So this weekend and last I attended AMC Theatres' Best Picture Showcase, like every year, and saw all 10 Best Picture nominees for this evening's Academy Awards. Which, trust, are more fun to watch when you've actually seen a bunch of the movies. Following are some thoughts on the nominated films (oh, god, now I'm one of those pretentious people who call "movies" films).
Toy Story 3: This was a good movie. Of course -- it's Pixar. Pixar makes a good movie. And I loved that they still found a way to make the Toy Story franchise relevant and fresh, even with a third installment. The visual gags were fantastic and the story was engaging. I mean, I wasn't sitting there weeping like a lot of people I know claimed to do during this movie, but I was definitely invested. Also, it was not shown in 3d at the showcase, and I don't think I missed anything.
127 Hours: This was a great movie -- the story of Aron Ralston, a dude from Colorado who went hiking alone in the Canyonlands and fell into a crevice, an arm pinned beneath a boulder; he had to cut his arm off to get free. The combination of Danny Boyle as director and James Franco in the lead role make for a gripping movie which could have been really boring, given the subject matter. But there were just enough diversions and flashbacks to keep it moving, and James Franco's performance is so engaging. He's a well-deserved Best Actor nominee for this one, and while he'll likely be beat by Colin Firth, he's definitely worthy.
The Kids Are All Right: This is the story of a lesbian couple played by Annette Bening and Julianne Moore and their two teenage children, who initiate a meeting with the sperm donor who their moms used to conceive them. They all wind up drawn in to one another's lives in different ways. It's a good movie, and everyone in it is really fun to watch, but it's not all that. Sometimes I think I'm missing something when a big fuss gets made over a movie or someone's performance in the movie, and that's kind of what I think is happening here -- critics have compared Annette Bening's performance in this movie to her performance in American Beauty, and I just don't see it. Mark Ruffalo is perfect as the sperm donor who's not really a slacker but wants everyone to think he's a slacker. Julianne Moore's character is hard to pin down -- the things said of her character form the part of the movie that annoyed me most: at one point Annette Bening accuses her of micro-managing their lives, but then it's clear she sees her as flaky and devil-may-care. So which is it? I don't think you can be both a micro-manager and a flake. That's just not real. And then I read this funny thing by someone in Slate who complained that it didn't make sense that Mark Ruffalo's character was all into organic food farming for his restaurant, but didn't seem to give a shit what Julianne Moore's character was doing to the garden in his yard -- it just didn't gel. And that was something that I had gotten hung up on as well -- the characters just didn't make any sense sometimes.
I mean, it's a good movie. It's just not worthy of Best Picture.
True Grit: What do I say about this one other than "OMG it's so amazing"???? From the opening piano note in the score (literally, the very first note) to the very last second of the credits, I was just hooked. I mean, at times my mouth was hanging open. The performance of Hailee Steinfeld as the girl was absolutely fantastic; I don't know the mechanics of billing and stuff, but feel she should have been nominated as Best Actress, rather than supporting actress. I didn't expect to like this movie, let alone fall madly in love with it, because it's a western and that feels like a dirty word to me. But fall madly in love is exactly what happened. The Coen brothers gave it their own special sauce, but otherwise apparently stayed pretty true to the original. Jeff Bridges is great as always, and Matt Damon was barely recognizable in his role as the Texas Marshall hunting the same man -- totally a good thing. I absolutely loved this movie, and can't recommend it enough.
The Fighter: Look, I get it -- hardscrabble story of a boxer down on his luck, and the drug addicted brother who brings him both inspiration and a lot of grief, and their journey into healing through... boxing. It's one of those quintessentially American stories that we are all suckers for. But no fuss would be made over this movie if it weren't for Christian Bale's scenery-chewing performance as Dicky. I mean, it's a pretty good movie. But it isn't fantastic -- it doesn't transport you anywhere. It just makes you glad you never smoked crack. Or took up boxing.
Winter's Bone: Not a single actor you've ever heard of, though you may vaguely recognize a face or two, and yet this is a sadly beautiful film about a teenage girl (Ree) who is attempting to care for her two younger siblings and a mother who's gone 'round the twist, after being abandoned by a meth-cooking father. Ree learns that her father has placed their house as collateral for bail and has a court date he's about to miss; she tries to find him in order to avoid losing the house. Her search takes her on a journey through the criminal underbelly of her extended family, and eventually she learns her father was killed, but no one will produce his body. My husband rightly pointed out the parallels between Ree's journey and that of Frodo's in Lord of the Rings -- this is an ultra-modern hero's journey. Her quest is for the truth; her ring of evil is avoiding the drugs that have destroyed so many in her family; and her Shire to come back to is personified by her younger brother and sister. It's a brutally real movie, but lovely just the same. The young actress who plays Ree, Jennifer Lawrence, has been nominated for Best Actress -- well deserved. I can't recommend this one enough, either.
Black Swan: This is seriously one of the worst movies I've ever seen. It's cliche, it's poorly filmed, the acting is terrible -- it's a goddamn melodrama. The biggest issue is that you're supposed to go on this journey into madness with the main character, Nina (Natalie Portman). But you don't really want to go on this journey with her, because you don't actually give a flying fuck about her. She's cold and crazy and she has a batshit crazy mom who is just a lame shadow of the Joan Crawford portrayed in Mommie Dearest. Honestly, there's better acting in the so-bad-it's-good Center Stage, if you want ballet, and if you want a crazy mother, just check out Mommie Dearest. If you want Natalie Portman, check out almost any other movie she's been in, including the pretty hilarious No Strings Attached. Don't check out this. It's garbage.
Seriously. Garbage.
