I have one of those Brita water filters. I pour water in, don't wait for it to actually filter, and when I pour water into my cup, it spills everywhere. Clear? No? That's not the point, which, by the way is this: if I were writing a novel or even a short fictional story, I might use this repeated action to illustrate a character's impatience. Instead, I'm using it to illustrate mine.
At 22, and oh so ready to Get On With It, that I have no patience for the Entry-Level or the Beginning. Get me to the Middle, and I will get to the Glorious End. I fail to think that any of my fellow graduates from this past June are in a position less favourable than mine. I'm always thinking they are closer to 'making it' then I am; or, at least, they are content in working through the Beginning. I want more, and now.
So, I took a little more than a week off from the blog to celebrate my birthdate. A day passed and I automatically became wiser, and by some measure, a greater failure. I mean, damn, 22 and still not found My Thing To Do?
What I should do is stop talking (or writing) about this unfavourable milieu that I surround my thoughts in, and start acting: I've written this precisely 1,000 times. Or more. Not so precise, but what in life is?
I've finished Philip Roth's Zuckerman series of novels, the majority of which were enjoyable with the exception of "I Married a Communist" and "The Prague Orgy" (really, a short story, or if stretching, a novella). The final two, "The Human Stain" and "Exit Ghost" were strong. "Stain" closer to "American Pastoral" and "Ghost" closer to the first of the series, "The Ghost Writer."
Roth's final Zuckerman novel wasn't savaged by all critics; it was most praised with reservations or criticized with none. In the end, critics don't matter at all in comparison to what Roth has given literature. Sounds clichéish, but I mean it.
Up next on my reading list is the behemoth "War and Peace" by Leo Tolstoy, and recently published with a new translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. This is the first Russian novel I will have ever read, which shows how poor my schooling has been. Perhaps taken on the most prominent of Russian novels first before trying something smaller is a risk, but I am up for it. I will report with my thoughts at a later date.
Not Finishing War
Last night, I watched the documentary "No End in Sight," about the quagmire called the Iraq war. I have to recommend it without reservation (to borrow a phrase I borrowed earlier above) if someone wants to know how U.S. President Bush and his team of military experts bungled the war.
After watching the doc, I had the disappointing thought that if Bush's team had spent more time preparing for post-invasion Iraq and had made an attempt to speak to officials in in the country from the start of the invasion, then Iraq could easily be the shining beacon of democracy in the Middle East that Bush envisioned it would become.