Robert and I spent nearly a week with my family in a resort in Park City. I learned that I have very complicated feelings about Utah, that I am officially one of those people who gushes over the little people their siblings produce, that running at 7,000 feet is as hard as it sounds, that snow in May is just stupid, that I can’t keep a promise not to discuss politics because nearly every thing that matters to me has been politicized, that a devotion to board games is all I require in brothers and sisters in law, and that I’m still really glad I quit my job, because vacation is better without a blackberry.
In June I ran 13.1 miles at Chicago’s first all-female half-marathon. It wasn’t the first time I ran that distance, but it was the first time somebody else timed me and gave me a medal at the end. I don’t listen to music dutiful races, and I got through this one with snarky internal observations. Observation the first: I’d stumbeled into the cult of LuLu Lemon, a veritable sea of neon and flattering drapes.y baggy blue shorts and black singlet made me stand out like a drab androgynous thumb. Observation the second: I saw a lot of t-shirts indicating that the wearer had completed some sort of “mini-marathon.” Fifteen years of running have taught me that there are no marathons except for actual marathons, half-marathons, and ultramarathons. Other races have other names. Let’s use them. In the end, I beat the goal I’d tentatively set for myself when I signed up a week earlier by less than one minute. So I can officially run pretty far in under two hours.
I read the following books: The Robber Bride (Atwood), A Game of Thrones Book #1 (Martin), The Art of Fielding (Harbach), The Virgin Suicides (Eugenides), A Visit from the Goon Squad (Egan), The People of Paper (Plascencia), How Should a Person Be? (Heti), and How To Be A Woman (Moran). I loved all but one of them! Have you read any of these books? If so, please talk about them with me. I am the only member of my book club.
I saw Gillian Welch play at The Pabst Theater in Milwaukee. She wrote one of my top five favorite story songs, which is one of my very favorite categories of song, and although she didn’t play that particular song live, she did put on an excellent show. She covered Jackson with her guitarist, who is also her partner, which is the best thing I know of. Also, as much as I love books and music, I’m really terrible at writing about them, which is probably why I am the only formerly aspiring writer in my social circle who never wanted to be a critic. Critics are the worst anyway, am I right? Except for the hardcore critic/Bob Dylan fan who busted Jonah Lehrer, of course.
I made a movie! In 48 hours! With zero prior experience! The quick story: Chicago’s 48 Hour Film Project went down this weekend. A friend put together a small film crew and we busted out seven of the strangest minutes of film you’ve ever seen in a madcap weekend that was long on adrenaline, hilarity, and stress and short on sleep, experience, and niceties. Look, just watch the trailer.
I’ve also been doing work-y things that aren’t of general interest, and Mormon-y things that warrant their own post, and relationship-y things that would make a person puke they’re so cute, so I’ll leave it at that. Happy August.