theology&geometry

Y’all. I read Aunt B‘s book. I loved it. Like, really, really loved it. I couldn’t read it in one sitting, however. Because it kept creeping me the fuck out. I figure that is the hallmark of a successful book of ghost stories.

I can’t remember the last time I read something that was both very beautifully (and funnily, at times) written that was also quite unsettling and made me see things in shadows and hear noises that may or may not have actually been made. The icing on the cake is that the author is someone I very much respect and admire and am proud to know, and that she’s writing about a place that I actually know and have dwelled in off and on for years now.

So please go have a look at the review/interview I put up on The Shelf Life, when you get a chance. And, if you are at all inclined toward the supernatural or the ghostly or the historical or the local or, shit, just the proliferation of good art in this world, please buy the book. It will scare you and make you smile and, hopefully, give you a whole new way to look at your city, wherever you live.

More info here.

I’m rather proud. Review is here.

Add Infinite Jest to this stack and you’ll get an accurate picture of part of the reason why I feel like I never have enough hours in the day.

[Project 365]

Recuperation complete. I packed a lot of awesome into one little day. Slept nine glorious hours, went to the gym and got the endorphins pumping, took my lunch to the park down by the river and read The White Tiger on a blanket while the wind whipped the world into a subdued frenzy around me. Then I had some chips and white cheese dip and some margaritas, went home to book chat, and then hauled ass to see Coraline in 3-D, which was just intense.

And now, the routine begins again. I don’t mind.

I just wish I had taken a picture in which my hand didn’t look completely disfigured.

[Project 365]

My crud seems to be worsening. I might actually have to haul ass to the doctor, despite my eight-year-old-inner-child protests.

On the subject of frigidity (we were talking about that, right?), I finally reviewed The World’s Dumbest Book. Did that feel good, you ask? Yes. Yes, it did. I got so carried away that I left out the part where the author lists her cures to low self-esteem. Among them? Cut out all sugar, refined flour, salt, and sweets from your diet two weeks before your big date. Uh huh. If you’re in the mood for something sweet, just pop a lemon Ricola in your mouth! That’s right. It’s 2009 and women are still trying to fix their lives by crash dieting and finding men to latch on to? WAKE UP.

[Project 365]

Talked about Revolutionary Road with some other bibliophiles online tonight. Even took a shower beforehand, which clearly demonstrates that I still don’t “get” the internet.

If you haven’t read this book, you really should. It’s superbly written and pretty much helped invent all those notions of the desperation of 1950s suburbia and suburban conformity that we take for granted nowadays.

Author Richard Yates: “If my work has a theme, I suspect it is a simple one: that most human beings are inescapably alone, and therein lies their tragedy.”

It’s beautiful, heavy stuff. I’m looking forward to seeing the film.

[Project 365]

I’m finally starting to tuck in to Jeanette Winterson’s newest novel, The Stone Gods. I don’t want to say too much about it yet because I’m just a couple dozen pages in, but a passage struck me last night with such force that I have to write it down here so I can mull it over and pose the question in the title to the universe.

Winterson writes:

Step into that water and you remember everything, and what you don’t remember, you invent.

That simple sentence reminds me so much of this passage from Les Guérillères by Monique Wittig:

There was a time when you were not a slave, remember that. You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed bare-bellied. You say you have lost all recollection of it, remember . . . You say there are no words to describe this time, you say it does not exist. But remember. Make an effort to remember. Or, failing that, invent.

I’m almost positive that Winterson is at least familiar with Wittig’s strange and wonderful feminist dystopian novel (some people call it a feminist utopian novel, but I argue otherwise), so I can’t help but assume she’s tipping her hat somewhat to Wittig’s narrative. Still, it’s a little weird to see a similarity like that just jump out.

I love Winterson’s writing style and I can certainly see where she’s influenced by Wittig in many ways. If you’ve never read Les Guérillères (pronounced “Leh Gary Air”), I must politely nag you to do so. It’s unlike anything you’ve probably ever read before.

How nerdy is it that I lust after book covers that I can’t have?

For instance, I FINALLY got around to buying the new Jeanette Winterson book, The Stone Gods, and I was Googling the book to pull a jpeg of its cover for my sidebar down there, and lo and behold what do I see? A much cooler cover that is probably for the UK version of the book (at right). Bah.

So, internet, I’m up late (not really, it’s only 12:30, but I’m tired), unable to find anything of quality on television. It smells like cat shit in here and I have had a sour stomach all day and haven’t had much of an appetite until now (after crunching down on a nearly two-inch-long chicken bone in my three-day old chicken salad sandwich, I lost my appetite for a while). I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve felt asstastic since I woke up this morning (so it’s not solely bad mayo or chicken bones). For some reason, I broke down a few minutes ago and ordered some lasagna from Camy’s. I’m sure that will settle fabulously on my queasy gut. Especially if I have to sit here and smell fresh cat poop and watch Flavor of Love 3 (sorry, Sarah, but I just can’t get on board anymore!) while I eat it.

I’m not really even sure why I’m on the computer, except that I always end up on the computer after idling at home for a while. It’s a sickness. I sit there and read or see something on TV that reminds me of something else, and before I can blink and utter “tubes,” I realize I’m on Google or Wikipedia or IMDb or some other info-saturated site.

I had decided it’s time I change my book listing in the sidebar and link to the CA’s new (and in-the-middle-of-development) book blog that I’ll be contributing to, when I was suddenly reminded of Chuck Klosterman’s infamous 23 questions from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, and started Googling away so I could find them.

Hey, my food’s here. Time for a food interlude.

[nom nom nom]

Okay, that was actually pretty good. And I got to watch Harvey Birdman while eating, so that was cool. But now I have the hiccups and I still feel barfy. Ugh. I feel like there are worms in my gut. That is really gross. Maybe I just need to make myself puke. Mmmm, undigested lasagna.

Anyway. Klosterman’s 23 questions. I had thought I might try to answer them just this side of thoughtlessly, since I’m kinda bored and putting off going to bed. Yeah, let’s do that now. Maybe it will make me sleepy.

1. Yes.

2. No. Unless the horse had done something evil. I would, however, kick a horse in the family jewels, just like this fellow felt compelled to do. Repeatedly.

3. Turtle.

4. No.

5. Yes.

6. Yes. Reluctantly.

7. Sasquatch and Loch Ness can be packaged together and played as the big story; the president pre-biopsy doesn’t trump that. I’m not even sure the president post-biopsy would. But the New Yorks Times is designed in such a way that there’s not just one big story. All three stories could get significant play. I’m a nerd for spending more words on this answer than any other.

8. No.

9. Yes.

10. The Heart riff.

11. Exit, and call my mom. Don’t fuck with gut feelings.

12. $10

13. Sasquatch and the Loch Ness monster.

14. Most cats would find it insulting, because most cats are jerks, but I think more likely is that most cats wouldn’t bother with reading Garfield at all.

15. Probably exactly the same as I would now. Work, watch movies, read. Maybe spend more time with friends and family. Nothing fancy.

16. No.

17. I distrust them equally, which is to say, I’d probably leave the bar and go home.

18. Year in Europe.

19. Deny that I did it and try to convince her that she dreamed it, and is experiencing psychosomatic rib pain.

20. The indie film, duh, because I’m a true narcissist.

21. I’d keep it exactly the same; I have no regrets about how that went down.

22. The one everyone believes is true but isn’t.

23. Mostly indifferent, I think.

Well, that was pointless.

Thank you and good night!!!