Literary Omissions*

I was an English major in college. I think if you had asked any friend or family member before I attended college, they would not have been the least bit surprised by my choice of major. I’d always enjoyed reading, opting to beg my parents for my own copies of books instead of borrowing from the library (bad pre-librarian), and would pilfer Beck’s collections when I had the chance.

In high school, I enjoyed my English classes significantly more than my other classes, probably combined. On a college preparation track, I enjoyed some great literary classics (whatever that means) such as Beowulf, The Scarlet Letter, Song of Solomon, and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Many books of this estimation are impossible to avoid in high school, and a much larger number of equal or greater estimation are must-reads as an English major (Middlemarch, The Sun Also Rises, Mrs. Dalloway, to name a few). Somehow, in all those literature classes, I missed out on reading a surprisingly large number of “classics,” or “great books.” It may have been the courses I chose or particular professors, but I was never assigned some great works of literature. And, I’ve realized, I need the sense of urgency an assignment compels to make it through some of these great tomes.

If I had to chose just one (and there are so many), I think my greatest literary omission is One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This is a book that I have owned since I was 14 (I used to compulsively buy used books) and have attempted to read over 50 times, but I can never, ever get past page 20. I know this is a great work of literature, and many people whom I deeply respect have this book at the top of their favorites list; alas, I just can’t get into it. At all. And I’m not sure I want to in the near future (there I said it). I know it’s impossible for any “literate” person to read all/most/some of the works of literature that have been deemed great over the centuries, but I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt eschewing a book that has the potential to change my life if I’d only press on and read.

Other contenders: Moby-Dick, Jane Eyre, War and Peace

*here is where I confess my literary sins. I stole this idea from a slate.com article

Green Spaces

I made my first trip to Golden Gate Park this weekend.  Since my weekends have been for decompressing, I have slowed down a bit with the exploration of my new surroundings.  But, this weekend I vowed to see some of SF’s “Westside,” over past Haight Ashbury and beyond into the whiles of the park.   Before heading to the park on Saturday, I saw a production of Six Degrees of Separation Friday night, which was a last-minute decision.  It was a good one, as I got to see this great story and its zipping dialogue in its original, intended format; previously, I had only seen the film version with Stockard Channing, Donald Sutherland, and Will Smith.  Saturday, with some pitch-perfect weather, I headed over to the park walking through the gates, checking out the Botanical Garden, skipping the Japanese Tea Garden (fee), and looking at the great view afforded by the top floor of the De Young tower.  After, a pumpkin ale and a reuben here was a nice way to wind up my trip to the other side of the city.  I also got a chance to see Alamo Square and the famous “Painted Ladies,” with a gorgeous view of downtown in the background.  It’s nice getting to see more of the city than the BART line.

Cinemania

Every year I look forward to autumn like the anxious, nerdy child I once was; except now instead of being excited for school to start, I’m relieved and thrilled that the “serious” film season is here; the “prestige” films all vying for Oscar glory are more often than not released between Labor Day weekend and the end of the year. Additionally, the changing of the season makes me crave the indoors as a shelter from the cool breeze and rustling, colored leaves. It’s a little different here in SF now, as the leaves aren’t really changing much (palm trees); but I am slowly discovering that SF is a movie town that rivals NYC, and my desire to watch movies in a theatre or on my laptop is increasing as the days get shorter.

For instance, over the two months I’ve seen The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, Michael Clayton, The Jane Austen Book Club, 3:10 to Yuma, The Darjeeling Limited, Lust, Caution, The Brave One, Becoming Jane, Death at a Funeral, and 2 Days in Paris, all in chain theatres. I’ve seen Love and Death and Interiors at the famed Castro Theatre in a double feature, and have rented almost too many DVDs to keep track of.

I’m looking forward to so many more, that I wonder when I’ll have time to see them all, what with work, my reading list, and a social life to participate in. I will say that seeing all of these films does two things: 1. it makes me pretty good at choosing Oscar winners for Oscar pools; and 2. it cuts down on the number of “new releases” DVDs I will rent in the spring. So far, I’m enjoying that SF is so supportive of my cinemania – I’m just hoping to not have to see too many bombs along the way.

What the…

OK, so last night I’m walking to pick up som food from here, and on my way I see a couple of women about a 1/2 block ahead of me. They were a bit Marina-ish for being on a random street in the Mission (shiny blouses, clicky heels, big purses) and were hard not to notice. Anyway, they proceed to flag down a Toyota Matrix, and ask the driver (whom they clearly do not know) if she would like to make $20 by driving them “about 3 blocks away.” I kind of stop because I can’t really believe my ears. The driver considers it for a moment, and then motions for them to get in. Now, unless this is some type of covert drug deal script I am not privy to, I have never seen this before in any setting, urban or rural. The women did mention that they walked in the wrong direction to the restaurant they were headed to, but I still can’t imagine any scenario (even one with uncomfortable shoes) where I flag down a random motorist and pay them for a ride. I remember those scare-tactic videos from elementary school, and they did their job.

Missing Dad

Warning: sappy post ahead.

My dad passed away just over six months ago. I’ve been so busy dealing with getting his estate settled in a timely manner that I sometimes forget to sit and think about how he’s not here anymore. I miss him terribly, and that has only become more apparent of late, when the little things he used to do for me (I never had to ask) now have to get done by me.

