Lordy, am I tired. If I weren’t so tired, I’d finish that there sentence with an exclamation point, but I’m not up to the shifting. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning until eleven. I spent most of the afternoon reorganizing a closet. There are freshwater fish with more interesting things on their minds. I read Tony Judt’s piece about trains in the New York Review of Books. It was exactly congruent with my thoughts about the future of transportation; when I think of the future of this country, I see a solitary state taking shape along Amtrak’s Northeast Corridor line. As I say, though, I’m much too tired to develop these thoughts.

If we were not going to dinner with a friend, I would try to take Kathleen to see True Grit this evening. That’s why I saw it on Friday, and not something else: I was vetting the violence, which, in the event, turns out to be nowhere near as great as we had been led to believe. (It’s not as violent as Fargo, for example — probably because you expect more shootouts in Nineteenth-Century Arkansas than you do in contemporary Minneapolis.) Such violence as there is is usually clearly foreseeable, giving Kathleen time to cover her eyes. (I covered mine during that scene with the rattlesnake; it did no good at all.) As I say, though, we have a date to do something else.

If I weren’t so tired, I would fast-forward through the Brahms piano sonata that is playing right now. I never know which is which; they all sound the same. Ponderous. You can see why pianos in Brahms’s day had to have such stout legs: all that pounding! I thought that repeated exposure on one or two of the playlists would teach me to love them, but it’s not happening. As I say, though, I’m too tired to think of anything else to play.

Pray that I don’t fall into my soup.

 

 

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
This entry was posted on Monday, January 17th, 2011 at 5:26 pm.