T’is my birthday this day. Or, rather, was two days ago but I–*head explodes*
I’ve decided on a new strategy for updating this blogo, given my lack of immediate internet. I’ve started writing posts offline with the understanding that I will past-date them to the time I wrote the post as opposed to the time I posted it. Thus, it is, right now as I type this, November 3rd, my birthday.
I turned twenty-eight this year, which makes me older than Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, and Janis Joplin ever were … I have clearly wasted my life.
But my super-awesome girlfriend, Christina, got me two gifts that saved me from spiraling into existential angst on this, the day of my birth. They are: Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip With David Foster Wallace and a V-Cube 6.
I love David Foster Wallace. Love, love, love him. Alas, I only discovered him a couple months after his death. I have since greedily sought out every word he ever wrote, every interview he ever did, gobbling every delicious morsel he gave concerning himself, ourselves, our world. This book (I’m about halfway through) is, marvelously, not about his death; it’s about his life. It gives us DFW as the living man he was. It’s the closest thing to a conversation I’ll ever have with him. And, for that, it is priceless.
And when I’m not occupied with that, I can frown at my V-Cube 6. Not to toot my proverbial horn, but I can solve any Rubik’s Cube in under three minutes. Which is pretty good. I mean, it’s not small-Asian-kid good, but it’s nothing to thumb your nose at.
This V-Cube, though … Oh my god. It thrills me just to look at it. It just blasts away everything I know about my piddly Rubik’s Cube, makes the 3x3x3 version seem so … puny in comparison. Ah, it’s wonderful. And I’ve already spent way more time tinkering with it than is perhaps good for my measly, not-Asian-kid, mortal brain. But it’s like candy; I can’t stop!
Bask in the awesomeness: