That sums it up. It’s what I’m doing. Trying to fit a tent, sleeping bag, climbing gear, sneakers, blow dryer, toiletries, hat, camera, umbrella, books, and clothes for 10 days of wildly varying weather — all into a suitcase and a carry-on. I am allowed 2 suitcases, but that just seems excessive for a 10 day trip.

Rather than being up until 3 in the morning and waking up at 6:30 (that was last night) when it’s my ninth straight day of work (that was today), I’m going to try my hand at going to bed now and getting up a little bit earlier tomorrow to review what I’ve packed with a clear mind before I have ten days of NOT work.

Thankfully, I’m good at spacial orientation (and Tetris) so packing is something I sort of enjoy. But I’ll enjoy it more when I don’t have a headache or brief spells of vertigo because I just really really need to sleep.

I don’t know how much I’ll be writing. Maybe a bit, maybe nothing. Maybe it will be all about Twitter.

For now, let’s just confirm that starting Wednesday, April 23, this chick is on vacation.

Yesterday, my friend Sara called me to tell me about a used book sale going on in the next town over. She’d gone earlier and acquired a treasure-trove of beautiful old books for a total of $1.75 ($1 and $2 books for 50 and 75% off!)

Well, I went this morning before heading off to ComicCon, and they were having a bag sale—all the books you could carry in a paper shopping bag would cost you $5 (it was a fundraiser for a local school). Here’s what I brought home (minus one that I gave to my sister):

There are some I’ve heard of and some I’ve never heard of and bought because they looked like an interesting read from a time long gone and are probably long since out of print. To start, there is this gem from one of my favorite wits of all time, George Bernard Shaw (a 1928 publication):

I’m not sure if it’s a serious work or not… that time period was rife with things that would sound misogynistic these days but which were considered quite complimentary almost 100 years ago. I guess we’ll see just how intelligent a woman I am.

The purple cover below just made me smile - a combination of the title, the illustration… the whole cover treatment. Amusing. And it’s from 1909!

Then I found this very cool 1944 edition of Crime and Punishment. I love the embossing on the cover.

I have to admit that I bought this next book for the novelty of the title and the cool logo action. It’s from 1924…

And an interior that removes any possibility of having stumbled across interesting 1920’s erotica… I don’t think “happy ending” had taken on a lewd secondary meaning yet at that point.

And the Tempestuous Petticoat from this post’s title? Well, that’s from 1948, surprisingly. But I love this illustration.

I’m going to sit here for a bit enjoying the look and feel of these. Maybe I’ll even start reading one once I finish obsessing…

On the brief walk from my office to the train station, I had a few moments of crazy sensory awareness. Or was this the closest I’ll come to a moment of Awareness? It was mostly auditory and visual. Eh, I don’t know. Anyway, I was aware - all at once - of:

Sound: helicopters overhead, the puffity-sucking sound of an old man smoking his pipe alongside me, the jangling of metal dog tags on a pair of dogs getting walked, seagulls crying, the rhythmic splashing of water against the dock, the soft sounds of my ballet-flat-clad footsteps compared to the clomping of the business men walking ahead of me, the old man speaking in Italian on his cell phone and repeating “ciao” over and over trying to get someone off the phone, the possibly-homeless man repeating, “Good evening, spare some change?” to every passerby, the wind whistling and rushing by my ears when it kicked up, rush-hour horn-honking a few blocks off…

Sights: the Hudson River catching the light of the late afternoon sun and splaying it along the train station and wood of the dock, long strips of sunlight cast onto the walkway from between the buildings to the west of the river, the tendrils of smoke from the old man’s pipe moving very slowly and thickly despite the windy day, the tessellations formed by the hexagonal stones of the walkway, the tips of my striped shoes appearing and disappearing rhythmically from under the hem of my skirt…

…reminding me of something Stephen Pinker wrote - that one of the most amazing things we do as true bipeds is walk upright. With every single step, we’re defying gravity and saving ourselves from falling by just a fraction of a second. A toddler learning to walk really is a big deal in those terms.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much in the olfactory sense group since I didn’t take my allergy medicine and am a congested girl.

In other news, I will be Twittering a bit (again, after my aborted efforts last year because it bored the crap out of me) every now and again. It will be an easy way to post quick stuff when I’m on vacation–or when I’m just really busy this week.

