At least, for the first official day of it. Actually, I'm getting a landline installed today. Amazingly exciting, I know. It's just a matter of flicking a switch and there you go, but it might take some time before someone thinks to flick said switch, so I'm keeping busy indoors today. I've got an awesome Let's Player and his friends to watch, Herbie Hancock whirling away in my computer, and a book about Christopher Marlowe to read through. If the dial tone comes to life early enough in the day, I'll take a trip to the library and do a quick book exchange. For what it's worth, I finished reading a bio on Marcel Proust last night. It took some plowing through, more than usual considering that it was not a very thick book. Maybe it was just old and musty enough to drive the will to read from me. Maybe it was the author's style I found hard to work with. If I do decide to read about Proust again, I think I'll try a different bio. On the other hand, I did pull at least one quote from this odd little book, and I came across something that rubbed me the wrong way enough that I would like to address it here.
Proust suffered from asthma and other respiratory problems for most of his life, and the technology was not in place to ensure a long and healthy life for him as it is now. However, in 1958, the cause of asthma had to be better-known than what the author seemed to think. Who in their right mind would claim that asthma is a psychosomatic illness due to separation anxiety? Proust might've been among the great mama's boys of history, but I cannot for a second believe that being without his mother and other comforts would lead to breathlessness and the like. Based on the little I know about asthma (which I admit is not a lot), Proust would've had more to fear from having the fire in the wood stove going day and night through rain and shine, which he did quite a bit. Surely the author would have done some research and would've made the right connection. Anyway, that early tidbit in the book did bug me a touch, but I've said it and now am ready to move on.
The Marlowe book I am going to start soon is called 'History Play: the lives and afterlife of Christopher Marlowe'. Admittedly, my inner geek is already hard at work pulling together as much as I can find concerning this guy. Can a geek live within a nerd? Interesting question. I have the rest of the week to puzzle through this one. Nerds have been pretty cool for a little while now - just ask that Let's Player I seem to mention a lot lately. Okay, time to move on before this turns into an ad for the dude. Thanks and BYE for now.
Advertising (1) Anger (3) Antiques (1) Anxiety (1) Art (2) Authors (4) Beliefs (14) Bible (3) Birthdays (6) Books (123) Buddhism (9) business (2) Cancer (1) Cats (8) Change (2) Charisma (2) Children (9) Church of England (1) Common cold (2) Computers (4) Connections (2) Corruption (2) court (1) Cults (2) David Hume (1) Death (6) Diaries (19) Disgusting stuff (3) Distractions (2) Dragonflies (2) Driving (2) Economy (1) Evil (1) Family (5) Fantasy (3) frustration (8) Future (1) Gaming (52) ghosts (5) House-hunting (1) Hypocrisy (1) Inevitability (2) Inner clock (1) innocence (1) Islam (1) Joyce (1) Kant (1) Karma (3) Libraries (3) Lists (2) Literature (5) Lodging (6) Love (1) Love songs (1) Men and Women (6) Mexico (2) Monkees (1) Multinationals (1) Music (11) Mythology (1) Myths (1) On the Literary Front (11) Philosophy (6) Plato (1) Poetry (1) Politics (3) Pop culture (3) Possessions (1) Prophecies (2) Purchasing (2) Religion (12) Robert Ludlum (2) Rushdie (1) Saints (1) Satellite radio (1) scandal (1) school (6) Science Fiction (1) Semi-Buddhist Eyes (14) Silliness (43) Sims (33) Sleep (2) Society (3) Socrates (1) spirits (1) St. Jude (1) Sterne (1) Summer (2) Technology (1) Thoughts (97) Time (10) Trollope (7) unfinished (1) unions (1) Vacation (19) Victorians (1) Vista (1) Waugh (1) Weeding (1) Weekend (3) Winter (8) Work (31) Writing (18)