Changing Tastes

Every vacation I go on necessitates a trip to the bookstore.  No matter how long or short the trip, I must take enough with me to ensure that should I get trapped on a dessert island, I will have enough reading material for a year.  This also tends to mean I travel with a very heavy suitcase and carryon.  Besides, I need options, even if I don't get the chance to read everything that I brought.  I'm still a little raw from our trip to San Francisco last year that necessitated me buying a book in the airport.  That's right, in the airport.  I felt dirty and a little ashamed of myself.  Taught me a lesson about being unprepared.  All of this has also taught Elton that until I invest in an e-reader for trips, we probably need an extra suitcase to tote all of my reading material, which often includes variety in the vein of New York Times Crossword Puzzle Books and an assortment of news weeklies.

Anyways, having said all that, I'll get to my actual point.  When I went to stock up for our recent trip to San Diego I discovered something that really surprised me:  my genre tastes have changed.  Having spent close to 10 years working in a bookstore, and having spent the last 20+ years as an avid reader, I was really surprised.  I have a pretty varied palette, but have always enjoyed a soft spot for coming-of-age stories of the contemporary Holden Caulfield variety.  The last coming of age story I read left me feeling rather wanting.  I just didn't care as much.  It all seemed so whiney, so cliché.  But this lack of interest ultimately left me feeling bereft.  Sure, there are a million other things i can read, but that's been a sure bet for a long time.

When you're used to working in a bookstore and you no longer have daily access to everything new and interesting, you begin to rely on those "guaranteed reads," those types of books that are sure to be quick and satisfying.  I walked out the door with only two books in hand; this was a first.  I know this means that its opening the door for a whole new genre that perhaps I've yet to enjoy, but it doesn't mean that the genre, or the feeling it evoked rather, won't be missed.  

This is My Life

Sometimes weird things happen to me.  I would go so far as to say that sometimes I feel like a homing pigeon for weird people and events.  Having said that, I had a really odd encounter the other day.

I was outside a restaurant down the street from my office, waiting for a couple girlfriends I was meeting for lunch.  I people watched for a few minutes; I was early so I had some time to kill.  This guy meanwhile wanders up next to me, and sort of hovers.  Irritated, I pulled out my phone and start checking emails, Facebook, anything, trying my best to emit "stay away" vibes.  Then the guy starts to talk. 
Him:  Pretty humid out today (keep in mind this is Florida in the summer.  It's always hot, what matters is how humid it is)
Me:  (I barely glance up and keep studying my phone) Yup, sure is. 
Him:  So...you meeting someone here?
Me: (sighing in annoyance)  Sure am.  Waiting for a couple friends.

It's a simple enough exchange, right?  At this point, I'm still trying to be nice, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure he's hitting on me.  It's not in my nature to be automatically cruel or rude, despite how I may feel about the situation.  So I try to at least give off "leave me alone" vibes without being a jerk.  Did it work?  Oh no, he kept talking to me.  Over the next 10 minutes, I learned that he had moved here for California, is terribly lonely, works in IT, left a girlfriend of 4 years in California, is convinced she's cheating on him, is thinking about hiring a private investigator to find out more about said cheating, is analyzing her phone bills to see how long she talks to other guys,  and on and on and on. 

Really?  Who stands next to someone and spews their life story like that?  It was both weird and sad.  Weird because c'mon, wtf?  And sad because the kid was clearly lonely, and coming a little unhinged about his relationship.

It was like talking to a wall.  He kept asking me "Do you think she's cheating on me?"  and I answered (probably somewhat callously) "Cut the cord, son.  If she's not moving out here and you're not going back there, don't drag it out." 

It was just such a weird exchange, to the point that I don't know how to describe it.  I wound up counseling the kid about it.  A friend said I should offer street corner counseling.  I kept waiting for the hidden camera to pop out.

A Sad, Sad Day

I think it was the Christmas I was 12 or 13 that I asked Santa for it.  I couldn’t wait until Christmas morning; I knew that heavy, rectangular prize under the tree was waiting for me.  I was about to receive

Cover via Amazontree was for me.  What was it, you ask?   The créme de la of Christmas presents:  my very own Oxford English Dictionary.  Granted, it wasn’t the 20-volume behemoth that I coveted from the local library, but it was enough.  It was still full of words and language; it meant endless afternoons of new words to memorize and pore over with abandon.  My nerdy little self was in heaven.

