Book of the Week: Turning Angel by Greg Iles
Woke up this morning with an image of Dirty Harry in my head, but for the life of me could not remember the name of the actor who played him. Clive? Hence the need to get online so early in the morning. I had to know. It’s been happening for a while now – my synapses are no longer firing connections I could once make in mere nano-seconds. Can’t name a tune, recall the last three books I’ve read, play put a name to a face, or even spell words correctly. I am not in denial that I’m getting older; I am simply absolutely terrified that my memory is going, or that a tumour is growing in my medula oblongata somewhere. I need to get my brain scanned or work it out more.
Factoids of the Week:
You expect me to remember?
Friday, April 20, 2007
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Fear And (Self-) Loathing In New Zealand
Book of the Week: Not reading at the moment
Either I’m getting old, jaded and cynical, or travel just doesn’t cut it for me any more. I’m flying off to New Zealand in a couple of hours, so why am I not bouncing off the walls in excitement and anticipation of my three weeks there? I still love travelling and all the experiences it entails, that much I know. I still think anywhere I haven’t been to is a good place to go. So why do I no longer quiver on the inside like the Energizer Bunny on speed at the prospect of exploring the terra vel mare incognitum on my very own Mappa Mundi?
It used to be so different. London, June 1996: It was in the British Museum that I first understood what a mental orgasm was. My eyes greedily devoured the Tower, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace. You name it, my jaw dropped on it. Greece, October 2002: I twitched like a nervous tic the entire train journey down from Bulgaria, all 14 hours of it – all I could think of as the countryside rolled past was that this was the land that gave life to the legends of Heracles, Perseus and Zeus. I couldn’t wait to see the Acropolis, the temples, all those glorious ruins. And let’s not forget Paris, Turkey (oh my God, Turkey), China, Australia... even the USA.
But something’s happened since. I can’t put my finger on it, but it worries me. Rome, June 2006 – a city I’ve been dying to see all my life, and when we get to the Colosseum – the COLOSSEUM, dammit – I go, “Hmmmuh.” (It was not exactly my best cow impersonation either.) It was awful, like there was this black hole inside me. I was just so relieved to feel amazement and awe when we saw the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel, I almost cried.
I don’t doubt New Zealand will be spectacular. But I don’t understand this lack of eagerness, this overwhelming insensateness. What’s wrong with me?! Why don’t I celebrate that little bit more or life lived now when I finally see something I’ve dreamed of seeing all my life? It’s like something inside me suddenly died. Do you get to a certain age, and then just stop caring? How do you keep alive a sense of wide-eyed wonderment?
Einstein said: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.” I used to think that if I’d seen the Sphinx, Macchu Picchu, the world’s great pyramids, Uluru, I would die happy. But if I could visit Mexico, Peru, Egypt, or my wet dream, i.e. every UNESCO World Heritage Site there is, tomorrow, would I feel this deadweight of near-apathy? I am afraid to know the answer.
Factoids of the Week:
No time for this just now.
Either I’m getting old, jaded and cynical, or travel just doesn’t cut it for me any more. I’m flying off to New Zealand in a couple of hours, so why am I not bouncing off the walls in excitement and anticipation of my three weeks there? I still love travelling and all the experiences it entails, that much I know. I still think anywhere I haven’t been to is a good place to go. So why do I no longer quiver on the inside like the Energizer Bunny on speed at the prospect of exploring the terra vel mare incognitum on my very own Mappa Mundi?
It used to be so different. London, June 1996: It was in the British Museum that I first understood what a mental orgasm was. My eyes greedily devoured the Tower, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace. You name it, my jaw dropped on it. Greece, October 2002: I twitched like a nervous tic the entire train journey down from Bulgaria, all 14 hours of it – all I could think of as the countryside rolled past was that this was the land that gave life to the legends of Heracles, Perseus and Zeus. I couldn’t wait to see the Acropolis, the temples, all those glorious ruins. And let’s not forget Paris, Turkey (oh my God, Turkey), China, Australia... even the USA.
But something’s happened since. I can’t put my finger on it, but it worries me. Rome, June 2006 – a city I’ve been dying to see all my life, and when we get to the Colosseum – the COLOSSEUM, dammit – I go, “Hmmmuh.” (It was not exactly my best cow impersonation either.) It was awful, like there was this black hole inside me. I was just so relieved to feel amazement and awe when we saw the Vatican Museums and the Sistine Chapel, I almost cried.
I don’t doubt New Zealand will be spectacular. But I don’t understand this lack of eagerness, this overwhelming insensateness. What’s wrong with me?! Why don’t I celebrate that little bit more or life lived now when I finally see something I’ve dreamed of seeing all my life? It’s like something inside me suddenly died. Do you get to a certain age, and then just stop caring? How do you keep alive a sense of wide-eyed wonderment?
Einstein said: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed.” I used to think that if I’d seen the Sphinx, Macchu Picchu, the world’s great pyramids, Uluru, I would die happy. But if I could visit Mexico, Peru, Egypt, or my wet dream, i.e. every UNESCO World Heritage Site there is, tomorrow, would I feel this deadweight of near-apathy? I am afraid to know the answer.
Factoids of the Week:
No time for this just now.
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