Saw Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique today with the Sydney Symphony. Rather good, rather good. Took mother with me – the first time she’s ever been to the symphony. She had a ball too. All good, all good. Yeah.
Suddenly realised today that, going to see a ballet next month called Anna Karenina, I’m going to have to read the damn book before I see it. (Though whether I can be bothered – I still haven’t finished The Tree of Man, even after listening to the piece by Carl Vine that used the last chapter as its text.)
Also, finally got my copy of A World History of Art, and it is huge, and it is packed full of pictures and information, and I eagerly await reading it, as I do with most books that I own, obviously.
A friend of mine has my copy of Infinite Jest – as well as some other books – but I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel like I’m missing something when my copy of Infinite Jest is not in the house. I think that means that it must be somewhat important to me.