I bought luggage at Wal-Mart a few days ago. I paid around $60 for a 7-piece set, which is so startingly cheap I often arch my eyebrow when thinking of it, and frown as I consider the price's implications on the set's overall structural integrity. But of the 7-piece set, one "piece" is a tiny doc kit, one is a miniature duffle bag, one is a suit-carrier for all my non-existent suits I can't have getting wrinkled, and the final is a nylon pouch with drawstring, perfect for storing fruits and vegetables or the heads of my enemies. Those four pieces are worthless--if anyone wants one, I'd be happy to send it to you. The real reason I bought the set was for the three larger suitcases, which were stored together like a nesting family of Russian Matryoshka dolls. These suitcases range in size from large to large carry-on, have wheels and extendable pull-handle, and are constructed of seemingly-sturdy chemically-treated plastic/nylon mesh. They should perform quite well in carrying my dwindling stock of personal necessities--basically, what I need to survive before the rest of my stuff arrives via USPS global express.
In other news, I bought plane tickets. I'll be flying American Airlines primarily because they boast an average of four extra inches in leg-room. Four extra inches might mean little to normal-sized readers, but for a grotesque ogre of my physical dimensions, commercial air-travel is akin to a bizarre brand of humiliating torture. I hate it, and I often lay awake at night thinking of how much the 16-hour plane ride from Dallas to Osaka is going to suck. The plan is to heavily dope myself with tylenol PM. Anyway, four extra inches of legroom might allow me to do normal things, like fully lower the tray table or twist and slouch down in the seat for easier napping.
And that's about all that's new with the travel stuff.
In other news, I've been reading a book called The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I usually dislike most contemporary literary writing--with the exception of DFW's Infinite Jest, I really can't recommend much written after Nabokov's Pale Fire (which came out, I think, in 1962). But, after reading only the first hundred pages, I get the feeling I'll likely be ranking Kite Runner alongside other personal favorites seared into my memory. I usually approach books on an intellectual level, and Hosseini's crystal-clear writing allows for a smooth transition of ideas without any extraneous interference masked as "new" forms of artistic expression. It doesn't self-consciously beg for the attention of literary blowhards, and it isn't out to make some soon-to-be-dated political point or teach some retarded lesson (which is what I usually hate in contemporary literature). In addition to its unassuming and story-based focus, it succeeds in putting me in a place and time which I am completely unfamiliar with, and it does it in such a way that this place (Kabul) feels like home to me.
If that weren't astonishing enough, it also has a tremendous emotional affect on me, viciously rending me one moment before soothing me with gentle and pleasant descriptions. "Soothing?" Shit! I'm in danger of breaking the "no sentimentality" subsection of Rule Three in the last post, so I'll cease the mushy stuff by saying that this book often provokes in me physiological reactions of both visceral pain and cranial euphoria. Suffice it to say, I'm really getting a lot out of it, and when I'm not reading it, I'm thinking about it.
Anyway, the thanks for this book (as well as thanks for an uncountable number of other things) go to my friend, Elizabeth, who is currently living in a South African port town named after her, demonstrating the noble possibilities of our shared profession. She told me about the book in a recent e-mail, and, out of curiosity of her reaction and admiration of her vast knowledge and opinions on books, I immediately went out and bought it. As is usually the case with Elizabeth, her opinion was correct (in the sense that correct opinions mirror my own) and I feel yet again indebted to her, this time for introducing me to a superb work of art.
I also have to thank Elizabeth for giving me the idea of a travel blog, and then encouraging me to write one. Elizabeth keeps her own blog, and I find myself checking it regularly to see what's new. In spite of slow and unreliable internet connections, she blogs quite well, and I hope I can too. I entered this whole blogging thing with skepticism (see the first post), but it turns out that I enjoy keeping a blog, even though no one reads it as I haven't told anyone the URL yet. But I'll change that shortly. I think I'll tell Elizabeth first, and hopefully she'll like it.
Anyway, I should introduce the computer art for this post. For some reason, I like putting pictures on my blog--I feel like the curator of an online gallery or something. This piece is by Olivier Derouetteau who, I'm guessing, is a French artist with a specialty in two-dimensional computer art. Click here for his French website, Flatworld. I like this picture because it's simultaneously eerie and heartwarming. Heartwarming? God, I'm in a weird mood tonight. I'll try not to emote so much in the next posting. Expect heavily masculine doses of sweat, piss, and blood ... with some excrement thrown in for good measure! (ew, gross.)
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