Inception: Here's another movie I wasn't all that excited about, and in fact had no interest in it at all when it was first released. But it turned out to be really well done and fascinating -- a very cerebral action movie would be the most apt description I could give it. I've heard people bemoan its lack of acting nominations, but I don't agree -- I don't think any of the performances are all that fantastic. It's just an example of a movie that could have been sucktastic were it not elevated by an ensemble of compelling actors, led by Leonardo DiCaprio. There are some things I'd have done differently -- lose the unnecessarily bombastic Hans Zimmer score for a start -- but otherwise, it's a really good movie. Maybe a bit overlong, but still really good. Also, some people find it confusing, and I admittedly have no patience for that -- it's not confusing, but you do need to pay attention from beginning to end to follow along. If paying attention to a movie isn't your thing, you might want to skip this one.
The Social Network: Yes, this is me and Evil Rob's kind of movie -- sharp, witty dialogue and a quick-paced story. A fictional account of the rise of Mark Zuckerberg and Facebook. I am a huge fan of Facebook and resent the constant demonization in the press of its founder, so I had concerns that this movie would be overly critical, but it wasn't. Nor was it fawning. I think it just did its best to present a reasonably balanced picture of the early days of Facebook, framed by some of the ensuing lawsuits. I am married to an individual with undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome (his mom just thought he was really, really smart-- and he is!) and it's always been clear to me given everything I've read and seen about Mark Zuckerberg that he has this "disorder" as well, so I get very prickly and defensive whenever it's portrayed in television or film, because it's so easy to get it wrong and be insensitive about it. So we really liked this movie on a couple of levels -- first because it's about Facebook and that's just good entertainment; and second because of the way it deals with Zuckerberg's humanity -- it doesn't suggest why he is the way he is, but it does tell us what it might be like to live in his shoes. Evil Rob was particularly struck by the moment near the end when the attorney played by Rashida Jones explains to Zuckerberg why he'd never be able to win over a jury -- Rob knows he's usually seen the same way by people who don't know him.
The King's Speech: This was a lovely movie as well, and it has Colin Firth in a quietly brilliant performance as King George VI; Helena Bonham Carter as his wife; and Geoffrey Rush as his speech therapist. It's quite well done, and no one needs to chew any scenery to make us care about this king who struggled with stuttering. This is the odds on favorite for Best Picture and Best Actor, and it's well deserved. It's not my personal favorite of the 10, but I can't wait to see Mr. Darcy win his Oscar.
So many good movies! I'm glad I only disliked one of the ten -- it's really hard to sit through bad movies.
If it were up to me, True Grit would be Best Picture, with a Best Director win for the Coens. I can absolutely live with Colin Firth for Best Actor, although James Franco runs a close second for me. My personal Best Actress pick is Jennifer Lawrence for Winter's Bone. For Best Supporting Actor, I think I prefer Geoffrey Rush to Christian Bale, although I do love his Baleness, and for Supporting Actress, I'd choose Hailee Steinfeld for sure.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A Short List of Things I Find Way More Offensive Than Justin Bieber
1. Republicans.
2. spiders
3. Train
4. Miley Cyrus
5. shitty beer
6. mud tracks on the carpet
7. People who drive with their heads up their asses.
8. The Goo Goo Dolls.
9. Ill-fitting clothing that I have to look at on other people.
10. Lengthy periods of cold weather.
11. Violence.
12. Racism.
13. Anti-gay sentiment.
14. Pro-lifers who believe they should kill fully grown humans in order to "protect" fetuses.
15. Poorly written books that I had to pay money for.
16. Pro-Activ ads.
17. Jeanelle on Teen Mom 2.
18. Hypocrisy.
19. Religious fanatics. Of any religion.
20. Willful stupidity.
21. Monday mornings.
22. Sick people who come to work anyway.
23. Farts in the car.
24. People who chomp their gum.
25. People who wander around the grocery store like they're the only people there, stopping in the middle of aisles, blocking aisles, chit chatting with their neighbors in the middle of the walkways... etc. etc.
26. Stupid boring sitcoms that pander to the lowest common denominator.
27. Low budget ads on television.
28. Anyone in management at my old office. (See numbers 18 and 19.)
29. Limp pickles.
30. Neighbors who can't be arsed to throw away their baggies of doggie poop, instead leaving it on the staircase landings for others to... enjoy.
Yeah. I could go on...
2. spiders
3. Train
4. Miley Cyrus
5. shitty beer
6. mud tracks on the carpet
7. People who drive with their heads up their asses.
8. The Goo Goo Dolls.
9. Ill-fitting clothing that I have to look at on other people.
10. Lengthy periods of cold weather.
11. Violence.
12. Racism.
13. Anti-gay sentiment.
14. Pro-lifers who believe they should kill fully grown humans in order to "protect" fetuses.
15. Poorly written books that I had to pay money for.
16. Pro-Activ ads.
17. Jeanelle on Teen Mom 2.
18. Hypocrisy.
19. Religious fanatics. Of any religion.
20. Willful stupidity.
21. Monday mornings.
22. Sick people who come to work anyway.
23. Farts in the car.
24. People who chomp their gum.
25. People who wander around the grocery store like they're the only people there, stopping in the middle of aisles, blocking aisles, chit chatting with their neighbors in the middle of the walkways... etc. etc.
26. Stupid boring sitcoms that pander to the lowest common denominator.
27. Low budget ads on television.
28. Anyone in management at my old office. (See numbers 18 and 19.)
29. Limp pickles.
30. Neighbors who can't be arsed to throw away their baggies of doggie poop, instead leaving it on the staircase landings for others to... enjoy.
Yeah. I could go on...
Sunday, February 13, 2011
But at least we got the tree down.
The house is still kind of messy. But at least we got the tree down. It's amazing how much better that makes me feel. I mean, we were out of town for two weeks right after Christmas, so it's not like we really had the time or inclination to take it down before we left, but I didn't realize how annoyed I'd be by it once we got back. I mean, I've intentionally left my tree up till Valentine's Day before, so what makes this year any different?
Clutter. That's what makes it different.
It's not that I view the tree as clutter. It's that placing our tree causes other clutter to get shoved behind the couch in a pile. And we don't really have a lot of good places for the other Christmas decorations to go, so they were all cluttering up the bookshelves and stuff. And it was just annoying.
