my new favorite form of entertainment.

Ode to Sunfire

I was reading an article today about the 100th anniversary of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and realized that most of my knowledge of this tragic event comes from a young adult romance novel I read a million years ago.

(My friend JJ recently asked me a question about something - law, health, science, something - and I responded, "Well, based on what I've seen on TV..." and she asked, "How much of your knowledge of real life comes from TV and/or movies?" and I admitted, "Ummmm, a lot." and she admitted, "Yeah, me too."  But I digress...)

Anyways, I was thinking about this Triangle Shirtwaist novel, and remembered it being part of a series of young adult historical romances which I devoured in 5th or 6th grade. Each book was named for it's heroine, always a strong-willed, progressive woman who was ahead of her time.  And her time was always an interesting era of American history - frequently a war, natural disaster, or westward expansion. 

And she was always, always torn between two handsome suitors: one who would turn out to be a close-minded cad, and one who ended up loving the heroine for who she truly was, letting her spread her wings and fly to the full potential of her progressive womanhood.  Oh man.  Such cheesy awesome books.

A quick Google search turned up the titles and cover art I was so nostalgic for: the Sunfire series by Scholastic.  Did anyone else read these in their childhoods?  I'm sure I would h-a-t-e them if I read them today, but they were crack to my eleven-year old self.

Book Review

Charles River, last New Year's Day

One year ago, I made what I thought (at the time) to be a reasonable resolution: read twelve books that I specifically picked out for myself.

One-half year ago, I quit that resolution, after getting stuck for months on A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court.  Just could not get through that book.  And did not like being told what to read (even if I was the one doing the telling).  So I struck out on my own, without a book list to guide me. 

And, after 2010 was all said and done, I still ended up reading 5 of the 12 books I had initially assigned myself:

1) Take the Cannoli: Stories from the New World, by Sarah Vowell
2) A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, by Donald Miller
3) Three Doors to Death, by Rex Stout
4) The Third Man and The Fallen Idol, by Graham Greene
5) The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Though the year started off slow and strained in terms of reading, it finished strong with the help of some great books.  I read The Third Man, a novella set in Vienna, while in Vienna, which made the story even more gripping.  Then I started reading A Long, Long Time Ago & Essentially True by Brigid Pasulka, a book set in Krakow, while in Krakow.  Same effect.  (I'd recommend both books, even if you aren't traveling to their locations.)

Upon returning to the States and while returning all my travel guides to the library, a dog-eared paperback copy of Chaim Potok's The Chosen caught my eye.  I checked it out. I loved it.  Reading the story of two friends who navigate adolescence and Talmud study together dovetailed nicely with the start of that class I took on rabbinic writings.

Another nice pairing of life with literature was reading A Christmas Carol at the start of the holiday season.  For as many film & television adaptations of Dickens' story as I've seen, I'd never actually read his classic novel before.  It was great.  And bonus: it was short!  A quick read, and one that helped usher in a feeling of gratitude fitting for the holidays.

So while my reading resolution for 2010 didn't pan out as expected, I still read some great books.  And, I learned a valuable lesson: quitting can be a good thing.

I Quit You

The Puck Building, SoHo

Confession: my Reading List Resolution has not been going so well. Six months into the year, and I've only completed 2.25 books.

I’m usually a much better reader than this. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I don’t like being told what to do or read (even if it’s myself doing the telling) and that I just haven’t loved the books I’ve assigned myself.

Take the Cannoli was interesting, but not exactly a page-turner. A Million Miles in a Thousand Years got really good towards the end, but the first half was slow-going. And A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court…well, it’s killing me.

I want to like it. I want to enjoy it. But after several attempts to plow through, I have to admit that I find it boring. I want to love everything about Mark Twain, but this novel…I…just…can’t.

So I think I’m going to be a quitter. I’m going to return it to the library, unfinished. Normally I suffer through a book, just to say to be able to say, "I finished it."  BUT.  Life is too short to read books I don’t wanna read, am I right?

I think I’m right.

So I’m quitting my reading list. I feel liberated! I’m going to read whatever I want to read – this week’s New Yorker, or maybe “Harry Potter” again (never made it past book 4, and I have some friends who seem personally offended by this), or whatever else I choose. I may still read some of the books on my initial list. It’s been way too long since I spent time with Graham Greene and Rex Stout, so I’ll probably hit them up for a visit.

And while I’m feeling slightly more charitable towards Mr. William Faulkner - my old nemesis - after reading this article about his tenure at UVA, I’m not quite sure if I’ll be spending time with him before the year is out. We’ll just have to play that one by ear, eh Billy?

