Most of my friends know about my Weezer obsession. Some people have Jesus, I have Weezer.

I was riding the bus today, listening to their 1996 album Pinkerton. As I am wont to do, I started analyzing the song “Falling For You”- one of my favorite hobbies. I have been dissecting this song and applying meaning to it for the last ten years. Usually the meanings I find are only applicable within the context of my own life but today was different.

Today this song made me think of Albertine and the Narrator. When I first started writing about it, I thought it was a bit of a stretch.  I texted my friend and fellow Weezer nerd, who has been kindly listening to me nerd out over Proust this whole quarter, and said: “Okay. I’ve gone full mental. I’m writing about how “Falling For You” could be interpreted as a line for line retelling of a major relationship in In Search of Lost Time”

Friend: “Haha, and that’s true? It’s gonna work?”

“I thought it was a stretch at first but I’ve been going through it and it totally works”

It totally works!! And so I present (as though you care) a line by line guide to the Proustian themes in Weezer’s “Falling For You”. The lyrics are in bold, with my commentary beneath.

Holy cow, I think I’ve got one here
Now just what am I supposed to do?
Reminiscent of the narrator’s obsession with women as an adolescent and the terror of obtaining someone he thought unattainable.
I’ve got a number of irrational fears
That I’d like to share with you.
By the time the Narrator and Albertine get together we are well aware of his many neuroses.
First there’s rules about old goats like me
Hangin’ round with chicks like you
The Narrator found any member of the Band of Girls unattainable and, yet, ended up with Albertine, which would have been unthinkable to him when he originally encountered them.
But I do like you and another one
Oh? Another one? Like maybe Andree?
You say “like” too much
This makes me think of the tendency of men-in-love in In Search of Lost Time have towards feeling fondly for women “despite” their common or uncouth tendencies.

But I’m shakin’ at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby I’m afraid I’m falling for you
This hearkens again to the Narrator’s obsession with sex and love. What do we do when we actually find it? Is it ever as good as we imagine? Is it ruined if it’s not what we imagined it to be?
I’d do about anything to get the hell out alive
We know at least one of them doesn’t make it out alive.
Or maybe I would rather settle down with you
Remember when he kept changing his mind over whether or not he should marry Albertine?

Holy moly baby wouldn’t you know it
Just as I was bustin’ loose
Around the time the Narrator and Albertine met the Narrator had started to recover slightly from his adolescent awkwardness.
I gotta go turn in my rock star card
Get fat and old with you
Though the Narrator had friends, he had begun to meet people that were important, both aristocratically and in his eyes and would have profound influence in his life, such as the Princesse de Guermantes, St. Loup and Elstir.
Cause I’m a burning candle, you’re a gentle mutt
Teaching me to lick a little bit kinder
Again, he loves women “despite” their flaws, but he begins to recognize what Albertine can, at times, offer him.
And I do like you, you’re the lucky one-
No, I’m the lucky one
As he goes between loving Albertine and being convinced that he is not in love with her he struggles with which of them is luckier to have the other.

Holy sweet goddamn, you left your cello in the basement
In The Captive they essentially seclude themselves, abandoning their hobbies for their obsessive relationship. Also the use of extra words when less would be necessary is an interesting comparison.
I admired the glowing stars and tried to play a tune
The narrator tries to continue working to become a writer.
I can’t believe how bad I suck, it’s true
But he doubts himself and it isn’t until much later in the novel that he realizes the full extent of his gift of observation.
What could you possibly see in little old three chord me?
How could anyone love such a hack? If only he knew he’d later be published in Le Figaro.
But I do like you, and you like me too
I’m ready, let’s do it baby.
Does he acquiesce and marry her? Or does he try harder to get to a place he’d rather be?

I texted my friend again. “It totally works. And now I’m forming this whole new theory about what Pinkerton is themed after”.

“We shall see in due course that, in spite of stupid habits of speech which she had not outgrown, Albertine had developed to an astonishing degree. This was a matter of complete indifference to me, a woman’s intellectual qualities having always interested me so little that if I pointed them out to some woman or other it was solely out of politeness”

When I read this passage on page 12 of The Captive I underlined it and wrote “ASSHOLE” in the margin (God I feel bad for anyone who might end up with my Proust set somewhere down the line. It looks like a crazy person scrawled all over it). The Narrator’s opinion of Albertine is reminiscent of many of the male characters in In Search of Lost Time- even though they spend time being utterly obsessed with the women they desire they nurse these obsessions “despite” their flaws- their “common” ways of speaking, perceived classlessness, etc.

But, whatever. Despite these standards The Narrator apparently doesn’t care about the intellectual qualities of the women in his life. If he mentions anything about a lady being smart he’s just doing it to be polite.

