Dec. 31, the end of the 2009. The end of the decade to boot. I wish I had the energy (and time) to do a proper rundown of the past 10 years - it would also require me to be in the proper reflective mood, which I'm not this morning - but suffice to say it's been a largely wonderful, eventful and important decade for me. It involved my first (and still to-date only) "shacking up" relationship, as well as an extremely difficult dissolution partway through the 2000s. I changed careers, which was of course a momentous (and successful) decision. I travelled to a few destinations: England, Ireland, Spain, Portugal, Japan, Argentina, not to mention visiting my favourite cities on a few occasions: London (England), NYC, Montreal. The love life was active after the break-up: I dated a number of different (and mostly terrific) women, had a one-night stand, and, as the decade draws to a close, found myself involved in what is probably the best romantic relationship of my life (with the lovely A.).
There have been some significant "downs," to be sure - the aforementioned break with M., which still haunts me from time to time (that's a whole other blog post), the constant mental battle I have of living a life that's "right and proper" (ie., kids, a mortgage, the white picket fence) versus one of my own making (and that tends to be disparaged, even by myself!) - but I feel mostly good and happy about where I am in my life. I really do feel I'm getting better as I get older.
This past year didn't involve any life-altering events. Well, unless you include a milestone birthday (ie., one that ends with the number zero), which I initially struggled with a few months before the actual b-day. In the end, it passed rather innocuously (and, thankfully, in NYC; it was a real treat to be eating a pie at John's Pizzeria in Greenwich Village on the afternoon of my birthday). But overall, the year was more marked by "steady as she goes." The highlights revolved, of course, around our various travels. Our two weeks in Argentina this fall, where we enjoyed much tasty food and wine and general fun and frivolity (particularly in Buenos Aires, which is now high up on my cities to revisit), were glorious. As well as a wonderful week at Sandbacks in the fall and a long weekend earlier in the year to do some serious snow shoeing. (That was a great discovery: how much I love to snow shoe! I'm actually looking forward to the first big snow dump of the winter to indulge.) It was also a generally good year for my body and health: no serious illnesses, thankfully, and I managed to keep up a fairly regular running schedule from early spring to early fall (after which it dropped off because of travel and time constraints, although I'm back up to running at least three times a week; that will go up in Jan. when I join the gym and can indoors). 2009 was also the year of the "big book" and of re-reading. Big books included Anna Karenina and Bolano's stupendous 2666, and re-reads included Roth's first Zuckerman books and Bolano's The Savage Detectives. I'm (hopefully) going to continue both trends in 2010. I have War and Peace awaiting, and I'd like to re-read some Haruki Murakami. My reading habits have improved considerably over the past year or so, for which I can thank my friend M. He's helped to rekindle my passion for reading, which had been somewhat dormant in the mid-2000s.
Not all is cookies and cream, of course. For one, there are still some lingering work issues involving my status (still on contract, still not making as much money as my colleagues, etc.), but I'm largely content with the job. Seemingly in comparison to many of my friends who can't stand their work: while out with D. last night for drinks, he said, "Aside from you, I don't know anybody that likes their job." And I'm disappointed in my lack of writing over the last year, whether it's here on this blog or in my journal or other endeavours. (I did manage to publish some of my work this year, however: some paid freelance pieces, as well as some work- and research-related articles, which are important to my career.) That's one of my "resolutions" (as much as I hate that word) for 2010: to better carve out time (which mostly means making better use of my time, which mostly means not procrastinating as much) and energy to write more. I'm setting a goal of getting a "creative" piece published in the next two years - wish me luck!
So I feel like the year is ending on a good and positive note, which I hope to carry through to 2010. Happy New Year to you all!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
So this is Christmas
Indeed, only two days until Christmas. I've been off work since Friday, and while I love the two-week break afforded by the holidays, I'm not feeling particularly festive this year. Admittedly I haven't made much of an effort to decorate the apartment: I did dig out the xmas ornaments and requisite CDs (Charlie Brown Christmas, A Big Band Christmas, the great holiday album by Barenaked Ladies, etc.) and hung up the stockings (one for me, the other belonging to my cat), but I still haven't been infested with holiday cheer. (I also didn't end up doing much with the ornaments as I didn't end up buying a tree.) Perhaps I'll feel different in the next couple of days when things truly slow down and I get to spend some quality time with the lovely A. (Last year we spent the four days before the 25th in Washington, DC, which was great fun.) She's been super-busy with work - namely wrapping a job up and starting a new(ish) venture in the new year - so we haven't been able to indulge too much in each other's company. We did, however, see Handel's Messiah on Monday night, and we're off to The Nutcracker this afternoon, so it's not like we're not trying to get into the holiday spirit!
