Posts (page 2)
I spend all day five days a week listening to books on CD on my iPod. I've written about it before. But a couple weeks ago I "read" something that just stopped me in my tracks and rendered me unable to move on.
When I read The Road I thought I had read some hard, dark stuff. We're talking about a book where the world is over (over, like OVER, it's not coming back) and the few people that remain eat babies and keep people in basements, carving off portions of their frame just to survive.
Seriously fucked up shit.
Over the last couple weeks I read Blood Meridian, it took me weeks because I couldn't bring myself to finish it. It should have taken two days but ended up taking 12.
The darkness, the horror that I thought was so perfectly rendered in The Road was turned up well past 11 in Blood Meridian.
If you picked up this book, opened it to any page someone or something would be being raped, killed, scalped, stabbed, shot, murdered, trampled, burned alive, decapitated....just pick an act of violence; it's in there. It was so jolting I felt like I couldn't go on reading it. I had to take a break.
All of that being said, this is a pretty good book. I wouldn't recommend it as a book for people new to McCarthy to start with but it's worth reading, or at least trying. McCarthy writes in the most lyrical, fascinating way. Using arcane words in ways that fit so well you can't help but do it yourself from time to time after reading his work.
I've read that it is one of top 100 books written in the last 100 years and is packed with imagery and allusions. I'm not deep or educated enough to understand even 1/4 of that stuff. I've got theories about somethings but in order to confirm them I'd need to re-read the book and to be perfectly honest I don't think I can do it again.
Great book, but not worth reading unless you are a McCarthy completist or looking to push your boundries.
It was, say, 9:30PM.
We had been busy all night and there were no signs of slowing down to eat in the next few hours so we thought we'd "Make a run for The Border" and "Think Outside of the Bun" and have some Taco Bell for dinner.
When I got to the door I saw this sign.
I ask, why? Why bother staying open if you aren't going to serve beans?
Beans are a staple of Mexican food (I know, Taco Bell us hardly Mexican food but what ev). Would you still be open if you were out of tortillas?
1) What author do you own the most books by?
It wouldn't be a secret if I told.
Maybe Forrest Gump, totally different from the movie. Well not "totally", but pretty different, more fun for sure. Doesn't take itself so seriously. Or Fight Club. Or maybe White Noise.
My Side of the Mountain. I probably read that book two times a year for three or four years. I should pickup a copy and re-read it.
I just finished a terribly boring book, Founding Brothers. After I finished it I found out it won a Pulitzer. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.
To Kill a Mockingbird. Changed my life.
I dunno. Actually, now that I think of it, Invisible Man.
Hmmm....Actually finished? I don't know. I listen to audioboooks, the difficultly level isn't as high as reading a book. I'm starting an unabridged, 63 hour reading of Atlas Shrugged pretty soon. I imagine that will be pretty difficult.
I've only seen the basics, nothing obscure.
Not sure. I haven't read any Russians so I can't compare.
Roth? Philip Roth? I haven't read it yet but I've got a copy of American Pastoral waiting for me. I haven't read any Updike. Can't say.
Haven't read either. Can't compare.
I dunno. I read all three in high school and enjoyed them. No preference at this point in time.
What kind of measuring stick are we using? I feel like my reading gap is big enough to drive a Kris Kristofferson's Convoy through but to other people I might be extremely well read.
Of all time? I can only pick one? I'm gonna have to go with To Kill A Mocking Bird.
Hmmm...straight play? No singing? I don't have one. It's on my list of things to do. See more plays. If we want to talk musicals just pick anything by Sondheim I'll be there.
Uhhhh....yeah. Do people have favorite poems? On Friday and portions of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" started coming back to me so lets go with that. Or the only other poem I remember from highschool "Sonnet #18". "Shall I compare thee to a summers day?"
"A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" by David Foster Wallace
Gun to my head, I pick "Lyndon".
For right now, Descartes Bones. Really set me on a path thinking about life, philosophy and science.
Like I said before, I'm in love with Jhumpa Lahiri right now so let's say it's her. (Jhumpa, are you out there? Will you marry me?) On the all time list would be: Jhumpa, David Foster Wallace, Hunter S. Thompson & Cormac McCarthy.
I'm not into Gladwell. I don't think his ideas are all that original.
I like the answer that Steve Betz & Joie gave: "Can't I just bring a Kindle?"
Unaccustomed Earth by my future wife, Ms. Lahiri.
Earlier this week Cori was Twittering about going to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo and it got me thinking about my own experience seeing them live.
Back in the early days after Y2K (before I met my lady) I met this girl, lets call her 'V'. She was nice. Cute. Nerdy. Kind of a tom boy. Was into the same hip-hop I was. She worked on the floor above me and kept odd hours; since I was working the swing shift at the time I too was there at odd hours (well regular for me, odd for most people.)
Sometimes V would come around my office and we would talk and flirt.
One evening she asked me to go see a concert with her.
It should be noted that I don't care for live music from bands. It just never sounds as good as it does on the CD and the music on the CD is what I'm really into. I know, I know, there is a whole different energy when it's live, whatever. I just don't like it.
