Holden's father is dead

What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I've left schools and places I didn't even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don't care if it's a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I'm leaving it. If you don't, you feel even worse. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 1



Anyone who knows me, knows that I adore 'the catcher in the rye'. I read it when I was 15ish and Holden has been my friend ever since. For some time, obsessively he was my best friend, I kept reading the book again and again, thinking that i would find something new each time i read it. The funny thing is that I did, I found new things all the time: a sentence that i had missed, a detail that made the story better, a line by Holden that was better, more intense than the previous one. I never read another book by JD Salinger, i am not sure why. Probably I was scared i wasn't going to like it as much and i would feel bad about catcher in the rye as well. Or because I thought that what on earth can ever be better than Holden Caulfield?

I remember being intrigued at the mystery of JD Salinger, his self-imposed seclusion, his aversion to the press, his life outside the limelight. And now that he died, all I can think of is that he will not have to hide anymore.

I don't even know what I was running for - I guess I just felt like it. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 1

Bored of the previous post

I have no time to write - I am too busy letting my life pass me by - but I couldn't stand seeing my pathetic new year post for so long.

When i return from hibernation I will write about all the things i am thinking about: the new movies i saw (nine and the road - each of them imperfect in a different way), the books i am (not reading), the gigs i missed (bonobo) and the ones i am looking forward to (go gaga for gaga), the weather that is changing, my white hair that is multiplying, my diet that is not working, the beneficial results of spa (galgorm rocks) and other tales from the new year. Ah yes, and the lists of 'bests of 2009' that I never wrote. Perhaps because the only thing i wanted to put in is the film 'Let the right one in' and the old, reread and beloved book by Σώτη Τριανταφύλλου, 'Σάββατο βράδυ στην άκρη της πόλης' that makes my insides warm just by thinking about it. Perhaps not because it's so perfect but because it is familiar. Familiarity though, and other deep and thoughtful topics are not for now, not for a Monday morning at work with a long list of things to do, the longest in a long time.

A bientôt!

Happy new year - for the lazy!!!

What is that we want from the new year, any new year?

Change, I guess, and something better than the last one...

Sometimes I think of the years passed and I confuse one with the other: my last birthday with the one 5 years ago, last christmas with the one of 2005 and so on and so forth. So, if there is one wish I have for the new year is to remember it more. I want to do things that are interesting and distinctive enough to remember. And possibly worthy enough to write in this poor blog, that I have neglected so much over the last few months.

In any case, happy new year people, whatever 'happy' means...

P.s. I hope to write a 'best of 2009' post soon... But this means i have to stop being lazy. Oh well....

Lazy

Being lazy is a must not a luxury. We live in this stupid, über-fast world where we need to do things all the time (or in my words - I live in a world of constant list-writing. Today I stayed home to do some marking (yuk!) and since I woke up, I've done nothing: I have talked to d/a on the phone, wrote a card to an upcoming bday girl, sluggishly made coffee and then indulged myself into my guiltiest of pleasures: watching trailers of romantic comedies on apple.com. I love this shit, really. Soon I go to cut my hair and then maybe, just maybe, I might do some work. But you know what? Enough with the pseudo-catholic guilt, you know? Fuck it! I am lazy and loving it.

On the nature of the critic

Η σχέση μας με τον Άλλο αφ΄ ενός προϋποθέτει, αφ΄ ετέρου συνεπάγεται την καλύτερη γνώση του εαυτού μας. Το παραδοξολόγημα του Ουάιλντ υπαινίσσεται, παρόλη την υπερβολή του, κάτι που οι πιο υποψιασμένοι κριτικοί γνωρίζουν καλά: ότι το πραγματικό θέμα μιας κριτικής δεν είναι τόσο το κρινόμενο βιβλίο όσο ο ίδιος ο κριτικός. Με άλλα λόγια, η κριτική είναι μια μορφή αυτοβιογραφίας· η μόνη πολιτισμένη μορφή αυτοβιογραφίας, όπως έλεγε πάλι ο Ουάιλντ, «πιο συναρπαστική από την ιστορία, επειδή ο συγγραφέας εξομολογείται, πιο απολαυστική από τη φιλοσοφία, επειδή το θέμα της είναι συγκεκριμένο και όχι αφηρημένο, πραγματικό και όχι αόριστο».

The gist of the above comment in Greek can be roughly summarised as follows:
The real topic of a criticism (a piece of work with your opinion on a movie, a book or whatever) is not the thing itself - rather it is your own self. In other words, criticism is a form of autobiography.

Reading this, i felt suddenly relieved as I finally understood what i have always been trying to do, when i write: I am trying to understand myself. It always made me feel weird how i started a piece that was supposed to be about a movie and ended up talking about my views on life. I thought i did that because i was a self-centred bad writer, but in the end, it seems that everybody is self-centred. Or perhaps, we are all self-centred but not because we are necessarily bad, but because this is the only way we can be. Perhaps the only topic we will ever be able to discuss in some depth and some sophistication, is ourselves. And perhaps the only reason we do anything in life - the books we read, the things we study, the movies we watch, the people we hang out with - are just means for us to understand ourselves better.

Choose life

Apparently Robbie Williams decided to check himself into rehab because he didn't want to die young a lose the banality, but also inspiring excited-ness, or everyday life: we wanted to live, and get married and have children and see the sky and the sun and the news and Sex and the city and Man United games. This proclamation has been described by Lifo as the 'revitalising banality of every day life'. When I read this beautiful sentence, one of the many I've read over the years from the talented writers at Lifo, I immediately thought of out beloved Renton's Trainspotting monologue (beautifully complimented with iggy Pop's lust for life):

Choose life.
Choose a job.
Choose a career.
Choose a family.
Choose a fucking big television,
Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers.
Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.
Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home.
Choose your friends.
Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning.
Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.
Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life...
But why would I want to do a thing like that?

I chose not to choose life: I chose something else.
And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who need reasons when you've got heroin?

This, in turn, reminded me of the other masterpiece of pop-culture, Radiohead's lyrics in 'fitter happier':
Fitter, happier, more productive,
comfortable,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries ,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at
(moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick,
that's driven into
frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at weakness),
calm,
fitter,
healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics.

I guess the tension in all of these writings is the following: does everyday life numb you, kill you and in the end makes you a shadow of yourself leading every single one of us to boredom and embarrassment, or does it anchor you, give you a hope and a sense of stability and ultimately saves you, saves you from yourself?

busy

I am always busy. Have no time for anything. Is this right? Is this how it's supposed to be? Today i was teaching for 6 hours, my throat hurts like mad and i feel drowsy. I go to work every week feeling like a phoney, i know i should be doing so much more than I am, my lectures could be so much better, my control over my life and my work could be so much better. But still I am, like always, a last-minute person. Will this ever change? Will I ever become this perfectionist who finishes things well in advance and feels on top of things? I don't know. And I don't care. All I want is for this term to end, so I can sit and do nothing for a couple of weeks, feel like myself again and try better next time.

Something tells me however that I will be writing a similar post in April....

I don't want to leave you with my grumpiness though, so here is lady gaga in her new, outrageous video where she wears skimpier clothes and dances like a cross between thriller and twist and shout. Genius or dramatically overdone?