raybear | This is my story, this is my song,

One of the drawbacks of having grown up so rigorously united methodist (and loving to sing) is that I have numerous hymns lodged into my memory banks that will get triggered at random moments. Like seeing the word "assurances" in a legal contract I'm editing and suddenly I can't stop singing on repeat in my head "Blessed Assurance, Jesus Is Mine" which would frequently get interrupted with phrases of "Isht! No" or "Fckity fck" because I was wrestling with the format of a document.

I'm only a few dozen pages into Special Topics of Calamity Physics, but I'm enjoying it okay. I think it will be a fast read. It annoyed me right off the bat, because it had two devices I'm burnt out on: a) the Extremely Quirky/Savant-esque Narrator (why does everyone have to be so damn special?) and b) the Self-Consciously Aware of Being a Novel Novel, i.e "I'm writing this book because....". Its a novel, its ok, we suspend disbelief by opening the thing up. Just embrace the device, or subvert the device, but I'm tired of always showing awareness of the device, mostly because it feels sloppy. Like maybe the writer doesn't trust themselves to pull off creating this whole world that the medium requires. Which doesn't instill a lot of confidence as a reader. But, you know, aside from all those strict opinions, I'm reading it. Besides, part of what I'm saying is more about my personal preference as a reader, not so much grand declarations in the literary theory realm. Really, my biggest complaint about this book is that its big and heavy and so carrying it around takes up lots of space in my bag, and it was perhaps not the wisest idea for me to bring it along when I decided to walk half of the distance between home and work downtown. It was even more annoying for me to stop at the library and check out two DVDs and two more books, to add to my back. Oh well.

I was really social for almost all of this weekend. By late Sunday night I was definitely feeling it, so strangely I had the mix of weekend end/monday morning lows, mixed with relief at having back my time alone that comes with a work week. But I'm glad for all the people I saw and things I did all weekend. Well, except for the one piece in a dance performance that was kinda fcked up. I was actually inspired enough by my frustration to write an e-mail to the choreographer this morning, so I suppose that's something. Though maybe a little sad that I never track down strangers to tell them when I like something they've created.