Moving on...
I asked what she wanted to see and she said she had tickets to see Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
I thought, cool, I know who those guys are and I don't see how they could suck live and she's already got the tickets and is refusing my offer to pay.
Score!
So the fateful night approaches. We'll leave from work, I'm planning on taking at least part of the night off.
I meet her outside and in the car with her is....
HER FATHER!
You see dumbass me, thinking that maybe all this flirting was going somewhere, thought that maybe this was some kind of first date.
I mean, she asked me out, right?
She did. And to boot she never mentioned anything about bringing along another person, let alone her father!
You don't bring your father on first dates, do you?
Well, the concert was very nice.
When it was over she dropped me off back at the office and I worked my shift until I had made of the time I'd missed "going out".
For a while at least V and I were still cool, saw each other around the building but it never was the same after that night.
And then I met my lady and really haven't thought of V since then. Except for when I'm telling the tale of the masturbating janitor, but that's a story for another day.
When you’re lying awake in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, you start thinking of things. Where do those bats that are flying by outside live? Who first came up with the idea to harvest, roast, grind and brew coffee? Eventually my mind turned to the books I’ve been reading.
The last half dozen books I've read have all been about outcasts, men and women who strike out on their own, against what is expected of them from families, friends and society. They are mostly outlaws; either literally or societally. They are heroes, not only in the sense that they are the subject of books but in the classical sense of Gilgamesh and Odysseus.
In the case of Moll Flanders her journey is laid right out in the full title of the book:
The Fortunes & Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders Who was Born in Newgate, and during a Life of continu'd Variety for Threescore Years, besides her Childhood, was Twelve Year a Whore, five times a Wife (whereof once to her own Brother), Twelve Year a Thief, Eight Year a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich, liv'd Honest, and dies a Penitent. Written from her own Memorandums . . .
Born in
prison to a criminal mother who was transported to the colonies it
seemed Moll Flanders would lead a similar life, or one locked in
servitude to the rich. But she persevered, striking out against her lot
in life, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and
coming out fairly ahead. Hero may not be the first word that comes to
mind when most people think of Moll Flanders (perhaps anti-hero is) but
when society itself corrupted a hero must take whatever steps are
necessary to achieve freedom; even if that means picking pockets for a
living.
John Wilkes Booth on the other hand was a hero in his own mind. To him, shooting of Lincoln was akin to Beowulf slaying the Grendel. From his perspective he alone was in the position to strike down the tyrant and it had to be done for the glory of Dixie. With help of sympathetic southerners (mostly strangers) Booth used his charm, good looks, fame and skill as an actor to not only kill the president but to evade capture for nearly a fortnight. He suffered immensely but did not complain; in the face of impossible odds kept up the fight for his life and his beloved confederacy for he felt, ne knew, that his actions were just. Never mind that he was also the most reviled person in the country and people burned letters and autographs from him fearing that someone would find them and think the possessor to be a Booth sympathizer.
I'm not even sure I can articulate what I feel about Gogol Ganguli and path he walks. His journey is perhaps the most obfuscated in this group. Considering himself more American than Indian; yet considered an outsider, looked on as a thing of curiosity by Americans who seem to consider him more Indian than American. Gogol is a man in-between worlds, not comfortable with his parents Bengali traditions or his adopted American ones. He rejects his name, his namesake, the path set before him and wanders his own road.
Cormac McCarthy's Border Trilogy (All The Pretty Horses, The Crossing & Cities of the Plain) are about the death of heroes and the emptiness that takes their place.
The series starts off with All The Pretty Horses which fairly drips with romance and introduces us to John Grady Cole, the "All American Cowboy", a 16 year old boy who sets off for Mexico in search of a life that he sees fast disappearing from his beloved Texas. What he finds in old Mexico damages him and destroys his notions about the world, he returns broken but still the hero; out there alone, searching for his own light to bare against the darkness of the coming void.
.
In the second book, The Crossing, we meet two brothers, Billy & Boyd. Almost on a whim, 16 year old Billy desserts his family in an effort to return a pregnant wolf he has captured to the mountains of Mexico. He returns to find his family, save his brother murdered. Billy again crosses into Mexico (this time with his 14 year old brother) in search of the killers and stolen horses. Over the course of the book, they each meet their heroic destinies. By the end of the book, with the outbreak of WWII you can feel the modern world creeping in, swallowing the world these boys, these teen aged men, loved and will always love.
In Cities of the Plain the modern world has all but devoured the lifestyle these men hold in such high esteem, the romance is gone. In its place is whisky and whores. The world has changed. As Stephen King would say "The world has moved on." As McCarthy puts it in the final chapter "They all just seemed to be waiting for things to be a way that they'd never me again." These solitary men, brothers of sorts have found each other while working on one of the last ranches in the south west in the years after WWII. Unable to stay down when faced with destruction of themselves and their way of life these both Billy & John Grady hold on to the last vestiges of their way of life but their stubborn refusal isn't enough. By the end, the sweeping romance of All The Pretty Horses is gone. A fading memory. Something people talk about, not sure if it was ever real or just stories told by old men around the campfire.