Also, I realized yesterday that we need at least three new bookcases.
That damn Ikea in Park Meadows can't open soon enough.
Clutter. That's what makes it different.
It's not that I view the tree as clutter. It's that placing our tree causes other clutter to get shoved behind the couch in a pile. And we don't really have a lot of good places for the other Christmas decorations to go, so they were all cluttering up the bookshelves and stuff. And it was just annoying.
Also, I realized yesterday that we need at least three new bookcases.
That damn Ikea in Park Meadows can't open soon enough.
Friday, February 11, 2011
And now it's February.
You should see what our house looks like.
I'm one of those people who comes right home from vacation and unpacks so I can start laundry and not have a giant mess to navigate around. And that's what I did when we got home from Florida: I unpacked my suitcase, Evil Rob's suitcase, and the dirty laundry suitcase. Pook's was neatly organized and full of clean clothes so I let it sit in the front room for a few days before finally putting it all away. But I think it was giving myself license to do that which created the current disaster we're calling "home." Because then it took me 10 whole days before I finally unpacked my giant Disney tote bag full of all the souvenirs Pook and I bought while at Disney World and Universal. And there are still five grocery store shopping bags in the hallway full of crap we've pulled out of the car post-trip, in addition to all the toys Pook bought at the Lego store.
But that's not all. Oh no.
Our Christmas tree is still up.
And all our Christmas decorations are still out.
I can't even tell you how much I'm hating my Christmas decorations right now. I just can't even stand the sight of them. It's starting to look like I will never decorate my house for Christmas ever again. Until November.
It's times like these when I find myself actually wishing that Harry Potter was real, and I could just whip out my wand and perform "one of those householdy spells" that Tonks was never any good at and get the damn stuff put away. Because I swear to you, if I stub my injured toe on one of those bags full of crap, I'm gonna kill someone.
Yeah, I have an injured toe. An ingrown toenail gone awry while walking around Disney World for five days. TMI? I thought so.
And by the way, I actually have a wand now. It's a replica of Sirius Black's wand. Someone -- or two someones, really -- convinced me I had to have it while we were making our last shopping rounds at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. It's pretty awesome. It has runes carved in it.
And hell -- I didn't have enough crap around my house to dust already. What's one more thing?
I'm one of those people who comes right home from vacation and unpacks so I can start laundry and not have a giant mess to navigate around. And that's what I did when we got home from Florida: I unpacked my suitcase, Evil Rob's suitcase, and the dirty laundry suitcase. Pook's was neatly organized and full of clean clothes so I let it sit in the front room for a few days before finally putting it all away. But I think it was giving myself license to do that which created the current disaster we're calling "home." Because then it took me 10 whole days before I finally unpacked my giant Disney tote bag full of all the souvenirs Pook and I bought while at Disney World and Universal. And there are still five grocery store shopping bags in the hallway full of crap we've pulled out of the car post-trip, in addition to all the toys Pook bought at the Lego store.
But that's not all. Oh no.
Our Christmas tree is still up.
And all our Christmas decorations are still out.
I can't even tell you how much I'm hating my Christmas decorations right now. I just can't even stand the sight of them. It's starting to look like I will never decorate my house for Christmas ever again. Until November.
It's times like these when I find myself actually wishing that Harry Potter was real, and I could just whip out my wand and perform "one of those householdy spells" that Tonks was never any good at and get the damn stuff put away. Because I swear to you, if I stub my injured toe on one of those bags full of crap, I'm gonna kill someone.
Yeah, I have an injured toe. An ingrown toenail gone awry while walking around Disney World for five days. TMI? I thought so.
And by the way, I actually have a wand now. It's a replica of Sirius Black's wand. Someone -- or two someones, really -- convinced me I had to have it while we were making our last shopping rounds at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. It's pretty awesome. It has runes carved in it.
And hell -- I didn't have enough crap around my house to dust already. What's one more thing?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
So ready. So, so ready.
GAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Our vacation is so close I can almost taste it. So close, yet so far away... a whole 8 days. One long weekend, and 5 workdays. I'm not sure I can wait. I am so looking forward to getting out of town for a bit. We haven't been on a vacation in forever. Our 2008 trip to Florida was so depressing and stressful that it hardly qualifies as a vacation -- I mean, it had its moments, but we were broke and worried about money the entire time, and both stressed about our jobs, and rushing everything about the trip because we didn't have a lot of vacation time left. It was more frustrating than fun, in a lot of ways. And before that, the last trip we went on was to Ontario in 2007. Which was fun, but could have been funner (yes, I realize that is not an actual word).
So I am ready. So, so ready. We've got a nice mid-price hotel on Disney property, and a meal plan so we'll be able to go to lots of yummy Disney restaurants and visit lots of characters. And obviously we've got a day planned at Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal -- like I'd go all the way to Orlando and miss that! The AccuWeather 15-day extended forecast is predicting temps in the 70s and low 80s for Orlando the week we're at Disney World, so we should be blessed with nice weather. And of course we get to spend a few days with Evil Rob's mom in Tallahassee.
Is it too soon to start packing? I mean, what would it hurt?? I could at least get organized with the stuff I won't have to wash between now and next week.
I'm too excited to sleep.
Our vacation is so close I can almost taste it. So close, yet so far away... a whole 8 days. One long weekend, and 5 workdays. I'm not sure I can wait. I am so looking forward to getting out of town for a bit. We haven't been on a vacation in forever. Our 2008 trip to Florida was so depressing and stressful that it hardly qualifies as a vacation -- I mean, it had its moments, but we were broke and worried about money the entire time, and both stressed about our jobs, and rushing everything about the trip because we didn't have a lot of vacation time left. It was more frustrating than fun, in a lot of ways. And before that, the last trip we went on was to Ontario in 2007. Which was fun, but could have been funner (yes, I realize that is not an actual word).