All that being said, it's a welcome relief to not have to drag my ass to work until the new year. It's been an arduous couple of months on the job - thankfully nothing unpleasant, just a heavy workload. It's one reason for the paucity of posts on here - I'm just too damn bagged when I get home to do anything other than make dinner and vegetate. (I've been watching a lot of the Toronto Raptors too, although that's been more aggravating than relaxing...) So I'm using this downtime to indulge in some serious ... well, downtime. I've already been reading like a fiend: began and finished the fascinating A Terrible Splendor, polished off Roth's middling and slight (but still readable) The Humbling in two sittings, as well as getting to some short stories from The New Yorker - including works from some "big name" authors such as DeLillo, McEwan and David Foster Wallace - that I had put aside when I had more leisure time to fully engage with the stories. And although The Humbling was a mild disappointment (not a huge one though I had low expectations going in), it has led me to pick Roth's Sabbath's Theater, which the recent novel has been compared to - and which many people feel is Roth's masterwork. So I'll be reading that over the next few days, after which I may finally begin my winter reading project: Tolstoy's War and Peace. Wish me luck.
Watch this space for a 2009 wrap-up, and some thoughts on the coming year.
All that being said, it's a welcome relief to not have to drag my ass to work until the new year. It's been an arduous couple of months on the job - thankfully nothing unpleasant, just a heavy workload. It's one reason for the paucity of posts on here - I'm just too damn bagged when I get home to do anything other than make dinner and vegetate. (I've been watching a lot of the Toronto Raptors too, although that's been more aggravating than relaxing...) So I'm using this downtime to indulge in some serious ... well, downtime. I've already been reading like a fiend: began and finished the fascinating A Terrible Splendor, polished off Roth's middling and slight (but still readable) The Humbling in two sittings, as well as getting to some short stories from The New Yorker - including works from some "big name" authors such as DeLillo, McEwan and David Foster Wallace - that I had put aside when I had more leisure time to fully engage with the stories. And although The Humbling was a mild disappointment (not a huge one though I had low expectations going in), it has led me to pick Roth's Sabbath's Theater, which the recent novel has been compared to - and which many people feel is Roth's masterwork. So I'll be reading that over the next few days, after which I may finally begin my winter reading project: Tolstoy's War and Peace. Wish me luck.
Watch this space for a 2009 wrap-up, and some thoughts on the coming year.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
writing and moods
So it's been a while since I posted. I haven't been overly busy - I had a couple of tight deadlines to meet at work, for sure, but since I hardly ever write when at work, I can't use that as an excuse - but I haven't had the requisite energy to put together a decent blog post during the evening hours. I also chalk it up to my mood: the frequency of my posts tends to go up when I'm in a more depressed state of mind, or at least when I'm going through some extreme emotions. My life right now, however, is rather dull. In a good way, thankfully. No high drama, no histrionics, but more tranquil satisfaction. It's a nice headspace that seems to suit me, at least for the time being.
It hasn't always been like that. In fact, I've just spent the better part of 45 minutes poking through my external hard drive and re-reading some blog writing from my past. (I was in search of my favourite post that I wanted to pass on to a friend of mine who never read the blog.) For those that don't know, I've had about four different blogs over the years, with my original 2005 Procrastination Nation blog standing as perhaps my finest of all. I certainly had more energy back then for writing, but that's directly related to my emotional state at the time: I was going through a serious break-up, and then re-entering the dating world. Is it any wonder I had a lot on my mind to share? (I was also probably more into sharing back then. I've become more gun shy about revealing too much of me on the web.)
In some ways I miss having that energy and will to write and share my life - I'm proud to say it was a popular site - although I don't necessarily miss the turmoil that accompanied it. I'm better off in 2009 than I was in 2005. I'm happier, and more importantly I'm more content. Still, it's nice to revisit some of those old posts. For those that are interested, this is the kind of stuff I was writing:
At work the other day, I was reminded of a scene from Carol Shields’ The Stone Diaries. I don’t actually remember much about the book – I think I enjoyed it, but it doesn’t resonate. (Her last novel, Unless, left a greater impact, probably because a big chunk of it took place in Toronto.) But what I do remember is the two pages or so where the narrator, Daisy, lists all the things that she’s never done in her life. (I don’t have the book in the house to list them all, but I do remember one of the things she listed was oral sex.) From what I recall, she doesn’t register judgement on those things she’s missed out on, but simply notes them impassionately.
