Listening to: “Driving” – Everything But the Girl
So I’ve pretty much been wet for five days straight. And not in the fun way. What with reviewing mounds of outdoor theater here in Boston (As You Like It in the Common gets interrupted by torrential downpour smack in the middle of “All the world’s a stage…”) and camping and mountain climbing in the Mahoosucs, I suppose it’s not surprising. But seriously, New England–give me a fucking break, will you?
Sooner or later I’ll end up like the forest-bound French regiment in Calvino’s The Baron in the Trees, covered in moss and moisture and looking more plant than human. Or like Moist in Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog: “Is there anything you need dampened… or made soggy?”
Anyway, it’s nice to be sitting in my dry apartment, even if all the lightbulbs have been mysteriously dying, and the water pressure in the bathroom seems to ebb with the rains.
Mt. Success, take two was indeed a success, if a dubious one; it was so rainy and foggy up there, we could barely tell we were on a mountaintop. But the plane crash near the summit (from 1954!) was fucking awesome. Here’s a shot taken partway up the trail, taken with my camera that’s now half-ruined from all the wet:
Just started reading Midnight’s Children by Rushdie. So far, reads like an Indian version of 100 Years of Solitude–which is by no means a bad thing. Every nation needs its magical realist epic novelist-laureate, I suppose.
In other news, I am bored with growing out my hair and am resisting the strong urge to chop it all off again. And I would love if dear little fuzzy life would slow down for a sec so I could maybe take a breath. But breathing is a luxury of the aristocracy.