*&*&*&*&*&*
In thinking of this topic it came to me that we as Americans are lacking in this department. Our concept of the heroic individual has been compromised. We have become of nation of sheep, herded not by shepherds but one another. The people who strike out on their own path are ostracized while those who compromise their very essence for the sake of fitting in with the crowd are praised.
America was influenced by the concept of individualism. People came here to make their way against oppressive religions or regimes. To be an American was to be an individual yet part of something larger. Somewhere along the way we seem to have lost the ideal of the rugged individualist as the American idol and replaced it with Kelly Clarkson.
By virtue of being archetypal, heroes are both revered and reviled by those around them and nobody in this era of media saturation and scrutiny wants to undergo that. Can you blame them?
So lying there in bed, awake past 3am, I decided to add a few more books to my reading list.
I like to experiment with cocktails, as I think anyone who reads this regularly will know.
Forty-four days ago I started a mid-term experiment (as opposed to my long term experiment with limoncello) after reading a comment on
a random food blog. The comment talked about the Quarante Quatre;
a cordial made with an orange and 44 coffee beans steeped in rum and sugar
for 44 days.
It piqued my interested. I did some more research. I found an alternate recipe
that used whole cloves in place of coffee beans and knew that I had to try it.
The recipe was simple:
- 1 liter of white rum
- 1 navel orange
- 44 whole cloves
- 44 teaspoons of sugar
- Deeply Peirce an orange 44 times and stuff the cloves into the orange
- Place the pierced orange and sugar in a 2 quart container and fill with rum
- Steep in a cool, dry place for 44 days
- Filter sediments, bottle and enjoy
Tasting notes:
This stuff has a wonderful aroma. Oranges and cloves. Mmmmm.
The flavor of the orange hits you right away. It's understaded; not at all over-powering.
The taste of cloves lingers and leaves a wonderful taste in your mouth (if you like cloves).
My stuff burns a little but that's because of the rot gut I used, your mileage may vary.
I've never done one of these before, everyone else in my 'hood has, so why the hell not, right?
:-) :
Gin
No longer being on antibiotics so I can enjoy gin on a more regular basis
Tax Refunds
Audiobooks
Cormac McCarthy
Frank Muller (see the previous two items.)
In fact, I'm posting a sample of why I love these last three things.
:-( :
That Frank Muller died last year and was unable to record for eight years before he died.
The pervading smell of fish in the air.
That due to the time change it's now dark outside when I walk my dog in the morning.
Well, that's what I can come up with right now, maybe I'll put some more thought into it next week.
What’s the best book that YOU haven’t read yet?
We’ve all seen the lists, we’ve all thought, “I should really read that someday,” but for all of us, there are still books on “The List” that we haven’t actually gotten around to reading. Even though we know they’re fabulous. Even though we know that we’ll like them. Or that we’ll learn from them. Or just that they’re supposed to be worthy. We just … haven’t gotten around to them yet.
Simple.
"So what is this creepily entrancing novel actually about? You asked for it. O.N.A.N. (the Organization of North American Nations) has made northern New England into a Lucite-walled dump, where toxic waste fuels mutagenic fusion reactions. This worthless, hazardous territory has been given to Canada, and wheelchair-bound Quebecois terrorists plan to retaliate with widespread dissemination of the lethal amusement "Infinite Jest." Seeking the master copy, the Wheelchair Assassins close in on the film's veiled, disfigured star and on the filmmaker's son--none other than the teen tennis whiz Hal Incandenza."
I have promised myself, and do so here in front of the few of you who are actually reading this, that as soon as I move from the in-laws house I will start reading this book. And I mean read it, not listen to it.
I've read that in order to do so I will need three bookmarks.
One to keep place in the book, one to keep place in the nearly 400 end/footnotes and one to keep place at the time line (years don't have numbers but sponsors: Year of the Whopper, Year of the Trial-Sized Dove Bar, etc.)
There is a lengthy and very good article about DFW in a recent issue of The New Yorker in which they discuss Infinite Jest, the rest of his works and the incomplete novel he was working on at the time he committed suicide which will be published next year. The book is about the IRS and boredom. Here's a quote from the book from The New Yorker.
“Maybe dullness is associated with psychic pain, because something that’s dull or opaque fails to provide enough stimulation to distract people from some other, deeper type of pain that is always there, if only in an ambient low-level way, and which most of us spend nearly all our time and energy trying to distract ourselves from.”
"What it is to be a fucking human being."
Yesterday my good friend Mrs. N. asked via TXT message if Annie and I were planning to have kids anytime soon.
My response is below:
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLO
LOL
Later on she revealed that her cell phone can read messages out loud and that when this one was played it was supremely funny. As evidence she recorded it and sent it too me. The recording is a little quite but audible.
The best part is that at certain points in the laughter the computer has to break rhythm, like it’s out of breath.
