2010-08-17
creaky cranky
so the key to being happy is to do what you want when you want to.
side note - between the screams coming from the giant dipper and the drunk guy yelling "SHUT UP!" "IMA KILL YOU!" (i believe into a cell phone), my street is beginning to sound kind of sinister. and i kind of like it.
yes, doing what you want to do. alphabetize tape collection, read alone on the beach, indulge in monkey love with two strangers all night, get high before going to work, what you are doing is not important. it is the fact that you choose this that is. like how the cool kids in school were always somehow doing cool stuff you had never heard about it. not because the stuff was cool, but because the kids doing the stuff didn't care.
so doing what you want to do and not caring. in the spirit of this, i am slowly pulling myself out of my black hole by ignoring my dormant cell phone and embarking on small adventures. i am in the midst of some serious dust spelunking as i excavate the contents of my room/apartment/life. i am cooking all the recipes from the moosewood cookbook. yoga. and tonight i ventured down to bookshop santa cruz to see the "life-changing" vendela vida read from her new novel and chat about writing.
i rolled up with two minutes to spare, but lulus was closed, so i hot footed it in just in time and sat next to an older man who seemed a bit peeved that i had cut into his leg room. for whatever reason, i chose not to sit next to the cute, young guy a seat away to my left, lets call it self-consciousness. a glance at the time and i was up and out of the aisle, ready to run across the street for coffee, until i realized it was a bookstore with a no drinks policy, so went back to sit down. man to my right now had his leg cocked conspicuously to his left, so i slid into the seat next to young guy, becoming more aware of his presence as the seconds passed.
brown loafer/wallabees, white socks, clean khakis, white t-shirt, brown wool jacket on his lap. curly, dark hair and some casual/maintained stubble framing a handsome, angelic face. his apple cheeks and soft, pink lips bear an uncanny resemblance to...guess who...an-d-bag and his curious and intelligent nature likewise, but without the sting of self-righteousness and judgment. for now.
i am getting ahead of myself.
sitting side by side, ever more conscious of each other's presence, it becomes clear that someone should say something. just as i am about to open my mouth he beats me to it and we chat for a minute about how we came to be there (me=mcsweeneys, him=something to do) before the reading begins.
she's great. young and stunning from one angle, human and flawed from the other. her excerpt bores me a bit, as reading aloud can tend to do, but the q&a after was interesting. i love hearing about the writer's process and listening to little pieces about her background research (multiple trips to lapland, turkey, vermont, croatia...jeal!) was an inspiring reminder of the commitment real writers possess. she mentioned five books that sat on her desk as she wrote "the lovers": the lover, the sheltering sky, the stranger, disgrace and a passage to india. having only read the middle three, i can't speak for all, but this group of titles is such a cohesive little corner of literature and it really floored me that i had read all three and knew exactly where and why she had drawn inspiration from them.
immediately the alexandria quartet came to mind and i thought of asking her if she was familiar. to the point where i even half raised my hand at the end of the q&a (how many times has this happened in my life? lol), but i decided against it. i find it very awkward to talk to people about their work. especially and particularly when i haven't read any of it.
the other reason i ignored this impulse is that i had bravely resumed converse with my seatmate and was enjoying our little back and forth very much. he reads, he writes and - wait for it - yes he would like to join me for a coffee. we talk nonstop and it is as if he is literally pulling thoughts from my brain. similarities abound, from living situation (with random, older people), fave authors (vonnegut!), secret spots (he was writing at the secret lagoon today), wes anderson/noah baumbach/kicking and screaming loving to the familiar absorption/alienation of an interested life.
he walked me to my bike and we smiled at how much we have in common. i wrote my number in his notebook and put his in my phone. sure he's 20 like all the rest of them and can't even get a drink at a bar...but for once something happened like it should. like a movie.
tinteardrop at 10:40 p.m.