bookblog

Tales of the (visit to the) City

OK,here is an example of how I endlessly amuse myself. I laugh every time I think of it, though you might not.

Last weekend I was hanging out in NYC with my old roommate, C. She is a special ed teacher who manages concesions at Summer Stage in Central Park during the summer. She's a hugely knowledgeable music fan, esp. with regard to hip-hop, reggae, Latin music, etc. When I told her we were going to see Damian Marley this week, she said that she had met him this year at Summer Stage and given him a note.

"Like, a note with your phone number?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah," she replied, a little defensive. "I mean, it was just scribbled on the back of an ice receipt. I just said 'thank you' and another message and my name and number." She tried to shrug it off like that's a normal thing to do.

I couldn't let it go. "Thank you, as in 'thank you for the music'?" I was already laughing a little bit. "And what was the rest of the message? 'Dear Damian, I'm sorry about your dad. I really like your hair...' "

"Shut up!" she said defensively. C is a 90 lb Brooklyn native with an impenetrable Goodfellas accent and masses of curly blond hair. She tutors underprivileged children in her spare time, and also smokes a lot of weed. "It wasn't like that at all. It was...poetic, and...revolutionary. I'm not going to tell you what it said because you're laughing at me!" She had to raise her voice a little because I was giggling loudly. I can be a real bitch sometimes.

I tried to get more details about the note out of her, but she wasn't budging (except to say that the ice receipt had been signed for by an employee named Jesus, and she thought that the reason Damian never called her was that he was afraid she was a missionary bent on converting him away from Rastafarianism.)

A few minutes later, as she and my sister were well into another subject, I interrupted. "I know!" I said, already cracking up. "The note said 'I really enjoyed Welcome to Jamrock [his latest album], and I'd love to see your cock.' "

"NO!" She was horrified. "It was nothing like that! Damian would have been so offended!" She had pushed away from the table, as though moving away from me could make the whole idea go away.

"But you did say it was poetic."

"I hate you."

Slump 2005

A partial list of books I have recently picked up and subsequently abandoned:

                         

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell by Susanna Clarke

I wanted this book so badly when it first came out.  It's totally right up my alley in every way, except for the having-a-plot way.  Stick with it!  I'm told.  The last third is worth it!  Each day I stand beside the door, looking at this book lying like a cement block on the table, and I think, Should I take it with me?  And every day the answer is no.  I don't think things are destined to end well between me, Jonathan, and Mr Norrell. 

Resurrection Man by Eoin McNamee

It's cold and rainy and dark.  I haven't been to Ireland for 2 years, and it's been approximately that long since I've engaged in sexual congress with a person who holds an EU passport.  These are excellent reasons why I should be devouring modern Irish novels right now, as I do every year at this time.  McNamee's other book, The Last Deeds & Love in History, was the straw that ultimately broke the camel's back of my relationship with the DC Public Library, yet I deemed my ridiculouslyhigh late fees worth it, because that was a good book.  One I could have bought  50 copies of for what I eventually paid the hateful man at MLK library, but whatever.  And I like Resurrection Man so far as well, I just keep forgetting about it and being distracted when I try to sit down with it.  I blame myself, Eoin.

Star of the Sea by Joseph O'Connor

To recap, I love books about Irish things.  I love Jospeh O'Connor's other books.  I even love books about ships.  Well, maybe that's an overstatement but still, this is a book I should be sopping up with a biscuit, weeping like Sinead did in that Nothing Compares 2 U video (she's the author's sister.)  But no.  I can't even make myself read onto figure out how that one conflicted guy got the clap.  I know I will come back to this one, but when?  When will the reading block be over?

Tomorrow I head to NYC and I plan to buy myself a copy of Son of a Witch for the train.  It's risky because after the splendor of Wicked and Confessions of an Ugly Step-Sister, Gregory Maguire has been disappointing me more and more acutely with every new effort.  I hope this is the one that breaks the trend.