12.28.2004
The Veil is Lifted...
Well, now I know why I used to walk home from school terrified that a gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex was going to barrel its way down Summer Street and devour me: I clearly had watched too many episodes of "Land of the Lost". I just finished watching the first two episodes of the series (thank you Netflix!) and was transported immediately back to the farthest left cushion on the family room couch where I watched the program growing up. (I never thought I had watched that much TV, but maybe I really did). The sets and production values are totally laughable, the acting bad and earnest, and what drug was the person who invented Sleestak taking?? But despite all that (or maybe because of it...), I still loved the show--with a little pluck and smarts, you can outwit and outrun any T Rex, right? ;)
12.14.2004
Looks like a Must Read...
I don't know how I managed to miss this in bookstores--Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao de Ching is my favorite--lucid, flowing, and graceful. Can't wait to dive into Gilgamesh!
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
Powells.com From the Author - Stephen Mitchell
12.10.2004
A Painting a Day
I came across this site via Boing Boing (if you haven't visited Boing Boing, you're missing one of the most eclectic, fun sites on the web...). I particularly love "Egg 8". And what an amazing commitment! Check it out. A Painting a Day
12.06.2004
Test Image
I'm testing out instructions on how to post images (without having to use the Blogger "Hello" application...). This is my first foray into html IMG tags (okay--full disclosure. It is my first foray into html at all, period...). Okay, so here it goes:
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
This is one of Stephen's photos from Berlin of the Martin Gropius Bau.
12.02.2004
Thoughts on YA Fantasy Literature
I've been reading Pat O'Shea's The Hounds of the Morrigan, a vast and sprawling fairy-tale-like novel published in 1985, and while I'm enjoying it, I keep feeling that it's missing a level of depth that I crave from this genre of fiction. It may be that in most of the other YA fantasy fiction that I love--Madeline L'Engle's Time Trilogy, Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising Sequence, and Nancy Bond's A String in the Harp, for example--fantasy is an element of the story, and may even drive the plot of the story, but underneath lies an exploration of human relationships, or the personal growth of the protagonist.
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
The Hounds--while introducing many funny and interesting characters--is not about Pidge and Brigit's growth as a people (and Brigit is shockingly precocious for a five year old--though not as convincingly as Charles Wallace in L'Engle's Time Trilogy). (And in the interest of full disclosure, it is really bothering me that Morrigan's hounds have all the hallmarks of Irish Wolfhounds--creatures I cannot imagine hunting small children, considering my family's first Wolfhound was responsible for watching me in the yard...). The story itself seems too baldly told, and unwittingly brings to the surface undercurrents of gender issues that seem to lurk in Celtic mythology--any time the main "evil" charachters are female and the "good" character is male, I get a little worried (although, to be fair, I would need to take a much closer look at the legends to know that for certain--is the Morrigan completely and thoroughly a destructive goddess? Or is she more like Kali, or while a destroyer, also has positive qualities?)
By contrast, A String in the Harp explores how children who have recently lost their mother adapt to living far from home; the Time Trilogy (in part) explores how the Murray children cope with a "abandonment" by their father, social awkwardness in school (how to cope with "outsiderness"), and the bonds of familial love. I wonder if O'Shea just meant to write a different kind of good vs. evil book, where the clash between good and evil really is the entire point, and the vessels of that clash are really secondary to the story. In any case, I'm glad I'm reading it because at the very least, it's entertaining, and it's piqued my curiosity about Celtic mythology again, so I think it's time to do some research (and write my own YA fantasy novel...)
11.28.2004
Nooooo....Not the End of a Holiday Weekend....
So the last time I posted, it was Tuesday afternoon and I was having trouble adapting to being away from work. Now it's Sunday night and I can't imagine going back. I've spent the last six days cooking, walking, experiencing art, knitting, buying yarn, plotting holiday presents, eating, watching football, reading, and sleeping until 8:30 or 9:00 every morning. It's been pure bliss...like breaks during college without the homework or the inevitable cold that would descend as soon as I stopped moving and sat still for two minutes.
Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.
Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).
I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?
Now that the holiday season has "officially" started, I've been thinking about how to face it this year (we're staying at home at entertaining Stephen's parents). I haven't figured out how to square the religious aspects of Christmas (because it is a Christian holiday and I no longer consider myself a Christian) with the cultural aspects of Christmas (the unrepentant, unabashed commercialism). I feel equally uncomfortable and trapped with both the religion and the commercialism.
