Dichroic Reflections

audiobooks

This morning, the top I was going to wear to the gym didn't seem to be with the
rest of my gym clothes. I looked around a bit, didn't see it, and figured it must
be in the laundry or something. I put on something else, drove to the gym (I
know, I know, but it's not like I run on the treadmill after I get there), went to
the locker room, opened a locker more or less at random. I always use one of the
full-length lockers, but which one I pick depends mostly on which one isn't
already being used. Anyway, I opened the door, went to hang up my clothes …. And
spotted my top, hanging there on the hook. Clearly the victim of an previous day's
post-workout brain fade. And it had been there at least two days, because I
shower at a different branch of the gym on rowing days. So I now have my top back.
Well, either that or someone else is missing a cobalt-blue Moving Comfort top,
size S, in which case ewwww.

I've been listening to audio books in
the car, which is probably one of the main reasons the commute hasn't bothered me
as much as expected. After all, if I had a short commute, I'd probably spend most
of the saved time reading anyway. It's interesting to notice, though, that what
makes a great book to hear is not necessarily the same set of attributes that
makes a great book to read. Complex plots are out. Intricate subplots are out. Not
only is my attention divided by the need to pay attention to my driving, but I
can't easily turn back a few pages to refresh my memory as to who a character is
and why he's doing what heÕs doing (almost always a necessity in reading, say, Tom
Clancy, which is one reason I don't read him much any more). A series of anecdotes
is good, so biography works well. Unclear sentences are no good – after all,
there's that divided attention to deal with. Even if I had any desire ever to read
Cormac McCarthy, I wouldn't listen to him in the car. However, colorful metaphors
and vivid, quirky language are good – Kinky Friedman and Malachy McCourt are a joy
to listen to, for Friedman's outrageous similes and McCourt's poetic phrases
("silver-gilt stories") and blunter comparisons (both are prone to frequent
references to what McCourt calls "shaking hands with the unemployed", when he
doesn't just say "wanking").

The reader is important, too. Anything
demanding an accent, from McCourt's Irish yarns to Cajun Tales my Granpa Tole
Me really needs to be read by the author. Fictional stories told in the first
person have to be read by someone who sounds like the title character – Dick Hill
is laid back and appropriately drawling as Kinky Friedman's fictional namesake,
and whoever did the Mark Twain quotes in Ken Burns' bio of Twain was absolutely
brilliant. I'm looking forward to listening to Barbara ReynoldsÕ reading of one
of Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody stories, sitting in my To Be Heard pile. I
don't know what I'll do when I exhaust my libraryÕs audio shelves, though – these
things cost way too much to buy. I've heard Cracker Barrel rents them out cheaply,
but I donÕt think I want to patronize them, and the web-based rental services I've
seen are almost as expensive as just buying the damned things.

It's
always an odd feeling when your separate worlds touch. The article href="http://batten.diaryland.com/020321_69.html"> Batten referenced today, on
sailors' ritual sock-burnings, quotes Caryl Weiss, whom it refers to as a
musician. This must be the same Caryl P. Weiss whose music I've heard of as a
card-carrying folkie. For some reason, I keep associating her with the song "With
Her Head Tucked Underneath Her Arm"; IÕm sure itÕs older than she is, but either
she's recorded it or my memory's gone squirrelly again.