(Source: whereisthecoool, via youngfolksociety)
(Source: whereisthecoool, via youngfolksociety)
Good Lord! supposing she wasn’t beautiful—supposing she was forty and pedantic—heavens! Suppose, only suppose, she was mad. But he knew the last was unworthy. Here had Providence sent a girl to amuse him just as it sent Benvenuto Cellini men to murder, and he was wondering if she was mad, just because she exactly filled his mood.
“I’m not,” she said.
“Not what?”
“Not mad. I didn’t think you were mad when I first saw you, so it isn’t fair that you should think so of me.”
“How on earth—”
As long as they knew each other Eleanor and Amory could be “on a subject” and stop talking with the definite thought of it in their heads, yet ten minutes later speak aloud and find that their minds had followed the same channels and led them each to a parallel idea, an idea that others would have found absolutely unconnected with the first.
Monday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. I have danced the tango on all those days this week. I’ll dance it again tomorrow, Monday. And on Wednesday, too.
I’ve been attending various events at the Michigan Argentine Tango Club’s 10th Anniversary Celebration. Lots of new things to think about, many insights on how to be a better follower. But I’ve also just enjoyed milling around in the group, watching people - not just when they’re dancing, but just doing ordinary things, too.
Little things I don’t want to forget:
Tomorrow night is the last night of the festival. I suspect that I’ve already discovered how much tango is too much tango, but it seems silly to skip going. Besides, I’ve yet to dance (ever) to La Cumparsita and that seems far too tragic for words.
The education of all beautiful women is the knowledge of men. Rosalind had been disappointed in man after man as individuals, but she had great faith in man as a sex. Women she detested. They represented qualities that she felt and despised in herself—incipient meanness, conceit, cowardice, and petty dishonesty. She once told a roomful of her mother’s friends that the only excuse for women was the necessity for a disturbing element among men. She danced exceptionally well, drew cleverly but hastily, and had a startling facility with words, which she used only in love-letters.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
This is my current read from Daily Lit (which is an awesome service, just don’t try to read Proust using it). I am just adoring it, even if it is, so far, the story of a pretty and privileged boy. The prose is yummy and poetic and his descriptions of people often make me laugh out loud. Quite delightful, really.
Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi: Oh! It’s two stories. Jeff in Venice was great. Loved it. Started Death in Varanasi and it’s like reading a completely different author. Hate it so far.
Have any of you out there read it? Worth plowing through?
started
World Made By Hand, James Kunstler [so depressing, not sure how much farther I can go]
Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi, Geoff Dyer [this should really be bumped to the top - I do so want to get through it]
The Book of CSS3, Peter Gasston [must write review]
The Filter Bubble, Eli Pariser [scaring the pants off me, truth be told]
bridesmaids
Spending, Mary Gordon [recommended by Mrs. Vielmetti]
The Thin Man, Dashiell Hammett [a bit afraid to read it since I like the movies so much]
The Long Emergency, James Kunstler [what a world, what a world]
recently finished
The Fall, Albert Camus [ohhhhhhh, so wonderful]
The Glass Key, Dashiell Hammett [great story]
Mac Kung Fu, Keir Thomas [don’t laugh, it was full of totally useful information]