Maybe it's about managing expectations. I love giving people gifts, and try to do so throughout the year--not just at Christmas time. I strongly dislike giving gifts out of obligation or because I am expected to give, however (managing "obligations" has never been a strong suit. The word enough is enough to make me dig in my heels and refuse to act, whether it makes sense or not). What I've been thinking about is how to escape the feeling that the holidays are obligatory and about giving material objects because "it's that time of year"--especially since I know my closest friends do not feel that the holidays are "obligatory" at all (and I love giving them gifts because I can do it joyfully and without expectations).
I think I'll approach this season as a meditation on expectation and obligation and will keep asking myself: to whom am i giving joyfully? to whom am I giving because I'm "supposed" to? And what am I going to do to change that feeling?
11.23.2004
Thoughts on Time Off...
This is going to sound a bit odd, but I'm going to throw it out there anyway. I've taken Tuesday and Wednesday off from work (in addition to the Thursday and Friday holiday) and honestly have no idea what to do with that time. I continually forget that I'm so attached to structure, to lists, to "doing." I know that having time is something precious, something to appreciate--so that makes it even more frustrating that I feel unsettled when given time. It's as if no matter how much or little I have to do, I desire of state of having less to do--but when that state of "less" is achieved, it still does not suffice. So having to grocery shop and do laundry today feels burdensome in much the same way that sitting at my desk at work sometimes does.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
Maybe it's just the transition from working life to time-off life, from sitting at a desk thinking about people's database questions, writing, or answering questions on the phone, to thinking about grocery lists, what's for dinner, laundry, knitting, reading, and all the other things that sneak into the cracks during daily life but now can come to the front of my mind. (And don't forget about finding a text for the Christmas card and sending Debbie's birthday present....). I always think that I'm going to lie around and read when I take time off and stay at home, but it never works out that way. It seems to be necessary to go somewhere else--where dishes do not need to be done, or where there are many other people to share the load--in order to really get that space and time in the mind.
It's starting to get dark now--grey and forboding, with a nip in the air after the day's surprising warm dampness. I can see door lights popping on across the street, illuminating the brick fronts of the houses. It's a comforting sight, as light often is in darkness.
Okay--there's the alarm for the laundry....more later!
M.
11.03.2004
The Day After
I realized today that I have only ever lived in "blue" states: Massachusetts, Maine, Minnesota, New York, and New Jersey. Maybe that's colored my entire approach to life.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
It was by no means certain that an Irish Catholic girl growing up in a household dominated by a conservative, Regean-loving father, was going to grow up liberal (in fact, I don't think I disagreed with my father about politics until I was about 17--very late in the game). It's hard to say how I moved from "red" to "blue," so I've been thinking about what it means to be "liberal" and what it means to live in the geographic area of the country I live in. I have a suspicion that the northeast is not like other parts of the country--a suspicion that seems to be borne out by looking at the election map. But what does this divisiveness mean for American? And what America do I belong to?
The whole idea that there are multiple Americas is disturbing to me. Or perhaps I mean that the idea that there are multiple Americas, but only one gets to determine national policy, is disturbing to me. We have no balance in this country, and I am afraid. Afraid of women's rights being eroded, or more soldiers dying in Iraq, or more hatred being aimed out the US because of our foreign policy, of people coming to harm because they do not have access to appropriate medical care, or even jobs. Maybe I've been insulated where I live--in a safe, relatively liberal pocket of the country and am out of touch with the country at large. But I bet, too, that if I talked with people in the rest of the country, got to know them, that they would seem like people and not "conservatives." People are complicated--no one can be labeled "red" or "blue."
But I'm still afraid and I don't know what to do. I guess I have four years to figure it out.
11.02.2004
Voting Day in Jersey City
So Stephen and I woke up early and got ourselves out of the house by 7:45am to vote. I've never seen lines so long--although it would have helped if I'd actually remembered what district I was supposed to vote in (note to self: E4...E4....E4). People were generally cheery, and I spied much anti-W paraphenalia (which was heartening, but then NJ is a blue state).
