Books and books and books

I have finally made a decision.

I was toing and froing for months – dancing between deciding getting an ipad, a netbook or an ereader. Then just last week, I bite the bullet and bought an ereader.

I’ve very much a tactile person. I was in a blissful haze when I worked in a fabric department - fingering fabrics, committing their unique thread counts and textures to memory. So when I read books I’m equally tactile (note: perhaps overzealously so) I pull them close, I thumb the pages, I crack their spines, I crease corners, carry coffee stains and continuously flick to gauge how far I have to go.

My eraeder is a compact gadget, unassumingly slight and quiet. I can’t tear into books with my fingers and thumbs, yet I love it, as I can tote around 100's of books in my shoulder bag, minus the risk of scoliosis and at the very least a shoulder ache.

[Booked]

I’ve been in a frenzy of downloading books, as my ereader (Sony PRS 350) doesn’t have Wi-Fi and requires a couple of computer programs to upload books – I need to decide what I want to read for the next eight months before I hit the road.

Travelling essentially equates to long hours of free time - waiting for trains, planes, boats and buses, then being in transit - so I need a glut of books to see me through.

So far I've downloaded a mix of genres thus far including a couple works by Bill Bryson, Kate Atkinson, Ken Follett, Alain de Botton, Barbara Kingsolver and Jan Morris.

[Sony PRS 350]

So if you have any suggestions, it'll be greatly appreciated.

Keeper of the list

I've been a little light handed with blog posts of late. I've been hitting the straps and trying to whip through my to-do list, at last count I have only 11 days to go.

I've been quite successful with some parts of my list, namely socialising, eating butter, gossiping with gaggles of friends, spending money, writing, trying on shoes, selecting books to read, downloading podcasts, watching crap telly with my Mum and trying out a Zumba DVD.

I've been rather too successful at ignoring the less than savoury elements of the list - travel insurance, exchanging cash, find an international sim card, talking to the bank, submitting visa applications, culling through my clothes to prep for packing.

Actually I'm starting to panic with the things I need to do.

Yet I'm not panicked into action. I know I'll regret this in a week's time. But it's so much more enjoyable to sip on free-trade coffee beans and watch Barry Otto mime "Light All My Lights" whilst swinging his hips and twinkling his toes.

I can't wait to hear more music from Seeker Lover Keeper, I also can't wait to get through this bloody 'to-do' list, so it's off to the bank I go.

It goes something like this

I came across Hilda Grahnat's stunning photography via Lucky Pony - her pictures feel like putting on a pair of socks that have just come out a dryer - warm, fresh, perfection.

Her blog is packed full of gorgeous images, so I've just posted a couple which tell the story of what I got up to today.

Hands on Vogue

This past week I've been swimming in the glossy afterglow of magazines. I don't usually splurge on magazines, but my wallet practically jumping out of my handbag, every time I pass a newsagency. Perhaps it's because I've got ample time on my hands? Perhaps because it's a damn fine company when having a cuppa?

This hand-stitched Vogue cover caught my eye and make my eyes twitch in delight. It was created by the nimble fingers of Inge Jacobsen.

Teenage dreams

It’s day three of “retirement” – I’ve already reorganized my wardrobe, sorted through my tax and banking, washed many loads of laundry, returned an incredibly overdue library book and have basically acted like a responsible adult. I even started planning for when I return to Sydney and started looking up jobs…

Then I realized, hold on, I’m on holidays. Why don’t I just play it cool? So I’ve tried to zone in on what my self-indulgent, teenage self would do with bucket loads of free time, a small kitty of dough and a driving license. So I started singing along with this song to help me get in the freewheeling mood:

So far I’ve decided to go for a walk. Perhaps I’ll follow that up with reading some magazines. Party central right here!

Maybe after a week of living teenage dreams, I’ll end up reverting back to being a child and throwing some hilarious shenanigans like this.

Chêne Chapelle

Since reading The Pillars of the Earth, I’ve been itching to tour the cathedrals of Europe. While the book is fiction, Follett interweaves factual details about cathedral construction techniques and design, into the saga. The descriptions of the cathedrals are painfully beautiful, as each cathedral represents years of back breaking labor, engineering and fine craftsmanship.

