civic duty

Ulysses Update #2
Okay, started the book. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read the beginning of Ulysses, but let’s just say that these pages are familiar. The first time I started Ulysses I will admit that Joyce’s prose was a little bit of a shock to the system, a bit of a muddle to someone like me, who is used to orderly writing, like that of Milan Kundera. It’s like that line in the Ryan Adams song “Cherry Lane” — “It’s written in a language that was meant to fuck you up.” Even so, it’s not terribly difficult. There’s a rhythm to the words, a lilting song that’s a bit like listening to music while intoxicated, and I find that if I give up and let the language take over, there’s no real struggle. It’s just a book, after all.

Anyway, I’m pacing my steps through Ulysses this time, measuring it out in roughly 30-page bits. Right now I’m on page 36, meaning that I’ve gotten past the bit with the seal (Usurper) and just have a little bit left before I get to Leopold Bloom, who is a breath of fresh air after Stephen Dedalus. This time around I’m trying just to read the book instead of reading the book and analyzing the hell out of it at the same time. I’m an analytical reader by nature, but I figure it’s enough to keep track of the thread of the story without being deep about it too.

The thing about Ulysses that I’ve maintained since I tried reading it for the first time nearly a year ago is that it’s not too hard but it’s just insufferably long. I have a short attention span anyway (this is why I vow never to read Moby-Dick and I couldn’t be bothered to finish Anna Karenina) but I honestly think that after so many pages, it’s all a little unnecessary. Seriously. Just get to the point already, you know?

Still, I hope that when it’s all said and done, I end up liking the book. I’d hate to spend a month on something that turned out to be an assfest.

Anyway
A couple of weeks ago, a timid-sounding girl who mispronounced my name and then sounded even more timid once I corrected her asked me if I’d help the Obama campaign for a shift on one of the final four days before the election. It’s something of a secret story among friends but let’s just say that I punked out on Obama over the summer so I figured it was only fair, plus I felt sorry for the girl because she sounded so scared and in short, I found myself, yet again, incapable of saying no. Anyway, I signed up for a shift from 10-2. I was already tired and overcompensating with too much caffeine when I met my fellow volunteers and then I got handed a folder full of addresses and maps and I got paired up with this woman and when we walked out, I turned to her and asked “How do you want to do this, then?” She raised her eyebrows and said “I’m not going until Monday.” And I said something smart like “Uh,” and watched her get in her car and leave. And I am nothing if not someone who knows how to bring the fun, so I roped my mother into driving me all over town while I walked down streets and knocked on doors. There were 67 names on my list, and the vast majority weren’t home, though there were a few I could hear moving around but wouldn’t answer their doors. I was met with blatant hostility once and only had to deal with one somewhat creepy weirdo. I met a couple of sweet old ladies and one kid who was so! excited! about voting!!! and one guy who thanked me profusely for my volunteerism and there was this one boy who was about five who said “HI! HI! HI!” and he was so cute I wanted to steal him. I was fully expecting it to be completely horrible but it turned out to be sort of pleasant, actually. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, perfect for walking, which is good since I got to do a lot of walking around, thinking things like “Why didn’t they let me organize these lists? I know this town by neighborhoods, not street names, and this is completely disorderly.” Also every time I greeted someone and said I was volunteering for the campaign I felt slightly apologetic, because well, the way I feel about the election is best summed up by this video:

I seriously want a t-shirt that says “let’s just fucking vote already.”

Coming tomorrow: the totally insane thing my grandmother said to me about catching a man. I was going to tack it on the end of this post, but I need to pace myself, yo.