May 28th, 2008

Proust book

"The Fugitive" update - dreaming of Paris

I've been continuing to plow my way through Remembrance of Things Past (or In Search of Lost Time, which is probably a better title), and I'm realizing that my birthday is coming up, and with it the trip to Paris I planned months ago. I'm excited: I really want to indulge myself in things Proust, and I was thinking that a lovely walk in the Bois de Boulougne would be a perfect summertime activity. I'm at page 453 of the combined Prisoner/Fugitive, and the author is dealing with grief now, and also the difficulty of knowing happy times when you're in the middle of them. God, he's great to read, even though I think he's made it difficult for me to get much enjoyment out of poorly written books.

Proust came up twice in my waking life this week; once in the Pinter book I bought, and a second time last night when I was watching a short film before Iron Man. The narrator of the film was talking about all of the little things he did on a certain day so that he wouldn't be troubled while doing his work; at the end he does no work at all but goes to bed early so he'll wake up rested and ready for his work tomorrow. It was really painfully similar to a lot of the texture of reading Proust, as shown by this mock Proust blog entry (thanks sallysimpleton). Who'd think he'd be an object of gentle derision?

Land of the Me, Home of the Rave

My boss's boss's boss has said they'll cover my visa fees and provide serious, corporate-type legal assistance with my HSMP ( -> Tier 1 visa) out of this year's budget.

I can't tell you what this means in terms of the financial hit we've just avoided for the summer and the serious stress reduction factor. (I feel like every time I've looked at the site for work permits they've changed their requirements AGAIN.)


In which I play hostess

I had my friends Josela and Cate (from work) over for dinner tonight. Menu was stacked sour cream green chile chicken enchiladas, only without as much green chiles as I would have liked (read: none). Afterwards I made "fakearitas" (no lime juice or sweet and sour, but the Sicilian lemonade seemed to cut the mustard) and we bsed until I had to kick people out.

I'm having a peek at my Pinter book now that I've finished Fforde's The Big Over Easy. Truly, I would have never guessed what horrible fate ultimately befell Humpty Dumpty, but I should have realized the mad scientist (genetic engineer) and the beanstalk were going to come into play at some point in the book.