*Chirp, chirp*
I am making shamefully slow progress through The Beautiful and the Damned. It’s not that I don’t like it– quite the contrary– it’s just that my focus is all sorts of off these past few weeks.
I know things have been quite quiet on the blog. There’s really no excuse. I haven’t been reading as much, lately (beyond the Arts sections of the New York Times and Financial Times), and have been preoccupied with work and, well, living life. I think I get self-conscious from time-to-time, feeling that if I can’t make some poignant statement on reading or literature, it’s best to just keep quiet. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.
However, I must also remember the passion to learn that sparked this website, and realize that I cannot allow that to remain dormant simply because other things are getting in my way. That’s what the Start Over Year is all about, any way.
I do have to say though: I really love my life. Not a bad thing to be able to say while in the first quarter of My Start Over Year.
Oh, and while on vacation, I read Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl (former NYTimes restaurant critic). Now, I don’t particularly enjoy Reichl’s critiques. There’s something a bit too stagnant about them, a bit too formal. Perhaps I’m letting my Bruni-fandom influence this. But, the woman knows her food, and she is a skillful writer. Garlic and Sapphires focuses on the disguises Ruth created while operating as a restaurant critic. To avoid detection (which would always ensure exceptional service and treatment by the restaurant she was visiting), she would don these elaborate costumes, developing and embodying new personas and characters. The most interesting part of the piece, however, is how these characters influenced and changed her. Whether it be the free-wheeling Brenda or stuck up Molly, each new personality brought out something very telling about Ruth, herself. The way she navigates this– ultimately having to decide which parts of her best and worst selves she was willing to confront and/or keep– is what makes this memoir so interesting to me. It’s a psychological study of the self in disguise– both to the public and to the person. Though Garlic and Sapphires lacks any real, poignant analysis, what it reveals about the transformations we undergo on a daily basis is valuable and entertaining to any reader. I definitely recommend this as a beach read.
Green Living
Ah Vermont. For a week every year, the family drops everything we are doing to caravan together up to the Green State. We rent a big house on a lake, and take 7 days to bonfire, BBQ, swim, hike, shop, and ridicule the hell out of me. And I love every second of it.
I’ve taken four books with me this week, and I’m determined to finish at least three:
The Beautiful and the Damned by F Scott Fitzgerald (Drunk Lit Book Club’s July selection!)
Outliers by Malcom Gladwell
Oh The Glory of It All by Sean Wilsey
The 12 Million Dollar Shark by Don Thompson
My RADD has kicked in the past few weeks, simply because I haven’t had the time to read. What’s frustrating to me, is that for a time, I didn’t really miss it. How can you not miss reading? I don’t know if I just needed the mental break, some time without words on a page, to get over whatever hump I was on… but now, it’s a little distressing to me to know that there are moments in my life where a good book does not make all the difference. I’ve never had that before, have you?
However, now that I have an opportunity to relax, I’m using this moment to get back into reading. Currently, I’m alternating between Thompson’s book (a truly interesting, riveting take on the economics of contemporary art– I highly recommend it as I’m learning so much and am only 25 pages in) and the Fitzgerald (in these moments I pretend the lake house in VT is actually a summer mansion in Newport). What’s on your vacation reading list?
Healthy Choices
It’s 6:30AM and I’m sucking down coffee. I’ve been up since 4:24, working. Is it sick that I actually enjoy this?
I am completely out of the loop, lately, in many senses of the phrase. However, I read this email from The Rumpus and was extremely touched. It’s slightly awkward, but pretty wonderful. It talks about the kind of passion that goes into the making of a soccer fan. The kind of extremism that goes into fandom, period. It’s something I understand, now; something I feel as though I can relate to. Because, at the end of the day, what we are left with is that which drives us. Happiness is derived from the fulfillment of our passions, big and small, be it a South American soccer team, an art gallery, or some larger, more abstract concept.
I truly hope you all find something you can be equally passionate about.
Freshly Pressed
The Imperfectionists and a pineapple margarita... yum.
So the first chapter in the Drunk Literature Book Club Experiment is coming to an end. Everyone who participated that has something to say about the book, remember to post by 11:59 PM, tomorrow. (Oh, and send me links!)
I read The Imperfectionists during a whirlwind week when I was mad on top of my reading. Books were like potato chips, and I was a huge Lay’s addict. That has since calmed down, as work has pretty much gotten in the way of , oh, my entire life. In a (mostly) good way, though. I am completely passionate about my job. The only thing I’m struggling with at the moment is the way in which it interferes with my friendship-upkeep. I’m trying to learn to be a bit more balanced in that respect.
Anyway, back to The Imperfectionists:
To me, it’s a stunningly poignant first novel, one only a journalist can write. The careful meditation on character study takes on the sort of profiling traditional of newspapers. I loved the way no one was grossly interconnected (in that, there’s not that cheesy progression from one story to the next), and I LOVED how the “history” of the newspaper was inserted between stories.
