So, I have now finished reading all of my copies of HM that have been collecting on my nightstand since the May/June issue of 2008 (the one, Chrisface, with the cover graced by Josh Dies and his blue eye makeup :P).
There were some really good articles in those magazines, but I must confess I found myself skipping over most of the big articles that I would probably have read when my genre of choice was metal. The one about Crimson Moonlight was really interesting…I guess the guy who writes most of the band’s music actually lives in a cabin out in the woods…no electricity, no running water…his house is sealed with…tar? At least, I think that’s what they were talking about…I didn’t quite get that bit of the article. It was interesting though. Someday when our internet recovers from having exceeded its’ bandwidth, I will have to look them up and listen to some songs.
Another interesting thing: I have not listened to any music in a week. That’s saying something for me, since I am almost always listening to something. I thought I’d take a little break though and let it filter out of my head for a while. Maybe I’ll go another week of musiclessness. Not sure. It is strange though, which songs keep getting stuck in my head when I wake up. I would have thought I was burnt out on them, but nope…apparently not.
But enough about musics. Let’s talk about readings instead.
I’ve come to this amazing conclusion. Now that I don’t have to read for classes, I can read whatever I like. Whenever I like. At my own leisure.
This is pretty mind-blowing for me. I mean, I’m used to reading as much as I possibly can of what I want to read during the summer months…but to realize I can continue in that vein is almost appalling to that part of my mind where the academic calendar is still so deeply entrenched. I can read whatever I want!
Of course, I have always been able to read whatever I want…it’s just that now I can actually do it instead of just attempt to do it in addition to one Shakespeare play a week, plus half a Faulkner novel, plus research for my thesis paper about Dracula, plus read the chapter on electrical wiring for stagecraft tomorrow morning, plus—ohmygosh!—it’s already 4:30 am and I don’t have half of my reading for tomorrow done!
Yeah. Studying English Lit didn’t leave a whole lot of time during the school months where I could read books of my own choosing. However I managed to get through the entire Vampire Chronicles last fall is beyond my understanding.
But anyway…I can now read what I want.
I was looking at my book collection the other day, wondering what I will do when we move because I have more books than can easily for on my bookshelves…but then I got distracted from that and was thinking about the books themselves. I realized: my reading selections are probably more cohesive than my music. I’ve never thought that before, but I am now.
Topics of interest include: books by mostly English authors, books about monsters, books about magic (magic, not magick), books written by musicians, comedy books…but they all seem to fit together in a weird way. Probably, this stuff I read says more about what kind of person I am than my music choices.
I may start writing book reviews about everything I own. I will probably be quite bad at it, but it would give me something to do. If nothing else, it would be a good way to get me re-reading stuff, and actually picking up stuff that I’ve been meaning to read (like the Prose Edda) and have been too lazy to even open…get me to read the anthology of metal bands that I’ve only read parts of, too.
Plus, unlike my music journals, I will perhaps not worry about people saying snarky things to me, eh? I mean, you can type manifesto upon manifesto, until you get carpel tunnel and your fingertips are bleeding, about how escapist or inane or lowbrow my reading choices are, and I will probably not care all that much, except when your ranting gives me an opportunity to copy/paste your comment in my next post and follow it up with a healthy stream of mockery.
But…it would give me something to do. (and no, I don’t mean the mockery part)
“There was blood all over my penguins. I didn’t give a damn about the walls and carpet. They could be replaced, but I’d collected those damn stuffed toys over years. I let the paramedic lead me away. I wasn’t crying, my eyes were running. My eyes were running because there were pieces of zombie all over my toys…”
Laurell K. Hamilton,
The Laughing Corpse