lots and lots of to-do lists
i'm having a funny ha ha moment (isn't my life just one big funny ha ha moment, really?) where i feel compelled to write lots of lists in a futile attempt to add some order and balance to my life. like marnie (the character from the film) i'm a list-maker, though not necessarily (or at all) a list-doer or list completist. but i at least like feeling that the intention is half-there. i haven't written anything since july (other than a load of music-centric bullshit). i feel like i need to write, but that need or desire doesn't seem to be translating. i can't even bring myself to open up the word documents anymore. was it fatigue from the wonderful form of torture that was film 96 (being forced to churn out pages, rather than letting them leak out on their own)? is list-writing a replacement for a brain that misses putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard)?
the other day i found the best used bookstore. i was having a not-so-good day, and i needed to get out of my apartment and just drive somewhere, and i happened upon thrasher's books. it's this tiny (seriously SO small) little store off state street owned by this old lady who pretty much lives there (okay, i'm totally guessing on that point). but anyways, for the small amount of shelf space they've got there, they had some amazing books and play the best, non-cheesy classical music. in addition to vintage copies by all the classic authors (ya know, fitzgerald, steinbeck, even some braverman, oh be still my heart!!), they had amazing old travel books and history books about 1920s california and the old west and native american culture and i completely lost track of how long i was in there for. and when i left, i half expected that i'd never see it again. you know, like the next time i came back, there would be an empty storefront there... that would be kind of perfect, a phantom bookstore. but i do want to go and spend some of my lazily earned paycheck there later this week. more john fante.
the other day i found the best used bookstore. i was having a not-so-good day, and i needed to get out of my apartment and just drive somewhere, and i happened upon thrasher's books. it's this tiny (seriously SO small) little store off state street owned by this old lady who pretty much lives there (okay, i'm totally guessing on that point). but anyways, for the small amount of shelf space they've got there, they had some amazing books and play the best, non-cheesy classical music. in addition to vintage copies by all the classic authors (ya know, fitzgerald, steinbeck, even some braverman, oh be still my heart!!), they had amazing old travel books and history books about 1920s california and the old west and native american culture and i completely lost track of how long i was in there for. and when i left, i half expected that i'd never see it again. you know, like the next time i came back, there would be an empty storefront there... that would be kind of perfect, a phantom bookstore. but i do want to go and spend some of my lazily earned paycheck there later this week. more john fante.