w**m
发帖数: 4061 | 1 刚开始看的一本小说，We need to talk about Kevin
版上的同学请自觉对号入座
文艺青年：
... I was destined to settle down with a stringy cerebral type whose
skittering metabolism burns chickpea concoctions at a ferocious rate. Sharp
elbows, prominent Adam's apple, narrow wrists. A strict vegetarian. An
anguished sort who reads Nietzsche and wears spectacles, alienated from his
time and contemptuous of the automobile. An avid cyclist and hill walker.
Professional marginalia -- perhaps a potter, with a love of hardwoods and
herb gardens, whose aspirations to an unpretentious life of physical toil
and lingering sunsets on a porch are somewhat belied by the steely,
repressed rage with which he pitches disappointing vases into an oil drum. A
weakness for weed; brooding. an understated but ruthless sense of humor; a
dry, distant laugh. Back massages. Recycling. Sitar music and a flirtation
with Buddhism that is mercifully behind him. Vitamins and cribbage, water
filters and French films. A pacifist with three guitars but no TV, and
unpleasant associations with team sports from a picked-on childhood. A hint
of vulnerability in the receding hairline at the temples; a soft, dark
ponytail whisping down the spine. A sallow, olive complexion, almost sickly.
Tender, whispering sex. Curious carved wooden talisman thonged around the
neck that he will neither explain nor take off, even in the bath. Diaries
that I mustn't read, pasted up with sick squib clippings that illustrate
what a terrible world we live in. ("Grisly Find: Police found assorted bits
of a man's body, including a pair of hands and two legs, in six luggage
lockers in Tokyo's central railway station. After inspecting all 2,500 coin
lockers, police found a pair of buttocks in a black plastic garbage bag.") A
cynic about mainstream politics with an unabating ironic detachment from
popular culture. And most of all? With fluent if prettily accented English,
a foreigner.
We would live in the countryside -- in Portugal, or a little village in
Central America -- where a farm up the road sells raw milk, fresh-churned
sweet butter, and fat, seedy pumpkins. Our stone cottage would writhe with
creepers, its window boxes blushing red geraniums, and we would bake chewy
ryes and carrot brownies for our rustic neighbors. An overeducated man, my
fantasy partner would still root about the soil of our idyll for the seeds
of his own discontent. And surrounded by natural bounty, grow spitefully
ascetic.
普通青年午饭后回来送上
普通青年来了
Are you chuckling yet? Because then along came you. A big, broad meat eater with brash blond hair and ruddy skin that burns at the beach. A bundle of appetites. A full, boisterous guffaw; a man who tells knock-knock jokes. Hot dogs -- not even East 86th Street bratwurst, but mealy, greasy pig guts of that terrifying pink. Baseball. Gimme caps. Puns and blockbuster movies, raw tap water and six-packs. A fearless, trusting consumer who only reads labels to make sure there are plenty of additives A fan of the open road with a passion for his pickup who thinks bicycles are for nerds. Fucks hard and talks dirty; a private though unapologetic taste for porn. Mysteries, thrillers, and science fiction; a subscription to National Geographic. Barbecues on the Fourth of July and intentions, in the fullness of time, to take up golf. Delights in crappy snack foods of every description: Burgles. Curlies. Cheesies. Squigglies -- you're laughing, but I don't eat them -- anything that look less like food than packing material and at least six degrees of separation from the farm. Bruce Springsteen, the early albums, cranked up high with the truck window down and your hair flying. Sing along, off-key -- how is it possible that I should be endeared by such a tin ear? Beach Boys. Elvis -- never lost your roots, did you, loved plain old rock and roll. Bombast. Though not impossibly stodgy; I remember, you took a shine to Pearl Jam, which was exactly when Kevin