Daniel85

I love this picture. The only way it could be better is if it had J.D. Salinger standing aloof in the background, towering slate grey over Chabon and Gaiman. Or maybe Thomas Pynchon pretending to hide under a baseball cap.

Found it when Googling to see what Chabon is up to these days, after I saw some girl reading his latest book (pictured) while I waited for 4 hours in the U.S. Consulate for a visa interview.

In addition to admiring her literary taste, I envied her foresight at bringing some reading material. She’d obviously been through the ordeal before. I’m totally toting a a tome next time I have to do that, to save myself having to watch the instructional video on U.S. Immigration procedure 400 times, or listening to twentysomething globetrotters affecting gentility.

Anyway, seeing Neil Gaiman’s spritely expression always makes me smile. It reminds me of something I’ve been thinking about lately; that nameless joy you get when you hit upon a writer who speaks truth/beauty to you from the first page, making you reevaluate everything from your worldview to your own style (I guess Arnold Bennett would say the two are inseparable), and causing you to wonder just how the hell this magic stuff could’ve sat in libraries and bookstores for longer than you’ve been alive without your being aware. I found that first with F. Scott Fitzgerald, then later with J.D. Salinger, thought I found it with Evelyn Waugh (but was sorely disappointed), and I’ve had a string of similar affairs with other writers since.

It’s been in my mind because of my recent discovery of Tom Robbins, whose Still Life With Woodpecker I’ve just started reading. It’s an amazing book (so far!), the kind of non-page-turner that keeps you in a constant struggle between wanting to see what the hell the writer is gonna do next, and wanting to go back and take another look at what the hell the writer just did. I’m definitely going to be tracking down some of his other books after this one, and severely hoping I’m not going to be disappointed. Tom- don’t Waugh me, bro.

So, what else is news with me… I got approved for a ‘limited visa’ (which means they don’t trust me and think I’m gonna try to stay in the States… yeah, like I really wanna drop out of school and go work at Wal-Mart) so I can spend the holidays with Laura. Definitely looking forward to that. I’ve been growing mistletoe hydroponically in my room.

And of course I’m pumped for the Cats’ Grand Final appearance on Saturday. I’ve been waiting for this ever since I moved to Geelong and they stopped the car (NSW plates, ya see…) just outside of Corio and demanded we pledge allegiance to the hoops.

CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARN THE CATTERS!!!

‘But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.’

- From The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (Edward FitzGerald’s translation)

Sublime. Absolutely perfect. It almost makes me want to learn Persian so I can read the original text. But nah, I can’t be bothered, so FitzGerald’s translation will have to do. On ya, Fitzy! (Yeah, I’m on a nickname basis with a poet who’s been dead for over 100 years…)

Sorry, I’ll get back to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shortly.