Sunday, March 09, 2008

(03.09.08) Recommends:

Not Overdoing It.

So yesterday was another action-packed day in Beachwood Canyon. We woke up super-early stizz, only to stumble upon a horribly visual car wreck in which the backside of a poor Mini Cooper was absolutely pancaked. Then it was off for some self-pamper -- calm down back there, it's been a rough month. We tried to get our hair in order, got to smelling pretty again, and got some fancy pants. Then it was off to catch an early show by the Dodos at Silverlake Lounge and an opening night reception at an art gallery. We dutifully recorded all of this via camera, but in our haste to upload the pics, we managed to destroy the chord that is needed for the transfer.

And this mishap caused us to realize that there's been too much stress in our lives lately and all of our hustle and bustle -- our need to be constantly on the move -- is probably a sign that we're trying to overcompensate for something.

Probably we just need to chill for a bit.

So then we hopped into bed and opened Life of Pi, hands down one of our favorite novels ever. There is so much about the novel that absolutely devastates us, but there is one passage in particular that we come back to, time and time, when we think that our emotions are getting the best of us. And we thought we'd share it with you all today.

I wept like a child. It was not because I was overcome at having survived my ordeal, though I was. Nor was it the presence of my brothers and sisters, though that too was very moving. I was weeping because Richard Parker had left me so unceremoniously. What a terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. Where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape. For example -- I wonder -- could you tell my jumbled story in exactly one hundred chapters, not one more, not one less? I'll tell you, that's one thing I hate about my nickname [editor's note: his nickname is Pi] the way that number runs on forever. It's important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse. That bungled goodbye hurts me to this day. I wish so much that I'd had one last look at him in the lifeboat, that I'd provoked him a little, so that I was on his mind. I wish I had said to him then -- yes, I know, to a tiger, but still -- I wish I had said, "Richard Parker, it's over. We have survived. Can you believe it? I owe you more gratitude than I can express. I couldn't have done it without you. I would like to say it formally: Richard Parker, thank you. Thank you for saving my life. And now go where you must. You have known the confined freedom of a zoo most of your life; now you will know the free confinement of a jungle. I wish you the best with it. Watch out for Man. He is not your friend. But I hope you will remember me as a friend. I will never forget you, that is certain. You will always be with me, in my heart. What is that hiss? Ah, our boat has touched sand. So farewell, Richard Parker, farewll. God be with you.

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