Book Self is Interested in Reading

. . .   after reading “Finding Nothing Ugly,” a review of Martin Gayford’s Constable in Love:  Love, Landscape, and the Making of a Great Painter in The Economist of 21 March 2009:

  • Martin Gayford’s Constable in Love:  Love, Landscape, and the Making of a Great Painter (published in England, by Fig Tree)

Here’s a quote from the review:

Constable was extraordinarily modern in believing that nothing could be intrinsically ugly:  “old rotten planks, slimy posts, and brickwork, I love such things,” he wrote.  It was a question of association and feeling.  Mood mattered more than subject matter.  He once corrected someone who had called a painting of his “only a picture of a house,” by pointing out that it was a picture of “a summer’s morning, including a house.”

Beautiful Saturday

Usually, self’s Saturdays are blissful interludes in the garden, spent inflicting yet more punctures on self’s intrepid hands.  But today, some niggardly distractions are imprinting themselves on self’s consciousness, to wit:

Tonight, “cocktails and dinner” at Intramuros Restaurant and Music Lounge (What the hell is a “Music Lounge”?  Sounds like something they used to have in Manila in the 70s), there to meet with self’s Ateneo college classmates.

Self has spent the morning deciding how much time she actually wants to spend at this event.  She knows for sure she doesn’t want to stay for the whole thing (which can stretch to as much as four hours:  she’s been to things like this before!), she’s only going because the occasion is to celebrate the visit to the Bay Area of Ernie V who, when self was in Manila in January, presented her with some Vigan longganiza which was oh so, so, so dee-lish!  More delicious even than the Bacolod chorizo she’s used to eating!  Anyone who gives self such a gift is surely worth a trip to South San Francisco (and the concommitant dithering over what to wear).  Hubby refuses to accompany self because it will mean missing the final games of the NCAA tournament.

So, very early this morning (and self is bleary-eyed for she experienced another bout of insomnia last night:  must be the book she’s currently reading, Don DeLillo’s White Noise, and all that exposition about “Hitler Studies”), self got up and began ransacking her closet, trying on various things in the hope of finding that one perfect pair of pants or dress that would make her look slim.  How she wishes, at times like these, that she did not live in California, where the air is so dry that self is forced to present to the world a face that has numerous wrinkles around the eye and mouth area (in Manila, these all miraculously disappear, due to the tremendous and very forgiving —  towards middle-aged skin, that is  — humidity)!

The only solution is to pull out one of those outfits bequeathed by Dearest Mum:  the jeans with sequins running up and down the legs, the frilly print blouses, the metallic pumps.  Voila!  Self tries them on and looks like, looks like —  (gulp!)  an old woman trying to look like Miley Cyrus!!!  EEEK!!!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.

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