a runaway american dream
Now I would like to move on to something that is equally badass, but for a much different reason.
For once, I have actually arrived at the suggested reading quota for Infinite Summer on time. I made it to page 210 yesterday and am cruising right along. Reading Infinite Jest is finally starting to payoff: I’m invested in (some of) the characters, I can see something resembling a plot starting to develop, and if nothing else, the writing is (for the most part) overwhelming me with appreciation and respect for David Foster Wallace (or, as I’ve taken to referring to him privately, D-F-Dub).
A colleague of mine ordered a copy when the mass company email went out last month, alerting us all to Infinite Summer’s quest. I saw it sitting on her desk Thursday and was thrilled to finally have someone to talk to about it—especially since Katrina has officially dropped out. But it turns out, she hasn’t started it yet, and from the look on her face when I tried to explain what it was about, I don’t know if she’ll actually attempt it. (Though I really hope she does!) Another colleague of mine who was around when Micheal Pietsch acquired IJ and who was responsible for selling it when it first came out, told me yesterday that she’s still very sad about DFW’s death last year.
Reading IJ makes me feel like I’m retaking my senior year as an English major: it was a time of immense happiness for me, but also immense frustration, as the final semester was spent deconstructing Joyce’s Ulysses. Admittedly, I only half-assed reading that book, but as I recall, it was a feat of endurance getting from one page to the next. Infinite Jest is similar in some ways, vastly different in others: pages 140-151 were positively interminable; pages 157-169 flew by. Pages 181-193 were pretty awful, too.
I find myself having to literally come up for air from time to time: the writing can be so tiresome and tedious, but somehow rhythmic at the same time, that it necessitates stopping when I finally reach the end of a sentence, collecting my thoughts, and taking a deep breath. It occasionally feels like I am drowning in the English language.
Most of the time, though, I love the words spewing from the pages. They’re frenetic and funny, and frequently so subtly genius that I’ll read and reread sentences in order to soak in as much meaning as possible. I’m underlining the good lines and dog-earing the really good pages, which you’ll remember from this post, is not something I do to books, ever.
I’m still so uncertain as to where this book is going, but I am, at least, enjoying the journey. So much and yet so little seems to be happening, it’s hard to keep track of what’s worth remembering and what needs to be remembered. Infinite Summer has been helpful with the weekly recaps, but for the most part, I’m just letting DFW take me where he will. And so far I’m having a blast on the ride.
I think I’m going to start doing a recap of the week’s best lines and passages. That way, even if you’re not brave enough to read the whole book, maybe you’ll at least develop a sense of appreciation for the author.
Here’s one that could be justification for why I dropped out of grad school (and which I think Katrina will appreciate): “Here is how to sit…surrounded by…conversations so pretentious you literally cannot believe them, you’re sure you have misheard them.” From page 174, and one of the many reasons I’m developing a literary crush on Hal.
From page 180: “I have to tell you, I have never heard of anyone being told to pray for relief from cancer. Outside maybe certain very rural parts of the American South, that is…Am I in a sociohistorical era I don’t know about?”
Pages 200-210 have, by far, had the best collection of lines yet. Page 203: “That sometimes human beings have to just sit in one place and, like, hurt. That you will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realize how seldom they do. That there is such a thing as raw, unalloyed, agendaless kindness.” Also from page 203: “…it is simply more pleasant to be happy than to be pissed off.”
From 204, “That a clean room feels better to be in than a dirty room.” (I may only like this line because I am obsessively-compulsed and usually can’t sleep if my bedroom is dirty.)
Also on page 204 and one of the only lines I’ve found in any novel I’ve ever read that I would consider as an idea for a tattoo (which is so ironic for reasons I’ll explain in a moment): “That no single, individual moment is in and of itself unendurable.”
This is ironic because what follows on the next six pages is an exploration and examination of the tattoo as something that “cannot ever be erased or amended” and which is “vividly, chillingly permanent.” (Dad, if you’re reading, I may photocopy these pages for you because you would appreciate the sentiment. And if you plan on discussing your dislike of tattoos with me in the future, I’d enjoy the conversation a lot more if your argument came from what is quickly becoming one of my favorite books.)
If David Foster Wallace, the man was anything like David Foster Wallace, the writer, and I have to assume he was, his death truly was a tragedy.
That’s all for this week, kids. I’ve heard things start to pick up pretty rapidly over the course of the next few chapters, so look forward (or don’t) to more commentary next week.
