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May. 31st, 2008 06:17 pmI goofed up at work last week. My supervisor was in Zambia and had asked me to do some things, and I just forgot a few of them, and I had to face the repercussions when she got back, and I felt terrible. I still do. I had a dream about it last night, in which I did even more things wrong, but since they featured switching offices through worm-hole like transportation, involving somehow our petty cash box and and building an extension on it using a piece of cardboard 1000 ft. x 1000 ft.*, I'm not going to let it bother me too much. But I still feel incredibly guilty about the errors.
I've been reading Borges recently, working my way through his collected fictions. For the moment I've been playing with a three-tiered system of literature impressiveness: 1. Wow, that's really cool, and it's the kind of thing I might have written myself if I had the motivation and inspiration to get it done**. 2. Wow, that's really cool, and I understand it entirely, but I could never have thought of that myself. 3. Wow, that's really cool, I would never have thought of it myself, and I still don't entirely understand it, although I might one day. Henry James (especially The Ambassadors, which I like more and more the more I think about it in retrospect) falls into #3. Italo Calvino's stories (in particular the collection Cosmicomics) falls into #1, and Borges is squarely in #2. A particularly striking moment came as I was getting off BART last week, after having reluctantly put away the story "Three Versions of Judas," because my stop came too quickly to finish it. The story is one of those fictional reviews of invented men's literary works that Borges loves so much, and the man in this particular story had made his life's work a study of the God-made-flesh part of the story of Christ's passion. Through an elegant, logical, allusive*** series of arguments, he had come to the conclusion that actually if God became a man, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for mankind, he had to become not Christ, but Judas, because suffering is so much more terrible if there is no prospect of relief, and suffering in your soul for being a traitor is worse than suffering in your body but knowing you'll go to heaven. Then as I was stepping off the train, I looked up and saw one of those God Rides BART posters that have been appearing around BART for the past several months, and the question that was supposed to provoke thought among the heathen commuters was "Will God give you money if you obey him?" It was a bit early to deal with that kind of mental whiplash.
In other recent developments, spring is here, which means the farmers markets are getting much, much more interesting. In particular, they have been inundated recently with the most hideous looking beans I've ever seen:
( click for veggies )
Daniel and I are getting married! June 30th. Alameda County Clerk's office. That is all.
*It was very hard to find in SF in one day. I think I had it narrowed down to a pool-supply provider, which had pieces of cardboard in that size for the purpose of lining the wall on indoor swimming pools before applying the tiles, but I woke up before I could actually call them and see if they could get it to me the same day.
**Daniel and I often stop in the middle of a conversation to mention that whatever we've just been discussing would make a really good short story or novel, but we never sit down and actually write it.
***Although often Borges's allusions are as invented as the intellectuals who allude to them.
****I was once walking in the street and I saw two red-headed twins being put in the car by their nanny or caretaker. When her back was turned, one shoved the other, and the other tried to push him off, but the nanny turned around only in time to see twin 2 push back at twin 1, so she chastised him. He tried to explain that twin 1 had started it, and she said she didn't care who started it, now behave yourself. I was an impartial witness, and I felt very sympathetic for twin 2, and I thought about stopping and explaining to the nanny that he was right; twin 1 really had started it. But I decided the nanny would not thank me for stirring up a ruckus again that she had just quieted down, so I walked on.
I've been reading Borges recently, working my way through his collected fictions. For the moment I've been playing with a three-tiered system of literature impressiveness: 1. Wow, that's really cool, and it's the kind of thing I might have written myself if I had the motivation and inspiration to get it done**. 2. Wow, that's really cool, and I understand it entirely, but I could never have thought of that myself. 3. Wow, that's really cool, I would never have thought of it myself, and I still don't entirely understand it, although I might one day. Henry James (especially The Ambassadors, which I like more and more the more I think about it in retrospect) falls into #3. Italo Calvino's stories (in particular the collection Cosmicomics) falls into #1, and Borges is squarely in #2. A particularly striking moment came as I was getting off BART last week, after having reluctantly put away the story "Three Versions of Judas," because my stop came too quickly to finish it. The story is one of those fictional reviews of invented men's literary works that Borges loves so much, and the man in this particular story had made his life's work a study of the God-made-flesh part of the story of Christ's passion. Through an elegant, logical, allusive*** series of arguments, he had come to the conclusion that actually if God became a man, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for mankind, he had to become not Christ, but Judas, because suffering is so much more terrible if there is no prospect of relief, and suffering in your soul for being a traitor is worse than suffering in your body but knowing you'll go to heaven. Then as I was stepping off the train, I looked up and saw one of those God Rides BART posters that have been appearing around BART for the past several months, and the question that was supposed to provoke thought among the heathen commuters was "Will God give you money if you obey him?" It was a bit early to deal with that kind of mental whiplash.
In other recent developments, spring is here, which means the farmers markets are getting much, much more interesting. In particular, they have been inundated recently with the most hideous looking beans I've ever seen:
( click for veggies )
Daniel and I are getting married! June 30th. Alameda County Clerk's office. That is all.
*It was very hard to find in SF in one day. I think I had it narrowed down to a pool-supply provider, which had pieces of cardboard in that size for the purpose of lining the wall on indoor swimming pools before applying the tiles, but I woke up before I could actually call them and see if they could get it to me the same day.
**Daniel and I often stop in the middle of a conversation to mention that whatever we've just been discussing would make a really good short story or novel, but we never sit down and actually write it.
***Although often Borges's allusions are as invented as the intellectuals who allude to them.
****I was once walking in the street and I saw two red-headed twins being put in the car by their nanny or caretaker. When her back was turned, one shoved the other, and the other tried to push him off, but the nanny turned around only in time to see twin 2 push back at twin 1, so she chastised him. He tried to explain that twin 1 had started it, and she said she didn't care who started it, now behave yourself. I was an impartial witness, and I felt very sympathetic for twin 2, and I thought about stopping and explaining to the nanny that he was right; twin 1 really had started it. But I decided the nanny would not thank me for stirring up a ruckus again that she had just quieted down, so I walked on.