Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke. “Yes. Well, as you young people say these days: Whatever.
Dionysus, “The Sea of Monsters”, Rick Riordan.
Re-reading the Percy Jackson books before finally reading the last one.
From the summertime.
I keep a dictionary & thesaurus at hand at all times. I only pull out the big boy here when the paperback-sized one fails me (which is…annoyingly often, actually). What I like about the big boy is the graded, inset letter dividers. (:
…the effortless style is achieved by strenuous effort and constant refining.
On Writing Well (30th Anniversary Edition), William Zinsser
Pooh nodded thoughfully.
“What’s this you’re writing?” asked Pooh, climbing onto the writing table.
“The Tao of Pooh,” I replied.
“The how of Pooh?” asked Pooh, smudging one of the words I had just written.
“The Tao of Pooh,” I replied, poking his paw away with my pencil.
“It seems more like the ow! of Pooh,” said Pooh, rubbing his paw.
“Well, it’s not,” I replied huffily.
“What’s it about?” asked Pooh, leaning forward and smearing another word.
“It’s about how to stay happy and calm under all circumstances!” I yelled.
“Have you read it?” asked Pooh.
Foreword, The Tao of Pooh, Benjamin Hoff.
Every time I read it: the first page cracks me up.
Dig it, man.
From Mr V: Para Rumbiar (Fernando Perez)
Ball players are mercenaries, taking assignments indiscriminately.
Perez’s musings about poetry got me thinking: Robert Creeley and Allen Ginsberg featured prominently in my least favorite college class, American Poetry since 1945.
Least favorite in part because it was jam-packed with the sort of hipper-than-thou types that make my skin crawl and my eyes roll. Unfortunately for me: they were the most vocal and got the lion’s share of our professor’s attention and encouragment.
That said! I want to re-read a bunch of that assigned reading from my junior and senior years. I’m curious how much of it I: still like, still don’t like, hated then but like now, still don’t like but get, and still can’t fucking stand (I’m looking at you, Jack London; Sea Wolf).
So perhaps I won’t always be frowny when someone mentions Creeley or Ginsberg.
Scholarship hath no fury like that of a language purist faced with sludge…
William Zinsser, On Writing Well 30th Anniversary Edition, p38
Hee. Also: word.
The best intentions…
I should be 3/4 of the way through Infinite Jest.
In fact, I’m still back on page 120-something. My first attempt at IJ four years ago netted me 30 pages, so this is progress. But still. I’ve read…15 other books since I started IJ. (I knew I was dreadfully behind when Infinite Summer’s unread count in my reader passed 10.)
This week. Woo.
Where I’m relatively sure I’ll be spending a decent amount of money in the coming weeks, months, years. The shop is pretty big featuring hardwood floors that creak and bookshelves requiring tippy-toe viewing.
Lucky (?) for me, I got there last night 45 minutes before closing. I managed to leave with only 3 books:
(I read The Corrections in college, but my hardback copy has disappeared and fall seems like a good time to re-read it. We also read House of Leaves in that class [kind of an intense class; we also also read Delilo’s The Body Artist], but I haven’t worked up the nerve to re-read that one just yet. Perhaps once I make it through Infinite Jest.)
Bait and switch
As much as I’m annoyed by Kindle samples of which fully half are tables of contents and dedications (really?), so am I annoyed with full-length books of which fully one-third is source notes and lack section/chapter demarcations in the progress bar!
I’m glaring, exhausted, at you, 1776.
The writing clearly signaled end-of-class wrapping up, but the progress bar promised another 30% to go. Then boom: acknowledgements and source notes.
And the ignorance of you appalls me.
Marathe, p. 105; “Infinite Jest” - David Foster Wallace
I wait for Henry.
Where I read The Time Traveler’s Wife:
- my chair by the window, listening to the Friday night bar patrons babble and order from the hot dog guy
- my hallway in the path of a fan
- Starbucks surrounded by the murmur of 50 or so others lost in their own air-conditioned pursuits
Started it Friday night, finished it tonight. It’s been awhile since a book compelled me to read into the wee hours.
It’s quite good and it earned that ending — I’d tell you what it reminds me of, but you should get there on your own.
