Clear skies
How odd. I was called away momentarily from the keyboard, and this post published itself. I hadn't saved it, had only given it a temporary title, and...this thing is glitchin'...
I managed to get in touch with our wandering son, who's been on a rock-climbing quest for several weeks. He spent most of his time in Joshua Tree National Park, but about the time he and his fellow clibers were getting booted out, for no really solid reason other than faschist ranger impulses, he left with a freind who has a 40-foot sailboat moored in Marina Del Rey in L.A. He's been pondering his motivation for his road trip, and walking foot-blistering miles around the City of Luxury Autos, having left his car here with us. He said he's been reading Dostoyevsky's "The Double," which I recall as a particularly bleak and disturbing story, but he's appreciating it. We talked a while about the staggering consumerism he's observing down there, and about artistic intentions and urges. It was wonderful to hear his voice, since I keep missing his calls home; he sounds as if he's figured a few things out about himself.
Of to bed early to try to fight off an incipient cold or something. I was sorry to finish Number 9 Dream, and am finding the next bookgroup pick, Shadow of the Wind, to be unchallenging and chock full o' cliches. Pat Barker's Regeneration is under discussion now; at least it is intelligently executed.
I managed to get in touch with our wandering son, who's been on a rock-climbing quest for several weeks. He spent most of his time in Joshua Tree National Park, but about the time he and his fellow clibers were getting booted out, for no really solid reason other than faschist ranger impulses, he left with a freind who has a 40-foot sailboat moored in Marina Del Rey in L.A. He's been pondering his motivation for his road trip, and walking foot-blistering miles around the City of Luxury Autos, having left his car here with us. He said he's been reading Dostoyevsky's "The Double," which I recall as a particularly bleak and disturbing story, but he's appreciating it. We talked a while about the staggering consumerism he's observing down there, and about artistic intentions and urges. It was wonderful to hear his voice, since I keep missing his calls home; he sounds as if he's figured a few things out about himself.
Of to bed early to try to fight off an incipient cold or something. I was sorry to finish Number 9 Dream, and am finding the next bookgroup pick, Shadow of the Wind, to be unchallenging and chock full o' cliches. Pat Barker's Regeneration is under discussion now; at least it is intelligently executed.
posted by isabelita at 7:05 PM
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