Moving along, The Narrator notes with the other ways Albertine has changed:

“Albertine, even in the discussion of the most trivial political matters, expressed herself very differently from the little girl she had been at Balbec. She would go so far as to declare, in connexion with a political incident of which she disapproved: “I consider that fearsome,”

She “goes so far” as to have an opinion on a political event, stating that she “finds it fearsome”. Pat on the head for you Albertine! You used your woman-brain to make a thought! Though your boyf will still note your awkward choice to use the word “fearsome”.

“…and I am not sure that it was not about this time that she learned to say, when she wanted to indicate that a book badly written: “It’s interesting, but really, it might have been written by a pig“.

Wait a minute! Apparently she can READ too. Whooooa, there, Nelly. Reading and opinions? What’s next, you’re gonna wanna vote or something? I kind of love this use of “learned to say”. I feel like it’s the same vibe as when people are like “I taught my cat how to pee in the toilet!” Albertine LEARNED to have a crude opinion of writing. No way she could’ve done that without his scholarly help.

The cat training is working. She also finally learned not to go into his room without knocking.

Good thing she’s still (kinda) hot though, or how could he put up with her shit all the time? Her eyes got longer (God I hate when that happens. Have they started making a cream for that yet?) but at least their pretty blueness transports the Narrator back to Balbec, where they first met, before he knew her as a human and was able to do some hardcore horny adolescent projecting all over her and friends as they walked around being all hot and jumping over blind people. He’ll think about those eyes forever.

And her hair! Oh God, he’s so bored of every aspect of her existence except her hair. He’s seen it all but every morning it’s like he’s seeing that pretty hair for the first time ever. Eyes are pretty, a smile is hot but nothing like a good head of hair to make the Narrator want to fuck ahem, physically possess you.

“HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE SO ANNOYING, RIGHT, YOU GUYS?!”-The Narrator.

“Seriously, it’s like every morning she comes into my room (thank god she KNOCKED) and jumps on my bed and talks about how hot and smart I am and how she’d rather die than leave me. And she’s only doing it because I shaved. She doesn’t even KNOW why she thinks things. She just does! She like, all obsessed with basic hygiene and it’s like SUPER MEANINGFUL because a person who bothers to shave can totally take care of her and the babies I could gift her with. You know, if I felt like it. Which I don’t.”

(Author’s note: as a fellow Hysterical Woman, I also regard shaving as a sacred act. I believe it must stem from a time when I was a young child and my dad, who always had a mustache, was speaking to me early one morning. After some conversation that was likely about cereal he asked me if I noticed anything different. I suddenly did- he had SHAVED HIS MUSTACHE. And I began crying hysterically. I thought I reacted strongly because I felt a mustache suited my father better than a clean-shaven face, but surely I was mistaken. I now know it must have been something else, something Very Meaningful).

Anyway, the Narrator can’t get anything done with all this lady-ness floating around house so he asks her where she’s gonna go to stay out of his hair today. She’s gonna go to a park with her Hot Friend and handler, Andree. Even though he is ALWAYS sick of Albertine he doesn’t trust her. She’s his girlfriend after all, so God forbid she bang someone else. He’s glad to have Andree babysit her.

Funny, this one time he was like, sooooooo sick of being around Albertine so he decided to tell Andree that he’d wished they’d met sooner, cause she’s also a super babe and actually like way better than Albertine and he’d wished they had hooked up instead. But that’s just too darn bad cause he pledged his heart to this drip and like, what can you do? “So let’s just hang out a lot because I haaaaate my relationship and you can make me feel better about all that.” He was lying when he said that, but now he really feels that way but who knows what Andree thinks? (Cause to discern that you’d have to like, care about a woman’s intellect and that’s not our buddy’s game here).

But whatever, cause The Truth is like, relative, maaaaan.

I’d choose dying in a riding accident over this weird relationship too, Albertine.

I didn’t realize we weren’t required to read Kindred in its entirety. If I had I think I would’ve read it all the way through, anyway. I couldn’t put it down after I’d started it.

I’ve heard a lot about Octavia Butler but had never read anything by her before. I’m not a huge sci-fi person (Vonnegut is the only science fiction author I can think of that I truly love). I do love a good historical fiction novel so I was taken with Kindred from the beginning.

I am a white person. Being an ally to people of color is really important to me.  I’ve found that reading about race issues from as many perspectives as possible helps me in my quest to be Not a Terrible Person. I’m bummed it took me so long to read Butler. This book was really good!

