I have not been writing, obviously or, at the very least, I have not been blogging... I have been entertaining the idea of writing a book, but when I sit down to write something, most often it turns out to be nonsensical crap that I can't even read or, my ADD kicks in and I lose interest as quickly as I sat down. And, let's face it, it is so much easier to hit Delete than it is to sit in front of the screen for hours, wishing that the "right" words would come and inevitably, knowing that they won't...
Despite that fact and, just out of sheer coincidence, the 11 year old used the word despite in a sentence the other day and he used it correctly. He's a bright kid so it didn't surprise me, but it was quite a breath of fresh air to hear a child use that kind of vocabulary in the regular description of his every day life. His mother must be an English teacher, ANYWAY so, today I had my teeth cleaned, I went to the doctor AND I went to the aforementioned kid's school to watch him run in a circle, otherwise known as the Jog-A-Thon or, more privately known in my head as "Let's pimp our kids out for money and then make them run in circles so the people writing the checks will feel like they got something out of it." No, really, the kids love the Jog-A-Thon and it is an important fundraiser and all that and, honestly, it has been fun to watch and especially this year, because for Nick's class, all of those kids that I've seen since Kindergarten are now moving on to the dreaded middle school years and it is nice to be able to see them as they enter their "adolescent" phase of life. I thought middle school was, well, frankly, a pit, half filled with shit and half filled with flowers, depended on the day and which jeans I was wearing, but, I digress...
So, it was a busy day today, but busy in a way that makes me feel like I'm forcing the busyness. It's not the kind of productive busy that I used to experience when I worked full time. Instead, it's more of a run around like a chicken with my head cut off kind of busy; no direction, no aim, no real purpose and bumping into all kinds of things that shouldn't be in my way in the first place. (Sigh) This rant is clearly going nowhere but it is serving its psychological purpose for me so I suppose in a small way, that it is purposeFUL. Maybe this entry in blogworld will triumphantly announce my ability to write something that doesn't resemble a really bad romance novel. Those books still sell like "hotcakes" to use an outdated expression. Formulaic beyond belief, but easy to read and hey, isn't everyone looking for someone to "slowly peel off the silken shoulders of her tulle encrusted gown." Whatever, Vonnegut it ain't but it also serves its purpose...
Tomorrow is the Festival of Books that the LA times hosts every year and although I have gone in the past, I cannot go this year. I am hoping that some of my students will go and that several thousand others because it is a wonderful and necessary opportunity to revisit the antiquated notion of reading. I say that only because of the depressing notion that not only are less people reading for pleasure these days, but they aren't even reading books anymore; they are reading off of their computers and their phones. A student told me that he'd downloaded a book onto his phone. Sounds very convenient I realize, but how small is that print? And what happens when you want to quickly flip back to the page or two before the one that you are currently on so that you can grab some detail that you may have overlooked. And I don't want to hear how you can scroll down or up or some bullshit like that. I will probably get a Kindle and I will probably love the convenience of it, but I want to hold the book and smell it and feel its weight, its story in my hands. I don't want to scroll down. I want to make notes in the margins and fold the page over to hold my place; I want to use goofy bookmarks when I remember and I want to touch the lines of print as my eyes move across them. I want to reread passages over and over without ever leaving that page and there is still a huge part of me that cannot accept that the replicants that masquerade as books on that Kindle or on the Nook are truly, by definition, books. It's like the Stepford wives of the world of literature. Hell, I don't want my books served perfectly with no mistakes and cheaper just because they appear on a screen. No, I want imperfections and flaws; I feel cheated if I read a book and I don't find grammatical errors. I want to stop and flip to the back cover and stare at the photo of the author and I want to the read the critic's comments right in the middle of the best part of the story. I want to have the option is my point. I want to maintain the option. And I hope to God that option is never taken away. It was hard enough to let go of letter writing, now I have to contemplate the possibility that there many no longer be print newspapers or, one day, books on paper any longer? I'm not sure if I can be a part of that world. Maybe it's time to start hoarding because this whole scenario is looking very Orwellian to me at the moment or very Farenheit 451. Oh, and Ray Bradbury has usually been at the Festival of Books every year, his health permitting. He is so fantastic. I gush, but he is one of the greatest American writers of all time and if I had the tip of a fingernail of his talent, I would want all of my work PRINTED on paper and, if need be, after, on a Kindle...
There is much more to say, but I am sleepy and it is going to be a full weekend. The crazy ass redhead is taking us on our first of three jaunts back into the running world... and as I attempt to remount that horse, let me just say, the idea of a world without books is just as horrifying to me as a world filled with illiterates, either by choice or by circumstance. Reading is freedom... Use it with care and use it wisely. I will attempt to either be more provocative or more pensive the next time around. Until then... do something productive will you? And no, playing Angry Birds does not count as productive... Night.
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