As with all books, there is something to be said for their physical nature.   The act of reading, the feel of the paper pages between your fingers, the different weight of a paperback vs a hardcover, or permabound and roughcut.  So many variables that shape the reading experience as much as the words themselves.  This is something that I’ve struggled with as I debate whether to give in to the allure of the e-reader, but it strikes a different chord when its the OED, a volume so large and so revered that it takes years to update.

Recently, I almost bought a nook.  I was seduced by the thought of travel that didn’t require me to bring 5 different books, but rather one slim electronic device that could hold a library.  It’s difficult to resist the convenience, though in the end I opted to wait and see what comes next.

So where does this leave us, those lovers of literature?

Walking the Thin Line of Privacy

10 years ago, most of us didn’t have online personalities.  Only the more tech or computer savvy among us tooled along on the information highway, coming up with online handles that defined us in chat rooms, relationships that  might occasionally carry over into email or IM, but ultimately made us known to only a small segment of people.  In a way, it was easier than to hide behind these online personas.  Now, our identities online are no longer personas, they are extensions of our physical, everyday selves.  I myself exist on a range of social networks, connected across the interwebs via this blog, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, email and random other services for which I have registered and forgotten.  My job is as a website and social media manager, so a portion of myself extends to that company’s online persona as well.  So many facets of ourselves, how is it possible to have privacy?

To me, privacy is not so much an issue as the emotions behind it.  Many people don’t want their locations tracked, don’t want their personal and professional lives to intersect.  They are ok with one group knowing that they ate breakfast at the Cracker Barrel, but would rather the other set not know that they have a special fondness for Cracker Barrel’s cheesy hashbrowns.  And I can understand that mentality, I suppose.  I am realistic enough to know that spending my day monitoring Facebook and Twitter feeds mean that I have become numb to the lines between personal and professional.  I am surrounded by people whose lives are intertwined.  I don’t so much care anymore who knows where I am, what I had for breakfast, my thoughts on social media management or Sandra Bullock’s recently publicized divorce from Jesse James.

At the end of the day, I care about the emotion behind it all.   We all preach that privacy is no longer an option in an age when all of us are constantly electronically connected, but what about the privacy of feelings?  A bridge that I don’t think I could ever cross would be to broadcast or discuss my own inner monologue, or my true feelings on areas that I’m sensitive about.  Disagreements with friends or family, hurt feelings, misunderstandings…all of those more tender emotions are things that I would never and could never broadcast.  I am amazed when I read articles about couples who fight via Facebook, breakups that happen over Twitter, raw, vulnerable emotions splashed across the web for everyone to see.  In all of this, I suppose that is what I understand the least.  Social media and where it’s heading is a passion; learning about it, discussing it, probing the sociological patterns behind it all comprise my day, and led me to the position I am in now.  That place where peoplle are comfortable exposing their innermost feelings…that is the part of social media that scares me.  

How alone are those of us who cannot do that?  Aldous Huxley, George Orwell, Ray Bradbury, Margaret Atwood, even Lois Lowry and Madeleine L’Engle…all these author’s envisioned futures where we were both completely connected and disconnected from each other.  Futures where technological efficiency has replaced human emotions.  How easy to feel that you have a million friends and acquaintances that stretch across the internet, yet how awful to feel that there is not a single person you can talk to truly, deeply, in any of those places when your feelings are hurt.

The Service Waiting Room at the Dealership

People watching is always fun.  Airports are generally a good place for this, as they see all walks of life, all ages, all levels of affluence and influence, or lack there of.   Similarly, your mid-level car dealership service areas offer the same level of people watching.  You might not find this range of individuals at the BMW or VW dealerships.  But at a car brand that attracts many different levels of economic standing and many different age demographics, you’re pretty much in luck.  This applies to Toyota and Honda, in particular, and perhaps Chevy and Ford as well.  Especially on a Saturday morning.

I, myself, am at the Honda dealership.  I’ve very rarely found it difficult to write, especially when the desire and time are present, as writing for my own enjoyment is not something I have a lot of opportunity for anymore.  Yet here, in the midst of this very interesting mix of humanity, I find my words coming in starts and stops, and I find myself becoming progressively frustrated at the strings of sentences I am producing.  Observational humor is something that I relish and excel at, and when sitting in the movie-theater arranged area that is the waiting room should only produce a wealth of wonderful ideas.  Yet here I sit, bemoaning my lack of inspiration (how can that be, you should see the people around me!) and my mind wanders back to this blog, and my plans for it.

