happy 2010!
[art by matte stephens]
It’s so easy to slip back into the academic calendar lifestyle. I took my last final on Saturday and promptly turned my back on most of my other obligations–such as this blog. I was 22 again, lounging on friends’ couches, spending hours in dives, making the house party rounds, and sleeping every now and again.
But that’s not to say it’s been one ongoing party. I still do that silly thing called work everyday. And there is this other little thing called Christmas just on the horizon. So in my more graduate student, less undergraduate student moments, I’ve been enjoying the following during the first week of my winter break:
Fiction: The Russian Debutante’s Handbook
Nonfiction: Proust and the Squid
Knitting: ribbed hats and fingerless gloves (still)
Watching: Arrested Development (again)
Contemplating: Seven-layer cookies and Zuni Cafe’s Roasted Chicken [via smitten kitchen]
Frequenting: Paper Source
Subscribing: Granta
Hope you have an equally as delightful break ahead of you…
Yesterday within the span of a minute (2:35 pm Eastern Standard Time if you want to get down to the gritty details), I received two emails spreading the sad news that December 3, 2008, had been declared Black Wednesday. No, the stock market did not plummet yet again. (Actually, it may have. I haven’t checked today.) There were no surprise, well orchestrated terrorist attacks to my knowledge. In fact, this little declaration probably didn’t even show up on most people’s radar.
It was the book publishing industry that declared it Black Wednesday: Random House announced that it is restructuring; layoffs were announced at Simon & Schuster and Thomas Nelson; layoffs were rumored at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt; and the publisher of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt called it quits.
The announcement prompted a friend and fellow member of the book publishing industry to pronounce, “The book is dead.” And that may have been the blackest part of it all.
Books, for better or worse, are my life. They are my occupation, they are my companion when I am lonely, they are the means by which I learned to knit, they my teachers, and they are the reason I am pursuing my Masters degree. If I had any mind for business, I would have opened an independent bookstore the day after I graduated from college and contented myself with a life of poverty and happiness from that point on. There is a large part of me that still wants to grow up to be Sylvia Beach.
And so yesterday I issued myself a challenge–and today I’m issuing it to you: Buy a book for one (or ten!) people on your Christmas shopping list this year. Keeping the book alive may be one of the greatest gifts you can give the world this year.
Thank you.
I like starting my day with a cup of coffee…
and a chocolate muffin…
and a friendly e-mail…
and two lovely new scarf patterns [via The Purl Bee].
Scenes from a Sunday night pictionary match up.
Scene #1
The Brother: [looking at me] We obviously can’t be together.
The Mother: Why not?
The Brother: We would kill you and dad.
The Mother: Oh! It is on!
Scene #2
I am drawing and the Father is drawing. It is an All Play.
The Brother: Submerge.
Me: Yes! I can’t believe you got that so fast!
The Mother: [to the Father] What?? How was I supposed to get that.
We all look at the Father’s drawing of a submarine.
The Father: This was only the first part.
Me: Was the second part going to be the submarine being submerged in water?
The Father: No. I was going to draw two companies merging.
Blank stares from all.
The Mother: How were you going to do that, pray tell?
The Father: Two office buildings with arrows pointing together. You would have gotten it.
The Mother: Oh yeah right.
No one else comments because we are laughing too hard.
Scene #3
Game over. We all stare at the board.
The Brother: I hate to have to do this, but it needs to be said: I told you so.
I’m not quite ready to dive into holiday mania yet. I’ve made cookies. I’ve decorated the tree. It’s only December 2. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves at this point. So here is the not so festive round-up of fun reading I tripped across this past week.
Politics: Bringing Pell Grants to My Eyes, by Sarah Vowell [NYT]. Do you need to know more than that? It also helps if you heart Democrats a bit.
Education: Going Off to College for Less (Passport Required) [NYT]. Yes. I am among those who considered attending St. Andrews because Prince William went there. Do not judge.
Travel: Writing on the Walls of the Nation’s Library [NPR]. I volunteer here once a month and it’s every bit as amazing as it sounds.
Book Review: Intelligence in Disguise [Powells]. This book has been calling my name ever since Kramers put it out on the display table. This review moved it to the top of my Christmas vacation reading list.
