Epistemysics

Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Spellbound

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Saw Spellbound with the Sydney Symphony tonight.  Didn’t enjoy it as much as I’d hoped, though the Rite of Spring was quite good.  Possibly I was a tad tired, and that’s why I didn’t like the music as much – though it wasn’t like I couldn’t keep my eyes open or anything.  I suspect that, maybe, after having seen and experienced the heights of the Mahler Chamber Orchestra twice this week, the usual standard of the Sydney Symphony is a let down.  Who knows, who knows.  (Well, God, perhaps, the CIA team tasked to surveil me, and three out of the seven voices in my head.)

I am typing this blog post, by the way, from the relative comfort of my new laptop.  (It arrived today; a stork delivered it.)  I don’t like the touchpad much at all – though I’m getting better at it – but the keyboard seems to work rather nicely, and I’m not hitting the wrong keys, so that’s all quite grand, isn’t it?  I’m also rather annoyed with Windows 8 and it’s stupid way of doing things, but I suppose I’ll get used to that as well.  One always tends to get used to things; it’s what humans do best, right?

I had hoped to finish Proust today, but the arrival of the laptop put a spanner in the book’s spine.  (The spine, by the way, is creased.  It happened when I was typing that long quote out a few days ago, what with me resting my external keyboard on top of it to try and keep the book open, and then I stopped caring and have creased it even more.  I sometimes wonder whether I ever, in a bid to break free of my neuroses, will go through all the books in my house and crease the spines on them, hence deflowering them all, so I wouldn’t have to worry about doing it unintentionally.  But is there something bad about wanting to take care of your property, of stuff you’ve bought?  The thing is, am I taking more care than is needed to keep the books in relatively good condition for my lifespan, or am I being too precious and wasting my energy on it?)

I had read in places that many people liked the first half of Proust, and not the second.  I assume I’m on the second half now – I know I’m on the part that he didn’t publish.  I still think it’s good.  What is everyone talking about?  (Perhaps, looking it up online just now, it is only Nabokov who thinks that way.)

347/whatever.

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Written by epistemysics

June 14, 2013 at 4:45 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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