I’m sure many people have traipsed around Europe checking out cathedrals, as Follett’s book has sold millions and millions. In fact it’s so popular that the Germans voted it the third best book ever written – after the Bible and Lords of the Rings.

But when I do my tour, I want to include this architectural gem on my list.

[BibliOdyssey]

[The chapel today]

No one knows how old the tree is, people hazard that it is 1000 years old. A spiral staircase winds it way around the exterior of the hollow trunk. Inside are two small chapels. I’m not sure if tourists are allowed into the chapels, as I imagine that the tree is somewhat precarious (note the many cables anchoring the tree to the ground) but I did read that the locals still worship inside the chapels.

Madmen

According to the rumbustiously named H.R. Knickerbrocker - “Whenever you find hundreds of thousands of sane people trying to get out of a place and a little bunch of mad men struggling to get in, you know the latter are newspapermen.”

Self-described madman and award-winning reporter, Mort Rosenblum has written a field guide for rookie journalists. Besides toting the benefits of cotton underwear, Rosenblum offers advice on how to survive bullet ravaged war zones and the political minefield of newsrooms.

Rosenblum states his motivation for sharing his hard earned tips and tricks, is because “trial and error is no way to cover events that help shape the course of the planet.”

Besides practical safety advice, Rosenblum delves into the nitty gritty of ‘good journalism’ – from structuring an article, interview techniques, acknowledging cultural differences, unearthing potential stories to checking the reliability of sources. Rosenblum also outlines the rise of new media including blogging and youtube reports. Which has inevitably resulted in the downsizing of media outlets, the demise of hardcopy newspapers and the practical implications of outsourcing news stories.

Sounds about as appetising as stale, dry toast? Not true. This an excellent book, with the gonzo sensibility that “a journalist’s job is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable”.

Well as a sane person, I found it incredibly readable. It’s full of punchy one-liners and is liberally littered with humorous anecdotes from gatecrashing international borders, to how to convince an army battalion to be your bodyguard as you transverse Afghanistan (Note: make sure you keep your iPod charged).

You may also enjoy:

The shadow of the sun by Ryszard Kapuściński

To Fry a fish called Wanda

One of my life goals is to run a half marathon in 85 minutes. A far less achievable, but nonetheless alluring goal is to be as witty as Stephen Fry. Unfortunately the closest I’ll probably ever get to emulating Mr Fry, is the character he played in A Fish Called Wanda. Specifically entitled ‘Man at Airport.’

[Mr Fry]

As insurmountable as the challenge may seem, I am not relinquishing my goal just yet. Like an athlete bathes in pools of lactic acid to push their body to a new level of fitness - I’m going to strain my eyes till they are flacked in crows feet, to sharpen wit and wisdom.

I'm going to nibble on dictionaries and thesaurus', till my sentences are soaking with archaic but contextually appropriate words.

I'm going to stuff marbles in my mouth, to round my vowels, so if a snippet of wit does slip out, it sounds sophisticated and not crude.

I'm going to wear tweed and trousers.

I'm going to fill the lacuna of my cultural development with the putty that is Proust.

[Proust]

Or at least read about someone who is attempting to labour through Proust in a year.

And I can't seem to find my dictionary or a bag of marbles, so I think I’m going to re-watch ‘A Fish Called Wanda’ and study the Fry.

[A Fish Called Wanda]

Vote one: books

Eye candy to clear my head from yesterday's ballot fatigue.

[images via: Marci and Deth]

Decent shot

It's raining outside. Torrents of water lash against the windows and weigh the guttering down.

It's shaping up to be a day of reading, eating, writing and sleeping. But first, I'm going to just sit and listen to it fall. It's been a while since we've had a decent shot of rain in Sydney.

[via: the personality girls band]

The write stuff

[The write stuff]

I’ve been reading quite a few books of late, but my writing has fallen by the wayside.

I resolve to put pen to paper everyday this week.

flora

Life a User's manual

[Kent Rogowski]

The title of my all time favourite novel has somewhat unfortunate connotations- Life a User's Manual. While it sounds like a soppy self help book, George Perec’s 1978 novel provides little in the way of intentionally helping its reader, rather he dives straight into the calamity of events that is life.