I’m in the mood to undertake a similar exercise. I’ll make two lists: the things that I’ve done that might be somewhat out of the ordinary (or at least memorable for me), and those that I’ve not done or accomplished. In some cases, I’ll provide a small explanation.
Things that I’ve done:
Held an Oscar; won three tennis tournaments; given multiple orgasms (or so I was told…); broken both my wrists (the right one one year, the left one the next); torn my rotator cuff in a bike accident; won a broadcast award in university; published approximately 400 articles (many of questionable quality); flown over the date line; paid for porn in a Japanese hotel; cheated on a partner (only once, and to my shame); spent New Year’s Eve alone; spent my birthday alone (and worried that I’ll be doing that this year); “made out” with a girl when I was 8 years old; travelled to almost every major American city; flown first class; finished in the top ten in scoring one year in hockey (when I was 10; I finished eighth); assisted on a championship-winning goal; thrown up from too much booze on someone else’s carpet; shot, processed and developed my own black and white photos; been hit in the balls with a tennis ball while playing goal in a street hockey game; hit someone in the balls with a slap shot in a street hockey game; cried at the end of the film Fields of Dream (it’s the whole “father-son” thing); had three one-night stands.
Things I haven't done:
Gone bungee jumping or sky diving; had a threesome; read Moby Dick, War and Peace or Ulysses; gone skinny dipping; made a woman pregnant (at least as far as I know); had anal sex; travelled to India, New Zealand or Argentina (three places I’d like to visit); used any drug harder than hash; seen a dead person at an open-casket funeral.
--
Re-reading this, I wonder if this was a draft. After all, the list of things I haven't done seems awfully small! More important, I can actually cross three things off the list and add them to things I've accomplished (travelling to Argentina is one; I'll allow others to speculate on the other two). Also, maybe it's time to get back to that type of confessional writing. Of course it won't be that scandalous: after all, nobody's here reading!
It hasn't always been like that. In fact, I've just spent the better part of 45 minutes poking through my external hard drive and re-reading some blog writing from my past. (I was in search of my favourite post that I wanted to pass on to a friend of mine who never read the blog.) For those that don't know, I've had about four different blogs over the years, with my original 2005 Procrastination Nation blog standing as perhaps my finest of all. I certainly had more energy back then for writing, but that's directly related to my emotional state at the time: I was going through a serious break-up, and then re-entering the dating world. Is it any wonder I had a lot on my mind to share? (I was also probably more into sharing back then. I've become more gun shy about revealing too much of me on the web.)
In some ways I miss having that energy and will to write and share my life - I'm proud to say it was a popular site - although I don't necessarily miss the turmoil that accompanied it. I'm better off in 2009 than I was in 2005. I'm happier, and more importantly I'm more content. Still, it's nice to revisit some of those old posts. For those that are interested, this is the kind of stuff I was writing:
At work the other day, I was reminded of a scene from Carol Shields’ The Stone Diaries. I don’t actually remember much about the book – I think I enjoyed it, but it doesn’t resonate. (Her last novel, Unless, left a greater impact, probably because a big chunk of it took place in Toronto.) But what I do remember is the two pages or so where the narrator, Daisy, lists all the things that she’s never done in her life. (I don’t have the book in the house to list them all, but I do remember one of the things she listed was oral sex.) From what I recall, she doesn’t register judgement on those things she’s missed out on, but simply notes them impassionately.
I’m in the mood to undertake a similar exercise. I’ll make two lists: the things that I’ve done that might be somewhat out of the ordinary (or at least memorable for me), and those that I’ve not done or accomplished. In some cases, I’ll provide a small explanation.
Things that I’ve done:
Held an Oscar; won three tennis tournaments; given multiple orgasms (or so I was told…); broken both my wrists (the right one one year, the left one the next); torn my rotator cuff in a bike accident; won a broadcast award in university; published approximately 400 articles (many of questionable quality); flown over the date line; paid for porn in a Japanese hotel; cheated on a partner (only once, and to my shame); spent New Year’s Eve alone; spent my birthday alone (and worried that I’ll be doing that this year); “made out” with a girl when I was 8 years old; travelled to almost every major American city; flown first class; finished in the top ten in scoring one year in hockey (when I was 10; I finished eighth); assisted on a championship-winning goal; thrown up from too much booze on someone else’s carpet; shot, processed and developed my own black and white photos; been hit in the balls with a tennis ball while playing goal in a street hockey game; hit someone in the balls with a slap shot in a street hockey game; cried at the end of the film Fields of Dream (it’s the whole “father-son” thing); had three one-night stands.
