Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…


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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.)


Written by epistemysics

June 14, 2013 at 4:45 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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