Thursday, January 24, 2008
Recap
Hmm. Doesn't feel like I'm doing much these days, yet I feel busy--and for the most part, like this is a positive thing. I continue to dig my job, and my efforts are consistently recognized (always nice); I'm still running (currently training for a half in St. Louis come April), still writing, cupcake hoarding, Edwards supporting (though, well, you know), living in a cave... Maybe it makes the most sense to point out a few things that are different/have changed to some extent.
I'm 13 days into a monthlong abstention from alcohol--not a single glass of wine w/ dinner, not nothin'. Not that I drink heaps or anything, but I figured it might make for an interesting little experiment, a chance to isolate any definitive pros/cons/neutral shifts, y'know? And while thus far I haven't plunged into a sea of intense calm or anything likewise dramatic, I am a) saving money, b) getting more sleep, c) keeping my eyes open through entire movies (whoa, a first). The s/f Red Bull I've subbed in? An oddly negligible impact, for better or worse. I'll take it!
I'm writing fiction. Fiction! I don't do it well, mind you, but damnit if I'm not bent on improving. In fact, in hopes of just this, I've joined up w/ a new writers group (tried that one group a couple years back--not quite fantastic) that meets once monthly in the East Village. I figure this is the ideal commitment for me, and I really will require one such group if I'm to stay on track w/ my current goal: one short story a month. I'd love to devote more time, but if I wanna keep up my RW writing and pursue various other n/f outlets, which I very much do, I don't imagine I'll squeeze in much more. So far on the year, I've got one down, w/ a second in the works. I'm having a good time of it, and am forever and ever inspired by this man, whose stories have, of late, been inducing in me a sadness and a weight of the very best kind. I can't stop reading, and have about eight add'l books--stories and poetry--en route from heaven. (If you're a fan and you haven't done so already, read him in that last fiction issue of The New Yorker. There's a Lish-untouched version of "Beginners," which, in my humblest of opinions, offers something considerably different [the beauty and the intention of the last paragraph alone, the whole of which was discarded in What We Talk About..., is exquisite, spiritual] than the cut-up one. Every bit as moving: the letters Carver penned to Lish, some desperate desperate desperate in their tone. [Gordon, the changes are brilliant and for the better in most cases—I look at “What We Talk About...” (Beginners) and I see what it is that you’ve done, what you’ve pulled out of it, and I’m awed and astonished, startled even, with your insights. But it’s too close right now, that story. Now much of this has to do with my sobriety and with my new-found (and fragile, I see) mental health and well-being. I’ll tell you the truth, my very sanity is on the line here. I don’t want to sound melodramatic here, but I’ve come back from the grave here to start writing stories once more. ... Now, I’m afraid, mortally afraid, I feel it, that if the book were to be published as it is in its present edited form, I may never write another story, that’s how closely, God Forbid, some of those stories are to my sense of regaining my health and mental well-being. ...]. Carver relented in the end, gave himself over to Lish once again. The psychic turmoil he must've swam through to get there...
Next, about that cave: total change of heart. I am now, quote me please, caught in its embrace. Sure, the space may make for some strange and surprising psychology, but it's grown on me, and I plan to stick around a while.
Random: Saw There Will Be Blood the other week and loved it, loved the father/son stuff, all that humanity... And the soundtrack, that score, whoa. Cool thing, I got to experience it live last week via one hell of a volunteer experience. These guys hosted (neat project, eh?), and hearing Jonny Greenwood's Popcorn Superhet Receiver for string orchestra, and in a gorgeous cathedral no less, was... mm, it was alright. What an evening.
Random/coincidental/sad/suspicious: This is that Wburg loft complex D and I lived in our first summer here (sublet). The episode has gotten all sorts of local coverage--all the dailies, the blogs--and it truly is bizarre. And ill-timed (see: recent weather reports). And yeah, just straight sad. All those people, some having lived there for years and years, having to uproot at the drop of a hat. Heart goes out. (Damn city.)
Belatedly celebratory: Yay, choice! And on a related note: Yay, each of the three top Democratic candidates in their matching pro-choice outfits! Pretty!
Lastly, some visual aids:
Mendy: I got both. Cut me slack? Actually, I started w/ two m's, but matted-hair threw a tantrum and I let him have the other (weak, I know, but he's soooo embarrassing sometimes).
P.S. I don't see how this Maison du Chocolat operation could do much better, macaron-wise. Serious.
Du turns 30, partygoers play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and fruit-themed games, eat ginormous cupcakes, and get glassy-eyed over talk of Sarah Maxey, Mrs. Mallory, "the forum"...
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
bent objects
The Met on Sunday, this... Sometimes art hurts.
Incredible.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Mine
Neat thing, more author events seem to be landing in my neighborhood (or near enough) these days. Community Bookstore, Book Court, BPL... So much upcoming goodness! Kindof a relief, too, considering my recent losing battle against the magnetic current homeward. But I dunno, as long as they keep coming to me, and as long as everything else stays put, why sweat it.
Last night I heard Jennifer Egan & two others read from the just-out book, Brooklyn Was Mine, at the Seventh Ave. B&N. They drew a fairly small crowd, smaller than I would've predicted, and most people were, mm, older than me. By a lot. Not surprisingly, a whole lotta long-time Brooklyn in that room, clear by the faint smiles, the nostalgic chuckles, the gently nodding heads... I think I felt kindof foolish in a way, standing there, tea in hand, w/ all my newfound borough pride while in the company of so many more tenured/deserving holders. Anyway, the essays read were all very endearing, touching on a) one writer's research on women employed at the Brooklyn Navy Yard during the war, and the moving correspondence she unearthed between one such woman and her overseas husband (Egan), b) the rise/fall/rise of the once-decadent Clinton Hill, w/ attention to Underwood Park and a residence w/ a, erm, colorful past* (Susan Choi), and c) a mythical Brooklyn baseball team (Darin Strauss).
And for once... a paperback! I purchased/had signed the evening's centerpiece sans guilt.
That reminds me, if you live in the greater Seattle area, you should go to this: http://www.elliottbaybook.com/events/jan08/attenberg.jsp. It's getting all sorts of great reviews, and J supplied D and I w/ one of our several sublet scenarios. I miss those book shelves.
*The tradition lives on, albeit in a different (but nearby) residence. CH resident Choi (almost positive it was her) shared a story about her visiting mom, who, in searching online for accommodations, happened to turn up this place. "But it's cheaper than the Ramada!" Yeah.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
whoa
Huh. Maybe it pays to age & to act like a human, after all. At least in NH.
boo
Good grief, well-put. Who would've guessed the terms "visibly emotional" and "near tears" were capable of eliciting such annoyance? Yet senseless repetition will do that.
The shit this candidate's had to put up w/ on the campaign trail--exasperating. Regardless her stance on this issue or that, she really cannot win. Act soft (woman)/lose; act hard (man)/lose. What a tricky, tricky line to walk. Or to draw, considering.
Geeeez.