Tuesday, February 28, 2006

The Works, Please, With A Side Order Of Common Sense.

Tonight while waiting outside of my building for the firemen to let me (and a lot of fellow neighbors returning home from work/class) in, a neighbor turned to who was possibly his girlfriend and said, "Monk at 9:00." Somehow though, I was still surprised when I turned my head and saw a monk walk by, and a friendly one at that! He waved and said hello, which was nice, especially considering the heavy rain and wind and the fact that our building had been on fire and we were not allowed in.

Later, Adam and I had dinner at The Original Mel's Diner and afterwards we went book shopping. Have you, too, noticed that chain bookstores smell the same? This seems a little mysterious. I expect a particular fast food chain to have a similar smell at different locations, but bookstores? I'm not even exactly sure what I'm smelling. While I was there I looked at:

52 Projects (somewhat disappointing)
How to Build Birdhouses (nice!)
Film Comment (which seemed, um, cinematically speaking, a bit over my head)
The World of Interiors (featured a spread on the director of the National Gallery's house, and in particular, a shot of a no-longer-in-use kitchen fireplace that had an eighteenth century gravestone resting against it!)
Classy Treats For Two (placed under the clearance rack for one dollar and I put it back on the shelf. What an awful mistake.)

After awhile I started to feel headachey, and circled the store a few times trying to find Adam. For some reason, when I get separated from someone in a public place and can't find them when I want or need to, I instantly get panicky and think that they must've forgotten they were there with me and left and clearly I will now have to call a cab to take me home or something. This has never actually happened (and of course I wouldn't have to call a cab because the bookstore is just around the corner from our building), so I'm not sure what this fear is based on. I've never asked, but somehow I don't think other people worry about this sort of thing.

I think the theme of this entry is maybe: irrationality.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

To The Boys I Love

SmarterChild: Here's your Gemini horoscope for Saturday, February 25th, provided by Astrology.com:

Something's making a ruckus and trying to be heard -- and actually, it's you. Your innermost soul is crying out. There's a pressing issue you've been trying to ignore, and it needs to be addressed pronto.

So here it is:

Dickie, I love you so much. You take my breath away at the simple sight of you. You're the only person to have ever done that. You're amazing and unbelievable and don't ever let anybody tell you otherwise. You make my heart stop. You are there, beneath my skin and veins. We're going to know each other forever.

Richard, I don't know how we are going to get that long lost year back, but we will and we will work hard at it. Nobody knows me like you do, and nobody knows you like I do. There's something awfully special about that, and NOBODY loves you like I do. Nobody can. We are powerful; two of a kind. My heart pops, like busted tires on the fast line of the freeway at the thought of you. Under the bed will always be yours and mine.

Friday, February 17, 2006

So Where Have I Been?

Something it's taken me longer to realize than it maybe should have is that when the gaps grow a bit longer between conversations, it doesn't necessarily mean there will be more to talk about or catch up on. In such situations, the day-to-day stuff doesn't seem quite so worth mentioning (and also too impossible to mention) and if there isn't that, I guess I'm not sure what to else to say.

Monday, February 13, 2006

The Things You Can Learn Online.

So last night, instead of working on papers, I tried to make a list of all the homes of writers I've ever wanted to visit:

Vladimir Nabokov (TBA*)
Ernest Hemingway (Key West)
Sigmund Freud (London)
Victor Hugo (Paris)
Marcel Proust (TBA*)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Mansfield, MO)
Edgar Allen Poe (Philadelphia)
Mark Twain (Hannibal, MO & Hartford, CT)
Eugene Field (St. Louis)
Shakespeare (Stratford-upon-Avon)
Jane Austen (Bath)
Emily Dickinson (Amherst, MA)
John Keats (Rome)
Charles Dickens (London)

Also, speaking of authors' residences: is there any other sort of public figure whose homes we make into tourist destinations with the same sort of regularity? (All I can come up with is presidents.) So what made (and still makes) visiting these places so attractive? Think of the growing cult of the author in the nineteenth century and the increasing ability and desire to travel. Think of Wordsworth being hounded by fans knocking on the door of Dove Cottage asking for a look around. (They had just been so inspired by the poetry, they just needed to see the landscape for themselves, they said.) Think of Tennyson's anxiety about the domestication (and feminization, of course) of the author during this period, his discomfort with the author getting the reputation of being a homebody, his slew of poems about men needing to escape the home and establish themselves far outside the private sphere. Think of Godwin visiting Milton's house but also his grave in order to really appreciate him. Seriously, though, are you thinking? I mean: think, think think.

*Haven't quite figured out where their homes are or if they are even available for tour/visit

Saturday, February 4, 2006

It's Over, Though.

I enjoyed the walk today.

It seems that we've just spent over $50 on cupcakes.

Thursday, February 2, 2006

Sicky McSickerson

Feeling ill for the fourth day this week, I dragged my weak body to the Walgreens down the street for some heavily needed groceries (i.e. Fruit Loops, Chocolate syrup, Mrs. Field's cookies, etc.) and stopped by Half Price Books to find myself for the day.

And So I Read.

Despite at one point being predisposed to dislike the book due to a teenaged alliance with Holden Caulfield, I was somehow already in love with David Copperfield by page 53, and (what's even sappier) began to feel my eyes become slightly glossy when he was sent away from home, and again when he's forced to wear an embarrassing placard at school.

I should have purchased it. I hadn't realized it, until I walked through my kitchen, but we do not have that particular Dickens' book.