ta-da......!
It's funny, its only been 10 days since I updated, but it feels like a month or so. I guess that's the effect traveling has on a person.
I suppose there are a million little (& slightly bigger) things that I could be writing about, but I think it would take much too much time and energy to untangle them all from the depths of my presently numb brain. I think I'm in a marinating state right now. So instead, I think I'll distract myself and write about minor details at random.
I ordered a suitcase today. It's red. Like my rainboots!
Yesterday I got up at the asscrack of dawn to go vote in the primaries with my parents. A family friend of ours is running for governor. My dad had asked me if I wanted to work on her campaign, and I was going to say yes and then found out she was Republican. Surprise surprise. I guess as far as Republicans in Alaska go, she's not half bad, and is a much better alternative to the other schmucks who were running. Buuuut she is a lifelong member of the NRA, and pro-life. Eek. Anyhoooo, I'm registered as a Democrat so she didn't even show up on my ballot. Not that she needed my vote, since she won the Repub. primary anyway. Whatever.
Have picked up Fitzgerald's "The Crack-Up" once more, and am loving every word of it. I think that this is another one of those books that just seems to have been written with me in mind, although I realize that that sounds a bit ridiculous. I just feel like the fabric of my being is in this book, I mean I really don't know how to say it without being so utterly cheesy - most of the time I'll read something and understand it and appreciate it, but for the most part it's more or less on a surface level. But with Fitzgerald, and especially "The Crack-Up," I'm reading it the same way I read other books but I feel the texture and the nuances, I get his phrasing and placement of words in sentances. I felt the same way about Goncharov's "Oblomov" as well.
Oh and I finished "Cat's Cradle" on the plane ride over. That was a trip.
Newt remained curled in the chair. He held out his painty hands as though a cat's cradle were strung between them. "No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's..."
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle."
Will be in Paris in two weeks' time. Bizarre.
I suppose there are a million little (& slightly bigger) things that I could be writing about, but I think it would take much too much time and energy to untangle them all from the depths of my presently numb brain. I think I'm in a marinating state right now. So instead, I think I'll distract myself and write about minor details at random.
I ordered a suitcase today. It's red. Like my rainboots!
Yesterday I got up at the asscrack of dawn to go vote in the primaries with my parents. A family friend of ours is running for governor. My dad had asked me if I wanted to work on her campaign, and I was going to say yes and then found out she was Republican. Surprise surprise. I guess as far as Republicans in Alaska go, she's not half bad, and is a much better alternative to the other schmucks who were running. Buuuut she is a lifelong member of the NRA, and pro-life. Eek. Anyhoooo, I'm registered as a Democrat so she didn't even show up on my ballot. Not that she needed my vote, since she won the Repub. primary anyway. Whatever.
Have picked up Fitzgerald's "The Crack-Up" once more, and am loving every word of it. I think that this is another one of those books that just seems to have been written with me in mind, although I realize that that sounds a bit ridiculous. I just feel like the fabric of my being is in this book, I mean I really don't know how to say it without being so utterly cheesy - most of the time I'll read something and understand it and appreciate it, but for the most part it's more or less on a surface level. But with Fitzgerald, and especially "The Crack-Up," I'm reading it the same way I read other books but I feel the texture and the nuances, I get his phrasing and placement of words in sentances. I felt the same way about Goncharov's "Oblomov" as well.
Oh and I finished "Cat's Cradle" on the plane ride over. That was a trip.
Newt remained curled in the chair. He held out his painty hands as though a cat's cradle were strung between them. "No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's..."
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle."
Will be in Paris in two weeks' time. Bizarre.
posted by Deb Oh at 4:57 AM
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