March 3, 2006

Drinkin’ alone on a Friday

Ladeling up myself a bowl of home-made white bean stew, dressing it with marinated tomatoes and goat cheese and pouring myself a glass of wine, I think to myself - gee, I sure am getting good at being a loner. Though I have a vague sense of responsibility to make the most of Friday night and go out for some dancing, it seems equally pleasurable to lay on the couch with the coffee table shoved up to the edge of it, stretched out on some fleece, sipping my cheap wine (Mad Dogs) and reading Cormac McCarthy. The thing about my new line of work is that lying down and reading is field research for me. For so long, I’ve purchased leisurely anthologies of short stories, found novels in my foyer, and generally collected what I consider recreational reading, telling myself, that I’d read it some day. Thing is, I can’t read much before bed because usually I’m so dang tired I passs out after two pages and forget the next day what I’d read the night before. And it seems since I started putting myself back through school that I wouldn’t let myself enjoy a good novel or a pile of reading that isn’t for some educational/political purpose.

But tonight I’m listening to Ben Demerath, Oscar Aleman, Bill Coleman and Josephine Baker and tearing through a novel, soaking up the language, envisioning the scenery in my mind… formulating the kopfkino - the moving picture in my head. There are nine books piled atop the coffee table and I aim to finish them all soon, or at least make a sizeable dent.

Man of Constant Sorrow - Ben Demerath