I feel compelled to do some Pilates and go running since my rock-climbing plans for tonight didn’t pan out. I happen to have gotten all addicted to a sport that requires a partner; this is highly uncharacteristic of me, but it happened. Tough. The friend with whom I climb regularly and have climbed regularly since September (”my climbing buddy”) is on the West coast at the moment and, thus, not able to belay for me. My efforts to arrange otherwise didn’t pan out for tonight, but I’m making an effort to arrange something for tomorrow night. If not, I will be doing a LOT of running. It’s just not as fun or rewarding or challenging. Boo-hiss.

I can’t believe it’s 9:00 already. I guess that’s what happens when you get home from work after 7, though. The hours run away like horses over the hill… to adapt and paraphrase a phrase. But something that will feel wonderful will be collapsing into my bed tonight and maybe getting rid of this headache. Ah, bed. Ah, slumber. You elusive temptresses.

…since I’ve mentioned my obsessive reading habit. It’s still here; it’s just sometimes a bit overwhelming to write about reading because I do a LOT of it. A LOT.

And I’m not really good at writing about reading. I can analyze ’til the cows come home and write you a lengthy paper performing a close-reading of three lines from Hamlet - but I’m not a good reviewer. This is something I’ve come to terms with and can accept.

Instead, I’ll just mention two books I read this week, quote a bit from them, and make note of the fact that I really really enjoyed them. Good? OK.

Book the first: Nabokov’s Invitation to a Beheading. One of my greatest regrets from college is that I wasn’t able to take the Nabokov colloquium that NYU offered, like, once every two years. I took the James Joyce colloquium and that was great - but Nabokov does rate higher than Joyce on my literary love list.

So, Invitation to a Beheading is pure Nabokov in terms of his use of language and voice; the plot, however, is allegorical and surreal in a very Kafka-esque way. The very first line of the novel is the pronouncement of the death sentence for the protagonist - from there, it’s a psychological exploration of that waiting game. He knows he’s going to be executed, but doesn’t know where or when, and the cast of characters surrounding him (prison guards, lawyers, fellow prisoners) serve only to frustrate him further and drive him to lunacy.

It’s hilarious, frustrating as hell because you’re in the same boat as Cincinnatus (the protagonist), and I enjoyed it thoroughly. There’s a great segment where the narrator calls attention to our process of reading the book:

So we are coming to the end. The right-hand, still untasted part of the novel, which, during our delectable reading, we would lightly feel, mechanically testing whether there were still plenty left (and our fingers were always gladdened by the placid, faithful thickness) has suddenly, for no reason at all, become quite meager: a few minutes of quick reading, already downhill…

I found myself smiling while reading that passage since I do read that way; feeling ahead with my right hand and deriving pleasure from feeling that there are yet pages and pages to read. This isn’t the only reason to enjoy it–there’s a gem of some sort on every page (IMHO). But I really enjoy Nabokov.

Then there’s Paul Auster. He’s another one–I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve ever read by him. And I’ve read a good bit. Not everything yet, though. That’s a goal. The most recent thing I read was Oracle Night which I purchased at The Strand a couple of weeks ago. I started reading it on Saturday night and finished up on the train today.

But I’m realizing that I should hold off on the Auster-love for tonight and hit the hay since I have an early morning tomorrow…

(No, this is not a post about yogurt. Though I am having some right now, after midnight, since I didn’t eat much today. I failed to notice, however, that the yogurt I selected was not only “probiotic” but also “light”, so it’s quite nasty as it contains aspartame. I cannot abide artificial sweeteners. Truly. The taste, the aftertaste. Gah.)

One of the benefits of living so close to Manhattan is that there are so many cool cultural things going on relatively close by. Sadly, I haven’t really been taking advantage of too many of these cultural events and things since they’re usually more enjoyable with company (you know, so you can be all pompous, superior and smarmy in a nice exclusive group of 2 or 3 people) and not everyone is up for a spur-of-the-moment jaunt into NYC to look at paintings or whatever.

But I got to enjoy some culture today, yes indeed. My company provides all employees with a “culture card” at the beginning of every calendar year which entitles us to free admission and discounts at several great museums in the major metro areas where we have offices - New York and San Francisco, for starters. My friend from work told me about the movie screenings at MoMA (Museum of Modern Art) for which we also get free admission. So this afternoon, after a series of text messages, I met up with her and her boyfriend and we went off to MoMA to check out the new exhibits and catch this evening’s screening.

Currently, the special exhibit in the main atrium is sculpture by Martin Puryear. It’s pretty amazing stuff. I’ll post some pictures (thumbnails) below since a link to the exhibition page will probably go dead once the exhibit is over (on January 14). From left to right, you see “Ad Astra”, “Greed’s Trophy” and “Desire.”

