31 Before 31....or How Failure Lead to Success

Oops.

I had all of these ambitious goals for things I was going to do when my boyfriend moved overseas. Like...make a quilt, and a really dense reading list, and write a novel, and get up every morning at 6am to run 10 miles, and cook everything from scratch, and find a cure for cancer, and finally get around to achieving that nagging chore of world peace.

Well, I did make a quilt. Behold:

That was definitely thanks to my buddy Jenn. She is amazing and can make anything and walked me through this quilt process step-by-step, almost every Sunday between October and March. I will do an entire post at some point to show you how this magical quilt came to be. 

I was also going to write a novel, and while that didn't happen, I did sketch out some pretty great ideas and I can feel some good stuff marinating. And I wrote Chapter One. That's always a good place to start, no?

But that whole 31 Before 31 list...oof, I utterly fell down on that. To refresh your memory, here was the original list:

1. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce

2. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

3. The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing 

4. Lolita, Nabokov

5. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig

6. For Whom The Bell Tolls, Hemingway

7. The Rules of Attraction, Brett Easton Ellis

8. Breath, Eyes, Memory, Edwidge Dandicat

9. Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann

10. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe

11. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, Dee Brown

12. Guns, Germs, and Steel, Jared Diamond 

13. The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan

14. Cities of Salt, Abdul Rahman Munif

15. Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand

16. The Satanic Verses, Salmon Rushdie

17. Native Son, Richard Wright

18. The Savage Detectives, Bolano

19. Jesus' Son, Denis Hale Johnson

20. Notebook, Agota Christof (NOTE - not "The Notebook" by Nicholas Sparks. Come on.)

21. White Noise, Don DeLillo

22. Anna Karenina, Tolstoy

23. Fear of Flying, Erica Jong

24. The 19th Wife, David Evershoff

25. As I Lay Dying, Faulkner

26. The Prophet, Khalil Gibran

27. A Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf

28. Galapagos, Kurt Vonnegut

You'll notice it halts at 28. I kept meaning to add three more to the list, but the fact is, as I got closer to my deadline (my 31st birthday), it became more and more daunting to even THINK about more books. Those three empty slots haunt my dreams.

Here's what I actually read:

1. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce- skimmed, hated it

2. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

3. The Golden Notebook, Doris Lessing - started, never finished

5. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig - - started, never finished

7. The Rules of Attraction, Brett Easton Ellis

8. Breath, Eyes, Memory, Edwidge Dandicat

9. Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann

12. Guns, Germs, and Steel, Jared Diamond - skimmed, actually really liked it, but nearly fell asleep during the thirty-some odd pages explaining carbon dating in detail

13. The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan

Wow...so...nine. Out of 31. 

I do still have ambitions to read the rest of the books on this list, but the pile of books beside my bed has grown exponentially. I've found that books seem to come organically into my life - a flirty affair with a cover in the library, a gift from a friend, a loaner from someone who talks excessively about "this book that you HAVE to read!!"....books find their way into your life, and they always seem to do so in such a seamless and perfect way that it felt almost sacrilegious to force-feed a reading list. A lot of these books I simply never got to, not because I haven't been reading, but on the contrary - because I've been reading voraciously as books have been sauntering into my life and pulling my attentions away from the homework I've assigned myself.

I've read some pretty fantastic books in the interim. And not only will I hand over these dreamy suggestions, but I'll tell you how they came into my life as well....

I. Love. Ann. Patchett. I think she is one of the most acutely beautiful writers I've ever read, and  although it's a total cliche, she has the ability to get you to accept human behaviors you might normally judge, and get too drawn into worlds where a lesser writer might leave you with  enough of a sense of distance that you're not too involved. Ann gets you involved. I didn't even know she'd written a new book until I happened to be in Target picking up sun screen and various items for our trip to Mexico, saw this, and read this thing cover to cover in the first 24 hours of the trip.

This was a Book Club pick, and a hilariously educating one at that. I find myself frequently mentioning parts of this book, like "Oh, speaking of pottery, DID YOU KNOW THAT ONEIDA  WAS ACTUALLY A POLYAMOUROUS COMMUNE IN UPSTATE NEW YORK IN VICTORIAN TIMES?!?!" I have tried to get multiple other people in my life, outside of Book Club, to read this book solely so I have more people to discuss it with.

After hearing about it so many times, and possessing a vague understanding of He-La cells, I heard an in-depth discussion on my favorite podcast - Stuff Mom Never Told You - while out on a run one day, and decided I needed to read it IMMEDIATELY. Thank God for the Kindle app on my iPad, and thank God for Enoch Pratt having ebooks that you can download instantly for free. 

