First things first: many thanks to sun_set_bravely and mabellongettifor the postcards and to mloconno for the care package! Michelle, the Rice Krispie treats were excellent, and you make a mean CD. It's quite possible that you and I are the only people I know who will not only admit to loving Elton John's "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues," but will also put it on a mix disk. Elton owes us, man.
In other news, I've been terrible about updating lately, so there are some things you don't know. Here is one.
I am on an audio book binge. It takes some getting used to, this audio book business, because the way I listen is quite different from the way I usually read. When I read, I underline material, scribble notes in margins, mark especially important spots with Post-Its... it's a habit that is difficult to break entirely, even when reading for pleasure. I get twitchy when I don't have a pen or pencil handy. Because, you see, you just never know what you might find in a book; even the most wretched of potboilers could contain a passage that perfectly exemplifies something you didn't even know needed exemplification. If it does contain such a passage, you're sure to find it when you're nowhere near a source of ink. Hence the twitch--it knows.
Listening is different. I was about to claim it is more passive, but I don't want to overgeneralize, and really, the fact that I think listening is more passive than reading says less about listening than it says about me and the culture in which I've been raised. There are relatively few situations in which my job--the only thing I'm supposed to be doing at a given moment--is to listen. I think that's part of why academic conferences can be so tiring, in addition to jetlag and last-minute editing and uncomfortable chairs and all the other obvious reasons. Academics at conferences, when they aren't presenting their own papers, are listening to other peoples' papers, and most of them aren't particularly skilled listeners. The worst ones deal with their lack of skill by mentally composing elaborate responses to deliver during the question and answer session. I'm not talking about the people who raise tough questions and press speakers on their arguments, but about the people who stand up and blather for ten minutes about a topic that is only marginally related to the speaker's topic, and who manage to do so without asking any real questions. They can't ask real questions, because they only have a foggy notion of what the speaker actually said.
So this audio book binge has required some practice, some experimentation. I've figured out that I like to listen to them while I walk the dogs, wash dishes, file papers, or lie in bed unable to sleep. They are perfect for the times when I can't sleep, because the book keeps my mind from getting stuck in the endless loops that add frustration and anger to the insomnia experience. It still might take a few hours to nod off, but I'd rather fall asleep listening to a reader's voice than to the harridan in my head--the one who doesn't know the difference between trivial and important matters, and who sometimes won't stop talking until I feed her several milligrams of Ambien.
Yet the appeal goes beyond that. I often choose to listen to books that I probably would not choose to read any time soon: they aren't on any of my reading lists, have absolutely nothing to do with my field of study or my dissertation, and are often lighter fare. I'm not above listening to Dante while I scrub the toilet, but I prefer Neal Stephenson. And so I get to listen to The Sweet Potato Queens' Big-Ass Cookbook and Financial Planner, which I thought was going to be about a woman and her posse of drag queens, but is actually about Southern women who are funny in that particular way that only Southern women are funny, and who make recipes that involve ingredient combinations like bacon, cream, sugar, and cinnamon. I get to listen to The Da Vinci Code, and Memoirs of a Geisha, and The Professor and the Madman, and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (which I last encountered some time during high school). I even listened to From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, because Claudia Kincaid is the patron saint of bookish girlchildren, and I felt like visiting her again.
Not all of my selections fall into the beach reading category. I like listening to audio versions of Shakespeare's plays. Last month, I finished a dual biography of Queen Elizabeth and Mary, Queen of Scots, as well as a survey of British history. More recently, I've started on Crime and Punishment, which, when I finish, will knock the items remaining on this list down to one.
It's good, this listening thing. Now, if someone would just invent some tiny, wireless headphones, I would be grateful for the opportunity to stop yanking out my earbuds when I get the cord stuck on things like doorknobs, desk corners, and elbows. While you're at it, please invent an automatic sunshade machine for the windshield of my car. Somebody already invented Jelly Bath, so you're off the hook on personal soaking products.
