further recondite offerings

Alright, maybe recondite is a little too fancy of a word. But anywho, I finished The Stranger. Talk to me about this, those four of you who read this blog. Has anyone read it?

I'd love to give you some kind of statement as to whether or not I liked it, but there is no like and dislike here. That's far too shallow a description. However, comparatively speaking, I still like Camus better than what I've read of Sartre. Camus can write a terrible story but it isn't ugly or offensive. I only find myself wishing the characters made better choices or that they exist in different circumstances rather than having an utter disgust for the kind of person they are. Granted, I didn't like Meursault; he was kind of a bastard. And he was what I would consider emotionally constipated. No, wait, he was worse. He was more emotionally numb. He simply didn't feel anything; he seemed to be pushed in whatever direction his environment dictated. He didn't feel love, remorse, despair, or euphoria. He recognized happy moments in his life and he was certainly capable of becoming angry. He also didn't seem to understand or care about right and wrong-- especially when loyalty trumped moral judgments.

The end of the story is not what I expected. Skip the quote if you don't want to know the end of the story. Actually, go ahead skip the the next two paragraphs.

"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself-- so like a brother, really-- I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again. For everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, I had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators...and that they greet me with cries of hate."

I get the resignation to indifference. I just never expected to embrace the hatred of others, or hatred period. Kind of like he turned away from the last shred of good within him or about him and just threw himself headlong into the dark side.

I know, it's a horribly Star Wars way to put it, but it's all I've got. Long day, loan officer discussion and realities of buying a house, fuel is 4.29 a gallon, $50+ to fill the tank, flat tire, flat spare, school fair, temp drop, headache, blah blah blah. The best thing about today was that I got to have some me time and I happily spent it shooting the hell out of quite a few things with my camera. I think I scored some winners, too.

Anyway, I digress. I'm looking forward to sleep. And tomorrow I'm going to clean my house from one end to the other. And Monday I will rejoice because it's not going to snow after all. Thank you, God.

I'm proud of myself: I've discovered that if I get up first thing in the morning and run, I'm usually too incoherent to make any excuses about putting it off until later. The plus side: I run and I already feel more awesome. The minus side: I strongly suspect that what they say about exercise in the morning giving you more energy is a whole lotta bullshit. I've been dragging ass the last few days.

Silversun Pickups still sound heavenly. 'Specially when you're tired.

Josh, we were going to read The Plague, not The Stranger. But I just picked up a copy of the former today. We still on?