Relishes

D feeling somewhat better, after some drugs to help him sleep, breathe. I'm teetering on the edge of maybe not being well. Not at my best at work, felt snappy and prickly. Simply coping, knowing I would have five days off, with an annoying half-hour's appointment to get a health screening that discounts my health care premiums. Then I get a call from the boss, mandatory meeting in the morning, 0715. Not to be moved. Ordering everyone in for this inservice. Many of us really pissed. But when she gets herself all mad, she cannot hear reason. Wonders, though, why she gets such negative staff surveys. She's a peach. With a worm. One of those tasteless, mealy peaches.

That she has posted it as mandatory means nothing, since every meeting for two months have been "mandatory" and she has admitted that it usually means she just wants as many as possible there. But she got a bee up her butt about the one tomorrow. If only I'd told everyone we were flying out of town this evening. Next time, I will give that story out. Got the call while running my room, caught me off guard, flat footed. Not that I'm any good with the instant lie, the snappy come-back anyway. I default to honesty.


Still, it's only an hour. And I'll probably wake up anyway. I plan to clock in at 0715 precisely, and take at least one potty break.

Reminded by a quiz of the books I've failed to read. And the aspect of reading that is akin to taste.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce, is an ultra rich cheesecake. One tiny slice, and I was amazed, but full. Knew I'd never finish it.

Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevsky. Turkish coffee. Interesting, but after a sip, way too strong, and I really don't like coffee. Learned the word petty, which was useful.

Harry Potter. An A&W plain hamburger. Loved them as a kid, from the drive-in across the bridge in Windsor, so we wouldn't hit relatives right at meal times. I didn't like meat, which barely figured. Thin patty, thick bread, ketchup, relish, sometimes cheese, soggy, just the right amount for a small child. I could stand one today, but not more. Really don't get why an adult would seek them out, save to share with a child.


Twilight. Peeps. Even the smell of it repels me. The thought of putting it in me is beyond possibility. Only good to ridicule.

And in the discussion that prompted these thoughts, I would like to add here, out of context, this.

Intelligent and well written does not equal dull and snobbish.

Silly does not mean only fit for children.

Bad writing does not mean fun and entertaining. Humor doesn't have to be stupid and ignorant.

Some classics are bound to their own time, but some speak wittily across the ages.

I knew there was a strong strain of anti-intellectualism in this country. Reverse snobbery. Anyone suggesting that good writing and honest stories with a moral compass, coherent plot and full fleshed characters, are "dull" and pretentious, preachy and too hard. I think good writing is easier to read, and hones the mind to relish the more challenging great writing. Which may take more effort, but returns far more. That some assume anyone reading a non-mainstream, non-best seller, non-morally bankrupt, non-cardboard populated novel - is faking it, and self puffed-up, a snooty smartass. Who has no sense of fun, and hates children and eats puppies.

Thing is, I like fluff, as long as it's good fluff. When I was between terms in nursing school, and could barely read instructions for soup, I read Robert Asprin, and Piers Anthony's Xanth novels. (I couldn't read Anthony today, too many themes of attraction to underage girls, that I didn't pick up on at the time.) But I feel that we live and die by our stories. And it is important to take in good stories that feed our souls, and try to keep the cheap stuff to a minimum. Just like food, most of the time, fresh, well prepared, spiced and savored varieties, balanced. The odd hershey bar won't be a problem, and will feed the part of us that isn't consistent, and is still five years old.


I want to read a little more Joyce, a few pages.

Greta suggested Araby, and here it is.