The breath of the breath
January, in review
In the first month in the new year, there was much discussion of what had been. There was much discussion of what was to come. In Miami, I ate an arepa with quite a lot of juicy steak. I spent exactly two minutes in an infinity mirror room. I thought I wouldn’t take a mirror selfie but I did. It felt longer than two minutes. The guard ushered us out. The New Orleans Pelicans beat the bad teams and lost to the good ones. The news arrived, and we jittered around alongside the news. I almost bought a plane ticket, but I didn’t. Regarding the arepa: underneath the steak was grilled halloumi, and sautéed peppers and onions. The to-do list is roughly the same length as it was. I stuck with the standard regimen. I lost and gained no pounds. We paid the old bills and received the new bills. I lost every time I fought her. One thing came to an end, more or less. Another thing restarted, maybe. Underneath the halloumi and the peppers and the onions, out of nowhere, at the very bottom: chorizo. It was outrageous. The forecast in Miami kept saying it would be cold and cloudy, but it was sunny and warm. Back home, the forecast warned of lizards falling from the trees, but nothing fell. The trees remained inscrutable. I called the plumber, or meant to. I looked for something I had lost but couldn’t find it. There’s always next month.
* For the following, R means something I re-read or re-watched; M means something I watched with or read to my daughter.
Books this month
Finished:
Dune by Frank Herbert (675 pp.)—I haven’t read a sci-fi book like this in many years, not really part of my reading diet, but I really enjoyed this.
Genesis: Translation and Commentary by Robert Alter (306 pp.)—a treasure, highly recommended.
Infinity Net: The Autobiography of Yayoi Kusama (247 pp.)—seems to be ordered somewhat at random and occasionally repetitive, but always a total delight. Mostly written in the 1970s (and seemingly a self-conscious effort at mythmaking and to channel her artistic vision into writing), so we get a relatively fresh perspective, still crackling with in-the-moment verve. Initially published in Japanese in 2002, it was then finally published in English translation in 2012, as part of a retrospective show at the Tate Modern. A nifty accessory to her remarkable art.
The Magician’s Nephew by C.S. Lewis (171 pp.) (M)—a prequel to The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, written and published five years later. I loved the Narnia books, but if I read this one in childhood, I don’t remember. Fun and funny; my daughter dug it, and I did too.
Sync: How order emerges from chaos in the universe, nature, and daily life by Steven Strogratz (324 pp.)—you can get some of the gist from the first couple chapters, but very worth reading in full if you dig it—on synchronization in nature and the nature of sync. Some nice history of science storytelling mixed in. I found the cosmic implications almost too hard to hold in my head, but appreciated the fizz in that direction. The chapters on sleep, on chaos, and on connectedness were especially interesting as standalone explorations.
Started but abandoned:
Dating Your Mom by Ian Frazier (123 pp.)—Frazier is a good nonfiction writer, and I assumed this was a collection of his essays and reporting in The New Yorker. It turned out to be a collection of his humor pieces, so noxiously unfunny I found myself physically gagging. For reasons I don’t entirely understand, The New Yorker has a long-standing tradition of publishing awful humor pieces, but this sweaty Harvard Yard satire was honestly worse than anything I could have imagined. Like: liner notes for an imagined live jazz performance by the Bloomsbury Group. Not making that one up, it’s the first selection!
Movies this month
Oppenheimer—only watched the first hour. I had rented it on a streaming service and they time you out after 48 hours. It’s so funny to me how filmmakers are convinced that when people think really hard, all sorts of numbers and space stars fly around. I found a few of the stylistic choices quite bad but I’m interested in the material and themes, so I’ll probably finish at some point.
Bedtime Stories (M)—as advertised.
Anatomy of a Fall—good film; the first hour or so was perfect on its terms. At times atonally fantastical and a bit too thirsty to convey its capital-T themes (for a film with moments of exquisite subtlety, the unsubtle stretches really thud). But rich and immersive visual storytelling, worth watching.
Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning, Pt. 1—the long stretches of ham-fisted exposition in the dialogue was so clunky and corny I almost couldn’t believe it, but the car chases were fun and the Italian buildings look good as you whiz by. My daughter wandered in to watch with me for a spell. She laughed out loud every time they referred to the AI bad guy as “the entity.” I did, too. I’m ready for Tom Cruise to embrace going gray. The train scene felt familiar. Overall: pretty entertaining, cool-looking, not nearly as gripping as Dune, Pt. 1.
Rye Lane—the film frenetically tries to pack in as much stimulation and fun as possible into every minute, but I had to bail on this one after 30 minutes or so. Not for me.
Asteroid City—good movie. It was what I thought it would be, but what it was was better than what I thought it would be.
Those are people who died
The Chinese historian Dai Yi specialized in the Qing dynasty. He was the director of a project sponsored by the Chinese government to write the state’s official history of the dynasty. Yi worked with hundreds of scholars over the course of more than twenty years. By 2016, the draft was reportedly more than 35 million words, encompassing 100 volumes, including a searchable database with more than 2 million historical documents. The draft was submitted in November 2018 to the government, for review.
Five years later, in November 2023, the Chinese government reportedly rejected the draft and halted the project altogether. Last Wednesday, Yi died. He was 97.
And finally, flowers for Melanie, a viber right in tune with my own vibrations. She’s best known for her beguiling hit “Brand New Key,” but she had a number of gems. As it happens, I included one of my favorites on the last Tropical Depression mixtape, just a few days before she passed away. She was 76. Here’s a rendition, along with Miley Cyrus, of “Look What They’ve Done to My Song, Ma”—originally released as a B-side in 1970. Recorded live in 2016 in Miley’s backyard in Franklin, Tennessee:
Send me photographs!
All the photographs in this post were sent to me by Tropical Depression reader Elena Belle White, in response to my request. You could also send me an image! Here is that request again: I’d like to experiment with mixing in some more images to Tropical Depression posts. Mostly I’m thinking stuff that has no connection (or only an oblique connection) to the content of the text. It doesn’t have to be a photograph—it could be art of any kind—but photos seem easiest? Game for images created as art, or just random shots that have a nice look. Anything that might fit with the Tropical Depression sensibility, whatever that is. Send one, or as many as you like, to: davidbramsey@gmail.com
Now it’s February
Hoping to do some yard work and exercise more. My son turns two on the fourth. You know that feeling when you have found your groove? I hope to report, next month, that I have found my groove.
never had much time for Miley but that's a beautiful rendition - she can wail. thanks for that. agree on the Tom cruise flick - i laughed at the awful script and fell asleep. woke up for the train. meh. i miss a good arepa.