The book is unlike a conventional novel; it isn’t bound by conventional constraints such as a linear narrative or clear distinctions of reality or allusion. It’s a tangled mess of tangent and loosely woven series of events.

Set in a Parisian apartment block, each short chapter describes a random room and it’s occupants or a past occupant or even someone the occupant once meet.

One of the main threads of the whopping big novel, is the story of Bartlebooth

First, he spends 10 years learning to paint watercolours under the tutelage of Valene, who also becomes a resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier. Then, he embarks on a 20-year trip around the world with his loyal servant Smautf (also a resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier), painting a watercolor of a different port roughly every two weeks for a total of 500 watercolors.

Bartlebooth then sends each painting back to France, where the paper is glued to a support board, and a carefully selected craftsman named Gaspard Winckler (also a resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier) cuts it into a jigsaw puzzle. Upon his return, Bartlebooth spends his time solving each jigsaw, re-creating the scene.

Each finished puzzle is treated to re-bind the paper with a special solution invented by Georges Morellet, another resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier. After the solution is applied, the wooden support is removed, and the painting is sent to the port where it was painted. Exactly 20 years to the day after it was painted, the painting is placed in a detergent solution until the colors dissolve, and the paper, blank except for the faint marks where it was cut and re-joined, is returned to Bartlebooth.

It knocks my socks off with how amazingly bizarre Bartlebooth is.

Thinking thoughts

[Loud and clear]

I've sunk my teeth into Jonathan Safran Foer's "Eating Animals" - it's making me think thoughts, but these thoughts haven't accumulated into decisions, let alone action.

tea and toast please

Reading Jane Brocket’s blog is like sipping a cup of tea and munching warm toast – it’s delightful, simple, refreshing, homely and hits the spot every time.

[tea and toast]

Jane’s blog is a treasure trove of recommendations for books, yarn, films, thread, bulbs, quilts and most importantly afternoon tea destinations. My mouth is drooling in anticipation of visiting:

- Albion

- Peggy Porschen Parlour

- Baker & Spice

Nip and tuck

I must confess when I stumbled across this gorgeous historical depiction of a “perfect nippy” (wait staff) I felt guilty. I am a workplace slob.

[image via: point of difference]

To be fair my work uniform was designed for practically – the white polo top and blue slacks are perfect for bending, twisting, lifting, reaching, carrying and leaning. An occupational, health and safety dream.

But for all the flexibility the uniform allows, I’ve stretched the guideline to the limit – I slouch around in my natty old running shoes, my hair is less fly-away and more of a bird’s nest & I never attempt to wear makeup as I doubt that anyone other than Cate Blanchett could make the polo/slacks combo look glamorous, so why make the attempt to.

While I’m not usually too fussed about my slapdash style, it would be the bee’s knees to wear these beautiful ensembles to work. I can picture myself as a librarian – delicately carrying one book at a time of course.

[Karen Walker]

Let's Hear It for the Boy

As i was driving to my laborhood I heard Kate Nash's gnarlz "Like a version" on the radio - I had to stop myself going ham, but I was dancing so much I forgot that I was hangry!

Ahhh urban dictionary - providing hours of entertainment and unnecessary spice to my sentences.

Writer's no one reads

This tumblr made me laugh and laugh and laugh – Check-ch-check-check-check-ch-check it out.

I’m still knee deep in “The Corrections” and needed some respite from their heavy hearted discontent, so I started reading Orhan Pamuk’s childhood memoirs “Istanbul: Memories and a City”.

Unfortunately seems like I’ve jumped from one bag of neuroses to another.

Reading rock

I thought that my weekend was shaping up to be perfection with charades and picnics planned - but it looks like Rock Hudson pipped me at the post by 59 years, with these lovely photos taken of him hanging out at home in 1952.

What I like about the photos is that he doesn't look like a douche posing for pictures whilst reading without his shirt on, in fact I wish I could look as stylish when I'm reading, I typically slouch and have the unsightly habit of twisting my lower lip with my index finger and thumb. I think I need to practice my reading poses! Luckily for the wider community my finger is twitching over the mouse to buy this, this and this.

Though these books may be somewhat of an ironic selection to use to practice seductive sitting, but they look so damn interesting!

Images via: IMDb