Basically, I just want to get lost in a book.  You know?  I haven't enjoyed feeling this task-y and to-do-list-y about my reading.

So I quit!  And now I'm gonna get lost.  Failure never felt so good. :)

One For My Baby

(Source)

Progress on my 2010 Reading List has been slow-going.

Here we are in late-March (already?!) and I've only completed 1.5 books out of the 12 on my list.

I could toss around justifiable and sound excuses as to why I haven't made swifter progress, but I won't.  Let's not go down the excuses road.  I'll just admit: I haven't made much time for reading.  I'll see if I can (gently) correct that, going forward. 

Because you know what? Reading is important.

It's the one thing that separates us from the animals.  Well, that and our ability to accessorize.  (Name that movie!!)

Resolution Reading for Twenty-Ten

The Puck Building, SoHo

My reading selection was somewhat haphazard last year. Clearly not the end of the world, but ideally I'd like to be a bit more structured in picking books. Just to make sure I'm covering good ground with what I read, and all.

So I hereby resolve to read the following twelve books this year.

[Note: I can and will read other books as well, but the twelve on this list must be read, otherwise...I will have failed 2010. And I don't want to fail 2010. So I best get to reading, no?]

* * *

1.) Leaving Cheyenne by Larry McMurty - This isn't a book I would have chosen for myself, but my neighbor recommended it most enthusiastically (and weirdly). Plus, the author is a Pulitzer Prize winner, so I figure he's probably worth a read.

2.) Take the Cannoli : Stories From the New World by Sarah Vowell - Personal essays, the kind which I myself might like to write one day. So we'll call this market research...

3.) A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller - I can't ever seem to remember the title of this one, but I'm sure it's going to be good. As I look ahead and try to map out 2010 (to the extent that one can plan), I'm eager to hear Don's thoughts (it's ok if I call him 'Don' right?) on creating our own life stories.

4.) [Title TBD] by Graham Greene - I love this guy in a big way, and it's been too long since I've gotten lost in one of his books. Haven't yet selected which one I'll read this year. Suggestions?

5.) A Nero Wolfe Mystery by Rex Stout - If you've never read a Nero Wolfe Mystery novel, then you probably should. Stat! They're very entertaining, and surprisingly well written, considering Stout churned them out quite prolifically. (The particular book I pick will depend upon which volumes the NYPL has available that I haven't already read.)

6.) As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner - Gah. Mr. Faulkner and I haven't been on speaking terms since the mid-nineties, when I was forced to read The Sound & The Fury for English class. And hated it. Big time. But SBG said good things about this book, and perhaps it is time to give the author a second chance. After all, Faulkner served as the University of Virginia's first writer-in-residence. So maybe he and I should reconcile, in the name of dear old UVA.

7.) The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald - Speaking of high school English class, here's another book that I hear deserves a second chance. I liked it ok when I read it in school, but a friend recently remarked that everyone should read it again when in their late twenties/early thirties, as they'll bring a different perspective to the story then. So we'll see...

8.) The Water's Lovely by Ruth Rendell - I'm including this book because its title has been scratched on a post-it note and stuck on my desk for about two years, ever since I read a favorable review somewhere. And I really want to throw that post-it note away. So we're going to make it a point to finally read this sucker.

9.) Air Guitar by Dave Hickey - More essays. Last year, Newsweek included Air Guitar in their list of top 50 books that "open a window on the times we live in, whether they deal directly with the issues of today or simply help us see ourselves in new and surprising ways." Ok, then. Sounds good to me.

10.) A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain - I've been crushing on Twain's pithy sayings for years, but I haven't read a book of his since Huck Finn was assigned in school. Or was it Tom Sawyer? Hmmm. The reason I can't remember is because I didn't actually read either. I was that kind of student. Time to make up for it now.

11.) Ragtime by E. L. Doctorow - Another recomendation from SBG. Sounds gripping good.

12.) Lies My Mother Never Told Me by Kaylie Jones - I figure I should be reading memoirs, as I'm currently attempting to help someone write their own. And this one promises juicy anecdotes of Mr. Frank Sinatra. Hot-diggity.

I'm With Anne

(Source)

Admit it, girls - you've read the books. Several times.

And you've watched the movies. Several times.

And maybe you even imitated Anne's hairstyle(s), tried out her cure for freckles, wished you had a bosom friend of your very own, and dreamed of cycling all around P.E. Island, skirts and braids a'flying.

Well, I know I did. In my secret heart of hearts, I was Anne of Green Gables (in much the same way as I was in turn Jo March and Scarlett O'Hara incarnate, whenever I got lost in those books during my childhood).