Things I haven't done:
Gone bungee jumping or sky diving; had a threesome; read Moby Dick, War and Peace or Ulysses; gone skinny dipping; made a woman pregnant (at least as far as I know); had anal sex; travelled to India, New Zealand or Argentina (three places I’d like to visit); used any drug harder than hash; seen a dead person at an open-casket funeral.
--
Re-reading this, I wonder if this was a draft. After all, the list of things I haven't done seems awfully small! More important, I can actually cross three things off the list and add them to things I've accomplished (travelling to Argentina is one; I'll allow others to speculate on the other two). Also, maybe it's time to get back to that type of confessional writing. Of course it won't be that scandalous: after all, nobody's here reading!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Revisiting, reevaluating
There are two themes to my reading this year. The first is that I've been reading a lot of "big" books. That was especially true early in 2009 when I read Roberto Bolano's 2666 and Tolstoy's (no first name necessary) Anna Karenina, pretty much back to back. I used to joke that I have the attention span of a gnat (without knowing, of course, if a gnat indeed has a limited attention span; but it sounded good), and that I was never much good at reading anything above, say, 300 pages. Although I've read large-ish tomes in the past - Norman Mailer's Executioner's Song comes to mind (all 1000 pages or so of it!), and as a teen I read Stephen King's massive It (it was a b-day gift from my parents, who figured because I enjoyed reading that I'd like the book that was #1 on the best-seller's list that year) - I tend toward more manageable works. You know, the ones around 200 to 250 pages.
I expanded my horizons this year though and pulled off the shelf some larger works. Bolano's 2666 was a no-brainer. Since devouring his Savage Detectives (yes, it's a long novel!) during the 2007 xmas season, I was hooked on the guy's work. I bought 2666 (at my local bookstore - remember to support your local book shop) about a week after it was released, with the intent of saving it for the 2008 xmas season when I had two full weeks off to devote to nothing more than reading and loafing (two of my fave activities). What a joy it was to spend time in Bolano's world for approximately 950 pages. (I can't fact check the exact page count; I've lent the book to a friend.) And reading Anna Karenina ... well, what could I possibly add to the far-more intelligent insights already out there on the novel? As I've said many times since: "That Anna Karenina, I think it's a classic."
Which brings me to the second theme of my reading year: re-reading. After I finished 2666, and after reading an article (sorry I can't link to it since I don't remember where I saw it) that suggested a clue to the 2666 title could be found toward the end of Savage Detectives, I decided to re-read Savage. Although I consider myself a somewhat-serious reader, I've never been one to re-read a work. My argument? There are far too many books to read once, so why bother picking up something I've already finished?
Upon reflection, and as I continue to read for the second time the wonderful first Zuckerman trilogy (+ the final Zuckerman book, Exit Ghost, which I'm about halfway through) by Philip Roth, I realize how shortsighted this "no re-read" strategy is. The Zuckerman books mean so much more to me now than they did on my first read over 10 years ago. For one, I'm in a better space to better understand the works - I have more life experience (I almost used the word "maturity," but fear it might be a misuse of that word...), for one, and I'm far-more self-reflective. The novels speak to me in ways they couldn't when I first read them while in my early 20s. The reading experience is totally different - it's more fulfilling in so many ways.
All hail to the re-read!
I expanded my horizons this year though and pulled off the shelf some larger works. Bolano's 2666 was a no-brainer. Since devouring his Savage Detectives (yes, it's a long novel!) during the 2007 xmas season, I was hooked on the guy's work. I bought 2666 (at my local bookstore - remember to support your local book shop) about a week after it was released, with the intent of saving it for the 2008 xmas season when I had two full weeks off to devote to nothing more than reading and loafing (two of my fave activities). What a joy it was to spend time in Bolano's world for approximately 950 pages. (I can't fact check the exact page count; I've lent the book to a friend.) And reading Anna Karenina ... well, what could I possibly add to the far-more intelligent insights already out there on the novel? As I've said many times since: "That Anna Karenina, I think it's a classic."
Which brings me to the second theme of my reading year: re-reading. After I finished 2666, and after reading an article (sorry I can't link to it since I don't remember where I saw it) that suggested a clue to the 2666 title could be found toward the end of Savage Detectives, I decided to re-read Savage. Although I consider myself a somewhat-serious reader, I've never been one to re-read a work. My argument? There are far too many books to read once, so why bother picking up something I've already finished?
