Noon Until Noon Again

Apparently I arrived in Dublin in time to experience an October with the most sunshine on record in the past 40 years. This is great and all, but it means that I was totally caught off guard when Ireland's true climatic colours began to bleed through the skies and it feels like a ceaseless rainfall has been teeming since Friday. I know this shouldn't be a surprise, it's a lush, rainy country right? I thought I was well-prepared (aka. I bought an umbrella) however, when I was packing for said country, I packed shoes that are completely inappropriate for its puddles. All this rain means that charming cobblestone streets become dotted with wee lakes and by the time I've finished my walk to work, my feet are thoroughly pruned. This place is just so damp. It settles in your bone marrow.

It's made for a very uncomfortable week. Enter salvation in the form of an early Christmas present from my wonderful mama and pop. Behold, new shoes...



These cover my whole foot and have a bit of height on the bottom to help lift me out of reach from those deep puddles. Fittingly enough, I later looked them up online and found they were called "Wet Weekend Wedges".

I went to a press screening for "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest" on Thursday morning. I have not read the book series nor have I seen the first two films in this trilogy so I was the only ignoramus in attendance. (Those actually reporting on the film are better informed). Despite this disadvantage, I was able to follow along with the plot, although some of the relationships between the film's characters were hard to decipher. (Wondering what's behind all those long intense gazes?) The story was much darker than I expected and I understand there is a Hollywood version in the works with Daniel Craig attached to play the Don Juan-type reporter.

Have been reading excerpts from Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself (David Lipsky interviewing David Foster Wallace over a five day period during Wallace's promotional tour for Infinite Jest). It's taking all the tenacious willpower I can muster to refrain from rushing down the road to buy a copy of this book. (My capacity for willpower is minute.) I wish more interviews with Wallace existed, I love the conversational tone of his writing with an abundance of lengthy footnotes that feel like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story.


Apparently interviews were very uncomfortable for David Foster Wallace, which is easy to understand. (An interview is a form of scrutiny after all, even from the most adoring inquisitor.) He explains that a writer is motivated to convey something of themselves and their consciousness to others and being interviewed by another writer surrenders their control over this impression. The Rolling Stone feature for which Lipsky was interviewing Wallace was actually dropped and this book is a bald summary of the transcripts from their time together, so the distinct flavor of DFW was not lost in translation.



Ahh, I just love him. You know that old corny question of people living or dead you'd invite to a fantasy dinner of your greatest heroes? Well, this guy tops mine.