Pulling out the ornaments is the equivalent of opening a scrapbook spanning 26 years:
- baby’s first Christmas (1982),
- two angels that represent me and Leah–best friends forever in 8th grade (1996),
- ceramic Santa made by grandma (1988ish),
- wooden sled built by grandpa (1992),
- digital image of me and the old roomies (2007).
Past relationships are here too. Ornaments from his mother. A stocking with my name misspelled. Blue balls.
Yes. Blue balls.
My Christmas has always been very red and green and trees and lights. His Christmas was more like Hanukkah. But he has cut down two trees for me, and he deserved a reward. My menorah making attempts were less than dazzling, but the blue balls were just the thing. Granted several broke in the Great Christmas Tree Crash of 2006. And one or two may have fallen victim to the not-so-great attack of our cats 2006 and 2007. And perhaps these events were all not-so-subtle hints by fate that went ignored. Or perhaps these were just part of the scrapbook of ornament memories.
Break ups are complicated. Especially around the holidays. But you know you will be okay when blue balls make you smile with memories of what was instead of crying for what will not be again.
Maybe it’s all this chatter about my school days, but this morning, I was remembering Weekly Readers. Does this ring a bell? Are they still around? No doubt a quick search of the Internets could answer this question. Hold on.
Answer: Yes, it is.
But I digress. The whole point is that I’ve decided to start a weekly reader of my very own with the hopes that I will not be committing any sort of trademark infringement. The selections with be entirely subjective as the joy of a blog as you know means having complete editorial control, but I like to think it might justify the embarrassing number of hours I spend during the week absorbing random information while I should be working and allow you to do the same.
And so without further ado, I present The WTOS Reader, Volume 1, Issue 1.
General Interest: The Art of Translation [NPR], For anyone who loves books, nerdy things, or Les Miserables.
Current Events: Obamaism [New York], Want to relive November 4, 2008 over and over? I do.
Essay: The Chelsea Affect [Granta], Because Arthur Miller was brilliant and funny (and wrote more than The Crucible).
Cookery: A Great Relief [Orangette], Not everyone gets to make the Thanksgiving turkey. I would settle for biscuits being my Thanksgiving trademark.
Book Reviews: Graphic Tales [Bookslut], I’ve already owned up to my love of young adult fiction, but aside from Persepolis I’ve never taken the next step into young adult graphic novels. Now I want to.
Hibernation requires only a few supplies:
(a) your choice of hot apple cider or hot chocolate
(b) a really fantastic blanket (preferably of the wool and plaid variety for maximum hibernation satisfaction)
(c) a subscription to several glossy magazines
(d) a cabinet full of soup cans
(e) good books
Actually, hibernation can go pretty well for a while with only (e). And this print reminded me of how hibernation-worthy Italo Calvino can be.
[artwork by Janice Jong]
Me: [channel surfing...pause]
Her: Wait! Is that Degrassi?!?!?!
Me: I have no idea what you’re talking about?
Her: The Canadian teen soap opera–Degrassi!
It was. And it was awesome. I have a whole new perspective now on Sunday morning television after 2.5 hours of Canadian high school drama… and maybe the tiniest twinge of nostalgia.
I am rarely hit with a strong wave of much of anything for my teenage years. Not that mine were stuff of teen television dramedies. Far from it. But they were a time of confusion and searching and more than a few bad haircuts.
But every now and again, I feel myself pulled back into that world. Going back wouldn’t be so bad if I could go back knowing what I know now, I tell myself. It was kinda nice having my place in the world clearly defined, my place at the lunch table always saved: freshman, sophomore, junior, senior, varsity softball, student council, etc. I now float somewhere between the post-college years (although still in college) and the pre-married years (although not ready to get married), not quite sure where I belong sometimes. The labels are still there, but they no longer have such clear meaning.
In truth, I know I don’t really want to go back. And in greater truth, I quite like this in-between life I now lead. But it’s nice to know that there are high school volleyball games to attend that bring back rose-colored memories of Homecoming dances, bus rides to away games, and Friday nights spent playing Tony Hawk or chatting at Coffee Cartel. And I’m coming to terms with the fact that I will never get over my weakness of young adult fantasy with strong, teen, female characters (thank you, Tamora Pierce). And judging from my sheer adoration of the Dutch movie Dunya & Desie this weekend, I still have a soft spot for films about teenage friendship as well.
Hello, Memory Lane. It’s been a while…