Upon reflection, and as I continue to read for the second time the wonderful first Zuckerman trilogy (+ the final Zuckerman book, Exit Ghost, which I'm about halfway through) by Philip Roth, I realize how shortsighted this "no re-read" strategy is. The Zuckerman books mean so much more to me now than they did on my first read over 10 years ago. For one, I'm in a better space to better understand the works - I have more life experience (I almost used the word "maturity," but fear it might be a misuse of that word...), for one, and I'm far-more self-reflective. The novels speak to me in ways they couldn't when I first read them while in my early 20s. The reading experience is totally different - it's more fulfilling in so many ways.
All hail to the re-read!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Thoughts on, among other things, poetry
From Nicholson Baker's The Anthologist:
Tim leaned forward. "I work away at this book, and I describe how the Queen oversaw this huge system of plunder and destruction that wrecked people's lives all over the globe, and I've raked together all this knowledge, and I enjoy doing it because I feel I'm getting at the truth-"
I nodded.
"But it means so much less to me," Tim went on, "than if I were sitting on a couch talking to a woman of grace and intelligence who was wearing an attractive sweater."
*****
This passage is a nice summation of my own thinking. That, on one hand, I love the idea of the life of the intellectual - pursuing knowledge for knowledge's sake, to mine books and other sources to reveal a new truth, some new understanding about the world, about ourselves, about me. Yet, all that pales in comparison to just hanging out with a wonderful woman on an autumn evening, an open bottle of wine at the ready, to share stories of our respective days, trade tales of our lives lived, revealing our secrets and passions. Can this same level of intimacy be found within the covers of a book?
That said, I finished the Baker novel a few days ago. Sure, it was somewhat slight - more a novella, and without much narrative thrust - but still great fun. I haven't read a Baker novel for many years - the last was most likely The Fermeta, at least ten years ago. (And who can forget his classic "phone sex" novel Vox, which I read at a necessary time in my life: when I was single and going through a dating drought.) I was reminded, reading The Anthologist, how funny he can be. Some of his throwaway lines had me laughing aloud with delight. Also, it's fairly difficult to dislike a book that is so passionate about poetry.
I have an interesting relationship with poetry. For years, I never really "got" it. It seemed impenetrable, or a form of language that was beyond my understanding, like hieroglyphics. (I certainly was quite lousy writing it as well!) Still, I've flirted with poetry at various times: I went through an ee cummings phase when I was in my last year of undergrad (I used a poem to help woo a woman, which was quite wonderful). And then I read some Rilke after reading the wonderful Letters to a Young Writer. Even music lyrics, which many say is our first exposure to poetry, didn't draw me in. I love listening to the rhythm of lyrics, but I never really read them. But it's only in the last few years, and largely through my work, that I've started to really make sense of poetry. My mind can now better decipher the language of poetry, that I'm more attuned to it. I now buy the occasional book of poetry (most recent purchase: Don McKay's Night Vision) and even dabble with it in my journal (although I'm still a terrible poet). Still, despite this newfound appreciation and understanding, it's doubtful you'll find me at a poetry reading anytime soon. I'm not sure I'm ready to take that leap.
In other news, I'm off to Montreal later this week, ostensibly for a meeting, but mostly to bum around for a few days. I was born in la belle province and lived there for many years. Even though it doesn't feel like I'm going "home" when I venture to Montreal - my life is decidedly in Toronto - it does feel like a return to my roots. (I still have a few friends there as well.) It's also been ages since I took the train, so that should be fun too (despite the inevitable delays).
Tim leaned forward. "I work away at this book, and I describe how the Queen oversaw this huge system of plunder and destruction that wrecked people's lives all over the globe, and I've raked together all this knowledge, and I enjoy doing it because I feel I'm getting at the truth-"
I nodded.
"But it means so much less to me," Tim went on, "than if I were sitting on a couch talking to a woman of grace and intelligence who was wearing an attractive sweater."
*****
This passage is a nice summation of my own thinking. That, on one hand, I love the idea of the life of the intellectual - pursuing knowledge for knowledge's sake, to mine books and other sources to reveal a new truth, some new understanding about the world, about ourselves, about me. Yet, all that pales in comparison to just hanging out with a wonderful woman on an autumn evening, an open bottle of wine at the ready, to share stories of our respective days, trade tales of our lives lived, revealing our secrets and passions. Can this same level of intimacy be found within the covers of a book?