A beautiful recommendation from one of my very best friends, Stupid, who shares my taste in contemporary literature and always has great suggestions. This dark novel explores the stigma and social pariah of AIDS and homosexuality in the 1980's told through the voice of 14-year-old June as she makes sense of the recent death of her beloved uncle. 

Quite possibly my favorite in this list - I read about it in a magazine, and  read it in  its entirety in one day. (Granted - I was in Mexico on vacation, so I had the time to spend reading entire novels in a single day.) Based on Ray Bradbury's 1954 short story, "All Summer In a Day," the novel is told through the voice of an adolescent girl. The crux can be summed up in this sentence from an Amazon review: "[t]he world is ending not with a bang so much as a long, drawn-out whimper." Essentially, one day, the Earth's rotation just suddenly starts to slow down. An hour at first, here and there, and then suddenly whole days of direct sunlight and complete darkness. Crops die, people get radiation poisoning, and the world is divided between "Clock Timers," who try to go on with life as normally as possible on a 24 clock; and "Real Timers," who revert to using the sunlight as a time keeper and thus will sleep for days at a time, be awake for days at a time, and exist in their own realm. All, of course, relayed to us through 11-year-old Julia, who is dealing with her parents' fighting, her first crush, and worrying about whether or not there will still be soccer practice.

I couldn't sleep one night, and bought this on Amazon Kindle (Thanks, The Gentleman!) and devoured it in a matter of days. I think I initially read about it in Elle magazine, but it's hilarious and dark and wickedly smart.

So, I utterly failed at my "31 Before 31" list, but I see success in that every book that magically comes into my life and turns out to be so utterly memorable is nothing short of a gift. And I do intend to read the rest of the books on my list, but I'm not so pressed for "getting them done" in a finite period of time. I'll leave that kind of stringency to workout regimens and excessive itinerary planning for vacations.

I do have a stack of books next to my bed that I've recently acquired through various means (gifts, library, random fits of whimsy) that I intend to work through this summer. But I'm sure new ones will be added, and some shifted around, and that's the nature of reading as a hobby - love and desire have to be the driving forces, not a timeline.

Or maybe that's just what terrible procrastinators say.

The Cat Might Lose Another Life....

See, Mom?

See how diligent I am being in my posts?!

My mother (the queen of noticing unmade beds, finding crusts of sandwiches hidden under plate rims, and gazing steely-eyed through flimsy statements like, "Of course I am not going to ride around in that Mustang with that boy with the long hair without your explicit permission!") is one of my biggest fans. I get friendly little reminders that she's bored of the content of my blog when I don't update enough. And I listen to her. Because the fans shall have what they want! And, you know, she's my mom. Trump card.

I digress.

So, last night was typical Book Club. 7 pitchers of sangrias, probably thirty plates of tapas, three different desserts. Over the years, we have graduated from the $5 wine tasting to spectacular dinners where we always have to leave exorbitant tips because we (a) are loud, (b) drink so fast the wait staff can't keep up, and (c) due to said drinking, have a tendency to become loud about inappropriate topics.

Yes, we discussed the book last night.

I even made a list of questions prior.

Book Club has SOME structure; a free-for-all it is not.

I digress.

Day Three of training, which meant I was up at 5:45am to go to a weights class at my gym taught by a fabulous fellow writer/bartender/fitness enthusiast. This was especially rough given the aforementioned Book Club Dinner which lasted until about 10pm and throughout which wine flowed freely. But I made it through. My body will most likely revolt tomorrow when I go to strap on Ye Olde Running Shoes and discover I have lost the ability to run. Or, you know, move.

In other news, the cat and I are going to have words. I don't understand his insistence on puking. For years, we coexisted peacefully on this subject with a simple understanding: he puked only on hardwood floors, and only where I could easily locate said puke for ready cleaning. Now, all of the sudden, it seems he wants to puke in secret locations, i.e., wherever my poor roommate Jaunt wishes to set her foot.

This has caused her to become very upset when she's already running late for work and has to wash cat puke off of her foot.

This is not bearing well on her already tentative relationship with the cat, who thinks he is incredibly cute and can do disgusting things willy-nilly and expect no repercussions. He and I have had harsh words before regarding his complete inability to think about others. He will usually behave for a day or two, and then, WHAM, puddle of puke on the table by the front door, or WHAM, hairball on the mail.

I have tried to make excuses for the cat. It's spring, he is shedding his winter coat, this causes him to puke more. He dislikes the new food I bought. He is having mental distress due to the federal deficit. I am running out of explanations.