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
The reality of voting is always so banal. Our district voting location is in the lunchroom of the Jersey City Public Library--it's a gorgeous building, but the lunchroom looks could have been a teacher's lounge at an elementary school. I remember going to Smith School with my parents when I was growing up and waiting while they voted--it seemed like the most extraordinary thing. You got to go into a little booth, pull a curtain, and vote! (And bear in mind that I played "library" and "office" as a small child, too) It was always so strange to see the school gym transformed into a room full of adults instead of dodge-ball flinging kids. Voting is extraordinary--but not in the way that I imagined when I was growing up. It isn't glamorous or exciting, and it feels filled with doubt (does my vote count? Will this really make a difference??) But it is important, and I'm really excited that so many people are turning out to vote.
Now all we need to do is elect the right person...
10.30.2004
The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book
The New York Times > Magazine > Susanna Clarke's Magic Book
This isn't a review of the book, but it's a great article about Susanna Clarke and how "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" came into being (and it gives hope to all of us who write very slowly, considering that her book had a gestation period of approximately 10 years...)
This isn't a review of the book, but it's a great article about Susanna Clarke and how "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" came into being (and it gives hope to all of us who write very slowly, considering that her book had a gestation period of approximately 10 years...)
Catching up!
EEK--it's been six weeks since we've had a post on The Salt Water Chronicles--sorry about that! I don't know where to start (and it doesn't help that I'm distracted by "Monsters, Inc." on TV...)--with travels (past and upcoming), or all the books I've been reading, or the whole new world that's opened up because Stephen bought a color printer so we can now print photos and cards and make calendars and and and...
Maybe I'll start with books because the my main solace for the past couple of months has been reading. Reality is hard these days--intense work, unstable world--and the easiest vacation I can take is hiding for a little while in fictional worlds. I finished "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" in early October, and it absolutely lived up to its hype (see Gregory Macguire's review in the NY Times, which makes an unfortunate reference to the book as "Hogwarts for Grown-Ups," which I did not find to be the case--I'd say it's more like Jane Austen mixed with magical realism). I suggested that the bookclub I sort-of joined read the book, but people balked because it's too big to read on the subway...which is true, but I carried it back and forth every day anyway--it's *that good. (Karen, it's in the mail...)
My latest read was Gish Jen's "The Love Wife." I had read her previous collection of short stories called "Who's Irish?" and enjoyed her gentle and funny exploration of ethnicity and "American-ness"--she asks questions about what it means in today's American society to be an immigrant, or of mixed heritage. And even though I was born in New England and am only mixed insofar as one can consider Irish and Scottish heritage "mixed," I think the sense of loss of homeland that immigrants experience, and wondering how to fit in to groups of people who are not "like" you is something that many people understand. In "The Love Wife," Jen takes her exploration to the level of a mixed family and how the arrival of an unexpected distant relative from China reveals the fractures and fragility of a modern family. The most masterful aspect of the novel is the narrative structure--it reads almost like a transcript from a family therapy session (and in a sense, it is a musing on the dissolution of a family). The story discomfited me--I don't like to read about infidelity or the breaking of bonds between people who are close--but the subtle shading of the characters (all except Blondie, who is a bit unfarily treated like a stereotypical suburban Boston working mother concerned with doing good in the world but translates that concern poorly within her own family) kept me reading.
Now as a palatte cleanser I'm winging through Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul." You can't really get more eclectic that that...
Okay--more thoughts soon. Sooner than six weeks from now, I promise.
Maybe I'll start with books because the my main solace for the past couple of months has been reading. Reality is hard these days--intense work, unstable world--and the easiest vacation I can take is hiding for a little while in fictional worlds. I finished "Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell" in early October, and it absolutely lived up to its hype (see Gregory Macguire's review in the NY Times, which makes an unfortunate reference to the book as "Hogwarts for Grown-Ups," which I did not find to be the case--I'd say it's more like Jane Austen mixed with magical realism). I suggested that the bookclub I sort-of joined read the book, but people balked because it's too big to read on the subway...which is true, but I carried it back and forth every day anyway--it's *that good. (Karen, it's in the mail...)
