I was just watching Colbert Report, and the guest was Matthew Crawford, author of
Shop Class as Soulcraft: And Inquiry Into The Value of Work
Not that I have read the book or anything, but my gut is telling me he may be ripping off (read: alluding to) Robert M. Pirsig, the author of
Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. There's your immediate similarity. But it goes further. Pirsig's other book (which I have also not read, but I own and will read any day now...) is called
Lila: An Inquiry into Morals. BAM! Number two.
This is Pirsig on his motorcycle with his son on the trip I can only assume is the subject of
Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. (I like this picture very much.):
The guy (Crawford) was a good interviewee and I liked what he had to say, but I am territorial about books and often jump to conclusions based on very little information, so that guy can go to HELL! Not really, I just wanted to show off my literary brilliance and what-have-you-et-cetera-blah.
In other news, (note: I have come to adore this turn of phrase for no discernable reason) I recently went to California, which was pretty cool. It tested my limits in a way, because it was with my parents and sister and we were in veryveryvery close proximity for the extent of the trip, mostly in a stupidumbass car that perceivably-though-not-really fishtailed its way through all of the tiny, winding, framed-by-steep-cliffs-on-both-sides-and-sometimes-oceans-below roads in California. Or so it seemed. I basically plowed through my collection of Rolaids. Overall I really enjoyed myself, but I came back feeling totally removed from my life even though I was only gone for a week and a half. As if by some amazing force of nature, to make this feeling even more apparent I managed to misplace my calendar/datebook/beautiful Molskine/security blanket in a cold, cluttered world. I have had that particular one for well over a year, and I not only kept track of things I couldn't afford to forget, I wrote down the little things I did most days that I knew I wouldn't be able to recall without some sort of stupid mnemonic that only I would get.
I spent the first week or so I was back asking around, looking everywhere, mass texting everyone I saw before the trip, considering calling all hotels/airlines/places we were/used, and generally freaking out about it because, goddamnit, I lost my life for the last year (in a way). I put off buying a new anything to try and replace the old one, because I didn't want to give up on it, and I kept thinking it would just pop up out of my couch cushions or someone would surprise me with it because I forgot to ask them and they found it. (This is sort of the point where I began to seriously regret that under the "If found, please return to..." information, I wrote in "gratitude" as the reward for returning my book to me. I didn't even capitalize it.)
I caved a couple of days ago and went to buy a whole new Molskine. And I feel like I have lost some of myself. It sounds dumb, I know, but there are just some things you find yourself with that take on way more meaning than they were ever meant to. It was just a calendar, but it was the place I could put everything down and keep track of it all. That is one thing I have always been in need of: a means to keep my shit together. Because I am no good all on my lonesome. And here I find myself on my lonesome. (On my lonesome? Whoever coined that didn't try very hard.) Also, the calendar doesn't start being useful until the 29th, and that is not the day I am living right now. I am sure I will stop caring about it eventually, but I am still holding on to that little sparkle of hope that MY calendar, the one I have marked up, highlighted and loved and been laughed at for loving so much will turn up. (Let me know if you see it.)
Charly is in Hawaii via Reno (she is temporarily in Reno for an internship, but she is even more immediately and even more temporarily in Hawaii) going to luaus, learning to surf, trying to skydive but being thwarted by heavy wind, Hawaiiing her way through the week. And seminars or whatever. Por ejemplo:
(Text Messages From Tonight)
Me: Everyone is dead. Or just unavailable. I'm fucking sick of hanging out with me.
Charly: I'll try to think of you at the luau.
She is so darling. Of The Darling Traveler Darlings. Which (throwback to the texts) brings me rather bluntly to my next point. I have been very much on my own for the last few days. Empty house and little old me just hanging out in my living room when I'm not at work. I like myself fairly well currently, and very much most of the time, but I am very disappointed in my tendency to feel bored when I am alone. Occasionally I notice myself doing this, and then I all-of-a-sudden have got to get up and do something. I am bewildered by what it is I have been choosing, though. Last night, for instance, I made two friendship bracelets. I have no intention of giving them to anyone, and (in this moment of full disclosure) somehow fell asleep modeling the pinker of the two on my neck, and walked into the bathroom this morning with it mildly tangled in my hair.
This is my life. It's pretty okay.
West Wing is on, so here's this:
Paul is so tiny!This is my preference though.
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