summer readings

whatever our deficiencies in understanding our friends and colleagues,

the person we are fated to understand least is ourselves

Alain de Botton, Kiss and Tell, 1995

in an e.e. cummings sort of way...

...shall i turn my face, and hear one bird

sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

half full, and still pretty much empty...

been there, done that (or excerpts from an unplanned-for week in pasadena)

another lonely planet guide off an heathrow's newstand

getting hold of flip-flops & shorts (but not of de rigueur 10$ sunglasses) in paseo colorado

a jet-lagged double espresso and a "biscotti" at vroman's cafeteria, before intensely browsing through pynchon, salinger and wallace foster tomes

a sierra nevada pale ale and a bowl of stuffed jalapenos with ranch sauce at lucky's by night

an early-morning presidential inauguration like no others

an assorted choice of asian and mexican food and, last but not the least, the inescapable pizza at chandler's and cheeseburger & chips at "pie 'n' burger"

a couple of intensely all-american movies at playhouse's laemmle's

warm winter nights and dubiously (un)dressed so-cal girls in old town

and finally, too short a sun-kissed walk along hermosa beach boardwalk

and then it was raymord carver short stories and a copy of esquire with an obama sticker at LAX

and lying across 3 seats on an half-empty flight back to london, variously reminiscing of childhood long-haul and other flights and wondering whether I should be going back after all...

xmas and all

at first it was the snow, falling with surgical precision on Christmas night, New Year's Eve/Day and Epiphany...

then the clearest and coldest skies ever, walking up the hills with an occasionally unhealthy Ani di Franco playlist, the ice nicely cracking under the shoes of an aging researcher panting as if there were no tomorrow...

and the Moon rising sideways at night, and Venus getting so close...

and a literary Christmas throughout, with a touch of repetitive syncretism, with a second take on all sorts of things, from peter's lost boys to alice's rabbit hole, from dave's staggering genius to virgina's clarissa, from henri's "fuite" to roland's "discours amoureux"...

and after a coreographic and alcoholic attempt at burning the witch, and the whole sorry year behind us with her, it was finally the coldest night ever, indeed...

good night & good luck, folks, on to 2009...