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Tags: David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, Infinite Summer, literary crushes, literature
I love all of his albums, but I agree with most folks who think musicforthemorningafter was his best songwriting. For some reason, each of Pete’s albums have shown up with perfect timing in my life. musicforthemorningafter was something that, as a fifteen year old, really showed me what American rock and roll could be. Day I Forgot showed up when I was spending a lot of time beating up on myself, and songs like “Come Back Home,” “Man in Uniform,” and “All at Once” were a kind of nice warm blanket to wrap up in. And then Nightcrawler popped in just as I was leaving college and struggling to decide what to do with my life. Now, he’s released Back & Fourth and it is just, so good.
It’s hard to describe what’s so good about it. It’s a little more Middle America for him, it’s a little less adolescent. It’s funny, because he’s able to work in these cultural phenomenons into his lyrics that seem trite when you first hear them, but later they take on a really sweet meaning. The first time I listened to “Social Development Dance”, all I heard of the lyrics was, “tried to find out what had happened to you / I Googled you in quotes, got no results”. I thought it was clever and hilarious. I didn’t hear the rest of the song though, about the girl who got away, and how she died later after they lost touch.
This album is grown up, and a little more whiskey-soaked than his previous releases. I love it because I love him, but it’s definitely something that will need a lot more listening to before I see him at the Cannery on July 16.
I’m behind on a lot of things these days, including posting about Infinite Summer. It’s well underway, and I am too. At least, I’m on par to meet the targeted reading quota each week.
Reading David Foster Wallace is like punching yourself repeatedly in the face. But in a good way. In a way that’s stimulating to the brain. At least, I think it is.
So far, in 107 pages of reading Infinite Jest absolutely nothing has happened. Nothing at all. Except that some Agent from some Bureau Sans Services has dressed like a woman and hiked a mountain to meet a member of the Wheelchair Assassains. And I’m not even kidding. That’s all that’s going on. But everything else about it is so hysterical and ridiculous and absurd, I can’t put it down. (Except to take an Advil or two when my head starts exploding from reading all the footnotes. [Yes, footnotes. In a novel.])
Frankly, it’s one of the most honest things I’ve read in a long time, and brilliant. And insightful. And now, I just wish something would happen. Everyone over at InfSum keeps repeating, “You’ve got to trust Wallace to know what he’s doing.” And I do, in theory. But in practice, I would really like to know what James Incandenza’s filmography has to do with Hal’s speech problem and Wardine’s momma and Kate’s depression.
There’s another recurring theme over at InfSum that I’m already at least seeing and loving about the book. One of Wallace’s themes is the impossibility of communication. And aside from the fact that this novel is almost 1,100 pages long and very oblique, he really has done, so far, an incredible job of showing just how ridiculous and one-sided every conversation or communique humans have is.
I would like to know where the whole Hamlet thing comes into play, though. I spent a week rereading Shakespeare just so I could be as prepared as possible for Infinite Jest and it doesn’t seem to be paying off. Though, I will say that I never realized just how funny the play is until I reread it a few weeks ago. Hamlet is certainly the precursor to the modern-day Emo Kid and, in my amateur opinion, he might really have benefitted from a clinical bipolar disorder diagnosis.
Hopefully over the course of the rest of the Infinite Summer, I’ll be able to post more regular updates about my progress through this gargantuan mess. But the rest of this week will be, gloriously, taken up by my Whirlwind Marah Roadtrip of 2009, Part Two.
I’ll be seeing Marah at The Basement here in Nashville tonight. Then tomorrow, Libby and I are going to see them at Southgate House in Cincinnati.
Happy 4th ‘o July, if I don’t see you before then.
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Tags: Back & Fourth, David Foster Wallace, Hamlet, Infinite Jest, Infinite Summer, literature, Marah, Pete Yorn, Shakespeare
these are the last words
He played the Cannery Ballroom, opening for some band I’d never heard of and couldn’t be bothered to stay for, anyway. The 400 Unit marched up on stage at 9:00, carrying their signature bottle of Jack Daniels and ignoring the Nashville smoking ban as usual.
They seemed calmer than the last couple times I’ve seen them, playing a much shorter set than they would if they were the main act. But they played a few of the good songs, and a couple of the really good songs, and overall, it was a decent way to spend my Friday night. Jason was more talkative than I’ve ever seen him, cracking jokes about Ray LaMontagne, and repeatedly informing us of how great of a time he was having.
