Reading about reading

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I have just realized something terrible about myself: I don’t remember the books I read. I chose “Perjury” as an example at random, and its neighbors on my bookshelf, Michael Chabon’s “Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay” (on the right) and Anka Muhlstein’s “Taste for Freedom: The Life of Astolphe de Custine” (on the left), could have served just as well. These are books I loved, but as with “Perjury,” all I associate with them is an atmosphere and a stray image or two, like memories of trips I took as a child….

But this cannot be. Those books must have reshaped my brain in ways that affect how I think, and they must have left deposits of information with some sort of property — a kind of mental radiation — that continues to affect me even if I can’t detect it. Mustn’t they have?

– James Collins, N.Y. Times Book Review.

Excellent read on reading. I discovered this phenomenon relatively recently. For most of my life I only read fiction for leisure, so when I began reading non-fiction I assumed I’d be picking up and retaining all the new information I encountered and priming myself to dominate Jeopardy!, unleashing my inner Ken Jennings.

But I found out that, as Collins writes, it doesn’t quite work like that for me; I enjoyed good non-fiction books like I enjoy good novels, but I remember only snippets and factoids and overarching ideas, not every single detail.

The conclusion of this essay, though — the one Collins touches on in the second paragraphs excerpted above — is a rather redeeming one I came to when struggling with how I spent so much time and money in grad school on a master’s degree that prepared me for no particular trade. I realized that all the reading, writing and critical thinking impacted the way I approached just about everything, and made me feel smarter, like I was using new and previously untapped parts of my brain.

And that’s similar to what Collins — with the help of a neuroscientist — comes to in the linked essay. Even if you don’t remember every detail of what you read, just having read it and considered it likely enriched you mentally.

It’s a comforting conclusion, I think. Reading is good.

R.A. Dickey, August and September

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R.A. Dickey, May-July: 7-4, 2.32 ERA, 14 GS, 93 IP, 62 K, 24 BB, 5 HR

R.A. Dickey, Aug.-Sept.: 4-3, 3.74 ERA, 10 GS, 67 1/3 IP, 33 K, 15 BB, 7 HR

OK, lots of things at play here. First of all, pretty arbitrary endpoints, and I don’t think anyone reasonably expected Dickey to be as good going forward as he was in the first two and a half months of his Mets career.

Plus since we’re dealing in 14- and 10-start samples, all the trappings of small sample size are in play. It’s really hard to draw any firm conclusions from any of the information above.

But it does look as though Dickey is regressing a bit with exposure, which probably could be expected. Again, it’s not a perfect comparison because they’re hardly identical knuckleballers, but Dickey’s initial run of enormous success bears some resemblance to Tim Wakefield’s in his first time through the National League in 1992 and then the American League in 1995.

Obviously Wakefield settled into a nice career as a solid Major League innings-eater, which Dickey certainly seems fit to become as long as he can control his knuckleball and yield a ton of groundballs.

Plus he has the funny pitching face and the love of literature and all that, which is cool.

Jets beat Patriots; Mark Sanchez once again awesome, handsome and totally cool

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It did not bode well for the Jets when the Bengals beat the Ravens in the early game Sunday and held them to ten points. After all, one of the few positive takeaways from Gang Green’s Monday Night debacle was that Rex Ryan’s defense held Joe Flacco and the newly high-flying Ravens offense in check. If the Bengals, a team that yielded 38 points to the Patriots in Week 1, could stop the Ravens so effectively, clearly the feat is not so impressive. Plus, since the Patriots beat the Bengals, the Bengals beat the Ravens and the Ravens beat the Jets, then by the transitive property…

Luckily, that logic doesn’t hold in the NFL. The Jets, despite a slow start and the loss of Darrelle Revis late in the first half, beat the Patriots, wiped the smug look off Tom Brady’s stupid face, and restored confidence that they might, for once, match the hype.

How’d they do all that? Well, last week’s goat Antonio Cromartie redeemed himself. The defense adapted to and ultimately stifled Brady and the Patriots’ offense. Some of the new, old guys — LaDainian Tomlinson and Jason Taylor — showed why Ryan and Mike Tannenbaum thought they had enough left to bring ’em to Jersey. And our hero Mark Sanchez played the game of his life.

Sanchez got help from pretty solid line play, much more aggressive play calling, and a run game that gave him breathing room to spread the ball around the field. But he made plenty of plays on his own, too, improvising, eluding defenders with his feet, checking down to the open receiver, looking like a calm, cool veteran and not the gun-shy rookie he resembled just six days ago.

The Sanchise threw touchdowns to three different receivers and finished 21-for-30 with 220 yards and no interceptions. Entering the game it was clear the Patriots’ secondary was their weak spot, but Sanchez exploited it with particular aplomb. The performance should be plenty to quiet the maybe-never set that emerged earlier this week ready to write off Sanchez’s career.

Perhaps the future… IS NOW!

Ultimately, I should note, one game means little in the scope of the 16-game schedule, regardless of the quality of the opponent. And depending on the extent of Revis’ injury, this could be something of a Pyrrhic victory for Gang Green.

