Thursday, March 4, 2010

Books and Fighting

I am re-reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz.  E is listening to it on CDs during his commute.

When I first read this, I had a hard time getting blown away- maybe it was the great expectations, the fabulous reviews - until I was about 1/2 way into the book.  After that point, it was firmly entrenched in my mind.  I haven't really stopped thinking about this book since I first read it, and I often recommend it.  I think because the whole immigration/first generation/fuku issues resonate so completely for me - but my issues with that are obviously different [different gender/race/ethnicity/country of origin/religion/type of fuku].  Plus, who doesn't love footnotes?  And trash talking Trujillo?

This time, I'm sinking in a little easier, plus it's great to talk about it with E, who has none of the immigrant/first generation baggage.  The problem now is, I've been trying to write and it's hard for me when I read something so lyrical to think that I have anything to say. 

In other news, we, as a family, have decided to take up some sort of fighting regimen [yes, we did have a Burn Notice marathon recently.  Why do you ask?].  I'm thinking Krav Maga.  G read up on Egyptian stick fighting, which also seems kick ass.  But I have a hard enough time keeping the stuff in my purse organized - where the hell would I put a 4 foot long stick?  Up my butt?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Every time you comment, I get a lady boner.