Harness

I have a confession: I believe in petty magic. Or rather - I believe that once it has produced some sort of effect, the nature of a cause is irrelevant. And that the entire human experience is completely dependent upon one's brain/consciousness - which is very fickle. You can have all the reasons to be happy, and still feel miserable if your head doesn't buy it. Therefore the subjective always trumps the objective. And the subjective isn't always rational.

Of course this doesn't mean that I sacrifice goats or try to make sparks fly out of my fingertips, but I do allow myself some leeway when it comes to various trifles. For example, I've always really liked the Moon, for no particular reason. Whenever there's a full moon, I feel a little bit better - and happier. And so, I have made a conscious decision to avoid rationalizing it. To suspend my disbelief just enough so that something as random and easy to come by as the sight of a chunk of spaceborne rock continues to improve my well-being. It's a small price to pay, and I see no harm in it.

Which brings me to The Song of Ice and Fire. I've realized that I respond very favorably to stories that walk that fine line between my brand of "magic" and full-blown fantasy. I really like it when the choice is left up to you - when you're given enough loopholes and backdoors to reality to be able to stitch together a "it's all in their heads" explanation. It's why I loved The Prestige as much as I did (even if my very convoluted alternative reading of the film eventually collapsed under its own weight). And I think it's why I had such a negative response to the appearance of actual dragons at the end of the first book. There's no grey area here, it doesn't get any more high fantasy.

Well, I've almost finished reading book 2, and it only gets worse (or better, depending on your perspective), up to the point where my favorite background player got offed by supernatural means, and the Daenerys sections read like the 1001 Nights. And I have to say it spoils things a bit for me. I feel like this isn't exactly what I signed up for. Granted, Martin worked up a very nifty explanation for this shift, which I totally bought, so the book still gives me a lot of pleasure, but I can't help feeling that the political aspect suffered due to the slew of new dei ex machinae.

Downpour

We had a hardcore storm today. The sky just tore right open, and in through the hole poured a load of water. I barely made it to the tram stop before the first wave, and was safely in the tram by the time the main force arrived. The guy who got in several stops later was not as fortunate, as the deluge caught him on his way back from gym. Now, I know this because a) he was carrying a gym bag and b) he was wearing one of those thin white t-shirts, or as they're known in the context of freak rainstorms: nothing at all.

He was a good sport about it though. Almost as if sensing that it's the only sensible thing to do, he took a spot at the front of the tram, leaning back against the driver's booth, so that everyone could get a good look. You could almost hear the smattering of polite applause. "Well done, sir!"

Yeah

I was at my very funniest that year. This was not the Humor of Cure; it had nothing to do with the healing power of laughter. It was more of an airless, relentless kind of quippiness (...) Every time a complex human emotion threatened to break the surface of my consciousness, out would come some terrible cleverness.

I was Thanatos' rodeo clown. I still am. And Eros' as well, as it turns out. Years later, in a tender embrace in bed with my first real boyfriend, he said my name. "Oh, David." I stopped, sat up, and responded in my best Ed Wynn. "Yeeeesssssss???????" This kind of behavior more or less killed things between us.

David Rakoff, Fraud

Finished reading it. Waiting for the paperback version of Half Empty.