But this post isn't about Jo and Scarlett, wise women in their own ways. It's about Anne. And a conversation that she had with two elders, discussing what she's looking for in a suitor:

* * *

"Fred is extremely good," said Anne.

"That's just what he ought to be. Would you want Diana to marry a wicked man? Or marry one yourself?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't. Now, Fred is hopelessly good."

"You'll have more sense some day, I hope," said Marilla.

-From Anne of the Island by Lucy Maud Montgomery

* * *

I'm not sure what reminded me of this particular passage, other than it's Monday afternoon and my mind is grasping for any thought more interesting than my usual, long-running internal debate as to the exact shade of beige on my cubicle walls.

(Today it's looking more like "Desert Sands," but last week I was nearly sold on "Toasted Almond." Tune in tomorrow, when the tide could turn in favor of "Fatigued Khaki"!)

Nevertheless, since this passage came to mind, and since I brought it up, let's have a healthy discussion. Sistahs: would you concur with Anne's suitor criteria, or do you find yourselves in Marilla's camp?

Writer of the Ordinary

When I read on the NY Times site yesterday that John Updike had died, I felt a instinctive twinge of loss, mourned the passing of the man & the artist, frowned at the extinguishment of this literary flame, this important writer, this writer of the ordinary. I would miss him. America would miss him.

And then I remembered that I have never, ever read a single stinkin' thing written by John Updike. That I would be hard-pressed to name something he had written, outside of the titles mentioned in his brief obituary. That, in fact, I think I get Updike confused with John Irving and Tom Wolfe and some other guy.

And then I went back to watching old Arrested Development episodes on Hulu.

Book 'em, Danno

Here's what I've been reading since trading in my textbooks:

The Thirteenth Tale (Diane Setterfield): The writing isn't terrific, but after a couple chapters the plot sucks you in and keeps you hooked until the end. At which point you say, "Wait....what?" Yes, the final plot twist is a bit deus ex machina, but nevertheless this gothic tale is an entertaining read.

My Sister's Keeper (Jodi Picoult): This is the first Picoult novel I've read, and my initial impression is that the woman is capable of churning out what amounts to literary crack-cocaine. Not that I've ever tried crack. And you shouldn't either. I'm just saying that this book is highly addictive, so beware! After reading it, I loaned my copy to my roommate on a Friday. Sunday morning she emerged from her room in tears and flung the book back at me, upset by the emotional roller-coaster she had just ridden, upset by the medical ethics quandry that is at the center of this family drama and for which there is no clear 'right' or 'wrong,' upset over what happens at the end to these characters whose voices are so real, and upset that the book had to end at all. Unable to cope with the withdrawal symptoms, she's moved on to one or two other Picoult novels since.

People of the Book (Geraldine Brooks): A fictionalized account of the creation and preservation of the Sarajevo Haggadah. Brooks traverses modern-day Bosnia and Boston, Victorian-era Vienna, Spain & Italy during the threat of the Inquisition, the Australian outback and North Africa as she paints highly detailed pictures of the lives of those who may have encountered the Haggadah throughout its history. The author did impressive amounts of research (as evidenced by the lengthy Acknowledgement section at the end) to provide her readers with believable historical settings and insight into the various scientific disciplines that provide clues to the Haggadah's past. Plus she throws in a little romance, espionage, and a mother-daughter conflict, so really this is a book that has it all. Except aliens. And zombies. But pretty much everything else.

Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust (Nathanael West): These two short novels were the June selection for a monthly neighborhood book club I had intended to attend. However, I didn't get around to finishing them in time and ended up skipping the meeting. I deeply regret this, as I really would have liked for someone to explain to me why this book is still in print. While it was somewhat interesting to visit the worlds of 1930's New York (Lonelyhearts) and Hollywood (Locust), overall I just didn't "get" West's point in telling these stories.

Next on deck: Jhumpa Lahiri, Michael Chabon, Alice Thomas Ellis, and a Julia Cameron book on writing (for a writing class...taught by Ms. Cameron herself!)

Bookish

Lately I've been feeling faint twinges of floopiness (technical term), a bit "off" and out-of-sorts and disorderly. I'm beginning to suspect an acute reading deficiency is to blame. I can't even tell you the last book I read in entirety. Oh, that makes me very sad to admit.