That said, I finished the Baker novel a few days ago. Sure, it was somewhat slight - more a novella, and without much narrative thrust - but still great fun. I haven't read a Baker novel for many years - the last was most likely The Fermeta, at least ten years ago. (And who can forget his classic "phone sex" novel Vox, which I read at a necessary time in my life: when I was single and going through a dating drought.) I was reminded, reading The Anthologist, how funny he can be. Some of his throwaway lines had me laughing aloud with delight. Also, it's fairly difficult to dislike a book that is so passionate about poetry.
I have an interesting relationship with poetry. For years, I never really "got" it. It seemed impenetrable, or a form of language that was beyond my understanding, like hieroglyphics. (I certainly was quite lousy writing it as well!) Still, I've flirted with poetry at various times: I went through an ee cummings phase when I was in my last year of undergrad (I used a poem to help woo a woman, which was quite wonderful). And then I read some Rilke after reading the wonderful Letters to a Young Writer. Even music lyrics, which many say is our first exposure to poetry, didn't draw me in. I love listening to the rhythm of lyrics, but I never really read them. But it's only in the last few years, and largely through my work, that I've started to really make sense of poetry. My mind can now better decipher the language of poetry, that I'm more attuned to it. I now buy the occasional book of poetry (most recent purchase: Don McKay's Night Vision) and even dabble with it in my journal (although I'm still a terrible poet). Still, despite this newfound appreciation and understanding, it's doubtful you'll find me at a poetry reading anytime soon. I'm not sure I'm ready to take that leap.
In other news, I'm off to Montreal later this week, ostensibly for a meeting, but mostly to bum around for a few days. I was born in la belle province and lived there for many years. Even though it doesn't feel like I'm going "home" when I venture to Montreal - my life is decidedly in Toronto - it does feel like a return to my roots. (I still have a few friends there as well.) It's also been ages since I took the train, so that should be fun too (despite the inevitable delays).
Monday, November 2, 2009
the return
(Photo taken during a trip through the Andes.)
So I'm back - been home for a week, actually, but it's taken me much of that time to readjust back to a routine. Thankfully, the two-week vacation felt like a long two weeks, which I take as a sign that it was a restful respite. For those curious: yes, do put Argentina on your list of places to visit. (Do others create those lists? Argentina was long on mine. Other locales still on that list: Brazil, South Korea, New Zealand, Greece.) It's a wonderful country, one I'm sure I'll be revisiting in the next decade or so as there's just way too much to see in two weeks. I felt we barely scratched the surface, although that's largely because we decided we didn't want to be on the move too much. As a result, we stayed a full week in Buenos Aires (in a fantastic studio apartment to boot in a great neighbourhood), after which we made our made to the Mendoza region. Anyway I don't want this to be a travelogue - I've already bored enough people with tales of our trip.
Whenever I'm travelling, I always vow to change some of my habits and routines upon return. I try to set achievable goals, usually revolving around making better use of my free (ie., non-work) time. When I travel, I tend to take note of how others live. In Argentina (in fact, in most places I've visited outside of North America), there seems to be greater emphasis on socializing (or reading or whatever) over coffee at a cafe. I love cafe culture: the social part, sure, when I'm with a friend, but I also love to carve out time by myself, lingering over a coffee or beer with a book or a journal. It's something I tended to do much more when I was in my early 20s and living alone for the first time in the city. Sadly, it's also something I've got away from over the past few years. I can't even pinpoint a reason - maybe it's because there sometimes seems to be too much demand on my time that I seek out solitude within the confines of my apartment instead. (Not to mention that I've been running more after work rather than in the mornings, although with the time change this weekend it should be easier - and brighter! - to hit the streets and the park in the a.m.) I want to get back to that "me" from my early 20s. It shouldn't be too difficult: a quick walk to a local cafe or bar after work, with book and journal in my (new leather, bought in a Buenos Aires market!) bag is an easy task. I'll let you know how I progress.
Speaking of books, read the new Bolano, The Skating Rink, while in Argentina, which was short and wonderful. Also re-read Philip Roth's The Ghost Writer, part of my plan to re-read the first Zuckerman trilogy. (I ploughed through Zuckerman Unbound last week. I'm going to read couple of new books, Nicholson Baker's The Anthologist and Atwood's Year of the Flood, before I tackle The Anatomy Lesson.) I'm going to write about re-reading in another post since my experience with The Ghost Writer was quite different this time around than first reading it about 15 years ago. It's about being a new level of life and maturity to the work.
Friday, October 9, 2009
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