Tolstoy scaring some children.It�s a great book, and for a 19th Century Russian society novel, it�s pulled me in with surprising force. I�ve read and quite enjoyed books like Pride and Prejudice, so I�m no stranger to foofy, old-fashioned stories of debutantes at balls, unrequited love, swooning, and all other that crap. However, I can say without pride that my prejudice lies on Anna Karenina�s side. While reading the book, I intercepted this discreet note from Tolstoy to Jane Austen: �My dear lady, you seem to have dropped your ass. Please allow me to hand it to you. Sincere Greetings, etc, --Lev �Leo� Tolstoy.�
Yesterday evening, in fact, I had time to consider the book more during my �Girl�s Night In,� as I called it in my mind. I only named it that 'cause I realized while it was going on that it was a pretty girly way to spend an evening.* But as I was reflecting on the book over a homemade quesadilla, I seemed to remember that during my Tolstoy class in college, my professor noted that one of the author�s main interests was trying to answer the question �How should one live life?� I have also been grappling with this question of late, as I�m sure many of my friends and contemporaries are. And thus far, the answers have come out jumbled.
One would think that living with a beautiful wife in a foreign country, with a job I enjoy that gives me plenty of free time to--as my grandpa would say--putz around, that I�d be sitting pretty. And indeed, I am quite content with my life right now. But then again, there�s always that itch. What is it about human nature that gives us this striving for something new, something better, something�anything�different than our current position, regardless of how desirable our current state is?
I think I�m just concerned that if I�m not careful, life will pass me by, and that I have an obligation to try to live it to the fullest. Damn you, Ferris Bueller, you were right! But where does that take me now? Should I stay here and live for the rest of my life in this shit-kicking hamlet in the mountains of
I know that there is a certain urgency to these questions. As my last boss put it, �You gotta figure this stuff out; soon you�ll be 35.� Hmm, well, I hope he meant �30,� but with my hairline, the confusion�s understandable. 30, 35, even 25�whatever. He�s right. I do gotta get this stuff figured out, and soon, if possible. I guess that this confusion is possibly the root of human existence, and if we�re not asking ourselves these questions, we�re probably doing something wrong, or at least attempting to live obliviously in relation to life�s reality, the one, underlying fact behind it all: from the moment we�re born, our days or numbered.
Any suggestions from the crowd?
On a lighter, less wino-sounding note, today is mine and Angela�s second anniversary. At least I got the �essential companion� part of my life figured out. Angela, if you get to an internet caf� in the next three months and happen to read this, then Te amo! Gracias por todo el amor y todas las felicidades que me das cada d�a!
*Here�s how the �Girls� Night In� evening went down: After working in the yard all day�Thank God I did at least something manly!--shoveling rocks and cutting stuff with my machete, I retired to the house. Angela was at work, so I poured myself a glass of cheap, shitty boxed white wine, drew a warm bath, and while listening to music I read through the new Martha Stewart Living that my mom sent me. I was going to read more of Karenina, but I wanted to be sure not to drop it in the tub and get it wet. Even though a lot of the music was stuff like Johnny Cash, Black Sabbath, or The Mars Volta, I still felt it a rather feminine way to spend the evening. All that was missing was a viewing of Angela�s copy of Sleepless In Seattle, a tub of chocolate ice cream, and those old sweatpants that only I like�
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