For the past several years I've maintained a strict reading diet, whereby I planned my book meals in advance (kinda like, "In March & April, I will read The Count of Monte Cristo, the fifth Harry Potter, Blue Like Jazz, and one (1) Graham Greene book.") I do not allow myself to deviate from the menu, and I must finish everything on my plate. Having a strict book schedule is very helpful for me because, as I've said before, I tend to not finish things. When I don't have a reading plan in place, when left to my own INFP devices, I bop around between 3 or 4 books simultaneously and never make it to the last page of any of them.

Since September, however, I've fallen off the book regimen wagon. I traded my "To Read" list of novels for a stack of required text books, and it hasn't been a 100% happy exchange. As I mentioned above, I feel a bit out-of-sorts & directionless, as though my progress as a person, a cultural-digester, an imagine-r, and as a writer has been stunted by the lack of good books read. (Not that those text books aren't "good." They're just...different. And it's not them, it's me. And they have a great personality. Really.)

I came across this article today, entitled "How to Use Reading to Become a Better Writer." It re-stated a truth I've long ascribed to: good writers must be good readers. And it inspired me to get back on the book regimen wagon and Get Reading Again Already!

Books do a body good, and this body's been book-anemic for a bit too long.

AVM Arrives

Finally! My requested copy of Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle just got freed up at the New York Public Library and is now in my possesion. Twenty pages in, and I'm digging Kingsolver's writing style. (How have I neglected to read any of her work before now?)

Folks, let me be honest: I'm just glad to be reading something other than an Old Testament Theology text book these days.

CaseyBeck and MadDogChantal - we've got some AVM-discussing to look forward to!

Eat.Pray.Love

This book, by Elizabeth Gilbert, is hard to avoid. I had seen it in bookstores for awhile, but recently it began to incessantly catch my eye each time I entered a store. I thought, “All right, I see you, I see you. I’ll get around to you one day.” Not satisfied, Eat Pray Love stepped it up a notch and sent my friend M. down to NYC for a visit, during which she extolled the many virtues of this tome.

Just in case I didn’t get the hint, Eat Pray Love arranged for me to meet my friend Kelly for coffee immediately following my visit with M. Sitting at our regular table at DTUT, Kelly noticed another patron walk by with a copy of EPL. “I love that book!” she exclaimed, “My friend just returned my copy to me.” And so I gave in to EPL’s shameless self-promotion, borrowed Kelly’s copy, and 100 pages later, have no regrets.

Eat Pray Love tells the enviable tale of Gilbert’s year lived abroad: 4 months in Italy, 4 months in India, and 4 more in Indonesia. She sets out in part to escape the messy stress of a divorce and failed relationship, and in part to seek the peace and spirituality she hasn’t quite been able to grasp in her life thus far. She casts a wide net in her spiritual search, spurred on by varied experiences such as an intimate encounter with God on her bathroom floor (somewhat reminiscent of Anne Lamott’s conversion experience), an emotional response to the teachings of an Indian guru, and a curiosity peaked by an encounter with a wise and prescient Balinese medicine man.

While I’m not sure if I will ultimately agree with Gilbert’s conclusions on spirituality, I am enjoying her writing style (the woman can turn a phrase!), her humorous self-deprecation, and her insightful observations.

Earlier, as I was reading ELP in the lunchroom of my office, a co-worker noticed the book and asked if I liked it. “A friend recommended it to me, and I keep seeing it in bookstores,” she explained. Been there, lady.

Diary of a new New Yorker: Month #1

To my friends in Beantown: I miss you already. Here's what I've been up to since I caught a bus to the Big Apple.

1) OPDs

I am a dog lover without a dog. Hence, I've made a hobby of coveting other people's dogs (OPDs), and New York has abundant dog-coveting opportunities! There are dog runs, dog gyms, and dogs walking everywhere. In one day I saw 4 West Highland White terriers (the breed of my darling, late, great Grimley Angus MacTavish)

2) Crazies on Skates

How I envy the reckless abandon with which these people glide around a small section of Central Park, dancing on roller skates (skates, not blades) to funky music. Some are crowd pleasers, and make sport of how many bottles they can balance on their heads while taking sharp curves. Some dance in hand-holding three-somes, some are in their own world. I like to watch them and imagine what they do in their day jobs.

3) 130+ blocks to work

I am currently commuting each morning from a friend's place up in Washington Heights, which makes for ample reading time on the subway each day. Currently I am lost in "One Hundred Years of Solitude" (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) for about 260 blocks each day, to and fro. And it's absolutely magical storytelling, and I almost hate to get off the train at my stop. Sigh. Sigh. Have you read this book? You must read this book. :)

So those are some of my New York minutes. It's been a tiring month, adjusting to the new job and all. But I'm slowly getting settled, I think. Still no forwarding address to give you, but God will provide. Miss you all!