Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The Syncope, the In-Between
I’m sitting here trying to pronounce the word hh, a time dipthong, the death rattle. I’ve had this cold or flu bug for five days now and since it’s at the weird voice/annoying cough phase, my death rattle is coming out just dandy. Waking up mornings in a loopy Nyquil daze makes browsing the Interstitial Library an infinitely more tangible experience.
Adding to the confluence, or convergence, of all things, the Interstitial Library is comprised of books that have been disappeared, or have undergone deaccession. I think this library includes books repurposed as air-conditioner supports and redistributed on book swapping sites.
Recently someone installing more bookshelves for me suggested that I consider getting rid of a few books. Hah! I’ve told you how I feel about that. Books disintegrate. I own some so old they’re dissolving on the shelf. I just try not to trouble them, to move them too much. I can tell by their bloated bottom halves and peeling spines when they’ve been dropped in the tub, or left in the sun. Someone smart told me, “screw the wheel, in a book you know the world, the thoughts, can have a conversation with someone a thousand years ago. That’s an invention.” It’s true, read from The Pillow Book, and tell me that this lady’s writing, her observations and lists of things hateful, things charming, don’t hold up. How wonderful, really.
I’m coming to realize I fetishize not just my beautiful special books, but the messy ones with too many tears and dirty glue from mark-down stickers, fragile books whose covers hold on with barely more than static electricity. I like their smells and jaundice, and just knowing that the books would taste sour if you held them in your mouth. New books taste more like communion wafers.
One day I’ll decide which book I can’t part with, and have it made, all shallow empty “you’re job is to look pretty and say nothing”, into a handbag. I met Cailtin at an Etsy party, and love her “rebound” purses. To do this, I will have to buy a new book, or request one of her. It would never be possible for me to do this to a book I own, and therefore have a relationship with. That’s how it is for me.
For my treasured darlings, I have dreams for a magical day when I can have (that sounds like “i can has” but i only mean i will need to “have” it built because I suck at that stuff) magical fabulous bookshelves built into my stairs (in my fantasty brownstone, because we’re dreaming now).
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Japanamerica
Over winter break I got a delicious chance to read Japanamerica by Roland Kelts. This was shortly after New York magazine’s look book featured a high school girl who said, “A lot of it is influenced by Japanese street fashion.” Suddenly it was confluence, confluence everywhere. It’s stomping around in Cloverfield. It’s sitting under your desk all cute and cryptic.
Check out my review of Japanamerica: How Japanese Pop Culture Has Invaded the U.S. in The Brooklyn Rail’s Prose Roundup. Pick up a paper, or read it online.
Order your own copy
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Planet
My friend and co-conspirator Matthew Everett has a short piece in the online journal Cafe Irreal. It’s only a three minute read and well worth it. It relates to the planet of The Little Prince and makes a whole world in just four paragraphs.
Matthew is a second year fiction student, which translates into “fascinating genius, more well-read than you.” Sorry ladies, he’s taken.
I know because the first time I heard him read, we all clapped and I said to my seat-neighbor, wow he’s really great. She turned to me and said, yeah and he has an amazing girlfriend. This struck me as rather pointed until the next reader finished, a cute girl, also fantastic, also in my literature class. This time I was informed, yeah she’s in a really great committed relationship.
Class, this is what we call “projection.”
Even if to some I come off as an overenthusiastic bisexual looking for a date, the truth is quite the opposite. We’re all good friends now, even the informer.
You can love Matthew from afar if you catch him reading this Friday at The Lucky Cat in the next installment of Earshot.
I don’t just like Matthew because he plays the accordion to relax (equates the inhale/exhale to yoga or meditation) and dresses like a priest, but because he explained to me that he and his girlfriend prefer movies with “wizards and robots in them.” Then he elaborated in a very intelligent, funny way that I’m no good at reiterating.
A couple Friday nights ago I made a nice home-cooked dinner and we watched the director’s cut of Blade Runner. Ridley Scott and his unicorns, his robots, finally got beyond the primitive part of my brain that had always loved and accepted them. I’ve watched the original a hundred times since it was released, but the director’s cut let you experience and understand what was going on. That’s not to say it was clear, but that you as a viewer were trusted as an intelligent being.
Maybe it was the warm belly and wine, maybe I’ve been reading too much Beckett, but Blade Runner felt less blurry. Everything was right there, clear as a nightmare with a horrifyingly, intentionally slow pace.
And then my whole entire life was filled with meaning. Or actually what happened was, I realized that the two most influential films of my early life were Ridley Scott films: Blade Runner and Legend, and if you branch off with the actors in those two films, you’ll hit my most favorite and/or influential movies, and leap forward to the tv series Battlestar Galactica.
Then I drew a diagram (lower):
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Happy Birthday from the Admiral's Daughter
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Having photography and National Geographic magazines all over the house as a kid gave me a sense that the world was immense, curious, to be explored minutely, and caused me swear I’d work for National Geographic one day. My first major memory of being alone with my dad was in his dark room (aka the bathroom in the foyer), agitating developer, stop and fix, “helping” the way mom might let you stir the brownie batter.
I uploaded some more of his photos (of me ahah) because I’m sentimental.
He’s out taking photos somewhere near or around Avila Beach, California, today. My dad likes to do his thing. When not taking pictures he cooks amazing food, visits wineries, shoots from the hip, and hikes. Back in the day he was a fighter pilot (he’s on wikipedia’s page about the A-6 Intruder) but he’s been known to stop the car to help a turtle out of the road. I’m way too old to keep up with him, though I’m still a fine shot, just like Daddy taught me.
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