So I am ready. So, so ready. We've got a nice mid-price hotel on Disney property, and a meal plan so we'll be able to go to lots of yummy Disney restaurants and visit lots of characters. And obviously we've got a day planned at Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal -- like I'd go all the way to Orlando and miss that! The AccuWeather 15-day extended forecast is predicting temps in the 70s and low 80s for Orlando the week we're at Disney World, so we should be blessed with nice weather. And of course we get to spend a few days with Evil Rob's mom in Tallahassee.
Is it too soon to start packing? I mean, what would it hurt?? I could at least get organized with the stuff I won't have to wash between now and next week.
I'm too excited to sleep.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Weird Christmas, and other random stuff
This has been kind of a weird Christmas. For me, anyway.
Those of you who know me probably also know that I'm a bit of a Disney fan. Or maybe you don't. But you will for sure know I'm a Harry Potter fan. And as it happens, we're leaving in about two weeks for a trip to Florida, in which we will spend 8 days and nights at Disney World, and one day visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal's Islands of Adventure. And so naturally I am extraordinarily excited about this trip. Rob and I also agreed back in August that the trip would be our Christmas gift -- no stocking stuffers, no video games, no books, no stuff. And I thought that would be so difficult to endure, because me?? I love getting presents.
But it turns out that I was fine! I survived! I wasn't even a little bit sad not to have anything to open yesterday morning -- we just watched The Pook open his stuff, and then we headed out to the Waffle House for our traditional post-gift opening breakfast. Of course, it helped that my mom bought us all a bunch of presents, but still -- I'd have been fine either way. So I will take this as a sign of maturity on my part.
And also as a sign that I am now a grown up and can just go buy whatever I want, whenever I want it, and don't really need very many presents.
But yeah, so it was weird, because I am so excited to go on this vacation -- our first real vacation in years (the depressing trip of 2008 doesn't count, because we were broke and I was stressed about my job the entire time, rightfully so since I was let go just a few weeks later), by the way -- that I wasn't even all that excited about Christmas! And now I have already made myself a little countdown chart to hang on my desk at work... 9 more work days! 12 days total!
In other news, The Pook has turned into a teenager overnight. Yeah, he's still 9, but he acts like my best friend's 15-year-old daughter. Haaaaaaate. I'm not really sure how to cope with it. I've threatened to ground him 19 times in the last 48 hours. He's only escaped actual grounding because I keep leaving loopholes in my threats, like "One more outburst out of you today and you're grounded for a week." So then the next day, he has another outburst, because I only covered the day before with my threat. It's all very tricky, and I can only hope that we'll cover it all now, and when he is an actual teenager, he'll be really nice, like all the teenage boys he does karate with.
And at least he has role models.
A month ago, I never would have said this, but honestly, I am just over football for this year. Watching NFL Red Zone today was excruciatingly boring. I guess it's because I don't really have a team to care about any longer. I didn't realize how much I've come to hate the Broncos until I sat here actively rooting against them this afternoon, and then took offense when they won. It's the obsession with Tim Tebow. It disgusts me. Even people who should know better are obsessed with this guy. It creeps me out. I think he might be the antichrist.
I had this whole lengthy rant planned on this very subject, but I've decided that enough gets written and said about that "sanctimonious little prick" (my husband's quote) that I'm not going to devote any more space to it. Even if it's just here on my blog that only 10 people read.
I suspect that my excitement over my trip might be affecting my ability to enjoy the remainder of the regular season. Because I am excited for the BCS Championship game, which will be played the night we get to Disney World. I am looking forward to seeing Cam Newton work his magic against the ever so annoying Oregon Ducks.
Working on a handful of different books right now: Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken, about a World War II pilot who crash landed in the Pacific and was eventually captured by the Japanese and spent three years in a prison camp; Neil Gabler's Walt Disney biography that I've been working my way through for several weeks now -- it's good, but just really, really long; a book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, which my sister the artist recommended to me as a useful read about how we artists self-sabotage, and what we can do to avoid that trap; The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan, a continuation of his Heroes of Olympus series (Percy Jackson and all that) -- I pilfered this from The Pook's gift pile yesterday and truth be told, it's a bit plodding; and finally, A Novel Bookstore by French author Laurence Cosse -- a literary thriller in the most literal sense.
I'm having some issues with characterization of my protagonist in the novel I began writing for National Novel Writing Month, but otherwise, that's going well. I'm loving the process. Loving it a lot. It makes me feel whole again to be writing.
So yeah. A little random, and maybe a little boring. But whaddya do.
Those of you who know me probably also know that I'm a bit of a Disney fan. Or maybe you don't. But you will for sure know I'm a Harry Potter fan. And as it happens, we're leaving in about two weeks for a trip to Florida, in which we will spend 8 days and nights at Disney World, and one day visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal's Islands of Adventure. And so naturally I am extraordinarily excited about this trip. Rob and I also agreed back in August that the trip would be our Christmas gift -- no stocking stuffers, no video games, no books, no stuff. And I thought that would be so difficult to endure, because me?? I love getting presents.
But it turns out that I was fine! I survived! I wasn't even a little bit sad not to have anything to open yesterday morning -- we just watched The Pook open his stuff, and then we headed out to the Waffle House for our traditional post-gift opening breakfast. Of course, it helped that my mom bought us all a bunch of presents, but still -- I'd have been fine either way. So I will take this as a sign of maturity on my part.
And also as a sign that I am now a grown up and can just go buy whatever I want, whenever I want it, and don't really need very many presents.
But yeah, so it was weird, because I am so excited to go on this vacation -- our first real vacation in years (the depressing trip of 2008 doesn't count, because we were broke and I was stressed about my job the entire time, rightfully so since I was let go just a few weeks later), by the way -- that I wasn't even all that excited about Christmas! And now I have already made myself a little countdown chart to hang on my desk at work... 9 more work days! 12 days total!
