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I've suffered, I've sweated, I've pushed my eyes across mountains of barely comprehensible text. But I made it through part two, across the desert of the Circe episode and fallen into what seems to be an oasis of poetry in part three. The second section of part three is written as essay question and answers, and one answer rhapsodizes over the wonders of water. Coming so quickly on the heels of my Melville adventures, I was particularly soothed by it:

"What in water did Bloom, waterlover, drawer of water, watercarrier, returning to the range, admire?

Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level: its vastness in the ocean of Mercator's projection: its unplumbed profundity in the Sundam trench of the Pacific exceeding 8000 fathoms: the restlessness of its waves and surface particles visiting in turn all points of its seaboard: the independence of its units: the variability of states of sea: its hydrostatic quiescence in calm: its hydrokinetic turgidity in neap and spring tides: its subsidence after devastation: its sterility in the circumpolar icecaps, arctic and antarctic: its climatic and commercial significance: its preponderance of 3 to 1 over the dry land of the globe: its indisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the region below the subequatorial tropic of Capricorn: the multisecular stability of its primeval basin: its luteofulvous bed: its capacity to dissolve and hold in solution all soluble substances including millions of tons of the most precious metals: its slow erosions of peninsulas and islands, its persistent formation of homothetic islands, peninsulas and downwardtending promontories: its alluvial deposits: its weight and volume and density: its imperturbability in lagoons and highland tarns: its gradation of colours in the torrid and temperate and frigid zones: its vehicular ramifications in continental lakecontained streams and confluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and transoceanic currents, gulfstream, north and south equatorial courses: its violence in seaquakes, waterspouts, Artesian wells, eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds, waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its secrecy in springs and latent humidity, revealed by rhabdomantic or hygrometric instruments and exemplified by the well by the hole in the wall at Ashtown gate, saturation of air, distillation of dew: the simplicity of its composition, two constituent parts of hydrogen with one constituent part of oxygen: its healing virtues: its buoyancy in the waters of the Dead Sea: its persevering penetrativeness in runnels, gullies, inadequate dams, leaks on shipboard: its properties for cleansing, quenching thirst and fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm and paragon: its metamorphoses as vapour, mist, cloud, rain, sleet, snow, hail: its strength in rigid hydrants: its variety of forms in loughs and bays and gulfs and bights and guts and lagoons and atolls and archipelagos and sounds and fjords and minches and tidal estuaries and arms of sea: its solidity in glaciers, icebergs, icefloes: its docility in working hydraulic millwheels, turbines, dynamos, electric power stations, bleachworks, tanneries, scutchmills: its utility in canals, rivers, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its potentiality derivable from harnessed tides or watercourses falling from level to level: its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe), numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the globe: its ubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the human body: the noxiousness of its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the waning moon."

I'm two months into my third? fourth? attempt to read Joyce's Ulysses, this time armed with companion book. I finally made it to the Oxen of the Sun episode, and spent about twenty minutes reading the first page. I re-cap the two sentences that I was most hung up on below. While I could find this passage online and simply cut/paste, I did not cheat, I transcribed. Chockablock full of delicious vocabulary like lutulent (muddy, turbid), omnipollent (omnipotent), semblables (resemblances), inverecund (immodest), traduce (shame by way of fraud)...