Recently I began posting what is sure to be a very long bucket list.  Recording the things I want to do and see in list form appeals to my list-making soul, and will someday afford me the ability to cross items off my list.  Let me tell you, there is little more satisfying.  So then where does this blog go?  For life in general, I have recently been consumed by a number of desires that I want to implement, and am struggling with how.

Fitness, and that inherent lifestyle, is important to me.  Yoga is something that I love, as are cycling, and running, and going to the gym.  But I find it difficult to balance all these desires.  I have this ideal lifestyle in my head, where I don’t love junk food, and I spring from bed pop-tart like at 5am so I can get in a run or a gym session before leaving for work.  Thus far, that has somehow not happened.  I feel like I have a mental block that is keeping me from figuring out how to work my runs, rides, and mat practices into a schedule that already includes several evenings at work a week and a long work day.  How does all that get balanced?  I suppose it’s just good self-discipline, which I know I possess, but which seems to be missing lately.

To my original point, I am not sure where I would like to go with this blog.  I love the idea of recording my journey back to yoga, but that seems  a bit behind if I have already spent the last three months doing that and not recording it.

So essentially, stay tuned.  As much as I am sure that everyone cares ever so much about my daily thoughts, I know I need a focus, which is part of the reason my writing here has been so intermittent.  So perhaps inspiration will find me.  Let’s hope it’s soon.

The Beginning of My Bucket List

For someone quite near and dear to me, I once made a greeting card that featured an assortment of things I would like to accomplish or experience in my lifetime.  My natural OCD tendencies mean that while the greeting card is aesthetically appealing, I am compelled to put them in a list.  I feel the need to be able to cross them off, or to be able to randomly skim through them, or attach them to the pages of my latest journal.

Without further ado…well, except to say that these are in no particular order.

Bucket List (Part I)

1.  Stand in the Ganges
2.  Take a train through the Indian countryside
3.  Teach someone to read
4.  Live for a time in Italy
5.  Live for a time in Greece
6.  See the Amazon Rainforest
7.  Learn a foreign language (the five years of scholastic Spanish I took do not count)
8.  Enjoy the hot springs of Iceland
9.  See the Grand Canyon
10.  Live in a small beach community on the coast.
11.  Bike up the Pacific Coast Highway
12.  Visit the great old cemeteries of Ireland
13.  Walk the moors the Bronte sisters were so fond of
14.  Ride a gondola in Venice
15.  Practice yoga in a meadow or on a mountaintop…or multiple places were I can feel even more at one with nature and the world
16.  Run a marathon
17.  See the Tour de France
18.  Take singing lessons
19.   Take dancing lessons
20.  Go sky diving
21.  Take a ride on a zip lines
22.  Visit Victoria Falls
23.  See the fjords of Norway
24.  Go to Oktoberfest
25.  Have St. Paddy’s in Ireland
26.  See Estasi di Santa Teresa by Bernini
27.   Run with the Cherry Blossoms in D.C.
28.  Tour underground Seattle
29.  Walk across Abbey Road
30.  Visit St. Peter’s Basilica
31.  Walk the Parthenon in Greece
32.  Sunbathe on a nude beach

I think that might be it for now, though the juices are flowing!

Favorite "Catcher" Quotation

"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 24, spoken by the character Mr. Antolini

Memories of Salinger

Since news broke yesterday of the death of J.D. Salinger at the ripe old age of 91 (evidently, his hermit-like existence and obsession with holistic medicine speak to some evidence of aiding in longevity...though he did not make it to 120), memories have been pouring forth. Which is interesting, considering the reclusive author rarely left his New Hampshire farmhouse after withdrawal from public life.

It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible. Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me. On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon. And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain. Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a "phony", in the words of Holden Caulfield.

I am touched by this man's desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses. And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.

Memories of Salinger

Since news broke yesterday of the death of J.D. Salinger at the ripe old age of 91 (evidently, his hermit-like existence and obsession with holistic medicine speak to some evidence of aiding in longevity…though he did not make it to 120), memories have been pouring forth.  Which is interesting, considering the reclusive author rarely left his New Hampshire farmhouse after withdrawal from public life.

It is this reclusiveness, however, that makes any contact with the author that much more incredible.  Thus far, there has been one story of a visit with the author that has touched me.  On NPR this morning, from a 2007 Story Corp. archive, came the memory of a young man from Wisconsin, who made the journey to New Hampshire in the late sixties to try and meet his icon.  And the young man did succeed, though purely by virtue of a momentous rainstorm, which made even the recalcitrant Salinger invite the young man into his kitchen and out of the rain.  Though they spent a very short time together, the gentleman remembers his own feelings at the meeting, and wanting to ask Salinger to show him where he works, but being so afraid of appearing as a “phony”, in the words of Holden Caulfield.

