well, don't I feel unorginal

This week I read two books that I am convinced were written by people who have met me and possibly also stalked me. Even though one is copyrighted 1958 and takes place in France where I have spent approximately 15 days in my entire life total. These are stories of optimistic young women who say the wrong thing and often do the wrong thing as well and yet, it all works out in the end. Mostly. Thanks for the recommendation on Him Her Him Again The End of Him, Sarah. In the three days I spent reading it, I recommended it to three people. Cause, like you said, every girl has to go through her Eugene. If you don't know what I mean, read the book and you will.

Seriously, my shoulder hurts.

Museum of Innocence is going to stay with me for a long time and not just because I have a sore shoulder from carrying all 529 pages of it around New York. This is the story of a decade-long love or infatuation, depending on your own personal beliefs, in Istanbul that is finally commemorated with a Museum of Innocence, a collection of little trinkets our hero picks up over these years spent with the object of his affection. Here's the thing.... I don't know if this was a book about love or lust or infatuation or obsession or what. It's sort of like the end of "Before Sunrise" or "Before Sunset"-do you think they'll end up together or not? And just like I think something new at the end of each of those movies every time I see them, my reading of this book is probably going to vary day to day depending on my mood and my life and my everything. I think that only makes it better. Sarah, please read this so we can talk about it because I really want to talk about it but I don't want to say anything about it because I don't want to ruin it and like..it's so good.

Not A Particularly Apt Title

So here's something that blows about being a morning person in a family of regular-time persons: waking up at 630am and having nothing to do because it's Ohio and even if there was something to do, nothing's in walking distance. It's raining and I just saw someone using an umbrella to walk across their yard and get their newspaper, which, incidentally, I could read, but it's the Cincinnati Enquirer and I'm already caught up on where all the fish frys are this weekend. But hey, good news is, gives me plenty of time to eat peanut butter from the jar (note to self: add peanut butter to parental grocery shopping list. also girl scout cookies.) and write about David Foster Wallace.

OH MY GOD SOMEBODY WOKE UP. GIVE ME YOUR CAR KEYS.

But back to the business at hand. The highlight of this book of "essays and arguments" is a tie between the essay discussing the Illinois State Fair and the dissection of cruise ships and the people that love them. I am partial to the state fair episode if only because my mother likes to tell the story of how, in a moment of working mother guilt, she took me, age 4, and my sister, age 1.5, to the Ohio State Fair. We arrived and she hustled us into the 4-H tent, where I promptly turned, looked at her and said, "Why are we here, Mom? We're not farmers." So clearly, I have a soft spot for the odd man out at the state fair. But then again you can make another equally hilarious essay out of the footnotes in his cruise ship episode, so.... We'll say it's a draw. And a must-read.

Thanks for the recommendation, Andy! This thank you is primarily a trap to see if you're actually still reading this blog or if you just skimmed it that one time to mollify me on gchat.


ADDENDUM, ADDED AT 918AM: When I got into my Dad's car to drive to the gym, he was listening to the TITANIC soundtrack.

Awesome.

If you're feeling sad and lonely...

Reconnecting with Franz Kafka for the first time since English AP probably would have been a better idea not during a week when I already felt detached and alienated. Also, reading Kafka on the subway is weird. But at least now I can say "Kafka-esque" and feel like only half a poser.