Posts Tagged ‘cookies’


Do You Remember Me, Marcel?

December 17, 2009

I know, I know it’s been awhile. And believe you me Twinner those doleful eyes of Marcel Proust have been haunting me as I go from one day to the next without further posting. I have been making my way through Swann’s Way, well in bits and pieces anyway…

But what’s been keeping me from posting was the assignment you gave me two posts (or was it three?–sheesh, you write a lot) ago. When you dared…or was it double dared…me to find parallels between Herge’s Tintin series and Proust’s super-sized novel.

Well, after much pondering and more than my fair share of head scratching (people thought I had lice) I’ve decided to take the physical challenge. (Oh, wait that’s Double Dare not double dared, my mistake.)

Anyway, here’s what I’ve come up with:

Tintin and Proust’s nameless narrator both like cookies–and honestly I don’t know that for sure about Tintin, but c’mon, who doesn’t like cookies?

And that made my head hurt.

So you go on with your fancy-dancy parallels between Tristram Shandy and Swann’s Way, I am going to go read a book that’s mostly pictures.

Later gator,



“Now, That’s What I Am Talking About!”

November 22, 2009

That’s what I envision Sigmund Freud exclaiming as he sits in his smoked-filled Viennese study as he reads Part I of the Combray section of Swann’s Way. “See Wolfman?!? See Carl Gustav Jung?!? See Anna?!? Proust gets me!”

Okay, I’ll stop there because I don’t want to give away too much of the one-act I am currently workshopping. The working title is “Are You AFreud of Fiction?”

It’s a musical.

Now, I think you might be the first (only?) person to tie the boot-stomping wonders of “Achy-Breaky Heart” to Proust’s masterwork. I can’t help but think there’s a very good reason why.

And I’ll just leave it at that.

I just realized that I am well into my post, and I’ve failed to mention how much I am loving the eccentric characters who we’ve met in this book. Whether it’s the grandmother who gives age inappropriate “educational” or “historical” (read: used) gifts. The great-aunt who claims never to sleep. Not only does she claim not to sleep she demands that her household staff play along.

I also came to my first madeleine moment in the book. It got me thinking of a potential  Sesame Street version of Swann’s Way.

I see Cookie Monster laying in bed with a pen and paper saying: “I think back to my first bite of that delicious cookie. One, one delicious bite of cookie. I cannot wait to take the second bite, Two, two delicious bites of cookie. Cookie, cookie, cookie!”

In the background we see Big Bird (Swann?) from the window. He looks in the window, smiles, and waves.

Oh, and Big Bird has a mullet.

Well, I’ll be reading more in the coming days. Until then,



Weird Science

November 1, 2009

Wow there’s a lot to unpack from that last post…but I think I’m going to start with that still-contested science jamboree.

And I’m going to start by asking questions:

1.  What makes the “Law” of Conservation of Mass a law? Because Newton said so.  Who voted on it, I sure as heck didn’t.  If Newton said “Verily, I think it should be a law that people named Isaac Newton have bigger brains, sharper wits and more handsome visages than all others” would that be a law?  You’d probably say yes.  (P.S.  I also think that Calculus is a myth).

2.  If I didn’t create that matter then where did it come from?  Where?

3.   Each year you taped two two-liter bottles filled with water together and exclaimed “Behold, weather in bottle!  Whoosh!”  and each year you walked away with that damn Golden Beaker.  How is that fair?  (I created matter!) You were all flash and little substance (while with my created matter I was nothing but substance).

I’m glad to have gotten that off my chest.  Now to move onto the section of your post concerning Gulliver and history…

I, too, liked this part…how Gully got to meet historical figures and found out that those who were most lauded often did not live up to their historical reputations (Isaac Newton, ahem.)  But I hadn’t thought about its likeness to everyone’s favorite historical vacation destination Colonial Williamsburg.  But when you mentioned it I could only nod my head and mutter “Right on.” It also made me remember our trip to Colonial Williamsburg when you barged into history:

Just as we were taking this picture the militia stormed saying “Forsooth ye shall sunder a hole in the space-time contiuum… if such a thing exists which, of course, we can’t be sure of!”

Ah, vacations.

I really liked the second part of part three (not to get too granular). I had two particularly favorite parts…the first is when Gulliver learns of the Struldbuggs of Luggnagg and decides that if he lived forever he’d do all of these wonderful things…get rich young and then live off that wealth for eternity while he hung out with the other immortals and had a gay old time. And I thought to myself. Really, Gulliver? Really? Because my guess is that if you were immortal you’d probably just spend a lot more time getting on boats and getting lost.
(I mean having “adventures”).

And I like this quote from the beginning of Part III’s Book 11:

I thought this account of the Struldbuggs might be some entertainment to the reader, because it seems to be a little out of the common way; at least, I do not remember to have met the like in any book of travels that hath come to my hands: and, if I am deceived, my excuse must be, that it is necessary for travellers who describe the same country, very often to agree in dwelling on the same particulars, without deserving the censure of having borrowed or transcribed from those who wrote them before.

Now, three quarters of the way into the book, Lemmy is justifying adding a story. And a story that was actually interesting. What’s your excuse for Brobdingnag, huh Gulliver?

Anyways I thought it was cute.

As to finishing…I’m thinking today or tomorrow. I’m ready to move on for sure.

And I’ve picked our next book…drum roll please…Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust. Yes, let’s delve into this world of French society, the meaning of memory, homoeroticism and, best of all, cookies. I’ll be reading the Lydia Davis translation (if you want to “twin” our translations

Until then,