In other news, The Pook has turned into a teenager overnight. Yeah, he's still 9, but he acts like my best friend's 15-year-old daughter. Haaaaaaate. I'm not really sure how to cope with it. I've threatened to ground him 19 times in the last 48 hours. He's only escaped actual grounding because I keep leaving loopholes in my threats, like "One more outburst out of you today and you're grounded for a week." So then the next day, he has another outburst, because I only covered the day before with my threat. It's all very tricky, and I can only hope that we'll cover it all now, and when he is an actual teenager, he'll be really nice, like all the teenage boys he does karate with.
And at least he has role models.
A month ago, I never would have said this, but honestly, I am just over football for this year. Watching NFL Red Zone today was excruciatingly boring. I guess it's because I don't really have a team to care about any longer. I didn't realize how much I've come to hate the Broncos until I sat here actively rooting against them this afternoon, and then took offense when they won. It's the obsession with Tim Tebow. It disgusts me. Even people who should know better are obsessed with this guy. It creeps me out. I think he might be the antichrist.
I had this whole lengthy rant planned on this very subject, but I've decided that enough gets written and said about that "sanctimonious little prick" (my husband's quote) that I'm not going to devote any more space to it. Even if it's just here on my blog that only 10 people read.
I suspect that my excitement over my trip might be affecting my ability to enjoy the remainder of the regular season. Because I am excited for the BCS Championship game, which will be played the night we get to Disney World. I am looking forward to seeing Cam Newton work his magic against the ever so annoying Oregon Ducks.
Working on a handful of different books right now: Laura Hillenbrand's Unbroken, about a World War II pilot who crash landed in the Pacific and was eventually captured by the Japanese and spent three years in a prison camp; Neil Gabler's Walt Disney biography that I've been working my way through for several weeks now -- it's good, but just really, really long; a book called The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, which my sister the artist recommended to me as a useful read about how we artists self-sabotage, and what we can do to avoid that trap; The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan, a continuation of his Heroes of Olympus series (Percy Jackson and all that) -- I pilfered this from The Pook's gift pile yesterday and truth be told, it's a bit plodding; and finally, A Novel Bookstore by French author Laurence Cosse -- a literary thriller in the most literal sense.
I'm having some issues with characterization of my protagonist in the novel I began writing for National Novel Writing Month, but otherwise, that's going well. I'm loving the process. Loving it a lot. It makes me feel whole again to be writing.
So yeah. A little random, and maybe a little boring. But whaddya do.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
A little epiphany for my Tuesday morning...
So I was just sitting here eating some crackers and tuna salad for breakfast, attached work-related emails to files, when I opened up an email from NaNoWriMo asking me to take their Participant Survey. And at the end of the survey was an opportunity to enter a drawing for a place in an online revision workshop, which of course I entered. And a link took me to the website of the organisation that offers the workshop, and I was thinking maybe I'd register for it in the event I don't win a place in the drawing (because let's face it, I never win anything, other than Evil Rob's undying love and affection, which I guess is way better than winning stuff like scrapbooking supplies or online classes). But then I balked at the cost.
And then I thought about it some more. And first I compared it to the cost of a scrapbooking retreat. Which I never balk at. Ever. Someone could be all, "500 bucks" and I'd be all, "Sign me up!" Because I love scrapbooking, and love scrapbooking retreats even more. And usually go on two per year.
But writing... writing is supposed to be this solitary struggle, right? I mean, I used to take a lot of workshops, but got into a rut with what I was working on in those workshops, and decided a few years back that it was time to just get it done and forget about workshopping -- well, we can all see how that worked out, since I've never actually finished my first novel. I dug myself into a giant rut and allowed life to get in the way of my dream of being a published writer. And then almost forgot about that dream altogether.
And so I realized that it was ridiculous of me to not want to spend money on a writing workshop, but I think nothing of spending money on scrapbooking classes and retreats all year long. Writing is what I want to do, what I've always done, who I am. Scrapbooking is my hobby.
In the end, not all that earth-shattering. But to me, maybe it is a little bit world changing.
And then I thought about it some more. And first I compared it to the cost of a scrapbooking retreat. Which I never balk at. Ever. Someone could be all, "500 bucks" and I'd be all, "Sign me up!" Because I love scrapbooking, and love scrapbooking retreats even more. And usually go on two per year.
But writing... writing is supposed to be this solitary struggle, right? I mean, I used to take a lot of workshops, but got into a rut with what I was working on in those workshops, and decided a few years back that it was time to just get it done and forget about workshopping -- well, we can all see how that worked out, since I've never actually finished my first novel. I dug myself into a giant rut and allowed life to get in the way of my dream of being a published writer. And then almost forgot about that dream altogether.
And so I realized that it was ridiculous of me to not want to spend money on a writing workshop, but I think nothing of spending money on scrapbooking classes and retreats all year long. Writing is what I want to do, what I've always done, who I am. Scrapbooking is my hobby.
In the end, not all that earth-shattering. But to me, maybe it is a little bit world changing.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
I almost forgot: I'm a WRITER.
Check that shit out -- right there on the left side of this post. That's a NaNoWriMo Winner! badge. Wanna know how I got that? I wrote a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. That was it -- all I had to do. It didn't have to be good, it didn't have to contribute to the national conversation, it didn't even have to be spelled correctly or use good grammar (although you can rest assured my novel does both those things, and does them well). It just had to be 50,000 words or more.
I committed to NaNoWriMo somewhere during the last week of October, when another blogger I like to read was talking about how she was going to do it, and used the word "again." I thought to myself, I'm being left behind. Left behind by people who don't even really write fiction. And so I figured I'd look into it, maybe give it a try this year. The main rule, other than the 50,000 words, is that you have to work on something new, not something you've already started. I'd had the germ of a potential chick lit masterpiece (um, right!) working its way around my brain for a few weeks leading up to this, so I figured I'd go ahead and commit that to paper. Or computer. Or whatever. Upon hitting the forums for the challenge, I took some advice from folks who have completed it in the past and decided to make an outline. Something I've never done in the past when working on fiction.
