2.26.2006
See, when you get to be 30 you realize some things
We went to Ireland for a week and I ran smack into the following truth about myself. I have always held myself up, proudly, as the type of person who would fly to London at a moment's notice, travel around the world if money or time allowed, learn multiple languages, etc. Now, with my French skills limited to dog commands, I've admitted something: I don't like cities. I mean, I love cities, but learning a new one, negotiating directions and museum hours and pub etiquette in the rain while trying desperately not to look like a pathetic American, takes much, much, much too much energy. Dublin, small and grey and expensive, humbled me. Dublin!
2.10.2006
New/old friends: which is worth more on the black market?
Two things happened this week:
A very new friend, made at a conference last month, called to ask if she could fly up to Boston to hang out with us over spring break. What could be any better than meeting someone willing to subject herself to a small apartment, one wife, one pot head brother, one overly affectionate pooch, and two cats, one of whom cries in the night for no reason? I tried to warn new friend that for us a night out means a well-timed Netflix delivery and thai food. Get this: she still bought the ticket.
A very old friend, one of the three remaining who knew me in adolescence (and lived to tell the tale), called to invite us to her wedding in LA in August. She flew to mine on short notice two years ago. Why? Because sometimes love lasts a lifetime, readers. Especially in the case of a dancer/actress and teacher/librarian with nothing in common but the cast of Oklahoma!, circa 1993.
A very new friend, made at a conference last month, called to ask if she could fly up to Boston to hang out with us over spring break. What could be any better than meeting someone willing to subject herself to a small apartment, one wife, one pot head brother, one overly affectionate pooch, and two cats, one of whom cries in the night for no reason? I tried to warn new friend that for us a night out means a well-timed Netflix delivery and thai food. Get this: she still bought the ticket.
A very old friend, one of the three remaining who knew me in adolescence (and lived to tell the tale), called to invite us to her wedding in LA in August. She flew to mine on short notice two years ago. Why? Because sometimes love lasts a lifetime, readers. Especially in the case of a dancer/actress and teacher/librarian with nothing in common but the cast of Oklahoma!, circa 1993.
2.03.2006
Ver-crappin'-onica
When you're me, you pay close attention to The New York Times best books list. Why? Well, you're a snob who never finished a PhD, became a writer, or had sex with someone who did, that's why. This year, however, the NYT did me wrong in the form of Veronica.
I freely admit that I complain a lot about the books I read, mostly out of spleen. This book, however, is the real deal. Utter crap. Circuitous, masturbatory, navel-gazing former-model with hepatitus shit. I walked into work the other day and said, "I'm reading a book that I hate." My co-worker replied that she, too, was reading a book she hated. The book? Veronica.
I freely admit that I complain a lot about the books I read, mostly out of spleen. This book, however, is the real deal. Utter crap. Circuitous, masturbatory, navel-gazing former-model with hepatitus shit. I walked into work the other day and said, "I'm reading a book that I hate." My co-worker replied that she, too, was reading a book she hated. The book? Veronica.
