Another Voice

Twenty-nine days into my thirty-day blogging non-commitment, and I am tired of the sound of my own voice. Today I'm using someone else's voice.

In 1974, Sy Safransky borrowed fifty dollars to start The Sun. He is still the editor and publisher, but, from the brief bio on the cover of the book, "He still gets up before sunrise to write in his journal, occasionally publishing excerpts in a section of the magazine called "Sy Safransky's Notebook."

Many Alarm Clocks is a collection of those exerpts from the last 15 years. My copy has dog-eared pages in nearly every chapter. I'd like to share a few of them with you...

From "The Day's First Mistake" Self-improvement is my drug of choice, more seductive than marijuana, more addictive than coffee. But the idea that I'll be happier once I become a "better" man is an illusion. When someone I love dies, will it comfort me to remember that I went to the gym three times this week instead of two? When I die, will my daughters be heartened to know I was at my ideal weight?

From "History Sits at the Bar" (post 9/11) Yes, it's true: America isn't the country she used to be; unhealthy habits take their toll. Tonight America sits in her mansion, brooding. Her hair is wild; her robe is soiled; the smell of death clings to her. She knows what they're saying: Britain and Germany--even France, that haggard slut--think they're better than she is. Why? Because they've accepted the fact, or so they insist, that their best days are behind them? "Well, fuck them," she thinks, "and fuck the lessons of history." She stubs out her cigarette, stands unsteadily, then squeezes into an outfit that's been too tight on her since the end of World War II. Soon she'll be walking out the door with that little spring in her step that was once the envy of the world.

From "The Shape of the Barrel"--First, a quote from Joseph Campbell: "Marriage is not a love affair. A love affair has to do with immediate personal satisfaction. Marriage is an ordeal; it means yielding, time and again. That's why it's a sacrament; you give up your personal simplicity to participate in a relationship. And when you're giving, you're not giving to the other person; you're giving to the relationship."

Then...

O God of Drowning Souls, come to our rescue. Norma and I have gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel, and still can't stop blaming each other. What is it this time? The shape of the barrel.

I still haven't finished the book. I'm in no hurry. A few paragraphs a day allows me to savor it.