I got off to a really slow start. The entire first week of November was really busy for one reason or another, and I wasn't able to sit down in the evenings and start writing. In fact, I don't think I even started until maybe the 10th. So already, I was way behind. Apparently you want to average around 1,667 words per day. But once I get going, that kind of word count comes easily. It was just getting to the final tally that would be an issue. And once I did get started, I immediately started to feel it -- the feeling of obsession that's always come to me when writing fiction. I was suddenly distracted all the time, thinking about my characters, thinking about their wants and needs and hopes and dreams and motivations.
And that was the biggest road block, eventually: I've always written organically. My characters do what they want to do, or what they're going to do, whether I've gone into it thinking that they would do A, B, or C. And then I explore that, and let them go on their way, and see where it takes the story. It can be slow and arduous, but it's the way that works for me. And to force myself to use the outline and push forward the word count was nearly counter-intuitive for me. I wanted to go back and flesh things out; I wanted to revise as the characters matured; I wanted to add entire scenes. But I didn't. I stuck to my outline. And ultimately, I reached 50,767 words.
I reached it with a whimper, not a bang, around 5 o'clock this evening. I was starting to lose steam, as was the story. It has its good moments, but it has more bad and cheesy moments. If the purpose wasn't the word count, I'd have scrapped 60% of it and revised already.
But if the purpose wasn't the word count, I wouldn't have started it at all. I certainly wouldn't have pursued it till I reached 50,000 words. So what it was really about was reminding me of something I'd all but forgotten: I'm a writer. A writer. I've always been a writer. And I'd lost sight of that for the last few years. Busy with work, and taking care of my family, and all the distractions that cable television provides, I haven't written more than about 4 pages in the last five years. But now, I've written about 140 in the last three weeks alone. About 60 just this weekend.
Don't get me wrong. I don't want to make a habit of writing 60 pages in one weekend... unless I'm actually getting paid for it.
But I do want to get back to the habit of writing fiction all the time. Because it's what I love to do.
I committed to NaNoWriMo somewhere during the last week of October, when another blogger I like to read was talking about how she was going to do it, and used the word "again." I thought to myself, I'm being left behind. Left behind by people who don't even really write fiction. And so I figured I'd look into it, maybe give it a try this year. The main rule, other than the 50,000 words, is that you have to work on something new, not something you've already started. I'd had the germ of a potential chick lit masterpiece (um, right!) working its way around my brain for a few weeks leading up to this, so I figured I'd go ahead and commit that to paper. Or computer. Or whatever. Upon hitting the forums for the challenge, I took some advice from folks who have completed it in the past and decided to make an outline. Something I've never done in the past when working on fiction.
I got off to a really slow start. The entire first week of November was really busy for one reason or another, and I wasn't able to sit down in the evenings and start writing. In fact, I don't think I even started until maybe the 10th. So already, I was way behind. Apparently you want to average around 1,667 words per day. But once I get going, that kind of word count comes easily. It was just getting to the final tally that would be an issue. And once I did get started, I immediately started to feel it -- the feeling of obsession that's always come to me when writing fiction. I was suddenly distracted all the time, thinking about my characters, thinking about their wants and needs and hopes and dreams and motivations.
And that was the biggest road block, eventually: I've always written organically. My characters do what they want to do, or what they're going to do, whether I've gone into it thinking that they would do A, B, or C. And then I explore that, and let them go on their way, and see where it takes the story. It can be slow and arduous, but it's the way that works for me. And to force myself to use the outline and push forward the word count was nearly counter-intuitive for me. I wanted to go back and flesh things out; I wanted to revise as the characters matured; I wanted to add entire scenes. But I didn't. I stuck to my outline. And ultimately, I reached 50,767 words.
I reached it with a whimper, not a bang, around 5 o'clock this evening. I was starting to lose steam, as was the story. It has its good moments, but it has more bad and cheesy moments. If the purpose wasn't the word count, I'd have scrapped 60% of it and revised already.
But if the purpose wasn't the word count, I wouldn't have started it at all. I certainly wouldn't have pursued it till I reached 50,000 words. So what it was really about was reminding me of something I'd all but forgotten: I'm a writer. A writer. I've always been a writer. And I'd lost sight of that for the last few years. Busy with work, and taking care of my family, and all the distractions that cable television provides, I haven't written more than about 4 pages in the last five years. But now, I've written about 140 in the last three weeks alone. About 60 just this weekend.
Don't get me wrong. I don't want to make a habit of writing 60 pages in one weekend... unless I'm actually getting paid for it.
But I do want to get back to the habit of writing fiction all the time. Because it's what I love to do.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Stuff I'm Thankful for Right Now
This was going to be one of my generic "stuff I love this week" posts but then I realized it was Thanksgiving... Anyway, in no particular order:
1). My 15-year-old Vancouver Roots sweatshirt, which is quite literally falling apart at the seams but is still enough to keep me warm now that the temperatures have dipped below freezing.
2). That crazy giant bunch of cilantro I picked up at Sunflower yesterday morning. I've never smelled something so lovely. I wish someone would bottle that so I could diffuse it in my scent diffuser.
3). And Sunflower Market, which keeps us from going broke on almost a weekly basis.
4). My son, The Pook. He is caught somewhere between "little boy" and "tween," and although his attitude is often one of suckitude, he is always funny and mostly sweet. I love seeing him work so hard at karate, and still hold out hope that this will eventually spill over into school work as well...
5). My husband, Evil Rob. He is the best and the sweetest.
6). Disney's XD channel, which is full of kid shows and cartoons that are actually funny (or awesome, in the case of The Avengers: The Earth's Mightiest Heroes), so neither Rob nor I wish to stab out an eye while The Pook watches his shows.
7). Speaking of Disney, I'm totally thankful that we have already paid our January Disney World trip in advance. We're talking paid in full, people!!! This is so out of character for us, but here's hoping it's something that will be in character going forward.
8). NaNoWriMo. Or National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't know. This is where you try to write a 50,000-word novel in the month of November. I've tried for the first time this year, and while I'm not sure at this point that I'll hit 50,000, I do know I've already written more this month than I have in the last 5 years combined. And have rediscovered my love of writing and making up stories, no matter how stupid they are.
