The world is topographically disconnected. Once aloft, we lose our moorings. Once at large, we are easily spun around and lose our bearings, so that all the topoi we might visit are discreet and related by their ups & downs only, rather than by their lefts & rights. The Chinese abhor the map, anyplace beyond the horizon of a shortsighted man throws them into panic. Walking the distance may help, riding it helps some more. I will discuss driving promptly. But once aloft, or at large, we become antsy, panic stricken, or just plain lost.
Humanity has always been trying to overcome this congenital impediment, only recently making some progress with such inventions as the compass, the sextant, the map, and the most perilous of them all, i.e. asking for directions. (There used to be a sign in my country store, now defunct: “Directions, $.50. Correct directions, $1.00”). Sufficient progress for the average man, not just the adventurous sort, arrived with public transportation. Knowing one’s starting point and final destination is all it takes to get there. However, with the invention of private automobile, we are again at the mercy of random luck whenever we leave our daily commutes. Some of us, in addition, have to fight the random cruelty of GPS devices. At worst, we may end up on the bottom of a lake. At best, we may end up in the middle of nowhere. Notoriously, it is impossible to drive out of Boston. I’ve tried many times and if not for some luck and enough gas in my tank, I would still be there.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Friday, March 21, 2008
It's safe to pick mushrooms, but not to read Pynchon
I've been picking mushrooms since I was a child and here I am, almost intact.
Some other activities are more dangerous, such as reading Pynchon. His books are so heavy you can only read them sitting at a table. Any attempt to read in bed or armchair used to cause severe wrist damage and general annoyance - until I solved the problem. Here is how:
Tear 64 page portions out of the book. After the first page, open the two-page spread and place a hair pin on top of both, i.e., a gadget that looks like two 3" combs connected by a strong spring, to keep it open. Now instead of about 5 pounds of sliding pages and sharp edged hard cover, resisting all attempts at quiet reading, you have a physical equivalent of the New Yorker magazine. I keep my Pynchons in good order, each 64 page set described briefly in a computer file, so I can easily go back to any chapter I feel like rereading. Another option would be two buy a second copy and keep it pristine, but why bother?
I submit it to y'all: What's the use of a book that causes as much damage as any attempt at home improvement?
Along similar lines, after giving up my subscription to the Wired magazine because of its heft, I bought a current copy to read just one article and I had a satori: Do the same thing as with the Pynchons, tear the pages with ads and leave only the reading matter. I re-subscribed and improved the method: Tear out only the few pages you actually want to read, throw out the ad pages (most of the magazine) and everything that is printed in font smaller than 10 pts or with light color font against dark background (much of probably interesting but inaccessible stuff). What is left is usually worth reading and possible to read, some ten or fifteen pages in each issue, and it's even cheaper than Pynchon at $1 per copy in subscription.
Why o why can the New Yorker, Harper's, Atlantic, NYBR be readable as is, direct from mailbox, and Wired can't?
Read safely or pick mushrooms.
Some other activities are more dangerous, such as reading Pynchon. His books are so heavy you can only read them sitting at a table. Any attempt to read in bed or armchair used to cause severe wrist damage and general annoyance - until I solved the problem. Here is how:
Tear 64 page portions out of the book. After the first page, open the two-page spread and place a hair pin on top of both, i.e., a gadget that looks like two 3" combs connected by a strong spring, to keep it open. Now instead of about 5 pounds of sliding pages and sharp edged hard cover, resisting all attempts at quiet reading, you have a physical equivalent of the New Yorker magazine. I keep my Pynchons in good order, each 64 page set described briefly in a computer file, so I can easily go back to any chapter I feel like rereading. Another option would be two buy a second copy and keep it pristine, but why bother?
I submit it to y'all: What's the use of a book that causes as much damage as any attempt at home improvement?
Along similar lines, after giving up my subscription to the Wired magazine because of its heft, I bought a current copy to read just one article and I had a satori: Do the same thing as with the Pynchons, tear the pages with ads and leave only the reading matter. I re-subscribed and improved the method: Tear out only the few pages you actually want to read, throw out the ad pages (most of the magazine) and everything that is printed in font smaller than 10 pts or with light color font against dark background (much of probably interesting but inaccessible stuff). What is left is usually worth reading and possible to read, some ten or fifteen pages in each issue, and it's even cheaper than Pynchon at $1 per copy in subscription.
Why o why can the New Yorker, Harper's, Atlantic, NYBR be readable as is, direct from mailbox, and Wired can't?
Read safely or pick mushrooms.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
