So it's winter. I've travelled through DC during the winter, before. During my college years, I took Metro to school every day. It was cold back then, sure. But damned if I remember being THIS COLD every single day. I don't know if it's me, or if Metro just isn't turning on their heat anymore. I don't recall ever getting on the train and going, "Wow, it feels just like I'm still standing outside." This morning, it was too cold for me to even read.
I'm working on this book right now called "The Naked and the Dead". It's a gritty World War II novel, written from the POV of soldiers in the Pacific. It's definitely a man's book, written by a man for men, and hoo boy, is it hillarious. From the constant dialogue that involves getting pussy, having pussy and wanting pussy, to the deep and meaningful conversations where two soldiers come to the realization that women just aren't interested in sex. Not like men, anyway.
HOLY SHEET. I love reading this old-timey shit, because it's so funny how men used to think. How some of them STILL think.
Lemme clear some things up for ya, soldier boys. It's not that women aren't interested in having sex. It's that they're not interested in having sex with YOU. Now, if she were propositioned by a good looking man, with a job, and a personality, well, she'd probably become a horned-out super slut. All depending on if he's her type, of course.
I also read "Push", which is what Precious is based on. It's a great book, but my GOD was it visceral. So much horror, blood, and sadness. It had the sort of ending that you can expect, one that isn't happy but has a sort of growth. Throughout the book, you're actually reading through the eyes of Precious, and you can see her world unfold from one of terror and mysery to hope and renewal. So, in a way, it's actually quite beautiful. I started crying after the first page, big baby that I am, and my guitarist asks what I'm reading. I explain what it is, and he's fairly shocked that I, being such a normally happy person, am reading something so depressing. So I explain that I read a lot of depressing shit, which is why I am generally so happy.
People, it's easy to be happy when you're reading about opressed women in China having their feet broken, bound, and scraped clean of rotting dying flesh. Shit, at least I've got my gaddamn FEET.
That doesn't make being cold any easier to live through, but it does give me some perspective. That's what I love about books. They take me to places I couldn't otherwise travel to, and allow me to live the life of someone who might never have existed. They let me go out of myself and look back at my position with envy. I mean shit, Precious Jones would KILL to be me! So I should be grateful for the crap I've got, right? Right.
Willy says I'm one book short of getting a Kindle. BUT I DON'T WANNA.