My latest read was Gish Jen's "The Love Wife." I had read her previous collection of short stories called "Who's Irish?" and enjoyed her gentle and funny exploration of ethnicity and "American-ness"--she asks questions about what it means in today's American society to be an immigrant, or of mixed heritage. And even though I was born in New England and am only mixed insofar as one can consider Irish and Scottish heritage "mixed," I think the sense of loss of homeland that immigrants experience, and wondering how to fit in to groups of people who are not "like" you is something that many people understand. In "The Love Wife," Jen takes her exploration to the level of a mixed family and how the arrival of an unexpected distant relative from China reveals the fractures and fragility of a modern family. The most masterful aspect of the novel is the narrative structure--it reads almost like a transcript from a family therapy session (and in a sense, it is a musing on the dissolution of a family). The story discomfited me--I don't like to read about infidelity or the breaking of bonds between people who are close--but the subtle shading of the characters (all except Blondie, who is a bit unfarily treated like a stereotypical suburban Boston working mother concerned with doing good in the world but translates that concern poorly within her own family) kept me reading.
Now as a palatte cleanser I'm winging through Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul." You can't really get more eclectic that that...
Okay--more thoughts soon. Sooner than six weeks from now, I promise.
9.14.2004
September 11 et alia
September 11 is Emily McQuarrie's birthday, so my sense of the day will always be tied to her, and to her birthday in 2001: She lives in Newmarket, NH, and the Friday after her birthday, calls for a candlelight vigil for that evening at 7 pm EST were circulated on the internet. So there I was, driving up from CT to NH, with Anthony still marooned in Denver after the grounding of the airplanes. I was lost in some beautiful little New Hampshire town, and people were standing on porches and sidewalks with candles in the fading light. It was absolutely vital that I get to my friends, despite the long drive. Physical presences became more important for awhile after that--due to the many physical presences lost. That's why I like the Towers of Light so much: they are ghostly, like a phantom limb, a presence that isn't quite a presence. Many people thought they should have been incorporated into the final memorial plan.
On a much brighter note, Karen, your apartment looks amazing! I hope I'll be able to come visit soon.
On a much brighter note, Karen, your apartment looks amazing! I hope I'll be able to come visit soon.
9.11.2004
Celebrate New York
Stephen and I are spending the day watching all 14 hours of Rick Burns' "New York" documentary in honor of the city. It's an inspiring documentary that gives you a sense of just how many times New York has been laid low and struggled to its feet again--from the Revolutionary War, to the Draft Riots, to the 1970's.
One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.
One thing I (re)learned from September 11, 2001, is the pain caused by attachment--in this case, to a building, a place. I loved the towers. Stephen and I would sit on the Brooklyn Promenade at night and look at the always-different pattern of lights in the windows; I oriented myself by them when I wandered around Manhattan. Last night, the Towers of Light installation was re-lit, and it shocked me to see something--anything--in their space again. We might walk to the Jersey City Promenade tonight to see the Towers of Light, but I'm not sure; maybe we'll light incense for the people who died instead.
9.07.2004
It Has Arrived!!
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (by Susanna Clarke) has arrived on my desk at work!! And of course, all I want to do is read it instead of actually working...if only I could swing a job where reading actually *was my job...
When I figure out how I can insert links in my postings, I'll post reviews of Jonathan Strange...
More later...
M.
9.01.2004
Live from New York...
I keep telling myself that there's only one day left of the Republican National Convention and then the helicopters and sirens will return to their usual levels (which is still more than many people are used to, given the comments I get while I'm on the phone at work on any given day).
So far this week, I've witnessed a police officer and teenaged boy screaming at each other in the dripping humid 23rd Street F Train station, scattered groups of protesters who have wandered away from their groups and gotten lost, police officers trying desperately to control traffic via traffic cones and hand gestures (unsuccessfully, I might add). I've come to the conclusion that New York is simply a force of nature and cannot be controlled. (And I don't believe this is a bad thing).
Oh, and despite sightings by my friends and colleagues, I have not actually witnessed any visible Republicans. ;)
One more day. Just one more day.
So far this week, I've witnessed a police officer and teenaged boy screaming at each other in the dripping humid 23rd Street F Train station, scattered groups of protesters who have wandered away from their groups and gotten lost, police officers trying desperately to control traffic via traffic cones and hand gestures (unsuccessfully, I might add). I've come to the conclusion that New York is simply a force of nature and cannot be controlled. (And I don't believe this is a bad thing).
Oh, and despite sightings by my friends and colleagues, I have not actually witnessed any visible Republicans. ;)
One more day. Just one more day.
