Thursday, September 18, 2008


Not a true vacation, but off to Madison for four days!
Post and pictures upon return.

Monday, September 15, 2008

I was shocked to hear about David Foster Wallace. Yesterday morning, I had the TV on as I puttered around the living room. I was halfheartedly watching a morning soft-news program, but devoting most of my energy to rearranging the bookshelf. A slide show came on the screen: pictures of a silent-film star and stills from her movies, then a picture of DFW. Then, "In Memoriam." I thought, This must be a fluke, so I called Eric and asked him if DFW was dead. "I don't think so," E. said, "but maybe you should check the internet."

Some people seem to me perplexingly immortal: their particular personalities [those they share with the public] and histories of accomplishment make them seem, to my mind, unable to die. This isn't repression or immaturity on my part: now, more than ever, I've been thinking about mortality (my own, that of those close to me) and how its nearness accelerates the older I get. I wouldn't say I've grown accustomed to the thought of my own death, but I'm acclimating. Despite my very logical understanding of the necessity of death, I still experience cognitive aberrations. DFW existed for me as one such aberration.