I’m reading the Iliad at the moment, sort of in preparation for an attempt at reading James Joyce’s “Ulysses“. I’ve been dying to read Ulysses ever since some pretentious guy I know told me how impossible that book is to read. He said something along the lines of “You really have to be well-versed in the classics to really grasp that book.”
Then, when I was in Puerto Rico about 9 months ago, I was reading Hemingway’s “Islands In The Stream“. In it, the Papa character is talking to his boys about literature, and the young, really bright kid says something about reading Joyce. I think it’s the older son who mentions Ulysses specifically. Papa then talks about how the book is different each time you read it, seemingly because you find yourself older and more familiar with te material. You know more, therefore can understand more of the book, and can decode more of the puzzles and hidden meaning Joyce stashes away. Anyway, I plan to tackle it soon, and a dog-eared 1968 edition hardcover sits on my bookshelf, waiting for me to put down the Homer, and invest some time in some new James Joyce.
All I’ve read from him recently is “Dubliners“, but when I read it, a wave of nostalgia hit me. I had read one of the short stories back in college, and I remember learning the meaning of a word in the context it was being used. More than that though, I remember loving the story, and I remembered the feeling of reading it all these years later. So I knew I had to read Ulysses. Especially considering that many of the characters in Dubliners actually make appearances in Ulysses.
Anyway, that’s my little literary moment, other than that things have been fairly uneventful. I’ve been going to Grand Central Market on Sundays quite a bit. While everybody is at church, I’m ordering a taco of carnitas and getting my shopping done. I’ve been going to the same stand for gorditas since I could walk. My grandmother used to send me there for her lunch, so it has a special place in my heart. Not that it needs the sentimental connection, it’s delicious and stands tall on its own.
Also, Ethel, my beloved 68 Coronet, is in the shop. I was worried that the rear end was starting to sag a bit too much, but the mechanic assures me it’s just the shocks. He also says I had it tuned a little bit wrong, but said he could see how I would make the mistake. I think he was just being nice. I don’t care, I just wanna burn rubber. Soon. . .Patience. . . I keep promising myself I’m going to drive the coronet exclusively, but traffic scares me. Muscle cars heat up at idle. Really need that airflow to cool everything down.
Well, I’m rambling now, and glad I decided to sit and write a bit today. I’ve been good about keeping my paper journal, which is more personal, so this blog has suffered. I’m going to make a point to cover more musical and art events this year, hope to make up for it in spades. For now, peaces.