The stories that stick out in my mind are the women. Hardy, Abbey, Kathleen (even Ruby and Ornella to a degree). And Arthur’s– for more tragic reasons. But the women all seemed to have a similar vein in their parts: relationships. Specifically, how women who have made work their life handle issues of intimacy and companionship. At first, I took some offense to this. These women, though strong professionally, seemed to be completely ruled by the men in their lives. It’s all they ever thought about. But then I looked at the book a bit more closely. In essence, ALL of the stories dealt with relationships, NOT strictly those of the women. Because that’s what happens when you’re overworked and underpaid. You become a total freak and those things that give any semblance of a break from your harried life at your harried job become so monumental to your outward existence. All you have left are the f*cked up strings we call relationships. It’s not the happiest take on these character’s lives, but it’s not all unhappy either. Hardy settles for that joke of a boyfriend due to lack of self-esteem, and the subconscious need to deal with something completely out of control gives her a break from the stress of her job. Abbey’s encounter on the airplane exposes all the ways in which she– a typically logical and practical mind– deals with the fact that her job makes people expendable. Kathleen is high-powered and at the top of her game, but ther’es always that nagging question of “what if.” Specifically, what if she had given all her career motivations up for love.
Rachman’s novel is truly a remarkable expose on just how all our crazy idiosyncrasies evolve through time and experience. It is a petri dish of a novel, cultivating a breed of human beings that are as fascinating as they are ordinary. I honestly cannot wait to see exactly what he comes up with next.
Also, a note on the drinking while reading this book. Since my most common choice has been, most notably, water; one evening (or was it afternoon) my wonderful roommate and I decided to spice things up a bit and come up with a concoction. Hence, pineapple margaritas. All parts fabulous and refreshing. Probably nothing any self-respecting journalist would drink, but then again I”m plumb out of rye and bitters.
Excited to hear everyone else’s take on the novel!
BUY ME THIS: Kerouac and Updike’s Typewriters
print by Volume Twenty Five at Etsy.com
I really need to check the Christie’s auction pages more often.
Jack Kerouac’s Hermes 3000 just sold for $22,5000, while John Updike’s typewriter went for $4,375.
I would have killed for Cormac McCarthy’s Olivetti (mostly because I love Olivettis), but that thing fetched more that I will ever make in my entire lifetime. And that’s including the Roth IRA I have, as of yet, failed to open.
(Info via The New York Times’ Art Beat.)
What I’m Reading and Drinking: Shades of Blue
Mixed Berry Powerade and Pipe Dreams by Kelly Slater, with Jason Borte.
Insanity.
I wish I could adequately describe the week I just had. It was the sort of week I used to dream about when growing up. It began with an impromptu night-trip to a posh hotel lounge in Philly, and ended with salsa/merengue dancing in some hot NY night club at 2:30 in the morning. The in-between was filled with meeting fabulous people, drinking expensive Champagne, and tons and tons of art.
I always wanted to be an artist. Or, at the very least, live the artist life. It’s something I’ve romanticized since grade school. However, given the fact that I lack any actual talent with paint or clay or bronze or plaster, I ended up working for an artist, instead. Now I am completely immersed in this world that I’ve been longing to be a part of since I was a kid. It’s a bit glamorous, a bit gritty, and all parts fascinating. I have never been so inspired, nor have I ever been so encouraged to break out on my own and go into full-on creative mode. I’m in a position where I’m given a TON of responsibility– so there is a lot of pressure to step up to the plate. But I thrive on that. I need the push and challenge to get me really thinking and making things happen. And I work with a group of such talented and passionate individuals. This was really one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life, thus far.
So, this is just a little update on my “Start Over Year.” I am taking those risks that I need to take and trying those things that I need to try. I am learning, albeit very slowly, to break out of my shell. One would think that being a part of the art world would pressure you into fitting a mold you’re not. I find the exact opposite. This job is helping me create the mold I was meant to fit. I’m learning to take charge, to stop apologizing. To stop allowing other people to overtake my spotlight. I am learning to celebrate my strength as a woman, and all the power that comes with that. Just the other day, my boss said to me after catching me nervously fidgeting with my new dress for the 1,000th time: ” You are a beautiful woman, own it.” That simple sentence empowered me more than 1,000 pages of self-help nonsense. So, it’s month #2 of My Start Over Year, and I am owning it.
Hope the rest of you are having similar success in making changes in your life, for the better.
Lit Links: I Bleed Green
by dace on Etsy
This is a great week, isn’t it? NBA Finals are closing up shop, World Cup Soccer just began, and Lords of Dogtown is free on Comcast. Really, it’s the little things that make me happy.