Universally that person's acumen is esteemed very little perceptive concerning whatsoever matters are being held as most profitable by mortals with sapience endowed to be studied who is ignorant of that which the most in doctrine erudite and certainly by reason of that in them high mind's ornament deserving of veneration constantly maintain when by general consent they affirm that other circumstances being equal by no exterior splendour is the prosperity of a nation more efficaciously asserted than by the measure of how far forward may have progressed the tribute of its solicitude for that proliferent continuance which of evils the original if it be absent when fortunately present constitutes the certain sign of omnipollent nature's incorrupted benefaction. For who is there who anything of some significance has apprehended but is conscious that that exterior splendour may be the surface of a downwardtrending lutulent reality or on the contrary anyone so is there inilluminated as not to perceive that as no nature's boon can contend against the bounty of increase so it behoves every most just citizen to become the exhortator and admonisher of his semblables and to tremble lest what had in the past been by the nation excellently commenced might be in the future not with similar excellence accomplished if an inverecund habit shall have gradually traduced the honourable by ancestors transmitted customs to that thither of profundity that that one was audacious excessively who would have the hardihood to rise affirming that no more odious offence can for anyone be than to oblivious neglect to consign that evangel simultaneously command and promise which on all mortals with prophecy of abundance or with diminution's menace that exalted of reiteratedly procreating function ever irrevocably enjoined?

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. Wish me luck. Splash!

I've been curious about the intimate dinners hosted around a huge wooden table with long benches in a nondescript storefront on Guerrero Street. 18 Reasons is an organization bringing local community together over art and food, and when an event with the topic of food, pleasure, and MFK Fisher came up, I happily solo'ed my way to the dinner. At these types of events, it's critical to make a wise decision on seating. I gravitated to two women who looked to be having a grand time and settled in beside them.

Dinner was heaping plates of couscous-asparagus (gluten free and vegan, oh San Francisco!) along with goat cheese, bread, and unending bottles of white wine. Our two "moderators" were the author of a recent biography of MFK Fisher and a zen priest. After their short presentations, we were encouraged to eat and discuss the topic of pleasure with our dining companions.

Fortunately, my companions were not wedded to the idea of sole focus on this topic, and we covered ground from The Wire to owning the OED on microfiche with several mental canoe rides along the way. At some point I exclaimed, "Some women dream of their wedding day... I dream of having a ladder in my library!" I felt guilty about having my back to the gentleman on my right, preferring the company of my ladies, but every time I turned to politely engage him, he was droning on about pleasure in such an unpleasurable way that I quickly turned back.

I left the venue after a few delightful and intellectually stimulating hours, with contact details for new friends in hand.

At the Ferry Building last Friday, I sat through multiple hours of other writers reading their stories so that I could emerge from my chrysalis and do my own reading of original work, in a public space, on purpose, for the first time. The first half of the readers pre-intermission were decent, the search for a Chinatown apartment, Lucille Ball's Where's My Ethel at the White House, a tiny piece of Ramshackle Days describing the scene at the bar where if you even looked like you were going to say more words than it took to order a drink you'd be kicked out. Intermission should have started after Where's My Ethel, which got such tremendous applause that it was a natural stopping point. However, one of the facilitators thrust her student onto us "because she has to leave", whose story was about as interesting as an old shoe. The variety of styles and talent levels was a bit shocking. I know the instructors were told to encourage everyone to participate, but seriously? Some of those kids should be told to put down the pen and walk away.

Intermission was a welcome break from the heat of the room on an unnaturally warm SF day, and then my cheering section arrived, thinking it was over since everyone was milling about. Unfortunately, it was not over, and I punished my friends by making them sit through at least twenty stories, most of which should be deleted from their author's harddrive immediately. No one wants to hear about you popping a blister before your hike up Mount Masada. You don't really look like Hugh Grant, so your story about being his doppelgänger is confusing. You're an ex-nun and you love Jesus and yet your words make me want to burn some religious texts. You are making fun of the Chinese language by pretending to speak it. Wave upon wave of bad writing washed onto the podium. The audience dwindled. A story about a stripper somehow was uninteresting. There was a good piece about being a nanny for a French family. And a bad piece about not being able to go to an uncle's funeral (written by someone my friend later described as "the gay dude who went and sat by his wife after he was done. She patted his hand." Ah, beards.) Also a brief scuffle where a homeless gent joined the party (hey, free booze!) and was the only heckler of the evening, snickering as he listened.