I haven’t felt so ragey towards characters in a book since Dolores Umbridge. You know an author is good at characterization when you want to reach into the world of the book and strangle someone. But, while Umbridge is intentionally malicious, the asshole-ishness of people like Rufus and Margaret are coming from a place within and they both completely lack self awareness. Dana and Rufus certainly forged a bond during her ideal but he was comfortable being a total dick to her despite their friendship which is maddening but also illustrative of the dynamic within the power structure before the civil war.

I’m really glad this novel exists to show the day to day realities of the enslaved. Much of it was horrific- seeing your family being split up and sold, being whipped and beaten, being sexually assaulted by gross old white dudes, your body being property. It also showed the fundamental humanity we all share. Despite all the awful things they had to endure there were still so many of the fundamental aspects of being human- community, falling in love, protecting each other, having children, celebrating Christmas. Experiences that transcend the boundaries of race.

Still, the experiencing this novel was incredibly harrowing for me. My ancestors didn’t have to deal with this- being enslaved and marginalized and dealing with the repercussions of that to this day. As a white American I have benefited from atrocities like these and I must acknowledge that. Kindred brought that to the front of my mind yet again, which is important. Those of us that have benefited from such horrors need to be consistently aware of it, thinking about it, being uncomfortable with it. We need to get rid of our crappy ideas like “reverse racism” and “color blindness” if we want to contribute to effort to end oppression.

I cried several times during this book. And then I thought about all the people in my life that need to read it. I passed it on to my mom, she read it almost as quickly as I did. Now it’s on to the next person.

Also, Dana is a BAMF. I would’ve killed Rufus way earlier if I had been in that situation, willing to risk negating my existence. Unlike Dana, I give up easily.

It’s funny to be studying memory now.

I worked at a bar last summer. One night after we closed my co-workers and I were sitting at one of the tables, talking about nonsense. It was probably 3:30 in the morning. Somehow conversation turned to when people you know die. They were all relating stories to each other and I mentioned that nobody super close to me had ever died. “Knock on wood” I added, rapping on the table.

“Knock on fucking wood, dude” my co-worker said. He knocked too.

Two weeks later my very recent ex-boyfriend killed himself. The night he died is engraved upon my memory. I remember finding out. I remember calling my mom. I remember drinking pink wine while someone put on the first episode of Sons of Anarchy to distract me. I tried to hold it together but “Fools Rush In” by Elvis played and I ran into the bathroom and lost it.

I was afraid to go to sleep because I didn’t want to wake up in the morning and have this new knowledge flood me. I also thought I would be wandering through the world and be accosted by memories of our time together. Instead I found I couldn’t remember anything. I tried to summon memories of him.  They weren’t coming.

All I could summon was a memory of one of our first days together. It was the second time we met. We agreed to meet at a corner when we were both coming home from different parties. I remembered walking up the street and seeing him waiting for me on a corner of the neighborhood I grew up in, a lone figure illuminated under a streetlight. His back was turned, he didn’t know I was coming.

We spent years together and I never thought of this moment while he was alive. After he died, this was the only memory I could will to mind for a few weeks.

Memories are weird, yo.

I consider Haruki Murakami my favorite author. Over the last 8 years I’ve read every book of his. Except one. I have a thing for cats and wells and pretty ears. One day in lecture I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes by him, from Kafka on the Shore: “The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory”.

When I was choosing classes this quarter I knew that I definitely wanted to take In Search of Lost Time. I assumed I was so drawn to it because of my interest in literature and history but as class goes on I’ve begun to suspect I’m way more into memory and perception than I thought I was. It’s one of the reasons I love Murakami’s work so much, too. I feel like the connection should’ve been obvious but I certainly didn’t figure it out for myself until very recently. I’m also discovering delightful parallels between Proust and Murakami.

The only book of his I haven’t read yet is 2011’s IQ84. Maybe I found the 984 page length daunting, or maybe the underwhelming reviews I heard from both my friends and actual, professional critics (though I tend to love many things that are poorly received by critics. Like Pootie Tang). Sitting alone at my favorite bar last weekend, thinking of all the non-required reading I’m looking forward to doing when I have more time, IQ84 came to mind. And out of nowhere I remembered that I’d heard, somewhere, that Proust was involved in this novel. Being impulsive, I ordered IQ84 from Amazon. It arrived the following Monday.

In the novel, it turns out, a female assassin goes into hiding and is given only the entirety of In Search of Lost Time to occupy her. Behold, this hilarious exchange I stumbled upon from IQ84, presented without context because I haven’t actually read the book yet:

“I think I have everything I need”

“How about books and videos and the like?”

“I can’t think of anything I particularly want.”