8.29.2004
M's assessment of Vegas was my own--only I was 17 and not nearly so mature and eloquent. I couldn't shake the feeling of excess, vice, and squalor, metaphorically typified by the $4.99 megabuffet which included something which at dinner were called egg rolls and the next day at breakfast were called breakfast roll ups or something similar. It's a slick, image-oriented place, slighty seedy even at its most fabulous--and, let's face it: still slightly fabulous in all its seediness. I think everyone should visit once, just to see it. But for me, once was/is enough.
8.26.2004
I'm in!
Thanks to some email weirdness, it took me a while, but I am most definitely on board! Of course, I am nowhere near as eloquent as Michaela, who manages to make Las Vegas sound amazing, even while telling how much she hated it. I am still waiting to see the ceiling picture-- you DID take it for me, didn't you Kla?
8.22.2004
On Leaving Las Vegas
I don't think anything could have prepared me for Las Vegas, where I just spent 3 days for a company conference. It was both grander in scale and brightness and more devestatingly awful than I'd expected. I'd been told that Las Vegas is "Something I Should See"-- a part of the American Experience, but nothing prepared more for the improbability of its existence. Cavernous rooms full of slot machines screaming "Wheel of Fortune," people playing blackjack at 4:45am, casinos plastered with garish, tread-worn carpet saturated with alcohol, the lights of the strip flashing at all hours of day and night. And surrounding this barely controlled mahem is a ring of mountains that look like an alien landscape--striated red and purple peaks, their colors filtered through dust and sunlight.
The landscape itself is stunning. I suspect that in the mountains life is very different than life on the Strip, and wonder whether the people who actually live in Las Vegas ever go to the hotels and casinos. But that begs the question: how is it possible that the city exists in such a a landscape and climate at all? How in the middle of a desert can the Bellagio create a choreographed water fountain show that runs every 15 minutes, and though stunning, uses an obscene amount of water (much of which seemed to evaporate into the dry air)? (Not to mention the hotels and their daily laundry alone). Why does the Strip exist at all?
I felt very much an outsider in Las Vegas. Most of my colleagues enjoyed themselves at the casinos and went out for drinks, but I couldn't bring myself to do it (yep, I couldn't even bring myself to put two quarters in a slot machine). I thought I had inured myself from shock living in New York, where you never know what you'll see next, but Vegas shocked me with the sheer number of people wandering the streets drunk at all hours, people sitting with glazed looks on their faces, eyes lit up by slot machines; the girlie cards inserted into the chain link fences on the pedestrian bridges; the men slapping their hands with flyers advertising exotic "pleasures." Who benefits? Who really is having fun? And should I even bother to care? Part of me wants to think that my trip there was a bad dream--I can just pretend that it was all just a jet-lag induced hallucination. But I know it exists now. I've had my "American Exprience" and am left thinking about life out of balance.
The landscape itself is stunning. I suspect that in the mountains life is very different than life on the Strip, and wonder whether the people who actually live in Las Vegas ever go to the hotels and casinos. But that begs the question: how is it possible that the city exists in such a a landscape and climate at all? How in the middle of a desert can the Bellagio create a choreographed water fountain show that runs every 15 minutes, and though stunning, uses an obscene amount of water (much of which seemed to evaporate into the dry air)? (Not to mention the hotels and their daily laundry alone). Why does the Strip exist at all?
I felt very much an outsider in Las Vegas. Most of my colleagues enjoyed themselves at the casinos and went out for drinks, but I couldn't bring myself to do it (yep, I couldn't even bring myself to put two quarters in a slot machine). I thought I had inured myself from shock living in New York, where you never know what you'll see next, but Vegas shocked me with the sheer number of people wandering the streets drunk at all hours, people sitting with glazed looks on their faces, eyes lit up by slot machines; the girlie cards inserted into the chain link fences on the pedestrian bridges; the men slapping their hands with flyers advertising exotic "pleasures." Who benefits? Who really is having fun? And should I even bother to care? Part of me wants to think that my trip there was a bad dream--I can just pretend that it was all just a jet-lag induced hallucination. But I know it exists now. I've had my "American Exprience" and am left thinking about life out of balance.
8.17.2004
Welcome to "The Salt Water Chronicles"!
Why "The Salt Water Chronicles"? Because my mantra is this quote from Isak Dinesen: "The cure for everything is salt water -- sweat, tears, or the sea." When hard work doesn't do the trick, sometimes a good cry will, and failing that, a trip to the ocean. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)