I am touched by this man’s desire to meet one of his literary idols, but surprisingly was most affected by the vulnerability that still comes through when he retells this story so many years later, of not wanting the famous man to think that this young man was just a phony, another one of the masses.  And I applaud this young man for recognizing that just meeting this great recluse, this man who wrote one of the most definitive novels of the 20th century, is something that very few can claim, and that is awe-inspiring in its own right.

Chatty Cathy

Yesterday, I went to the dentist. I’ll say first that I am one of those freaks who has their teeth cleaned every three months. This means that while I didn’t have an attachment persay to the in house hygienest, there is comfort in familarity. As such, I was rather sad to find that she was no longer there. In her place was an older woman, the type who probably has a couple of kids who have moved onto college, and a husband who works long hours, and who subsequently decided to go back to the career of her pre-family days: Oral Hygienest.

That’s a profession I’ve never understood. Granted, the ads on t.v. for night school, internet classes and "earn your degree in 30 days" programs have convinced me that despite the fact that we let these people wield sharp instruments in our mouths, it doesn’t take much schooling to earn the right. And it must pay the bills better than working the grease pit at Burger King.

Anyways. While I’ve heard over the years that there are people in this profession, who, like many dentists, feel the need to carry on conversations with you that go beyond the casual. Now, let me make this clear: If you comment on the weather, while holding a little hand mirror and sharp pick in my mouth, I’m perfectly happy to grunt in the affirmative. Yep, it sure IS the hottest summer we’ve had in years. I can’t believe how cold it’s been either! Phew, can’t wait for the weather to change. I’m ok with all that. It’s personable, polite, and I enjoy games of social pleasantries. Then I met the new hygienist. During the course of polishing my pearly whites, she managed to pinball from topic to topic, covering everything from her dry skin (she’s terrible about applying lotion in the mornings. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life was like the Jetsons and a machine took care of that stuff for us?) to inquiring after my chosen profession, asking me various probing questions about gum care, and frequently checking my chart to see my dental history, and then quizzing me about it.

I’ve never understood what it felt like to be imprisoned, but there I was, trapped in a cell of my own making. By the time 45 minutes had passsed, and we were awaiting my dentist’s final inspection, my brain felt numb. I would go so far as to say that I felt dumberfor having listened to it. It was like having a radio you can’t turn off, or a meeting you can’t get out of. Suffice to say, I’ve learned my lesson. When May rolls around, and I am do back for another visit, I’m going armed with my Ipod, and I’m going to see if the glazed-over, sneering look of my teenage years still works. With any luck, maybe surly will shut down the chatter factory.

Heidi Montag Seeks Barbie Status

There are many things in the world that inspire my ire, but rarely do I notice the goings-on of the faux celebrity/reality stars like Paris Hilton or Lauren Conrad. For all the things in pop culture that I love, that vein of celebrity holds no interest to me. Until it spills over into my realm of interest. Some of the big news lately has been Heidi Montag's testimonials about her forays into the world of plastic surgery. She admits that she is "beyond obsessed" with plastic surgery, and her quest for the "perfect" body. In Montag's quest, she has spent thousands of dollars on plastic surgery in order to become the what is "perfect" and "normal". It pains me on a number of levels to think that someone so high profile as Heidi Montag would spout forth the belief that perfection for women can only be achieved via plastic surgery. And to go a step further, why must there be a search for perfection anyway? Who ever said that we must be perfect? True, Hollywood has done its best over the last few decades to convince us that women are only beautiful if they are preternaturally thin, large breasted, usually blond, and in great shape. I believe in looking your best, in being fit and healthy, in taking care of yourself. So I suppose this is why it outrages me even more. Montag destroys the idea that we can become out best self by improving ourselves, and instead preaches that going under the knife will make you the dream person you always thought you could be. See Newsweek's article, which breaks down Montag's proclivities nicely: http://www.newsweek.com/id/231093/page/1

Haiti in Ruins

Living in Florida, Haiti occasionally enters into the everyday, as a lot of Haitian expats live here, and many go back frequently to see family. Outside of that, I don't know much about the country or it's people. My knowledge was limited to some vague notions about old voodoo legends and that it was a terrifically poor place.