But it was an awesome and exciting one regardless, and a convenient excuse to post a picture of Mark Sanchez with a mustache and ridiculous 3-D glasses.

Who ya got?

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With American League playoff picture appearing more or less set, it seems like the most interesting pennant race approaching the wire this season will feature four teams — the Braves, Rockies, Padres and Giants — vying for two spots — the National League West pennant and Wild Card.

As it currently stands, the Braves hold the Wild Card lead by 1.5 games over the Padres and Giants, who are tied for the NL West lead and a game ahead of the surging Rockies.

I know where I’m at on this one but I’m interested to see where you stand.

[poll id=”9″]

Chipper Jones interview

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At the game last night, my mom pointed out that there were really no players left on the Braves that you’d identify with the Braves teams that won so many damn division titles. Tim Hudson and Brian McCann played on the last of ’em, and, of course, there’s Chipper on the DL. Sounds from this interview like we haven’t heard the last of Larry Jones.

Sandwich of the Week: Brooklyn style

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I never felt like I fit in when I lived in Brooklyn, which is perhaps why I liked it there so much. As I’ve said, I’m contrarian by nature. I am also irrepressibly suburban, unwilling to forgo my khaki cargo shorts even in a sea of skinny jeans or baggy jeans,or jeans befitting whatever the trend in denim in either of the Brooklyn neighborhoods that housed me for most of my 20s.

I remember my first night back in the borough after a month-long study abroad grad-school program in China, the most unfamiliar, overwhelming and downright different place I had ever been. I went for a walk around Prospect Heights and came back to find the teenage kids who hung out on the stoop of my apartment building freestyling, their session ending with the inevitable refrain, “It’s Brooklyn!”

It was a too-perfect moment, something that would’ve seemed lame if it happened in a movie — especially timed the way it was — but I was groggy from travel and it felt perfect. I wanted to wrap my arms around the whole neighborhood. After a full day of airplanes, and after a month of strange food, strange air, strange places, I felt so rooted, so comfortable, so thoroughly home. It was a connection I never made with a place before, and one I didn’t even know I had the capacity for.

The sandwich: Egg salad with bacon, BKLYN Larder, Flatbush Ave. in Park Slope.

The construction: Egg salad, lettuce and bacon on white bread.

Important background info: I go back to Brooklyn from Westchester almost weekly; a lot of my friends are there and I play baseball in Red Hook on Saturdays. But when I find myself in my old neighborhoods, I often feel strangely put off. Who are these people? Look at how young they are! What are these places? BKLYN Larder? That sounds pretentious.

And sure, I know that I was myself a transplant, patronizing a bunch of new stores that probably seemed pretentious to someone who lived there before me. And I recognize that every lifelong Brooklynite I know maintains that the constant change, frequent turnover — the general fluidity to everything — is part of what feeds the bustle, the vivacity that made me so appreciate the borough in the first place.

But that’s the rational mind. The initial, visceral reaction doesn’t think it through that thoroughly, it just screams, “What the hell is going on here? What’s happening to this place I loved? It’s not how I left it!”

What it looks like:


How it tastes: Hmm… that’s a good sandwich right there. Simple, dignified, tasty.

The white bread is soft, hearty, thick-cut and obviously fresh. The egg salad tastes freshly made, too, and perfectly seasoned with pepper. I sense a hint of vinegar, maybe — either in the egg salad itself or
on the lettuce, that gives the whole thing some depth.

And that bacon. That’s some delicious bacon. Perfectly prepared, thick, crispy, flavorful, bacony bacon.

I need to re-think this. I judged this place before I came in, but that’s on me. This place is pleasant. It’s clean, they serve good sandwiches, the people are friendly. The showcases display an array of fine meats and cheese. This is a good place.

So it’s new. So it has sort of a silly name. Whatever.

And those young people outside? How old could they be, 24? That’s exactly how old Mike and I were when we moved here, isn’t it? Dammit, I have no right whatsoever to claim ownership of a place that’s been growing and changing and living for centuries, that I passed through for half a decade and happened to enjoy.

Straight up: Who the hell do I think I am? I am aging, and I moved, and those things kind of suck. But Brooklyn is here and going nowhere. I need to put aside my hangups and learn to just sit back and enjoy the sandwiches of this fine borough when I have the opportunity to do so.

What it’s worth: This thing was pretty pricey for an egg-salad sandwich, even if it was a classy one, especially considering that it wasn’t very big. Cost about $7, if I recall correctly, and across the street at familiar Bergen Bagels you could probably get it for half that. But what price amazing bacon?

How it rates: All the elements of this sandwich were excellent, but it was probably limited by its size and scope — how high could an egg-salad sandwich possibly rate, even if it’s got delicious bacon? It was an egg-salad sandwich maximizing its ability, but still an egg-salad sandwich. I’m thinking an undersized shortstop making the most of his potential — the Orlando Cabrera of sandwiches. 68 out of 100.