Good luck in September, everyone! Our 90 degree days, the few we had, came to an abrupt end and now we're left with 76 degrees for the high. Last night got down to 40 degrees! Shiver me timbers, that seemed odd. Ekim got the air conditioner out of the window, down the ladder, and into the basement before I made it home. (I fussed at him for that--what if he hurts himself doing this, while I'm not home? And his ribcage-area still hurts a little bit from that go-karting mishap he had during his business trip.)(I'm just talkin' to myself.)
The last couple of nights have been banner sleeping weather. I believe that perhaps I'm trying to make up for all those hot, sleepless nights I had in the summer. My weird dream life hasn't been this active for months. Nothing interesting, but still. The only downside is the extreme grogginess in the morning, but I shall overcome.
Insomnia, laziness, and boredom aside, I have managed to crawl through another book.
Vineland, by Thomas Pynchon, took me a long time to read, but not because I didn't like it or that it was boring. Actually, I've been trying to nail down the reason why...this is my second attempt at Pynchon, the first one being The Crying of Lot 49, a book that left me in the dust, an expression that in this case means, "I was left wondering, what just happened here? What was that all about?" However, Vineland is much easier to understand, but I still struggled a bit with it.
Vineland attempts to make sense out of the sixties, tries to put forth a different accounting than the history that was rewritten for us by the conservatives who later won control of the government. The characters are interesting ones, whose lives are the result of the way they got caught up with or reacted to The Revolution. Much of their lives are spent in a constant state of paranoia. Pynchon also makes many references to The Tube, since children of the sixties were the first to grow up sitting in front of televisions and so the first to have their opinions shaped by this medium. Actually, his television and popular music references are hilarious.
It was while I was reading Pynchon's funny lyrics and television allusions that it finally dawned on me why David Foster Wallace was compared to Pynchon--they both make maximum use of shared cultural experiences as a way to connect with their readers. Pynchon made up some funny, unlikely titles for programs, which is exactly what DFW did for Infinite Jest. In fact, DFW's movie list occupied a huge end-note section in the back of that book.
So, why is Pynchon so much harder for me to read? It's got to be his sentence construction, which I'm too groggy to explore right now, but I will. Later.
Gracious me, it's time to get dressed for work. *Yawn* It's a beautiful day, and it was a nice run, but now I'm all toasty warm and it's hard to get up.