However, thanks to the internet and social media, I have learned more about Haiti in the last two days than I ever thought possible. And the photos of this island nation and its terrible destruction have made me weep. The Times reports that survivors can be heard shouting in the wreckage, but many cannot be reached as their is no safe route. The living share space on the streets with the dead, water is running low, and for all the relief pledged to this destroyed country, it is having trouble getting there.

In the midst of this sadness and loss, there is one thing that warms my heart. Social media has been a boon to many in times of loss in the last couple of years. However, the outpouring of grief and support that have splashed across the twitter feeds, run unerringly through facebook, and encouraged a viral campaign for donations via text message remind one that there is something to have faith in for humanity.

We have been able to mobilize and organize that much quicker, and connect those who want to help with those who can get them there. Imagine if we had all this when 9/11 occurred? Then we saw a nation rally itself together as we hadn't seen in years, and we felt a national unity that many in my generation have never been privy too.

In the midst of the tragedy, I am grateful that something like social media is able to help us help each other.

My thoughts are with Haiti, and those who are waiting to hear from friends and family who are yet lost.

Are we still "we"?

I have been thinking a lot the last few days about identity. In the world of sociology, everyone carries multiple identities. I am (in no particular order): legal assistant, girlfriend, daughter, friend, aspiring copywriter, niece, coworker, granddaughter, and so on. It's interesting to me to see how long it takes someone, when they move into new a role, to accept it, and to identify as such. I was reading another blog earlier, where the author came to this realization upon her marriage that in a world that is so often focused on the individual, she compromised to take her new husband's name because it gave her a sense of "we". We live in a society which focuses on, celebrates, and utterly condones the individual. There is nothing wrong with this, except perhaps we are losing something. Human societies evolved in a way where we were all interconnected, we depended on each other daily for food, to watch each other's children, to survive freezing winters and summer droughts. Now we need no one. It is entirely possible to survive with only the human contact we establish via the internet.

The man who so calmly strode into a Philadelphia health club, and killed three women and injured countless others, before turning the gun on himself, was a blogger. His death, his plan, was on the web for the world to see. According to news outlets, his pain and loneliness, his feelings of inadequate control over his life, dominate his entries. In a twisted way, did he blog out of hope? Did he hope that someone, somewhere, would see his blog, and reach out? He posted pictures of himself, and even wrote of the first time he went to that same health center before "chickening out".

If someone had seen this, could we have prevented this tragedy? Would someone, somewhere, become his friend, found counseling, provided support? Or would he have been like any other "crazy", locked away before he could harm anyone? I am certainly not advocating what he did. His was a senseless crime, a bloodbath that claimed the lives of innocents as the answer to his own painful loneliness. The families of the victims, those who witnessed the crime, those who knew someone who knew someone...all these people were touched by that crime, and will be forever altered by it. Will it give them a new identity, a new role? Will it make them appreciate the "we" that is in their lives, make them grateful for all those relationships that give them, however inadvertently, a role to inhabit? I hope so.
The more everyone embraces the internet, telecommunication, email..everything that takes away face to face communication, the sound of anothers voice on the phone, the more we distance ourselves from our roots, and perhaps our humanity.

Our bodies, ourselves...I don't think we'll ever learn

I am now, and have been for many years, intensely fascinated with the concept of body image, most particularly as it relates to woman, and most specifically (though not exclusively) to American women.
A review of the body image of the American woman reveals a number of interesting characteristics. The roaring twenties brought with it the flapper, a fashion style that played on the roundness of a woman's figure, while also disguising it's more ample areas. As the decades passed, the prepubescent "boy body" has become prevalent in the American standard of beauty. We strive to be thinner; the figure that Twiggy debuted to us in the sixties, of lean, angular limbs, boyish angles and no breasts, took hold. Already, American women had begun to worry about their figures, worry about the roundness of their hips and the curve of their stomachs. Where once the Rubenesque figure spoke of money and breeding, it quickly lost ground in a country over run with prosperity and good fortune. So, time flows by, and women try more and more to repress those things that make them female. The caloric intake recommended by modern diets is the equivalent of the caloric intake maintained at Nazi prison camps as "starvation rations"; what can this say about us, except that we as females are only as good as the number of bones that can be glimpsed beneath our skin, the flatness of our breast, the lack of hip or butt, the very features that once identified us as female and beautiful?
I mention all this because we have become a culture of repression. Yet by the same standard, I really wonder what the next generations of women will strive to achieve. For years now, science has been reporting that girls are entering puberty earlier and earlier. They are showing first and secondary sex characteristics at much earlier ages that even my generation. As a result, their baby fat spills almost immediately into more mature lines and curves. An article in Double X ezine (http://www.doublex.com/section/health-science/younger-girls-bigger-breasts-are-chemicals-blame) makes me wonder if nature is not having a laugh on all of us. That which we are struggling so hard against is now happening beyond our control. For our own bodies, we can botox, stretch, and remold almost anything we want, but not so for our daughters. What's frightening to me is to wonder if this won't mean that the plastic surgery that is becoming so common place will just start at an earlier age, or will this earlier entrance into womanhood make us step back and embrace the bodies we are meant to have? It's disturbing to think that this earlier puberty may be caused by the hormones and chemicals that are everpresent in our food supply, but maybe it will force our hand. Perhaps, instead of lip service to healthier bodies, we will once again see curves as beautiful.