9). GLEE. Please. I'm not gonna leave Glee out. It seems odd that a musical show has replaced Lost as my "best show evarrrrr" show, but there you go. And any episode that features Kurt as the main storyline is just icing on the cake.
10). Nicki Minaj's rap in Kanye's "Monster." This is seriously the best 1 minute and 20 seconds of a song I've heard in years. It's a master class in everything rap is supposed to be -- sort of over the top and insane, and she rhymes "Sri Lanka" and "Willy Wonka." It's outstanding. (If anyone is ever tempted to listen to a song based on my recommendation, I am going to warn you that this particular one contains f-bombs galore. Kanye seems a little irritated these days. I dunno why.)
11). Bruno Mars. Especially "Just the Way You Are." You may heard this one on GLEE this week. The original is even better. The song at the wedding in this week's GLEE is also by Bruno Mars, and is also awesome in its original form.
12). Kleenex. Was there ever a better invention than Kleenex? Especially this time of year.
13). I'm also continually thankful to have a job, and a good job at that.
14). My family.
15). My friends.
16). Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I. I love movies based on books that are actually outstanding pieces of film making, and this one fits the bill. Some have complained that the "wandering lost" scenes go on far too long (a similar complaint was uttered frequently about the book, by people who missed the point), but to Rob and I both, those were the best parts of the movie. I don't have to have stuff blowing up every ten minutes and special effects or whatever -- I need some emotion. And those wide desolate shots capture perfectly what's happening with Harry (and Hermione and Ron) at that time. Also, the scene where Harry and Hermione dance to Nick Cave's "O Little Children" was a really nice touch. Totally awkward and dorky, and perfect. I cried at least 10 times the first time I saw it but got that down to a mere 5 the second time.
17). My kindle, as always. I've got 4 books going right now. It's so much easier to do that with a kindle. Way less clutter. Don't get me wrong -- I still love actual books. Books are awesome. But my kindle allows me to keep reading after my carpal tunnel syndrome wants me to stop.
All right, I gotta go -- I've got cranberry salsa to make, sweet potatoes to chop, and brussels sprouts to bake. Happy Thanksgiving!!
1). My 15-year-old Vancouver Roots sweatshirt, which is quite literally falling apart at the seams but is still enough to keep me warm now that the temperatures have dipped below freezing.
2). That crazy giant bunch of cilantro I picked up at Sunflower yesterday morning. I've never smelled something so lovely. I wish someone would bottle that so I could diffuse it in my scent diffuser.
3). And Sunflower Market, which keeps us from going broke on almost a weekly basis.
4). My son, The Pook. He is caught somewhere between "little boy" and "tween," and although his attitude is often one of suckitude, he is always funny and mostly sweet. I love seeing him work so hard at karate, and still hold out hope that this will eventually spill over into school work as well...
5). My husband, Evil Rob. He is the best and the sweetest.
6). Disney's XD channel, which is full of kid shows and cartoons that are actually funny (or awesome, in the case of The Avengers: The Earth's Mightiest Heroes), so neither Rob nor I wish to stab out an eye while The Pook watches his shows.
7). Speaking of Disney, I'm totally thankful that we have already paid our January Disney World trip in advance. We're talking paid in full, people!!! This is so out of character for us, but here's hoping it's something that will be in character going forward.
8). NaNoWriMo. Or National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't know. This is where you try to write a 50,000-word novel in the month of November. I've tried for the first time this year, and while I'm not sure at this point that I'll hit 50,000, I do know I've already written more this month than I have in the last 5 years combined. And have rediscovered my love of writing and making up stories, no matter how stupid they are.
9). GLEE. Please. I'm not gonna leave Glee out. It seems odd that a musical show has replaced Lost as my "best show evarrrrr" show, but there you go. And any episode that features Kurt as the main storyline is just icing on the cake.
10). Nicki Minaj's rap in Kanye's "Monster." This is seriously the best 1 minute and 20 seconds of a song I've heard in years. It's a master class in everything rap is supposed to be -- sort of over the top and insane, and she rhymes "Sri Lanka" and "Willy Wonka." It's outstanding. (If anyone is ever tempted to listen to a song based on my recommendation, I am going to warn you that this particular one contains f-bombs galore. Kanye seems a little irritated these days. I dunno why.)
11). Bruno Mars. Especially "Just the Way You Are." You may heard this one on GLEE this week. The original is even better. The song at the wedding in this week's GLEE is also by Bruno Mars, and is also awesome in its original form.
12). Kleenex. Was there ever a better invention than Kleenex? Especially this time of year.
13). I'm also continually thankful to have a job, and a good job at that.
14). My family.
15). My friends.
16). Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I. I love movies based on books that are actually outstanding pieces of film making, and this one fits the bill. Some have complained that the "wandering lost" scenes go on far too long (a similar complaint was uttered frequently about the book, by people who missed the point), but to Rob and I both, those were the best parts of the movie. I don't have to have stuff blowing up every ten minutes and special effects or whatever -- I need some emotion. And those wide desolate shots capture perfectly what's happening with Harry (and Hermione and Ron) at that time. Also, the scene where Harry and Hermione dance to Nick Cave's "O Little Children" was a really nice touch. Totally awkward and dorky, and perfect. I cried at least 10 times the first time I saw it but got that down to a mere 5 the second time.
17). My kindle, as always. I've got 4 books going right now. It's so much easier to do that with a kindle. Way less clutter. Don't get me wrong -- I still love actual books. Books are awesome. But my kindle allows me to keep reading after my carpal tunnel syndrome wants me to stop.
All right, I gotta go -- I've got cranberry salsa to make, sweet potatoes to chop, and brussels sprouts to bake. Happy Thanksgiving!!
Friday, November 12, 2010
What I've Read This Month...
