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Part V: All I Do Is Read

Summer is gone and two potential social plans (when's the last time I had two potential social plans in one evening?!) fell through (well maybe that explains it), so I've been doing what any red-blooded American would do: watching college basketball over the pages of books and magazines.

As to the basketball, I've never seen such a glut of exciting, white-knuckle finishes as the Sweet 16 has provided; Texas, UCLA, Villanova, Florida, and UConn all won in pretty spectacular style at the last minute, and, finally paying some attention to the tourney, I can definitely see why many people find this to be the most exciting time in sports. One thing I've found particularly interesting is that there are people like Adam Morrison of Gonzaga (a projected top 5 pick in the NBA draft, should he elect to go pro after his junior season), who is an atheistic Rage Against the Machine devotee and borderline communist described on a website somewhere as a "voracious reader," and people like Brandon Roy, who (in addition to having attended high school with the Findlay brothers) according to the commentator in the UW-UConn game, "had some trouble passing the SAT."* Morrison, the leading scorer in the NCAA this year (or at least in D-I, as there's often some smaller-school phenom somewhere who sets NCAA records, like Brian Westbrook), also sports a sketch-'stache which is apparently the subject of much discussion. Roy seemed more impressive to me on the court, displaying excellent across the board skills. Neither, unfortunately, will be playing in the elite 8.

*Geoff has filled me in on the story: "Yeah, we overlapped three years or so, and his older brother Ed was a star during my freshman year. The SAT story is a longer one: he was too low the first time, then he improved too much the second time leading to suspicion, and then he finally passed the third time."

But anyway, like Morrison, and like I already insinuated, my reading might be described as voracious. I finished Sex, Lies, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman, last night. I've been trying to figure out how to most accurately describe my reaction, and I think it's enjoyment mixed with annoyance. To Andy I wrote that Klosterman's writing is a "strange and rather grating mixture of anti-intellectualism and semi-relevant, semi-cogent philosophizing"; Summer says she "also found his writing style grating most of the time...like it was trying too hard to not try or something...oh wait that sounds like something he would say"). So while there were plenty of examples of witty prose, and plenty of thoughtful ruminations on the mundane (The Sims, Billy Joel) and the insane (serial killers), I at least experienced plenty of frustration at Klosterman's attempts to couch his random, amusing observations on Gen-X culture in shallow philosophy and broad overstatements about geographic regions of the U.S. I probably would've loved it when I was a freshman in college.

I've since moved on to Full Tilt, by Devla Murphy. This story of an Irish woman's unaccompanied bicycle expedition from Ireland to India came highly recommended by a woman I suppose I'd describe as a friend of Summer's family, and I must say it's living up to her praise. I can't provide a thorough review because I'm only about a quarter of the way through, but the past 30 pages or so have been pretty phenomenal. Culled from Murphy's letters and journals as she trekked across Europe, Full Tilt sets forth in beautiful prose small vignettes and reflections which have thus far illustrated in a truly unique way Murphy's struggle to understand the parts of the world through which she travels. At first her observations of Afghanistan reflect the sharp contrast of the physical beauty of the land and people as conflicting with the repressive culture, but as she comes to know the people individually, Murphy writes, "I've decided that when I suspected the Afghans of a narrow hostility to emancipated women, I was being unfair. ...now that I've realized how much depends on my approach to them, relations are far easier to manage. I already love the country and the people and somehow language barriers don't matter when one feels such a degree of sympathy with a race which responds so graciously and kindly to a smile or a gesture of friendship." Murphy is by no means an apologist for repression, but she notes a trend (keep in mind this is the 1960s) toward more freedom for women in the more urban areas. She also takes note of the effects of the struggle for authority in Afghanistan between Russia and America, both in terms of positive public works and as-yet-unknown cultural ramifications--a tendency among educated young men in particular to idolize America and western values. This seems a strange sort of anti-bellwether in the current climate. But even more, Muprhy's descriptions evoke a strong nostalgia for a time when, even with conflict in the middle east, an unaccompanied western woman could simply wander Iran (Persia) and Afghanistan, taking in the breathtaking views and engaging in conversation with anyone with whom conversation was possible while meeting with no serious hostility.

I leave you with one of my favorite images so far, of a police officer at a border crossing into Bulgaria: "Again my knock remained unanswered, but this time, when I opened a door leading out of a hall, I found a policeman happily dozing by the stove, with a cat and two kittens on his lap. I immediately diagnosed that he was a nice policeman, and when I gently roused him, and he had recovered from the shock of being required to function officially, I had my diagnosis confirmed."

If I ever stumble across such a sight, I will be thrilled beyond belief. Stay tuned for more.