1. Hey Oscar Wilde, It’s Clobbering Time will continue to be one of my most favorite sites that the Internet has ever produced. I love this illustration of Truman Capote and Holly Golightly by Eric Canete. You can’t quite see all the exquisite detail in the picture I’ve posted– but there is a movement in Canete’s ink work that I envy. His lines are impeccable. I’m completely in love with his drawing.
2. Any story involving Kevin Costner reminds me of this running joke we had in college about Waterworld. But now, it looks like some of that sea water got to Kevin’s head and he’s shopping around a “miracle device” that will drain the ocean of BP oil. I know there’s a joke in there somewhere, but I’m honestly too baffled by this story to make one up.
3. I’m in summer mode. Which means I’ll be YouTube-ing surfing videos for the next few days. This is Jordy Smith nailing a rodeo flip, last year.
4. Steve Almond’s post at The Rumpus is an unbelievably personal consideration of the once-in-a-decade publication of The New Yorker‘s Fiction Issue. Contained within the magazine is a list called “20 Writers Under 40,” which, as Steve points out, is how The New Yorker says, “really, these are the only young writes worth knowing about for the next ten years.” It’s an inspirational and yet depressing time for accomplished young writers not included on the list. And the way Steve writes about what this means to him tears a bit at my core.
5. Newspaper Blackout, poems by Austin Kleon.
6. I don’t want any lectures about soul-killing corporate coffee culture… but I’m very excited to hear that Starbucks will be offering Free Wifi, beginning July 1st!
7. Carolyn Kellogg, of the LA Times, blogs about her encounter with Bret Easton Ellis and his peculiar interview routine. I’ve actually never read a Bret Easton Ellis book– though I’ve picked one up many times at my local bookstore, only to put it down on one of those tables inexplicably selling Godiva chocolates and bedazzled kitten bookmarks. However, I love hearing about the quirks and idiosyncrasies of writers. It absolutely fascinates me how the creative mind works, no matter how weird or deranged.
8. Paper apartment by Don Lucho. (via Lost at E Minor)
9. This song, blasting full-volume on my stereo with all the windows and door thrown open, is my pump-up song. In the middle, where Dave gets all growly and screamy, unleashes something completely primal. I appreciate Hendrix and Dylan, but the DMB version is by far the best version of this song. And it took me 8 concerts before I even got to hear them play it. In fact, that reminds me: this is the first summer in a long list of summer when I won’t be attending a Dave Matthews concert. It’s a bit devastating– I think I’ve gone at least once a year since I was 16. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing better than being on the lawn of an amphitheater with a group of friends, happy-feet dancing your way through #41. That’s what summer is all about.
Summer Reading?
photo by David of Earth via flickr
CORRECTION:
I am desperately in need of the following:
– Book Blog recommendations
– Book Magazine recommendations
– Book recommendations
This is going to be a summer where I devour books. I want to stuff my cheeks full of text, like some sort of literary squirrel. I want to become so inundated with “book talk” that I can’t possibly pass by a shelf without grabbing one for the road. Perhaps this is strange? But I have a long summer ahead of me, full of work and travel. I want to fill my in-between time with as many literary things as possible.
Previously: I need your help. I’m really looking for some new book blogs to read. I feel as though I keep writing down a long list– yet always manage to lose it. I’m reconfiguring parts of the Drunk Literature blog roll so please comment back with any recommendations you may have (especially if you want me to check out your own blog– chances are I have, but its URL was written down on one of those ill-fated lists, which must end up in the very same place as the sock that never made it out of the dryer)!
It’s Called “Being on ‘Fie-yah’”
photo by Q via flickr
I’m not entirely sure what’s causing it, but for whatever reason, I am a rock star with reading this month! I’m talking: BOOM book done. BAM another book read. KA-BLOOW chapter closed, novel FIN. I am reading books in rapid succession. One after another, lined up like tin cans on a hillbilly’s front porch. And my RADD is no where to be found. I am focusing on one book at a time, devouring each with complete concentration.
I hope I can keep this momentum going.
Right now, I’m working my way through the Drunk Lit Book Club‘s first selection: The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. I hope those of you participating have been able to locate a copy. I am enjoying this book immensely, simply because I love character studies (I’m not sure what the technical term is), and love books that conglomerate the narratives of several different characters at once. Arthur’s story pulled at my chest in a way many authors often fail to do. Hardy’s story makes me want to shake her and scream for perpetuating every unbelievably accurate stereotype of an intelligent woman who chooses to settle with a deadbeat rather than face the world alone. I’ll leave further commentary to the comments section of the June 2010 Book Club Selection Page, because I don’t want to spoil anything for those of you who have just begun the book. Curious, though: as anyone tried “The Journalist” drink, yet?
All right, I’m off to read.