Soon, I'll have to tell him: Jaunt grew up on a farm where animals were not pets; they were working, contributing members of a whole. If he doesn't get his act together, there will be consequences.

That sounds like Jaunt is going to sell and/or consume the cat. I know she would do neither. There is, however, a risk that she might sell and/or consume me, and I am not risking this for the damn cat.

Straighten up and fly right, cat, or we're both going to suffer the consequences. Maybe no more tuna juice for you, hmmm? Or butt slaps. (Show me a cat who doesn't live for a good slap on the butt, and I'll show you a dead one. Seriously. They love it.)

In other news, the big debate this week is whether to go to AVAM's Flicks on the Hill tomorrow night or to see Harry Potter. I am excruciatingly divided. I love FOTH, and it's the closest to camping I'm gonna get this summer. But I'm also jonesing to see the final HP. I've read all the books, seen every movie, and must admit that I am looking forward to this with not a slight bit of trepidation only because when those final credits roll...that's it. Then there's nothing to look forward to until Twilight craps out another glittery sensation or Hunger Games finally releases a trailer. (And both, believe me, will be high points for me and my affinity for young-adult-literature-turned-film-sensation.)

In other news, there's a call out for a short story contest for the Boston Review. I'm tempted. We shall see. Earlier attempts at stunted fiction (as I began to see the short story genre) were not so successful. Then again, a contest creates accountability and a deadline. We shall see.

In other news, 35 days until vacation. I totally purchased the Living Social deal ($27 for a limo ride to BWI from the city - WHAT A STEAL) and so have already raised the bar on the expectations for said vacation. After all, if you can't party with class...I don't know where I was headed with that turn of phrase, but WHATEVER, A LIMO IS SUPER CLASSY. And it sure beats bargaining with friends for a ride to the airport. Oh, the promises I've made in exchange for such...

It's Oh-So-Much-Worse Than Expected

Bristol Palin's memoir, "The Juiciest Bits."

Michael Buble Stalked by Velociraptor

Was in need of a good laugh today, and then Josh sent me this. I couldn't even begin to tell you why it's hilarious; it. just. is.

That is some excellent PhotoShop.

In other news: I will soon be acquiring "1 Dead in Attic" which was recommended to me by several New Orleanders (is that the correct word? Who cares? It's Friday.) to supplement my understanding of post-Katrina NOLA.

In other news: went to see Ben Folds on Wednesday night (4th time I've seen him live), and he was just as phenomenal a performer in 2010 as he was in 2001, the first time I saw him. He played some ancient Ben Folds Five ("Army," "Brick," and "Kate," to name a few) as well as some more current songs reflective of pop culture. I love the collaboration of Nick Hornby and Ben Folds. Dreamy. AND, he did Chat Roulette live on-stage during his performance. I didn't know anything about Chat Roulette, and now most of what I know is that it's questionable at best and downright disgusting at worst. Still, hilarious.

Happy Friday.

Sexy Spring

"You know what's almost here?" Jaunt said to me last Friday night. We were in our natural habitat (read: in a bar, drinks in hand), recovering from a very exciting moment where we energetically "cheersed" one another with such velocity that I cracked her pint glass. These things happen.

"What?" I asked, thinking "End of the school year" (as Jaunt is a teacher) or "birthday season" (as we have a lot of birthdays, hers and mine included, coming up.)

"Sexy Spring!" she squealed.

Oh, Sexy Spring. How we've missed you. Bare feet and swishy skirts, and mojitos made with mint from the backyard. Sitting on the patio in the evenings with books in hand, spicy food on plates, and white wines. I've already decided that my wine of choice this summer will be a pinot grigio. I spent all of last summer lapping up Albarinos and sauvignon blancs, but I recently felt my palate shift again and I'm craving something with a little more body.

Spring is my most favorite time of year. Things get done in the spring. I am at my best in the spring.

Despite the fact that the local meteorologists have warned of impending Days Upon Days of Rain, it's a beautiful morning and I can feel spring edging up through the scant piles of snow that are still desperately trying to melt.

And, in exciting news, Book Club now has a website thanks to our brilliant Joel. It's absolutely beautiful, and will at some point display all of the books we've read as we come upon our three-year anniversary this summer. So you can all see what we're reading, and Joel smartly included links to purchase the books on Amazon, because you should.

Also, a friend of mine sent me this link of ultimate multi-tasking. I've been searching for a way to combine working out with artistic creativity and, naturally, drinking. Search no more.