For instance, my dad always took care of my car. A great benefit of living less than 1.5 hours from him while I was in NC was that I could visit often on weekends. On these relaxing weekends, I would sleep in criminally late, and my dad would accomplish a whole day’s worth of tasks before I dragged myself out of bed. Like clockwork, my dad would take care of oil changes, car washings, tire rotations, windshield wiper changings, etc., so I never had to worry about it. Now, I have to worry about these things, and take care of them myself, and I am ill-prepared – a ramification of being lovingly spoiled by a parent.

Today was the perfect example. Yesterday I finally got my CA license and registration. Unlike NC, CA requires two license plates, for the front and back. My car, since it was purchased in NC, is one of a few that has no holes or bracket for a front license plate. Kind of like this one.

Task one today: figure out how to mount the license plate to my bumper, using my woefully pathetic tool skills (I own only a screwdriver and hammer, both purchased by…you guessed it, dad). I did some research online, and figured out that you can buy license plate mounting screws and brackets at auto parts stores. I walked over to Kragen and got a bracket and some screws. While I was there, I picked up some new windshield wiper blades, as my old ones had seen better days (it’s rained twice since I moved here, and both times I was on the 101 in a downpour and surrounded by fog…bad wipers did not help the situation).

Task two: mount the bracket and license plate. This was easier than I expected, as I was able to align the top of the bracket with the license plate and just screw it right into the bumper; I could’ve gone deeper (and more secure) into the bumper with a drill, but I made do with manly grunting and righty-tighty-ing the screws directly into the bumper metal.

Task three: change the wiper blades. This was mission impossible today. After struggling for over 45 minutes (pressing, squeezing, jiggling, shaking the attached, old blade), consulting the Subaru manual and its Ikea-like instructional drawings, 3 emergency phone calls to family and friends, and one rage-filled second where I was just going to snap off the whole wiper arm, I packed up, swallowed my man pride, and found a garage a couple of blocks away. There, I watched the dude remove the old blades and attach the new ones, in a combined 12 seconds.

These tasks, totaling 2 hours, made me miss my dad so profoundly, that I know that the tears of frustration that welled in my eyes after repeatedly failing to dislodge the wiper blades were really tears of longing and mourning. My dad loved me so much that he was willing to do these types of tasks without a second thought; I got to be spoiled and loved and car-illiterate in the meantime.

I recently turned 29. It didn’t really register – I pretty much stopped caring about my age after I turned 25; but today, red-eyed, red-faced, hands smudged with a year’s worth of grit from the wiper blades, I couldn’t have felt more like an adolescent, wishing my dad could just show up and take care of things for me. He didn’t, and won’t ever again. It’s time for me to man up and learn how to do these things from now on – because someone has to, and that person, a grown man, is me.

Busy

Things have been pretty busy the last couple of weeks. Projects at work have piled on, and finding time in my day to complete my normal daily duties along with these broader, far-ranging projects has been a challenge. But, things are getting done when they need to. Such is life.

I have had time to do some things outside of work lately. I made it up to the Marina area of SF, and it reminded me a lot of Hoboken, both with the ambiance (young, gel-haired people drinking and carousing) and the location (right along the water, natch). A friend and I ate here, shockingly only my second sushi dinner since I’ve been in SF. I also saw a two movies, one light-hearted, and the other serious – both both excellent.

Tomorrow I have the day off, thanks to a trek out to Walnut Creek last week; I’ll be spending time at the DMV in the morning, and then taking care of some estate issues in the afternoon. I am then looking forward to a nice, relaxing weekend, where some plentiful rest awaits.

Rats

I had not, until tonight on my walk home, seen a rat in San Francisco.

Tonight, I saw about 8-10 scurrying back and forth across the sidewalk several times, before I had to walk across that same stretch of concrete. Totally gross and paralysis-invoking.

I figured my first rat sighting in SF would be on the BART tracks, because the NYC subways are notorious for vermin; instead, I get to see rat migration on the sidewalk I cross daily. Urban life is never boring, folks.

Wedding Season…

is over.  I only attended three weddings this year, but considering that two of them were in NJ and in the past 3 weekends, I’m exhausted and happy that there are no more for me to attend in the foreseeable future.  That said, D’s wedding was beautiful, and it was once again really touching to see such a good friend marry someone with whom happiness is seemingly effortless.

The details: I arrived in NJ after another red eye flight (thanks to Continental), and after breakfast here (again), a haircut (I won’t mention the name since I am less-than-thrilled with the result…I miss Tracy at Sweet Tease), and a long nap, it was off to the church for D & B’s wedding.  D looked amazing in her mother’s dress, and the Catholic mass service was a nice change of pace from the Protestant affairs I am used to attending.  After, it was off to the reception to celebrate both the wedding and my birthday (which was the day before).  The food was good, dancing and getting caught up with friends was fun, and the open bar called to me more than a few times.

After another post-wedding trip to the diner, a few of us crashed at Bill’s house and spent the next day in (un)glorious repose on an assortment of furniture pieces (I got the aerobed).  Bill and I made it out eventually so I could buy a hat (to cover up the hair), to see this and then grab a pizza here.  Sunday was an exercise in laziness, as we both slept until noon; after running a few errands it was back to the airport for me, and eventually home to SF.

I’ve spent a good amount of time today doing what any rational person who just got back from a cross-country jaunt would do:  plan another trip to the East Coast!  This one, however, is not for a wedding, it’s for a conference.