guest post: free, exploring, undirected

A couple weeks ago I asked my friend Clint if he'd like to do a Steinbeck post for my blog and he kindly acquiesced by providing me with the following below. When you're done reading, you will undoubtedly want to read more of Clint's writings. So you will thank me for providing the link to Clint's blog, which you will find here. And now, Clint:

John Steinbeck is pretty much the only author that when I read his words, I spend time trying to imagine him writing them. I don't do that with David Sedaris or Dave Eggers or whoever it is that authors all the For Dummies books that I read, because that would be excruciatingly boring. Where is the romance in imagining a pajama-clad modernite silently tapping on a whispy-thin laptop while sipping a Slimfast and balancing on an exercise ball? (I do sometimes imagine Cormac McCarthy at work, but not intentionally, nor for long periods because in my mind it's mostly just him sitting at a desk made of the corpses of drug traffickers and dipping his long-nailed fingers into an ink bottle filled with horse blood.)

But there is something about Steinbeck's work that makes me just wish I could have been there while he clacked it into existence on his typewriter. Sometimes it's young Steinbeck, the one that's only marginally affected by hairline recession and adorned in what appears to be laborer's clothing. Sometimes it's old Steinbeck, visuals of whom could easily be confused with Walt Disney. But most frequently, it's the middle aged John, a ragged-looking cigarette in his hand, and his wrinkles just starting to find their footing on either side of his mouth.

In my mind, his house has lots of wood paneling, a well stocked aquarium and humongous bookcases chock full of classics that we would occasionally discuss, agreeing to disagree about Prince Hamlet's degree of sanity. I would stand just to the side, reading over his shoulder as he wrote. I'd watch the following words appear between the fluttering of typebars:

"And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected."

I'd soak it in for a moment and then say "You know that is going to piss off Hemingway, right?" to which Steinbeck would turn around and say "Ya' think?" and then offer me a high five. He'd start typing again and there'd be some talk of maybe starting a softball league come spring, but it would never materialize, which is no big deal because of course I understand that he's busy writing--which is obviously the way I want it.

toutes les grandes personnes ont d'abord été des enfants

Le Petit Prince was the first book I read completely in French. Which is not much of a feat because it's a children's book. But children's book or not (I'd describe it as a children's book for adults), it's one of my favorite books -- I've read it a good five or six times.

I would love to own a first edition copy of this book. Image from here.

More than once I've encouraged friends to learn French in order to enjoy this book in its purest form. And more than once I've wanted to read it in English just to see if the feeling is the same. But each time I try I end up feeling like reading it in English would be a waste of time in comparison or that it would somehow cheapen the original French version.

In my nineteenth century French theater class* we just finished reading a piece called On ne badine pas avec l'amour by Alfred de Musset (rough translation of title: Don't Mess Around With Love). At the end of the final scene of the second act is my favorite passage from all that we've read so far this semester:

[M]ais il y a au monde une chose sainte et sublime, c'est l'union de deux de ces êtres si imparfaits et si affreux. On est souvent trompé en amour, souvent blessé et souvent malheureux ; mais on aime, et quand on est sur le bord de sa tombe, on se retourne pour regarder en arrière, et on se dit : J'ai souffert souvent, je me suis trompé quelquefois, mais j'ai aimé. C'est moi qui ai vécu, et non pas un être factice créé par mon orgueil et mon ennui.

I wish I had more French speaking friends with whom I could share such passages. So instead I'll just pretend that you all understood that and enjoyed it as much as I did.

*When I tell people I'm taking a nineteenth century French theater class they usually think it's a performance class. Nope. Sadly, it's merely a literature class.

miles to go

When it comes to style and fit I have a hard time buying t-shirts. Style, because I can never find designs that I love. And fit, because when buying a new t-shirt, I never know how that thing will wear after I wash it.

In the past, my t-shirt wardrobe consisted solely of band shirts and thrift store finds. I'm certainly not opposed to either, but with band t-shirts -- unless it's an American Apparel t-shirt -- I run into the same how-will-this-fit-me-after-several-washes problem. And while I still love a good thrift store t-shirt more than the next guy, thrift stores are so over-picked, with the time and effort it takes to find something cool, you're almost better off heading to a vintage shop and spending five to ten times as much (notice how I said almost).

So imagine my delight when I came across Miles To Go* last week when I noticed this gem of a t-shirt on Pinterest:

I'm sure you can by deduce by the tattoos and slimmer form that this is not me. Image from here.

Miles To Go is an independent clothing line (mostly t-shirts, hoodies, and the like) by artist Greg Kerr. As someone who is influenced greatly by reading and literature, I love the premise behind his original designs: all of them are based on a novel, ranging from classic literature (see the Moby Dick t-shirt above) to more contemporary selections, like The Perks of Being a Wallflower. And Miles To Go prints on American Apparel t-shirts, so I know exactly how the shirt will fit me and how much it will shrink after washing.

After ordering the Moby Dick t-shirt above in blue, Greg sent me a personal email thanking me for the order with an update on shipping. Even better, the t-shirt arrived the next day, which, more than anything, had to do with the fact that Miles To Go is located in Phoenix and I in Mesa. Still, regardless of proximity, ordering something online and getting it the next day is the best.

I'm looking forward to seeing what great designs Miles To Go comes up with in the future while hoping that just one of them might be Steinbeck based.

Be sure to check out Miles To Go on Facebook and follow on Twitter.

*Not at all to be confused with the Miley Cyrus autobiography.

UPDATE: Just found out via Facebook that Miles To Go will be doing a To Kill A Mockingbird run in December. Looks like I know what I'm getting myself for Christmas.