I especially enjoyed his artist’s statement. I wrote down a portion in my Moleskine reporter’s notebook (small, purse size) but just found the whole thing on the site:

“But coherence is not the same as resolution.” I love that.

In another gallery, there were etchings by Lucian Freud, a section on contemporary Latin American art, and then their regular photography collection which is always nice to see - some Diane Arbus, etc. We also checked out “Multiplex: Directions in Art, 1970 to Now” - some more modern modern art. I think MoMA has been getting some flack over the last few years for not showcasing much contemporary or postmodern art and clinging to “modern art”: art produced between 1870 and 1970. I was born in 1978; 1970 is still modern in my book. However, anything that requires us to talk about the 19th century is not as modern as we’d like to see, I think. The Multiplex exhibit had some truly interesting pieces, but also some that make it far too easy to make fun of PoMo/contemporary art, e.g. a TV running a video that was quite honestly what you’d see if you played a damaged blank VHS tape. A black screen with occasional bursts of “static.” And that was it.

Perhaps if I’d stood there long enough, something would’ve appeared to me from within the white noise of it, or I would’ve ended up meditating on how the black yet staticky screen represents the emptiness and downfall of the modern visual media (TV, film) — or at least invented something to say so I wouldn’t have to admit that I really thought it was “meh.” I guess I’m not as cultured as I thought.

Then it was time for the screening. There are three theatres in MoMa. They don’t allow food or drink, and they don’t sell any either (n.b.) The movie they were screening tonight was “Fahrenheit 451″ directed by Francois Truffaut, based on the book by Ray Bradbury. I’d seen it before, but it was a long time ago, so I just remembered the plot and that there was a scene on a bridge of some sort and some running.

While there were some moments that elicited laughter simply because of their dated technology (SFX-wise), it was still relevant to the audience. There were murmurs during parts that were overt commentaries on Communism/Socialism, and bitter laughter when the critical eye of the camera was focused on the culture’s obsession with television and media… which seems all the more creepy given the popularity of reality TV and people buying larger and larger television sets (the wall screens in the movie are quite similar).

There’s a great scene where Montag’s wife is watching the government programming and is excited because she’s been selected to be an “actress” on a popular program. She sits down in front of the TV screen and the actors on her TV speak to one another, then turn pointedly to the camera and ask her (by name) what she thinks of a question they’re debating (about a guest list for a dinner party). She can’t muster a response (overwhelmed at her “fame”); they pause their conversation long enough for a response and then tell her she’s absolutely right (despite her sputtering silence/lack of response).

Has you ever run into anyone in real life who is a total champion of a “character” on a reality TV show and will get into arguments with other people about whose contestant is more worthy of winning (particularly in reality TV that does not involve audience voting via 800-number or SMS)? It’s not exactly the same thing, but in terms of pointless emotional investment in completely banal matters, and false interaction with the media, it’s pretty damn close.

I don’t know why I let myself look at NOTCOT.

Almost every day, I find an object of desire or lust. Because, like many Americans, I lust after objects, a.k.a. material things. (What!? Why you lookin’ all cross-eyed?) Today, this made me wish I’d started a fund back in the day, say, with a share of Google stock, and had held onto it until now so I could pay off debts and just go shopping like the crazy girl I am.

Um, hi. A silver scissor cuff bracelet - it does actually open, providing a different look. Right now, it doesn’t look like it’s available yet; it’s part of a forthcoming collection from an Italian designer. But damn. And I bet it will be out of my price range. Sadness washes over me.

One thing I could afford would be this unnecessarily huge birthday candle. The site provides an image of the candle alongside a champagne flute and a layer cake to give you a sense of scale. Incredibly ridiculous.

And how about the Negativity Refuse Bag? The gimmick there is that it’s printed with instructions on how to rid yourself of negativity or inner demons. You place the offending items (say, things that remind you of an ex or a bad habit) into the bag and throw it away. Yes, you could do that with an ordinary trash bag, but this has more flair. I’d consider buying a few if I had any friends who were serial daters who got totally attached to people and then ended up burning everything associated with that person when it was over. It would be a nice companion to the “let’s watch a DVD and eat some ice cream” combo.

There’s also a ring that’s carved to the shape of your loved ones’ facial profile. Those start at $580 (I’m guessing that’s for the basic stainless steel ring, not the platinum). They say, “Take your loved one’s profile with you everywhere you go- who could want more?” That might not be the right way to spin it, but I get what they’re aiming for.

I’m going through the items I’ve marked in Google Reader (I subscribe to the NOTCOT.org RSS feed) and there’s just too much coolness. Too much. I am overwhelmed. I will now let that wash over me.