“How about Proust’s In Search of Lost Time? Tamaru asked. “If you’ve never read it this would be a good opportunity to read the whole thing.”

“Have you read it?”

“No, I’ve never been in jail, or had to hide out for a long time. Someone said that unless you’ve had those kinds of opportunities, you can’t read the whole of Proust.”

“Do you know anyone that has read the whole thing?”

“I’ve known some people that have spent a long period of time in jail, but none were the type to be interested in Proust.”

I think there’s some truth to this. Not that only criminals and assassins would read all of In Search of Lost Time but I also highly doubt that the average person can read all of In Search of Lost Time without some outside circumstance, like jail time, or a class at Evergreen. I’m a super nerd and I really doubt I would ever get this far in ISOL on my own. Now that I’m this immersed I’m pretty sure I’ll go back and read it in its entirety at some point in the near future.

It almost feels like we’re all in this weird, secret Proust club.

Now I kind of wonder if IQ84 was poorly reviewed because there’s Proustian tie-ins that book reviewers aren’t picking up on. I’m really suspecting that there are not many people in the world that have read the majority of In Search of Lost Time. I’m pretty sure Haruki Murakami has, though.

I’m looking forward to reading IQ84 and seeing how much Proust comes into the story. I feel like it will be a much richer experience after having studied In Search of Lost Time. I’ll let you know what I find out.

As I watched Boyhood I was reminded of many aspects of my own childhood. I was trying to figure out how close I was in age to the children in the film. Loudly singing “Baby One More Time” to drive my brother crazy? I remember doing that. It wasn’t until the gadgets started appearing that I realized I’m a bit older than them. I was in high school when the Motorola Razr came out. So I looked it up. I’m 5 years older than the actors that played Mason and Samantha. Still, a lot of their childhood parallels memories I have of growing up in the 90s and 2000s.

One of the first things that struck me was the relationship the siblings had as young children. Like when they were moving from Austin and the kids were kind of hitting each other in the back of the seat. “Make a barrier!” their mom kept saying. They hit each other, then glared, made a barrier and then almost immediately started giggling. It reminded me a lot of my brother and I as children. Like Samantha, I am just about two years older than my brother. When you’re a child that age difference seems vast and miniscule at the same time. Because I was born early in the school year and he was born late in his, we were only one grade apart. I was pretty much always a quiet, shy goody-goody while he was rambunctious and disinterested in academics. I think, like Mason, he felt unfairly compared to me when he would start the school year with a teacher I had had the year before.

Mason and Samantha grew and became able to relate to each other without constantly fighting. That happened with my brother and I as well. There were years where we absolutely couldn’t stand each other (including a time when he carved my name into the wooden bannister to try to get me in trouble. It’s funny to all of us now but holy shit was our Mom pissed). Also, as they went through those horrors with the alcoholic step-dad, their bond grew. You could see that they recognized that, at times, they only had each other and needed to be on the same team. Especially when the adults in their lives weren’t exactly dependable.

Luckily, my brother and I led a pretty happy childhood. Nobody ever threw glasses at us. Now that we are both adults, we realize that we have a relationship we will never share with anyone else in the world. The bond of genetics and shared history. The same sense of humor. My brother lives on the other side of the state now and we only see each other a few times a year. When we do, though, it’s like no time has passed. No one but the other can make us start laughing that quickly. And what we laugh at would strike an outsider as absurdity.

The sibling relationship sparked the biggest nostalgia-wave for me, but it wasn’t the only “madeleine in the tea”, so to speak. My mother got her Masters degree at Saint Martin’s when I was 7 or so and she brought me a few times to sit in her classes, just as Olivia brought Mason. I hadn’t thought about that for years, until I saw that scene and was suddenly transported back to…1995, maybe? Sitting in a hot, chalk-dusty classroom and drawing while the adults talked about things that went way over my head. Unlike Olivia, my mother didn’t marry her professor. A lot of her professors were monks, though, and she was still married to my dad, so I’m not really shocked.

There were many other, smaller aspects of being a kid during that time that the film captured with an authenticity that I think only a movie made in that unique way could. I remember when people smoked in bowling alleys (and restaurants). I lived for Harry Potter Midnight book releases (Ravenclaw for life!). I had the American Apparel track jacket that Mason is wearing on his 15th birthday. Mine was red and I bought it with my first ever paycheck when I was 16. That long, side swiped hair boys used to wear spurs memories of high school crushes. Lots of little things.

Boyhood guided me on a memory tour of my own girlhood, despite the “inspiring”/eye rolling, young adult pseudo-philosophy they laid on so thick at the end (“Like, what does it all mean, maaaaaan”). Maybe not even “despite” that. I thought I was super deep when I was 18, too.