I'm slowly but surely getting my life together and ready to leave on Monday for New Orleans. The anxiety is slowly waning and excitement is beginning to edge in.

Stay tuned, Glitteratis. Sexy Spring is in the air, and I couldn't be happier.

Current Obsessions

1. HBO's new gem, How to Make It In America. Because we're all hustling in one way or another to make a dollar. Good critique of the struggles of trying to eke out an identity while balancing debt, rent, and finding some semblance of pride in your work. Hilarious asides of art world critique as well, and amazing filmography of the best city in the world.

2. The Hour I First Believed, by Wally Lamb. As usual, Lamb's prose packs epic heartbreak into a single sentence, and then strings those sentences together with a bleak outlook on modernity. The third of Lamb's canon (behind wrenchers like She's Come Undone and I Know This Much Is True), Lamb once again finds ways to weave history and pop culture into bitterly painful narratives. This time, Lamb utilizes the 1999 Columbine shootings as the beginning of a troubled couples' undoing and traces their downfall with Katrina as another turning point in the plot. Epically long, but not a dense read as Lamb still relies on fairly conversational prose putting the reader inside protagonist Caelum's constant inner monologue.

3. John Mayer. At least he's honest. Still, it becomes problematic when the world begins to forget what it is he does exactly. You're a musician, Mayer. No one expects you to be squeaky clean, but at least let the tabloids do all of your dirty talk for you. Keep writing love songs. That's all anyone asks of you.

4. Californication. Finished with Season 1, onto Season 2. Further illustration of why those in creative fields have excessive problems with narcissism, alcoholism, and a host of other "-isms." The constant weight of carrying around a body of work within oneself that has yet to come forth in any logical or productive way, and the incessant existential fear of being forever unable to actually produce anything of value lead to self-medication, constant introspection, and an inability to properly relate to anything outside of oneself. Plus a whole lot of sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, and unrequited love. I can't get enough of Hank Moody.

5. New Orleans. As I gear up for my trip in two weeks to the still-recovering areas of America's messiest social-natural disaster, I'm doing my preparative research. What's being uncovered for me is a whole lot of realization of how much racism and classism play into these devastations and how, world-wide, these problems are the root of everything that's been forgotten as societies progress. So much has been swept under the rug, glossed over, and forgotten about five years after the fact.

Speaking of, thanks to those of you still hanging in there with this blog. My goal is to blog everyday during the trip to New Orleans, with pictures, commentary, and updates. I haven't forgotten about you, Glitteratis, I promise. Hang in there with me.

Cheers.

Things I Am Currently Adoring

1. Up in the Air. How very apt, expressive, and bittersweetly not surprising. I was OK with the non-surprises, however, because the writing was perfectly in tune. There wasn't a wrong note in the dialogue.

2. Avatar. Because I've been meaning to watch Pocahontas again. No, but seriously- it's worth the press it's getting for sheer spectacle. The story is predictable, the dialogue lame, but call me a sucker for a show pony when it comes to graphics and imaginative animation.

3. Going to see The Lovely Bones tomorrow night with Whack, Jackal and Nickle. I'm intrigued by what I've seen on previews so far, because it's quite an intellectual and imaginative separation from what I pictured while reading the book. As an avid fan of watching films made from books, I feel this could only work in its favor. Everyone knows that the film will never be the book (no matter how many times the Harry Potter or Twilight empires attempt), and I am fully supportive of the two being able to stand alone as substantial artistic pieces. I don't mind if the movie isn't like the book, or vice versa, if they're both compelling works.
4. My new Neti pot. I've long been a promoter of homeopathic means of healing and so, this winter, I'm putting my money where my nasal passages are and attempting to ward off the inevitable sinus infection that comes around every winter for me. The constant flux of temperature and humidity in February and March never fails to leave me without at least two weeks of complete misery, usually culminating in having to go to the doctor and weep for antibiotics, and this year I'm starting early in hopes of dodging it. We'll see. My first experience was weirdly satisfying and somehow quite cleansing, although this could be placebo effect of proactivity which a lot of homeopathy sometimes seems to be. And in order to make the whole thing sound more appealing, I can start saying that I've begun a practice of Jala-neti, which sounds so much more worldly and disciplined.


5. Reading. Unless I'm on vacation in the summer, I always read more in winter. It's cold, the blaring noise of the TV bothers me after awhile, and all I want to do is hunker down under a blanket with a good Malbec and demolish a pile of books. Currently reading/finishing: The Dive from Clausen's Pier and Revolutionary Road, and then about to start Waiter Rant and The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.