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Sep. 16th, 2014 10:35 pm
The Old Man says "To hell with Ireland"
Burn After Reading was a disappointment. It was an extremely well-crafted film with fabulous actors do a terrific job. But after it was over, I couldn't think of any way in which I was better off for having seen it. At heart it was dumb people doing dumb things. A number of details tested my suspension of disbelief and the fact that it made no real attempt to satirise the security state at a time when it feels more out of control than ever struck me as a massive missed opportunity.
I had some of the same feels after finishing Tomato Red. It suffered from being read right on the heels of The death of Sweet Mister, with its gut punch of an ending. But at least it was in a milieu that I find near enough to home to relate well to but distant enough to be intriguing. Before heading down to St Louis for my cousin's wedding, I found myself trying to decide between starting another Woodrell and reading a Fontane novel. Finally I asked myself which would have have more resonance given who I would be spending my time with over the weekend and the answer became obvious. They may be Missourians, but my mother's people are more similar to bourgeois Berliners than Ozark lowlifes. Class trumps culture.
So I shelved The maid's version for the time being and started on Irrungen, Wirrungen instead. After only a few chapters, I found myself wondering if I could find an English translation to gift my sister with. Nothing at Subterranean in the Loop, but that's hardly surprising given that Fontane isn't very cool and hasn't been for generations. (More surprising was their lack of Woodrell; I was hoping to pick up his volume of short stories.) I keep fretting that there's not enough witty banter to hold her interest, but I think maybe I'm guilty of selling her short.
I certainly did on the whole matter of Ferguson, but that's a post for another time. I'm glad we had a chance to talk it out, I only wish it hadn't ended up being the evening of the rehearsal dinner. Between that and the alcohol, I didn't drop off until after 1 a.m. Still, I avoided the chronic lack of sleep that tends to characterise my holiday visits (although I did still end up with a minor cold). Not coincidentally, I didn't play any games--something AWI mentioned as a regret (though we did spend some quality time working on the same jigsaw puzzle).
Overall, it was one of my most successful visits home ever, marred only by a frustrating day of departure. Naturally Dad was noncommittal about whether he wanted to have me to himself for dinner before the theatre on Sunday, but afterwards he asked, "What time are you heading back?" Which was a good as saying, "I didn't get enough." So I agreed to a "breakfast" that ended up consuming most of a morning I'd rather have spent on low-key interaction with my sister. Oh well; as I told her on the drive to the airport, one of these days he'll be gone and I'll be glad I made those sorts of choices.
I had some of the same feels after finishing Tomato Red. It suffered from being read right on the heels of The death of Sweet Mister, with its gut punch of an ending. But at least it was in a milieu that I find near enough to home to relate well to but distant enough to be intriguing. Before heading down to St Louis for my cousin's wedding, I found myself trying to decide between starting another Woodrell and reading a Fontane novel. Finally I asked myself which would have have more resonance given who I would be spending my time with over the weekend and the answer became obvious. They may be Missourians, but my mother's people are more similar to bourgeois Berliners than Ozark lowlifes. Class trumps culture.
So I shelved The maid's version for the time being and started on Irrungen, Wirrungen instead. After only a few chapters, I found myself wondering if I could find an English translation to gift my sister with. Nothing at Subterranean in the Loop, but that's hardly surprising given that Fontane isn't very cool and hasn't been for generations. (More surprising was their lack of Woodrell; I was hoping to pick up his volume of short stories.) I keep fretting that there's not enough witty banter to hold her interest, but I think maybe I'm guilty of selling her short.
I certainly did on the whole matter of Ferguson, but that's a post for another time. I'm glad we had a chance to talk it out, I only wish it hadn't ended up being the evening of the rehearsal dinner. Between that and the alcohol, I didn't drop off until after 1 a.m. Still, I avoided the chronic lack of sleep that tends to characterise my holiday visits (although I did still end up with a minor cold). Not coincidentally, I didn't play any games--something AWI mentioned as a regret (though we did spend some quality time working on the same jigsaw puzzle).
Overall, it was one of my most successful visits home ever, marred only by a frustrating day of departure. Naturally Dad was noncommittal about whether he wanted to have me to himself for dinner before the theatre on Sunday, but afterwards he asked, "What time are you heading back?" Which was a good as saying, "I didn't get enough." So I agreed to a "breakfast" that ended up consuming most of a morning I'd rather have spent on low-key interaction with my sister. Oh well; as I told her on the drive to the airport, one of these days he'll be gone and I'll be glad I made those sorts of choices.