Monday, January 23, 2012

We had softshell crab and swordfish, too!

I went out of town this weekend, so I decided to take a break from Gertrude. I didn't want to bring the weathered Stein book on the airplane because if it didn't just put me to sleep, it would definitely get crushed and bent inside my over-packed purse. So I grabbed Anthony Bourdain's "Kitchen Confidential." I knew I'd want to read this. I'd started it a while back, but it wasn't until I started obsessing over "No Reservations" on Netflix that I fully realized the Bourdain appeal. I'd say I'm two thirds in, and so far it's everything I expected. I like that I can hear his voice reading it to me in my head. I'm not sure if I like picturing a lot of what he describes through the lens of a restaurant for which I was a starch-shirted waitress. I keep picturing my old alcoholic chef and his crew -- a misanthropic leader of a misfit army -- and all of them reeking of truffle oil. Bourdain's descriptions of the grill man, the expeditor, the dishwasher, the sous chef and the owner bring up long-forgotten faces in my mind. It's an interesting reading experience, but instead of dwelling on my personal interactions with the apparently archetypal personalities, I'm focusing on the business details. I'm remembering studying the menu, tasting wines, eating samples of the specials, catching expeditor mistakes, watching the chef check the reservation list and check things off on a clipboard, hearing gossip about our competition, staring out the window while waiting for tables to walk in.... And I'm also trying to block out all that noise and listen to Tony tell me his story.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Read anything good lately?

I was asked this question by one of my bosses today, and when I replied, "Yeah I started reading this Gertrude Stein book ... " he replied, "So no." What is this magical gentleman reading? "The Hunger Games." A young adult he is not, and I told him so. Then I learned we had already talked about that, and I vaguely remembered because I had been drinking at the time. Well, at least my boss wants to talk to me.

So about that Gertrude Stein, I'm having a little trouble. I'm reading this fantastic copy I picked up at The Strand, and it's called "Three Lives." Three lives equals three short stories. The first was great and super short. It was about a housekeeper and the houses she kept, and the friends and lovers for which she cared. I'll keep it simple there. The second though, is about a girl and her experiences learning about men. She was a bit of a tease for a while, but now she's in a relationship, and apparently they can spend 200 pages worth repeating the same sentences over and over. It seems to go on eternally, because when I try reading it at night, the rhythmic dialogue just puts me straight to sleep. I'll paraphrase: "I know, Melanctha, that when I'm saying to you the things that I am always saying to you, Melanctha, that you really are understanding that I'm feeling just like you would know that I would be feeling when I really do know that you have a good mind, Melanctha, and that I really do like spending time with you, Melanctha, so much that I have a hard time telling you things, Melanctha, but you always seem to know what I'm saying when I'm saying all these things that I'm always saying to you, Melanctha." So yeah. It's a tough one. I find that I can follow it a little better if I am reading aloud, but you know, Melanctha, it just ain't always easy to be doing such a thing.

Help me Daphne du Maurier, you're my only hope

I can't believe I haven't posted here in a year and a half. That is disgusting. I'm seriously disgusted with myself. So just for that, I'm going to copy and paste this half-written blog post that's been sitting in my email drafts for like two years. And then I'll write a real one, because this is pathetic. Yeah that at the bottom? It's the notes I was supposed to report back on. Ugh.


Daphne du Maurier really wanted me to cry on the subway. But I refused. She kept bringing the dramatic death scenes, and I kept biting my bottom lip. I got all excited about writing about this book, but I couldn't stop reading long enough to finish a blog post, even though I found myself crafting sentences in the shower. (I'm sure I forgot them all, maybe I need a waterproof notepad in there.)
There are some really beautiful parallels in the lives of the four family members profiled in this book. Janet, Joseph and Christopher all died in connection with the Janet Coombe, the ship the family built at their own shipyard. Upon the vessel's launch, its namesake's spirit became its primary resident. As a figurehead at sea Janet could enjoy the life she always dreamed of, close to her son Joseph (the ship's skipper) and watching over her family as a sort of matriarchal ghost. She died, it seems, of pure joy -- ecstatic, fulfilled and in compliance with her fate. Her legacy was the foundation of future events she knew would occur but could scarcely predict. It's as if these four generations of sea-loving deep feelers was predestined to be part of a neatly tied package, sad and tedious at the time but inspiring and heartwrenching in legend form.
Joseph throws his life into the sea after his mother's death, and eventually dies by literally throwing his life into the sea. He became depressed when his sometimes-fragile son, Christopher, decided to try out his sea legs upon the Janet Coombe, only to abandon ship in London. Joseph had high hopes for his firstborn, and felt betrayed, deciding never to speak to him again. His depression leads to a breakdown in his second marriage, and wife Annie visits her old friend and gentleman caller, Joseph's brother Philip. Joseph discovers this, and his agitated state and verbal rage are enough to kill Annie and her unborn baby. Philip has Joseph committed to an asylum, a move that causes him to live out his days in a mournful stupor, eventually giving up completely.
Meanwhile Christopher has managed a tolerable London life. He returns to Plyn too late to save his father, but brings his family and settles down there.

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boats/boys
missed connections