Reading Reflections

Hey all,

I recently finished reading Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita, which utterly and completely awed me. I tore through the text in 8 days (I counted), which is nothing short of remarkable for me; I consider myself a slow reader. The only other book that I have torn through that fast is André Gide's La Symphonie Pastorale, which I read in a sunny day on the grass of Bordeaux's Jardin Public. Let's say I started 2010 the right way: with a good book. Nabokov amazed me on many levels: the plot had me hanging at the corner of every page; it was extremely well crafted, playing on sonorities and double entendre with dexterity and dropping trite French clichés left and right. Finally, and most importantly, the protagonist lifted himself up from the page and pressed his filthy nose to mine as he told his story; I saw my own reflection (in negative, but myself nonetheless) in his watery eyes, inspiring here laughs and there tears. Mind you, I didn't cry: I seem to have lost the ability to use my tear ducts some years ago.
For the record, I have recopied three (3) pages from Lolita and led a few advanced English classes through a close reading of the first chapter. I won't bore you with copies of these: if you're intrigued, I'll leave it to you to borrow the book from a good friend or library!
Alone in my apartment, I am learning to be at peace with myself. Thoreau said something to the tune of 'I have had many good friends, but none so amiable as Solitude'. For me, knowing oneself (Cognais-toi toi-mesme...) and being at peace with loneliness allows for a greater capacity to enjoy life and appreciate company.
But like anybody, it does me a lot of good to hear people's voices. Listening to music can be good for that, but at times, the best thing can simply be to hear people talk. This year, more so than last year, I have been downloading and listening to Podcasts of my favorite radio programs through iTunes. I wanted to share my favorite podcast with you in the hopes that you may discover it and come to love it as I have, or at the very least so that you might know me just a little better. NPR's Fresh Air is a popular radio program that airs five days a week - it's been going strong for some 20-odd years, all the while being hosted by the same person, Terry Gross. The format is relatively simple: a 30-minute long one-on-one interview with politicians, actors, directors, musicians, academics, and writers. At the end of the 30 minutes, there is often a movie, TV, or music review. It is always surprising to me how intimate the interviews can be in such a short time: I have convinced myself that Terry Gross has some kind of magic up her sleeve that strips her interlocutor of all pretenses, whether it be a tender, gentle removal, or a violent, shocking exposure. This fits in with my taste in literature: remove all that is unnecessary and return to a simple, straightforward formula that is both flexible and constraining. Why bother with three mediocre plot twists when one, done with great care and precision, attains the sublime? Why overload the listener with multiple voices and opinions when three suffice? By three, I refer to Terry, her guest, and the listener.
On Saturday night, I donned the azure guyabera under my navy blue blazer and set out to meet a friend for a movie: I had been itching to see Francis Ford Coppola's Tetro ever since it arrived, and her return from visiting with family elsewhere on the continent made for an excellent pretext. The film was good, the conversation was better.
My luck seems to be increasing when it comes to good conversation; I had begun to despair in early December, thinking I'd leave France without truly connecting with someone new. Perhaps in response to this despair, or in response to its subsequent aching for the transipermanent 知音識趣, I experienced several encounters in the following weeks in which I felt so understood and understanding that I would go so far as to call them euphoric. Not two hours ago, I had a great discussion with the school's receptionist.
The fact that I have had so many of these conversations (intimate, engrossing, fulfilling exchanges) makes me wonder at their cause: has it taken this long to find people with whom I can get along? Or is it more indicative of my growth as an individual? It is my belief, as guided by my cursory knowledge of Maslow's pyramid and Buddhist meditation, that with a small degree of Nirvana or self-actualization (I don't dare suggest full self-actualization or Enlightenment), one is aware, spontaneous, and present. Aware of the past, the future, and conscient of one's surroundings; spontaneous in every decision, acting with confidence and the absence of regret, past or present; and present in the here and now, at once aware and at peace with the troubles and joys of the two worlds, micro- and macro- cosms.
Long story short, I think I'm doin' good and when you're doin' good, the skies are bound to be blue.
Last night I watched Wall-E and Ashes of Time redux (东邪西毒) on my computer. Both excellent, and I look forward to watching them again! I also watched a Pixar short called Partly Cloudy, which was fun. I'd like to mention my housekeeping; on the upper-left hand corner of my blog is a list of blogs I prefer. I read them at least once a day, if not more; which is sad, considering they're usually updated about once a week. The attentive reader will notice I have taken a couple away and added "1day:1poem", which is a blog maintained by a good friend of mine. He has set a goal of writing a poem a day for the next year; an admirable goal, and one of which I plan to take full advantage. I'm still trying to convince him to quit his day job, and I'm hoping this blog brings me a little closer to that... in any case, he has disabled comments, so you won't have to worry about the incessant nagging you get from yours truly about 'feedback' and 'encouragement', pithy frivolties in which only the most imperfect minds indulge.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.
Ben

PS: After going for a quick jog, I popped into the teacher's lounge to check my box. Little did I know one of the more mischevious English teachers had malevolently infected it with the first fatal dose of Twilight. Dare I catch the villanously vapid vampire virus so soon after basking in the youthful virility of Nabokov? Or would I do better to die in agony with Flaubert's flaunting his scientific clout? ...we shall see...

PPS: Stefan: your ward against evil in Ferlinghetti-an verse, taped to my box, failed to protect me from this attack. Have not faith in its fickle promise of protection!