went off them ... (sorry). It just had to be noisy; you hadn't any time for my Elgar, my Leo Kottke, though you made an exception for Aaron Copeland. You wiped your eyes brusquely at Tanglewood, as if to clear gnats, hoping I didn't notice that "Quiet City" made you cry. And ordinary, obvious pleasures: the Bronx Zoo and the Botanical Gardens, the Coney Island roller coaster, the Staten Island ferry, the Empire State Building. You were the only New Yorker I'd ever met who'd actually taken the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. You dragged me along once, and we were the only tourists on the boat who spoke English. Representational art -- Edward Hopper. And my lord, Franklin, a Republican. A belief in a strong defense but otherwise small government and low taxes. Physically, too, you were such a surprise -- yourself a strong defense. There were times you worried that I thought you too heavy, I made so much of your size, though you weighed in at a pretty standard 165, 170, always battling those five pounds' worth of cheddar widgets that would settle over your belt. But to me you were enormous. So sturdy and solid, so wide, so thick, none of that delicate wristy business of my imaginings. Built like an oak tree, against which I could pitch my pillow and read; mornings, I could curl into the crook of your branches. How lucky we are, when we're spared what we think we want! How weary I might have grown of all those silly pots and fussy diets, and how I detest the whine of sitar music! | l*r
发帖数: 79569 | 2 第一句就好多词不认识，飘过
Sharp
his
【在 w**m 的大作中提到】
: 刚开始看的一本小说，We need to talk about Kevin
: 版上的同学请自觉对号入座
: 文艺青年：
: ... I was destined to settle down with a stringy cerebral type whose
: skittering metabolism burns chickpea concoctions at a ferocious rate. Sharp
: elbows, prominent Adam's apple, narrow wrists. A strict vegetarian. An
: anguished sort who reads Nietzsche and wears spectacles, alienated from his
: time and contemptuous of the automobile. An avid cyclist and hill walker.
: Professional marginalia -- perhaps a potter, with a love of hardwoods and
: herb gardens, whose aspirations to an unpretentious life of physical toil
| m****a
发帖数: 6567 | 3 第一段写得好，直到后面说是foreigner，就觉得假。这明明写的就是美国无数大学里
无数吃饱了撑着的liberal arts major男，为什么到头来要说是外国人，还葡萄牙。后
面就明显是作者在yy了。
Sharp
his
【在 w**m 的大作中提到】
: 刚开始看的一本小说，We need to talk about Kevin
: 版上的同学请自觉对号入座
: 文艺青年：
: ... I was destined to settle down with a stringy cerebral type whose
: skittering metabolism burns chickpea concoctions at a ferocious rate. Sharp
: elbows, prominent Adam's apple, narrow wrists. A strict vegetarian. An
: anguished sort who reads Nietzsche and wears spectacles, alienated from his
: time and contemptuous of the automobile. An avid cyclist and hill walker.
: Professional marginalia -- perhaps a potter, with a love of hardwoods and
: herb gardens, whose aspirations to an unpretentious life of physical toil
| w**m
发帖数: 4061 | 4 真正yy的在后头，呵呵
【在 m****a 的大作中提到】
: 第一段写得好，直到后面说是foreigner，就觉得假。这明明写的就是美国无数大学里
: 无数吃饱了撑着的liberal arts major男，为什么到头来要说是外国人，还葡萄牙。后
: 面就明显是作者在yy了。
:
: Sharp
: his
| w**m
发帖数: 4061 | 5 我也好多词不认识，看个意思，呵呵
【在 l*r 的大作中提到】
: 第一句就好多词不认识，飘过
:
: Sharp
: his
| b*s
发帖数: 82482 | 6 我觉得我还是普通类型的，比较讨厌这样的文艺类，感觉比较二逼，要不就是Ted
Kaczynski的前体。而且，我一向对吃素的没有什么好感。
Sharp
his
【在 w**m 的大作中提到】
: 刚开始看的一本小说，We need to talk about Kevin
: 版上的同学请自觉对号入座
: 文艺青年：
: ... I was destined to settle down with a stringy cerebral type whose
: skittering metabolism burns chickpea concoctions at a ferocious rate. Sharp
: elbows, prominent Adam's apple, narrow wrists. A strict vegetarian. An
: anguished sort who reads Nietzsche and wears spectacles, alienated from his
: time and contemptuous of the automobile. An avid cyclist and hill walker.
: Professional marginalia -- perhaps a potter, with a love of hardwoods and
: herb gardens, whose aspirations to an unpretentious life of physical toil
|
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