noinch, noinch, noinch
So I had a pseudo-intellectual dream last night.
I mean usually I can't even remember my dreams, let alone remember being coherent in them. But I distinctly remember talking to someone about Nietzsche and "On the Geneology of Morality," which is so random and bizarre. Then I woke up, facing my bookshelf, and staring me in the face is "On the Geneology of Morality." So the most logical question that comes to mind is:
Are my books talking to me in my sleep? Maybe reading themselves out loud? In a faux British accent, as I so love to do whenever I myself am reading out loud?
Maybe tonight I'll dream about Brian Greene's "The Fabric of the Cosmos." (Fat chance.)
But now that we're on the topic of my bookshelf - or at least, now that I'm glancing at it sitting several feet away from my laptop - something that Elena said the other night when she was over comes to mind.
I have a really funky assortment of reading material.
That's not verbatim - she said something a little more normal, but it basically translates to the same thing. I mean, there's no consistency in what I read, you know? I'm not philosophy-heavy or chick lit-heavy or mystery-heavy. Here's an example:
(Since I've alphabetized my mini bookshelf, it makes things all the more interesting.) Cornel West "Democracy Matters" sits next to "The Devil Wears Prada" which sits under Andrew Marvell's "Complete Poetry," Pushkin, "The Nanny Diaries," and Nietzsche, all of which sit under a travel guide to Paris, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Gourevitch and Brian Greene; these books then sit under a Miles Davis autobiography, Dave Eggers, Colette, etc.
But I guess my random funky assortment is rather fitting, since I'm kind of a random person anyway. Come to think of it, a picture of my little bookshelf is really worth a thousand words, since it says more about me than I could ever explain. And also, since all the books on it are the chosen ones, i.e. the ones that really mean something to me, my little bookshelf is like.....for lack of a non-kitschy saying, a window to my soul.
Ugh, I promise to never use that phrase again, I'm breaking out in hives from being so cheesy.
Anyway, the point of this story is to say that everyone should have a little bookshelf of books that they love. That way everyone could just glance at everyone else's bookshelves and know the other person in less than 10 seconds.
And we could just exterminate the generic "So have you read any good books recently?" part of small talk. Killing two birds with one stone.
On another note, I've been considering the idea of taking up Taekwondo again.
On another note, watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party and was inspired not only by the performances (which were fucking amazing) but by the sense of community between the performers - it's like a throwback to the 50's when Davis, Dizzy, Bird, and all of the other heavyhitters & yet-to-be heavyhitters were just jamming and working off of each other, absorbing each other. Musical community. Seemed like such an archaic notion until I watched this dvd. And also, Mos Def: Yeeeeeeow.
Cari called me the other day, allllllll the way from Texas. We talked about our road trip which is going down next May. I'm so exciiiited. So far the plan is to fly out to California, start from San Fransisco, make a pit stop in Portland and stay at Liz's place, stop at Seattle, then drive up through Canada and into Alaska until we get to my place.
I figure, since I'm not the Cancun/SPRING BREAAAAAK!!!!!/Tijuana type, a roadtrip is the next "college" thing to do. And I'm genuinely excited to for it. Which probably explains why we're planning a year in advance.
Huzzah!
I mean usually I can't even remember my dreams, let alone remember being coherent in them. But I distinctly remember talking to someone about Nietzsche and "On the Geneology of Morality," which is so random and bizarre. Then I woke up, facing my bookshelf, and staring me in the face is "On the Geneology of Morality." So the most logical question that comes to mind is:
Are my books talking to me in my sleep? Maybe reading themselves out loud? In a faux British accent, as I so love to do whenever I myself am reading out loud?
Maybe tonight I'll dream about Brian Greene's "The Fabric of the Cosmos." (Fat chance.)
But now that we're on the topic of my bookshelf - or at least, now that I'm glancing at it sitting several feet away from my laptop - something that Elena said the other night when she was over comes to mind.
I have a really funky assortment of reading material.
That's not verbatim - she said something a little more normal, but it basically translates to the same thing. I mean, there's no consistency in what I read, you know? I'm not philosophy-heavy or chick lit-heavy or mystery-heavy. Here's an example:
(Since I've alphabetized my mini bookshelf, it makes things all the more interesting.) Cornel West "Democracy Matters" sits next to "The Devil Wears Prada" which sits under Andrew Marvell's "Complete Poetry," Pushkin, "The Nanny Diaries," and Nietzsche, all of which sit under a travel guide to Paris, Allen Ginsberg, Philip Gourevitch and Brian Greene; these books then sit under a Miles Davis autobiography, Dave Eggers, Colette, etc.
But I guess my random funky assortment is rather fitting, since I'm kind of a random person anyway. Come to think of it, a picture of my little bookshelf is really worth a thousand words, since it says more about me than I could ever explain. And also, since all the books on it are the chosen ones, i.e. the ones that really mean something to me, my little bookshelf is like.....for lack of a non-kitschy saying, a window to my soul.
Ugh, I promise to never use that phrase again, I'm breaking out in hives from being so cheesy.
Anyway, the point of this story is to say that everyone should have a little bookshelf of books that they love. That way everyone could just glance at everyone else's bookshelves and know the other person in less than 10 seconds.
And we could just exterminate the generic "So have you read any good books recently?" part of small talk. Killing two birds with one stone.
On another note, I've been considering the idea of taking up Taekwondo again.
On another note, watched Dave Chappelle's Block Party and was inspired not only by the performances (which were fucking amazing) but by the sense of community between the performers - it's like a throwback to the 50's when Davis, Dizzy, Bird, and all of the other heavyhitters & yet-to-be heavyhitters were just jamming and working off of each other, absorbing each other. Musical community. Seemed like such an archaic notion until I watched this dvd. And also, Mos Def: Yeeeeeeow.
Cari called me the other day, allllllll the way from Texas. We talked about our road trip which is going down next May. I'm so exciiiited. So far the plan is to fly out to California, start from San Fransisco, make a pit stop in Portland and stay at Liz's place, stop at Seattle, then drive up through Canada and into Alaska until we get to my place.
I figure, since I'm not the Cancun/SPRING BREAAAAAK!!!!!/Tijuana type, a roadtrip is the next "college" thing to do. And I'm genuinely excited to for it. Which probably explains why we're planning a year in advance.
Huzzah!
posted by Deb Oh at 1:49 PM
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