(no subject)
Dec. 27th, 2003 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
levertovfanSo I'm sitting in the Coral Gables (Florida) Public Library.
Christmas Eve was rather nice because it produced the Firefly DVD set and flannel-lined jeans, and the next morning was nice because it produced various and sundry (sundry and various?) books, including a Muriel Rukeyser reader. I've decided that part of the reason why I want to get a job and not go on to grad school is so that I have time to attack those piles of books (both literal and theoretical) I want to read without a sense of guilt. The flight to Florida was completely full, which strikes me as a little weird for a flight on Christmas Day.
A few moments I'd like to record, for posterity:
-Riding down Divisadero Street, on the Pacific Heights side of the mountain that overlooks the bay, coming home from Christmas Eve. It was an almost empty street, lined with streetlights. There was something- transcendent- about listening to one of Ryan Adams's new EPs, a Christmas present, which is filled with desire and regret and all those other "Nightswimming" sorts of emotions, as I drove down the hill on an empty street on Christmas Eve.
-My grandmother said she thinks I should write a novel. It wasn't one of those planned "this is what I think you should do with your life" moments, just Grandmotherly certainty that I'm capable of writing a novel and that of course I've got ideas for a novel. I don't. I haven't written fiction, or had the time and inclination to write fiction for such a long time now that it came as a shock. It shouldn't really, because my Grandparents have been receiving bits and pieces of my writing for so long now, but the last thing that could concieveably be classified as fiction that was sent them was a dialogue from a high school class.
-My grandfather's name, meanwhile, is immortalized in a book by this Jewish author named Anne Roiphe. My aunt Nadine does these book fair things with Jewish Book World and at one point she was driving Anne Roiphe to the airport and she mentioned that her father read her novels. So Nadine called Grandpa up and he and Anne Roiphe talked, and Roiphe discovered that he had been reading her most recent serialized novel, which was appearing in the Daily Forward. When the novel, which is about a mayor of a big city, appeared in book form, it suddenly contained the addition of a campaign manager named Moe Alter. Apparently, Roiphe was impressed that he had read the serialization.
Christmas Eve was rather nice because it produced the Firefly DVD set and flannel-lined jeans, and the next morning was nice because it produced various and sundry (sundry and various?) books, including a Muriel Rukeyser reader. I've decided that part of the reason why I want to get a job and not go on to grad school is so that I have time to attack those piles of books (both literal and theoretical) I want to read without a sense of guilt. The flight to Florida was completely full, which strikes me as a little weird for a flight on Christmas Day.
-Riding down Divisadero Street, on the Pacific Heights side of the mountain that overlooks the bay, coming home from Christmas Eve. It was an almost empty street, lined with streetlights. There was something- transcendent- about listening to one of Ryan Adams's new EPs, a Christmas present, which is filled with desire and regret and all those other "Nightswimming" sorts of emotions, as I drove down the hill on an empty street on Christmas Eve.
-My grandmother said she thinks I should write a novel. It wasn't one of those planned "this is what I think you should do with your life" moments, just Grandmotherly certainty that I'm capable of writing a novel and that of course I've got ideas for a novel. I don't. I haven't written fiction, or had the time and inclination to write fiction for such a long time now that it came as a shock. It shouldn't really, because my Grandparents have been receiving bits and pieces of my writing for so long now, but the last thing that could concieveably be classified as fiction that was sent them was a dialogue from a high school class.
-My grandfather's name, meanwhile, is immortalized in a book by this Jewish author named Anne Roiphe. My aunt Nadine does these book fair things with Jewish Book World and at one point she was driving Anne Roiphe to the airport and she mentioned that her father read her novels. So Nadine called Grandpa up and he and Anne Roiphe talked, and Roiphe discovered that he had been reading her most recent serialized novel, which was appearing in the Daily Forward. When the novel, which is about a mayor of a big city, appeared in book form, it suddenly contained the addition of a campaign manager named Moe Alter. Apparently, Roiphe was impressed that he had read the serialization.
