Insomnia redux

When you're 35, you can like Ghostface and Miles Davis and the Dead Kennedys and not feel weird. – Craig Finn

There was once a post proffered by Mr. Adams that took seriously (rightly, in my view) the anxiety that, having reached a certain age, it’s no longer clear to what mixture of attachments/personal fixations you should devote time. Sports, music, books, “cultural offerings” in general – one of my guiding principles, which may or may not be leavened by the egoistic idea that breadth indicates something wholesome and American, is that canvassing spectra of genre and medium is a must. I agree with BA that it’s not clear at this point in life how to assess whatever enduring springs of meaning you happen to look to and draw from in your daily goings on. It’s not really even clear if it’s important to make the anxiety/uncertainty somehow less damning. (I just wrote damnifying, which isn’t and shouldn’t be a word). Or: should you be conscious of the process of intake through which you apprehend a set of references, aesthetic experiences, grounding poles, etc. by which you navigate the world? I’m not sure. I think he puts it well, though, and for whatever reason the reasoning put forth sticks with me. So go read this thing.

PS - I don't know who he was quoting, but "mark twain traveling through time sounds like a tough sell" - upon re-encountering - made me spit beer out of my nose. Ponder the nasal-mouthular gravity of that shit.