The agony of the evening was nearly over. But first, the worst introduction of the evening, saying that I was going last because it was alphabetical (it wasn't) and oh hey I work at BlahBlahBlah. I put the shaking paper on the podium (a godsend!) and read this. It got laughs from some nitwits in the crowd, and then it was over, and applause, mainly because good lord this night of literary terror was over and everyone was free to disperse to their real Friday evenings.

In the Lapham of Luxury. His Eminence graced us with 90 minutes of his time in the cramped quarters of the poetry section, 2nd floor at City Lights. Surrounded by the spirts of the Beats, watching the startling sight of the sun reflecting against a nearby tower after days upon days of rain, soothed by the deep resonate tones of Lapham's clear intellect. He read from the current Lapham's Quarterly, a piece by "Ed Dante", a necessary pseudonym for a person whose job it is to write admissions essays and masters theses and anything a student might desire, on demand. After an intrepid audience member suggested that she didn't understand the connection of the psuedonym to the work, we collectively figured the name was a play on both Dante Alighieri (obvious) and Edward Dantes, the Count of Monte Cristo. After waxing a bit on the state of education, he opened the field for questions, and we the audience were ready.

Topics covered:
* Education is being treated like taxidermy-- just stuff a dead thing and pretend it's alive
* Unions and the general disregard of the middle class for them
* Reagan, ushering in the 1980s as the beginning of the end, he wanted to make "everyone" rich.
* The distinction between today's polarizing Right and Left boils down to "Money" vs. "Mind"
* Literature has always only appealed to a small segment of the population, this has not changed. Lapham in conversation with the owner of Barnes & Noble, notes that he said "literature has always been a loss-leader for us."
* Plagiarism. Writers have always borrowed from each other. What you write is influenced by what you read.
* What Lapham evaluates a piece on: voice. If it sounds like a human, he will consider continuing the conversation.
* The Right wing believes that to be poor today means that God is punishing you.
* All of learning is self-motivated
* Secret to longevity: curiosity and learning
* Politicians and the elite have no interest in educating the masses-- give them Bread & Circuses to distract them.

I was surprised (saddened?) that when I mentioned I was going to this event to a couple of people, they had no idea who Lapham was. Oh, my heathen friends, just dial up your iPhone and keep playing with the latest App. We will outlive you all!

The fear was palpable. Poorly shorn men and women gathered downstairs at the main branch of the library, clutching their books, brazenly ogling the others who were milling about. Getting checked out at the library. And getting checked in for the night's entertainment: speed dating, with a literary flourish.

I attempted to rope a few of my friends into this, and one showed. We leaned back and watched the chaos. After twenty women on the wait list were no-shows, the librarian finally hit upon someone in the crowd who had had the courage to show up. Six additional women and seven men were shooed inside, after a lengthy reading of wait-list names akin to a list of the dead. At the end of the men's list, there were two additional spots and four dudes scuffing their feet and looking nervously down. I suggested that they Roshambo to get in. Nervous laughs and then they awkwardly looked at each other. One guy said he'd never Roshambo'd.

I had sacrificed my wait list position until I knew my friend would also get in. But now, he was in and I was outside missing the action. With the men all accounted for, I began to wander off, until a librarian frantically chased me down. "We have too many men! We need you!"

We had all dutifully brought our favorite books or books we were reading, to use for conversation starters. We wore numbers on our chests, if we liked someone, we would bubble their number on our card and if they bubbled our number, match-tastic! Slipping into the last seat, I pulled my book out and steeled myself for the onslaught. I gave my friend the thumbs up across the room. The librarians thanked us for coming and broke down the logistics of the evening: the men would snake around the room while the women remained seated. Even the librarians seemed nervous, sweated armpits, frenzied.

For the next hour and a half I had nineteen conversations lasting four minutes each.

