I spent two long days at Bike Pirates over the past week, and I finally got to ride away last night. What should have been a one hour job took about seven hours (not including a journey to three other bike shops around the city) but it paid off. I learned a lot about bike maintenance, repairs, and bike parts in general. One problem presented itself, though: now I want to upgrade everything.
(Bike culture is still lame.)
Updated on 02/11/2010 with five new books.
It looks like I may have done just that.
My bookshelf (though admittedly small) is now full, and the 4-foot windowsill in my room is well on its way to being taken covered in the spillover. I have mixed feelings about this.
On one hand, relatively speaking, I have a lot of books, and I find this really exciting. Fifty books (give or take) may not seem like a lot to some people, but almost all of them were selected and acquired by myself to cater specifically to my interests. I’ve never felt this sense of pride about any other collections, spare my Morrissey/The Smiths albums (and maybe hockey cards or Pogs, but let’s focus on the 21st century).
On the other hand, though, I sometimes feel like I am wasting my time with some of my selections. I use the words, “I don’t like fiction,” nearly as often as I say, “I don’t watch movies.” (Neither of these statements are more than 75% true.) Sure, I have read a lot of poems, short stories, and novels that I really enjoyed, but as I grow older, I can’t help but remind myself that there is so much out there for me to learn about. Why waste my time with make-believe when I could become more knowledgeable? It’s the same principle that applies when I opt for Discovery Channel or a documentary over a Hollywood blockbuster.
That said, I would only classify 1 of the 20 books on this list as fiction (or, more accurately, each of the Bukowski books as 0.5 – and even that may be pushing it), but my subconscious inner-purist still finds some of the others questionable. How many Morrissey anecdotes must I have on tap? How many catalogued mental images of serial killers’ notes is too many? Do I really need to read 221 pages on the history of karaoke?
I don’t have answers to these questions. There are no definitive answers. As if that isn’t bad enough, in thinking about it, another question poses itself – What happens when one’s personal morality and belief system directly conflict their own interests and sources of entertainment? Another unanswered question. This quandary is one that plagues my existence. I feel comparatively inadequate when standing back-to-back with the capability and potential outlined by my intelligence, yet I have no real desire to fulfill that framework. Lately, this frustrates me on a very regular basis. This is my inner turmoil. Metaphorically speaking, I’m wearing clown shoes; I know my feet could grow into them, but I’m wiggling my toes around, falling all over the place, and having a hell of a fun time doing it.
Let’s bring the attention back to the task at hand…
I have a short attention span. As a result, I can’t be reading more than one book at a time. Furthermore, if I don’t read somewhere in the vicinity of 50 pages each sitting – especially the first time I crack the spine – I won’t finish the book. These aren’t rules, they’re observations. With one book on the go and 19 in line, I figure it’s best to keep track of them with a checklist. It (sort of) worked for the audiobooks, so here it goes.
I’ll be updating this list as I work my way through it. If something has a checkmark beside it, I finished it. If there’s an X, I gave up on it. If you want to discuss anything or ask any questions, feel free to leave a comment.
And, as per usual, what would my train of thought be without a closely related Seinfeld reference running caboose? Here’s an excerpt from the script for “The Ex-Girlfriend” (S02E01).
GEORGE: I left some books in her apartment.
JERRY: So? Go get them.
GEORGE: Oh, no. No, I can’t go back there. Jerry, it’s so awkward and, you know, it could be dangerous – sexually. Something could happen. I’d be right back where I started.
JERRY: So forget about the books. Did you read them?
GEORGE: Well, yeah.
JERRY: What do you need them for?
GEORGE: I don’t know. They’re books.
JERRY: What is this obsession people have with books? They put them in their houses like they’re trophies. What do you need it for after you read it?
GEORGE: They’re my books.
I fell asleep to Henry Rollins’ dopey voice last night and listened to the rest of his audiobook at work this morning. The guy fascinates me. I don’t always agree with him – in fact, I think a lot of the things he has done or said are rather moronic – but I think that’s a good thing. There tends to be a fine line between fascination and respect vs. deitization.
Anyway, hearing all his journal entries inspired me to dig up my own tour journal from last spring. One of the guys I was out with, Brendan, managed to get out of a bunch of homework assignments and scammed five weeks off school in order to go on the trip and all he had to do for his English course was bring back a tour journal. Someone else suggested that we all keep our own and exchange photocopies after we returned home. I was initially against the idea. It was my belief that anything worth dwelling on would be remembered and everything else was trivial and meant to be forgotten. Regardless, as a show of solidarity, I began writing on Day 6; I threw in the towel on Day 16. For the record, I have yet to see what anyone else wrote that month.
The following is what I am willing to share. Please excuse any inside jokes.
Wow. It’s been over three weeks since my last post. On one hand, I’m sort of disappointed in myself for not being persistent. On the other hand, I’m glad I didn’t waste my time writing a bunch of things that nobody (myself included) will feel are anything but a waste of time afterward.
That is how I have been listening to music for the past while. It no longer matters to me if something sounds good (almost everything has been done before ) as long as there is substance. Teach me something. Make me feel something. Inspire me to think. Very, very few bands really hit a nerve anymore. I’m taking my thoughts on music and lyrics and bringing them into my personal writing.
I’ve made it a goal to write here a few times a week (time and circumstances permitting). As an extension of my intentions, I’ve also made it a goal to leave my house a few times a week in search of things to write about. “I woke up, sat around my house, ate a dozen bowls of cereal while browsing the Internet, then went to bed.” For some reason, that doesn’t sound quite as interesting or appealing as it once did. If something isn’t worth mentioning, it probably isn’t worth doing.
Continue reading ‘Keeping My Chin Up to Fasten the Top Button’
I felt motivated to do some thrift shopping today. Of course, in my typical fashion (pun obviously intended), I procrastinated until late afternoon. I walked up on Goodwill around 4:40 PM to find that they had been closed for the better part of an hour. That was probably for the best considering how broke I am but I still think Sundays are good for nothin’.
For some reason, I had opted to walk jacket-less in overcast 7°C/45°F weather. As under-dressed as I was, I decided it would be a good idea to go for a walk while I was out. I’ve managed to lose about 15 pounds over the past couple months without doing anything out of the ordinary except walking around Toronto. Noticing that I was shedding some pounds has done wonders for my self-image. Unfortunately, it looks like my visits to the big city will be more sparse in the foreseeable future so I guess I’ll have to find exercise in London. I don’t want to hibernate again like I did last winter.