The greatest part about seeing Jason Isbell is not getting to hear some of my favorite pieces of music performed live. It’s getting to see such a talented musician play his instrument as if it were an extension of his body. He’s one of the laziest performers I’ve ever seen, but it suits him, because he’s just so great at what he does that he doesn’t have to make an effort. They closed with ‘Decoration Day’ and its fabulous outro that seems to go on and on forever.
He threw his guitar pick into the audience, and after a little scrambling around, I finally picked it up off the ground. I disentangled myself from the other arms struggling for it, was high-fived by two semi-frightening biker dudes, and made my way to the exit.
I slept in on Saturday, and when I woke up, I sat in the sunshine outside, finally finishing A Tale of Two Cities.
I miss college for a lot of reasons, but having finished reading that novel this weekend, I realized that the thing I miss the most about college is talking about literature with people who are as equally affected by it as I am.
It is quite easy to see why most people consider A Tale of Two Cities to be Dickens’s masterpiece. It’s critical, it’s humane, it’s devestating and hopeful, it’s subtly hilarious, it’s complex and verbose. It is so many things other than just a novel. I almost wish I could go back to my senior year of college and, much as I loved writing about Tim O’Brien and Norman Mailer, write my thesis on Dickens, instead.
There is so much I could say about this novel, but I won’t. It took me more than a month to read, but not because it was difficult to get through. Because I wanted to savor the plot and I wanted to hold on to the language. Like the reading process, I don’t want to write about it because I don’t want to let it go.
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Tags: A Tale of Two Cities, Cannery Ballroom, Charles Dickens, gigs, Jason Isbell, literature, Nashville
BFAM Day 31: The Bitter End
I watched a lot of Lost this month. I began 365ing anew. I had a birthday. I got bangs. But other than that, this month has just been kind of average, and certainly nothing worth blogging everyday about.
But, I did blog everyday. And that in and of itself is definitely an accomplishment. And now I’m off the hook–I don’t have to do a Month of Strangers photo project. (Though, I’ve got myself in much deeper than that by Re-Six-Five-ing.)
Going forward, blogs will be more…useful. Educational. Culturally reflective. And stuff. No more blogging just for the sake of blogging.
We will now return to your regularly scheduled blogging.
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Tags: BFAM, the end
Our summertime food groups were: sugar cones, glaciers, flurries, push-up pops, and sprinkles. Always sprinkles.
I’ve always known that Cincinnati is a fairly quirky city, especially considering some of the foods that originated there. But I didn’t realize that creamy whips were also unique to Cincinnati until a couple days ago when I went looking for one in Nashville. (Or that the term ‘creamy whip’ is a nearly-exclusive Cincinnati idiom!)
We have Dairy Queen and Baskin Robbins and Cold Stone here, which are all fine and dandy, and they’ll certainly suffice for satisfying my ice cream cravings. But summer just doesn’t seem like summer without sitting in the bed of my dad’s truck, swatting mosquitos, and licking ice cream off our fingers while the sun sets over the Great Miami River. Ice cream just isn’t ice cream unless it’s got the option of being served mixed with grape slushie or dipped in a hard chocolate shell.
I guess this summer I’ll have to settle for store-bought popsicles and ice cream sandwiches.
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Tags: annoyed, BFAM, ice cream, Nashville, summer, Tennessee
A year ago, I was preparing to head off to Bosnia after wrapping up my failed stint in grad school. I was living in DC and I was fully aware of and engrossed in national and international politics. I was concerned with the state of the world. I wanted to do something good.
Now, my biggest concerns are how late I can sleep and still be on time to work and whether or not ONIX feeds from my Fact Sheets are going out.
Of course, last year at this time, I was also having regular mental breakdowns and worrying about how big the world was and how small I was and how little anything I actually wanted to do would help things.
But now I feel average, normal, stuck in the ever-turning wheel of life and adulthood and responsibility. I couldn’t go run off and join the Peace Corps; I had $20,000 in student loans to pay back. I couldn’t stay in Bosnia forever, much as I wanted to, because I had a job to find. And now I have a job, a career, an apartment in the suburbs where I live by myself and go to the grocery and pay bills. And there’s no sense of adventure, no sense of art or creativity or beauty. There’s no sense of purpose.