Lazy days...

I'm still trying to decide on a focus for this blog. In the meantime, this will wind up becoming a place where I let random thoughts accumulate. So far today, I have:
-had a healthy breakfast
-had an unhealthy lunch
-gotten fried at the beach
-annoyed my boyfriend (I think) with my (definitely) childish behavior
-taken a nap
Overall, not much of anything truly necessary or productive. Meeting the bff for drinks later on.
Is this what most people do on weekends? A random assortment of activities, errands, food? I feel very anxious still, but much more relaxed than before. It's such an awful feeling, this anxiety. It's like your skin won't stop crawling. But perhaps anxiety will encourage the creative flow?
On more interesting topics. Amazon.com earlier this week remotely removed from it's customer's Kindles Orwell's 1984. To an extent, I find the irony in this amazing. A novel entrenched in the idea that we are being watched, the novel that birthed the phrase and idea of "Big Brother", where the main character makes a living by deleting items from newspapers to help destroy the past?? That's crazy! In the single moment that Amazon made their decision, which they explained only as there being something wrong with the particular version, I believe going so far as to say it's an unlicensed copy of the novel, they've determined the future of the banned book. I'm paraphrasing to an extent here what I read in several articles that were posted immediately after this fall out. As a Slate.com article pointed out, we now lose our true ownership of novels, when we are essentially leasing them. Think of the future of the personal library. No more walking into someone's home, perusing their shelves and seeing their tastes, able to make a comment on a title on their shelf. What about those of us who are collectors? I cherish my leatherbound copies of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. In accepting the Kindle and other e-book readers of the same ilk, we are taking away the very pleasure of a book.
What an awful thought! To no longer have the pleasure of pages underneath your fingers, to no longer be enveloped in the scent of a room filled with books. I want to dog ear the pages of my mass markets, I want to underline sentences that speak to me, I want to write in the margins of my reference books. I want to read a book so often that my love for it is written in the wear of the corners and the creases in the spine. I want to pass that same copy onto someone else, to share in that singular piece of creative love. In bringing the written word, the novel, down to electronic form, in many ways we are violating the heart and soul of the novel. I think many authors past would cringe to think that their words would be relegated to the digital form, and that no one would ever truly own a book again.

New Beginnings

I recently visited San Francisco, and while there, found my way to a lot of locals spots and most of the tourist traps available. One our last day there, before heading back to the hotel to prepare for our 3:30 a.m. wake-up call in preparation of our EARLY flight, we made our way to China Town. In general, I am not a hard and fast believer of horoscopes, zodiacs, and that ilk. But...I'm a Cancer, and I'm a LOT like my sign. And in the Chinese Zodiac, I was born in the Year of the Rat.

Now, I mention all this as an explanation for why I'm starting this blog. While giggling over various knick knacks meant to sell hapless tourists a piece of the Orient, by way of the city on the bay, I happened upon little scrolls that talk about your Chinese zodiac. For mine, the Rat (how am I both a rat and a cancer?) it opined that for the first part of my life, I had done little to distinguish myself. At first, affronted, the more I pondered the more I came to the realization that I really haven't done much to make myself stand out. And I want to be a copywriter. I want to take over the world. I want to travel to corners of the world and see things that blow my mind. I desire greatness, I always have. So perhaps this is the time to grasp it. To "achieve my potential", or, as a teacher I had in high school told me upon graduation, she couldn't wait to see what I did "with all that talent you've been sitting on for four years". I remember being really offended by that. Though perhaps with my recent birthday, I have also gained knowledge, or at least the benefit of hindsight.

So, despite my ramblings, I am going to attempt this blog. Hopefully, I will hone some skills. I will improve my writing. And maybe, just maybe, find some people who actually care about what I have to say.