Argh. I was so close to falling asleep, drifting off, sooo close ... and I twitched awake, and then, blink blink blink, 45 minutes of lying in bed, blink blink blink, wondering how I lost that sleepy feeling, whoa that sleepy feeling.
Sorry I've been neglectful of late. Some things have been happening (shit's been goin' down, as they say, and by "they" I mean attitudinal street toughs in gang movies), and I can't write about any of it here, because the Internet, as I have recently learned, is like one giant, horribly played game of Telephone. Except it lasts FOREVER.
But, as they also say, what doesn't kill you only maims you, so life can go on. As it will, and always does.
No coherent thoughts tonight, just random ones:
1. Have I mentioned that I am now addicted to Angry Birds? Well, I am. If you're not aware of it, it's a videogame for the iPhone (and other mobile devices too, I believe), and it is insanely addicting. I don't often play video games even despite owning a PS3, mostly because I fear what I, who have a mild-to-intermediate case of OCD, would become by sitting innocently down to play. Angry Birds, on the other hand, is little! It's cute! It fits in your phone, and you can play it on the subway without anyone noticing! (Except they totally notice, because they're all playing it, too.)
And the game -- which features you shooting birds from a slingshot to knock down structures and kill green pigs -- has the genius strategy of making most of the beginning levels, at least, not that hard. Sure, you can figure it out fairly easily, earning one star out of three. Well, if you could get that one star without too much trouble, what does it take to get two stars? or three? (Note: It can take a lot.) My favorite feature is that you can immediately pause the game and start the level over whenever you want. I frequently do this when my first bird is still in the air, as I've already determined that he's not aiming precisely where I want him to go, and therefore he must be stopped! erased! vanquished for his imperfections! Pause, restart, start again. No, I'm not manic at all, why do you ask?
The other night, a Sunday at the end of a trying weekend, I lay on my couch playing Angry Birds until 3 in the morning. I felt like a dude in my parents' basement, yelling out for more PB&J sandwiches with the crusts cut off. (I'm kidding. I like the crusts.)
Anyway, if you can take having the thing subsume your life completely, I recommend it. For one thing, it's fun. And it's a nice, all-consuming distraction when other things in your life require ... distraction.
2. Sometimes I wonder if I might be autistic. There's probably a point on the spectrum for me, right? This occurred to me as I was in South Carolina last weekend, hanging out in the living room of my former boss's house, the conversation of the lively guests there centering around books and chefs and cooking methods and restaurants. All up my alley, but I just wasn't feeling it, so I wandered away to the jigsaw puzzle I'd set up on a side table. I adore the jigsaw puzzles at this house. They're Vintage Parker Bros., no pictures on the boxes, all pieces hand-cut, so some of them are in funny shapes like horses and stars and parrots (even though the pieces themselves will not be used to create horses or stars or parrots). I can spend forever working on these puzzles, staring intently at the shape of the piece I need, then poring over all the hundreds of other pieces searching for the exact precise one. So, there we had adults sitting by the fire, having an adult professional conversation; and me over to the side, silently bent over the hundreds of pieces, sorting them and staring at them and muttering to myself? Yeah. Autistic, I think.
3. Every once in a while, someone will mention to me that they don't like leftovers. My host's son, apparently, does not like leftovers. I think that's ridiculous. I love leftovers -- they're better the next day, partly because they're sitting there ready for you, and you don't have to cook them! So considerate. I'm not sure how much I can trust someone who doesn't like leftovers.
4. This weekend, in between jigsaw jaunts, I read Michael Cunningham's newest novel, By Nightfall. Didn't care for it much, which disappointed me because I loved The Hours. This one just seemed like a lot of white-male navel-gazing -- a single conversation followed by two pages of internal pontificating -- which, while beautifully written, bored me. I don't need an action novel but I do need people doing stuff. And not just talking about how unhappy they maybe are. A shame, because I did love The Hours, but I may have to go back and read it again after reading Mrs. Dalloway.
And that's it; I guess I only had four thoughts in my head that tumbled out when I shook it. Night all.