I’ve always wanted a life a little more glamorous than the one I have. I’ve always wanted to be just a little more than what I am.
Maybe this will be the year I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. My reaction to a certain present from a certain bff at least reassured me that, work woes notwithstanding, I am still absolutely in love with literature.
(And at the very least, I’m ready to make my return to Flickr: I’m going to Re-Six-Five this May 29, 2009 – May 29, 2010 year.)
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Tags: a little personal, BFAM, happy birthday, life got in the way
The goal is to read David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest between June 21 and September 22. Over 1,000 pages of post-modern literature, which doesn’t include the nearly 400 endnotes tacked on. It’s like Ulysses for a whole new generation of bibliophiles.
I figure I’m probably going to fail pretty epically at it, but they’ve got it broken down into 75-page increments per week, which actually sounds doable. And I’m sure the whole misadventure will be worth it, in the end. Afterall, Wallace was supposed to be one of the most brilliant writers of the 90s.
(Plus, we published the book, and I always like to support in-house authors, even if they are dead.)
If nothing else, it should make for interesting blog-fodder for the summer.
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Tags: BFAM, books, David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest, Infinite Summer, projects
By chance, I happened to stumble upon that announcement this morning. I thought seeing Marah twice in a week was enough to sustain me for the rest of my life. But here they are, after last year’s failed tour, showing up in my life three times this year.
I have been waffling around about going home for the 4th of July. We get Friday off for the Saturday holiday, so it’s a long weekend anyway. But now, it looks like my decision has been made for me!
There’s no way that I’m going to miss that show. There’s no way I’m going to skip out on seeing my favorite band play in my hometown at one of my most favorite venues.
This next month better go quickly!
Filed under: BFAM, music | 1 Comment
Tags: BFAM, gigs, Marah, music, OMG, Southgate House
My Scottish Best Friend, the Internet Herself, that adorable little pixlet we all know and love, Lisa-Marie is to be married in the indeterminate future to crime writer and novelist extraordinaire, The Stringer.
The blogosphere is all abuzz. The Twittosphere is all atweet. And I am already shopping for plane tickets!
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Tags: announcements, BFAM, Lisa-Marie, OMG, Scotland
We spent Saturday afternoon poolside with the family, and my mom got me the first season of Lost for my birthday, making my Lost collection complete (at least until September, when season five comes out). Later that night there was an impromptu high school reunion party, complete with two recently returned Iraq vets–one of whom was my first boyfriend in sixth grade and who, despite having been shot in Iraq, is back and alive and going to go to school to be a teacher.
Yesterday, Libby and I went to the Taste, which was much bigger than I remembered, and we had delicious lettuce wraps and bread pudding and vegetarian crepes. When she left for work, I hung around on Fountain Square waiting for my family and made friends with the beer guys from the Mecklenberg Gardens booth, who were dressed in full German regalia and who were friends with the surprisingly good cover band playing behind us. Just as my dad showed up, I heard someone yell my name, and this is the greatest thing about Cincinnati: One of my best friends from high school, her dad, and her boyfriend just happened to be standing on the corner, having a drink after the Reds-Indians game. She was in town for the weekend, also, and it was absolutely fabulous to see her. Our little table of people grew increasingly larger and larger as my sisters showed up and their friends showed up and another friend from high school showed up. The sauerkraut balls were the highlight of my night, though.
But now I’m packing up again and getting ready to head down South. We’re going to stop at my cousin’s for a little bit of a grill out before I make the drive, but this begs the question: Since my cousin is my normal hairstylist and I haven’t had a haircut in six months, should I get my hair cut? And if so, how?
Hopefully this coming week will go quickly, seeing as we only work four days and our Fridays now end at 1:00.
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Tags: BFAM, birthdays, Cincinnati, home
Recent Entries
- a runaway american dream
- got what i wanted when you showed up
- these are the last words
- BFAM Day 31: The Bitter End
- BFAM Day 30: I’m Your Ice Cream Man
- BFAM Day 29: Tomorrow Night We’ll Be That Much Older
- BFAM Day 28: Does That Make Me Crazy?
- BFAM Day 27: My Heart is the Rush of the Traffic, the Tug of the Music
- BFAM Day 26: If She Happens To Suggest A Love Based on Trust and Respect
- BFAM Day 25: I Could Just Taste It
- BFAM Day 24: Where Everybody Knows Your Name