What I remember from that blur:
* A lawyer in a purple shirt, so sure of himself and clutching this book: 15 minute meals by Cooking Light. Apparently he eats fast and doesn't like spending more time cooking than eating.
* the cute twenty-something freshly moved from Brooklyn and living in a homeless shelter. He was spitting paper hearts out his mouth during the whole conversation, and reading Zorba the Greek.
* Leopard print pajama-bottomed dude with a self-help book. I complimented his outfit and he proudly mentioned that he was meeting up with his crew later and they all dressed like this.
* The guy whose daily routine involves watching Seinfeld, favorite episode: The Opposite.
* Long haired sci-fi lover who claimed that his job doesn't take any time at all, so he can pursue other interests. His job? Software development. I never thought of that as a part-time gig. His other interests? Launching weather balloons from Tracy, CA, with friends.
* Yelp salesman who was extremely impressed with himself for working at Yelp. Reading a history of Palestine.
* A few effeminate men, one of whom had written his own book and published with CreateSpace. He bragged about firing his "real" publisher a few months before they were supposed to bring out his book. Yeah right. He also has no clocks in his house. The other effem had teeth which defy explanation-- a line through the middle of the top row, but white on both sides. Perhaps falsies. Originally from what he deemed "the terrible city", which is not Detroit, as I guessed, but LA.
* A guy with braces, and like all adults with braces, wildly self-conscious of them. He brought one of Roald Dahl's children's books. As is always the case when Dahl comes up, I mentioned reading in his biography that he had all his teeth extracted when he was in his twenties. This factoid caused the gentleman in braces to shift uncomfortably in his chair.
* A whirling dervish, glasses taped together in the middle with electrical tape. We covered so many topics in four minutes it felt like we were on fast forward; literature, comics, pop culture, the new Smurf movie and protests he'll be leading against it. After the frenzy he handed me a card with link to his 80s appreciation tumblr.

At some point, the men's snaking broke down and it became a free for all. Men were beelining towards cute girls. Chaos reigned. Librarians tried to pull us back into order by decreeing a mingle hour, but no one responded.

My friend met a woman who brought All About Scabs . He asked her to show him her favorite picture, and flustered, she pointed to the first page.There was a woman who brought Bukowski and Eggers, obviously trying too hard to appeal to the range of men. Other women brought Deliverance and Cloud Atlas, Anna Karenina, a Shel Silverstein biography.

There was a guy that I missed meeting who had a notebook of his own jokes, a whole section of one word jokes like "Alf-ghanistan", a section of jokes turning the word Bjorn into Pjorn, an Oprah-themed section.

When I first proposed this event to my friend, his response was, "what on earth would i gain from this? ok i'll do it." After we surveyed the shambles of the room, and I saw his exhilarated face, I could tell it was a success. He bubbled five girls on his card. We decamped to the bar to debrief, double orders of bourbon.

The next morning, he IMs me, "I now officially regret three of my five choices."

*******

Update. Data from the librarians in charge.

Data: Match sheets

Women: 20
Men: 20

Matches for both women and men:
0 = 11 participants had zero matches
1 = 16 participants had one match
2 = 4 " " " etc.
3 = 4
4 = 2
5 = 2
6 = 1

Data: Registration Lists
Totals attended: 20 women, 20 men

Women:
18 pre-registered
3 no shows
3 canceled by email
2 canceled from the waitlist by email
4 waitlisted & got in
69 waitlisted: 20 (considered the "real" waitlist at the beginning of the list); 49 (at the end of the list, were emailed not to come, they wouldn't get in)
3 showed up from the last 49 waitlist and got in

Men:
20 pre-registered
2 canceled by email
3 no shows
10 waitlisted
5 waitlisted got in
2 showed up not pre-registered and got in

Awesome feature I just spotted on themorningnews-- You submit the last 5 books you read and the Biblioracle recommends one for you. I have now added "Half of a Yellow Sun" by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie to the library queue.

These pictures of bookshelves around the world are dreamy. Drawing serious inspiration from these.

Please forgive the lack of updates as I lazily make my way through Bolano's 2666. It's a monster, as you know.

In the interim, wanted to placehold this list of books to check out later:

Summer reading

Very pretty, drool-inspiring libraries.