No More Dying Then, Ruth Rendell 
This is an Inspector Wexford mystery, sort of -- I mean, he's there, involved in the investigation, but the main focus seemed to be on one of his associates. It's always interesting to go back to the 1960s and earlier in mystery novels and see how the pages just drip with male chauvinism, even from female writers. Sadly, it was too distracting in this book for me to actually say I enjoyed it. And the resolution of the mystery was one of those ludicrous ones where it has absolutely nothing to do with any of the clues that were dropped or the suspects that were interviewed. That's one rule I like followed in my mysteries -- I don't want the ending to come out of left field. So a little off. But the writing was good. You may also remember this as being the "Booger Book" noted in my last entry. Good times!
This is an Inspector Wexford mystery, sort of -- I mean, he's there, involved in the investigation, but the main focus seemed to be on one of his associates. It's always interesting to go back to the 1960s and earlier in mystery novels and see how the pages just drip with male chauvinism, even from female writers. Sadly, it was too distracting in this book for me to actually say I enjoyed it. And the resolution of the mystery was one of those ludicrous ones where it has absolutely nothing to do with any of the clues that were dropped or the suspects that were interviewed. That's one rule I like followed in my mysteries -- I don't want the ending to come out of left field. So a little off. But the writing was good. You may also remember this as being the "Booger Book" noted in my last entry. Good times!
Loose Lips, Claire Berlinski This one I picked up quite by accident as I was browsing the aisles looking for something else -- well, actually, the second book by this author was displayed with its cover out, and it looked pretty so I picked it up (I judge books by their covers all the time), and it sounded like fun when I read the jacket copy, and then I noticed this one sitting near it and figured I might as well read them both. So glad I did! This was a fun sort of "chick lit" book about a young woman who applies to the CIA sometime in the late 1990s and spends about a year in spy-training camp. She falls in love with a guy we're not meant to trust from the get go, and in the end, she doesn't quite make the cut. But it's a really fun read. Highly recommend this one.L
ion Eyes, Claire Berlinski This is basically kind of a sequel to Loose Lips. A metafiction sequel. If one can do metafiction in smart girl's chick lit. A fictional version of Claire Berlinski is living in Paris, struggling with writers' block following the success of her first novel (Loose Lips). She gets a random email from a man living in Iran one night, asking where he can purchase a copy of her book. She sends him a pdf file of it, and they strike up a correspondence, eventually falling for one another. Claire takes a trip to Istanbul to escape from her writers' block and falls in with an American couple; the wife turns out to be a CIA agent and wants Claire to convince the man she's been corresponding with to spy in Iran on behalf of the United States. I won't spoil the ending, although I kind of wish it had gone differently -- let's just say I'm a sucker for a happy, neat ending. The real Claire Berlinski isn't, though -- she's more a fan of allowing her strong female characters to be enough for themselves, just as they are. They don't need a man. Which is actually fantastic and made me love these two books all the more.Last Night At Chateau Marmont, Lauren Weisberger I was all set to not like this book a whole l
ot, and I do have my problems with it, but all in all, I'm really glad I grabbed it off the New Releases tables at the library on my way to the check out desk. I'm just going to say that I hated The Devil Wears Prada (the book -- liked the movie well enough, though), and refused to even entertain the notion of reading Chasing Harry Winston. But this one sounded like a lot of fun because it involved rock stars. Sort of. Our heroine has been married several years to her husband, a musician with a local following; he is catapulted to stardom following an appearance on Jay Leno, and trouble for their marriage follows. They are both such decent, kind human beings that you find yourself rooting for them from the get go, and I will confess that at one point I did have to skip to the last few pages to make sure I was going to get the ending I hoped for. The things I had issues with: the cliche best friend, who wasn't even a very interesting character or sympathetic best friend; the failure to resolve a problem the main character has because of some very bad behavior on her brother's girlfriend's part; and some awkwardness in creating realistic dialogue. Otherwise, it was a really enjoyable read.
ot, and I do have my problems with it, but all in all, I'm really glad I grabbed it off the New Releases tables at the library on my way to the check out desk. I'm just going to say that I hated The Devil Wears Prada (the book -- liked the movie well enough, though), and refused to even entertain the notion of reading Chasing Harry Winston. But this one sounded like a lot of fun because it involved rock stars. Sort of. Our heroine has been married several years to her husband, a musician with a local following; he is catapulted to stardom following an appearance on Jay Leno, and trouble for their marriage follows. They are both such decent, kind human beings that you find yourself rooting for them from the get go, and I will confess that at one point I did have to skip to the last few pages to make sure I was going to get the ending I hoped for. The things I had issues with: the cliche best friend, who wasn't even a very interesting character or sympathetic best friend; the failure to resolve a problem the main character has because of some very bad behavior on her brother's girlfriend's part; and some awkwardness in creating realistic dialogue. Otherwise, it was a really enjoyable read. Blind
man's Bluff, Faye Kellerman This is the latest of Faye Kellerman's Pete Decker detective novels, and it's an entertaining enough installment. I was sad not to see much of Pete and Rina's kids, but the plot was intriguing -- ripped loosely from the headlines as always. I am getting to the point of concern, though, with the casual racism in Ms. Kellerman's work against California's Latino population (all her novels take place in the Los Angeles area). I'm not sure if it's a misguided attempt at portraying the casual racism of some of the peripheral characters, or a poorly written attempt to do the same. Unfortunately, it just comes off as racism in the narrative. If this trend continues in her next book, I'll have to stop reading her stuff.
man's Bluff, Faye Kellerman This is the latest of Faye Kellerman's Pete Decker detective novels, and it's an entertaining enough installment. I was sad not to see much of Pete and Rina's kids, but the plot was intriguing -- ripped loosely from the headlines as always. I am getting to the point of concern, though, with the casual racism in Ms. Kellerman's work against California's Latino population (all her novels take place in the Los Angeles area). I'm not sure if it's a misguided attempt at portraying the casual racism of some of the peripheral characters, or a poorly written attempt to do the same. Unfortunately, it just comes off as racism in the narrative. If this trend continues in her next book, I'll have to stop reading her stuff. I've also been reading a bunch of free essays available from Amazon for kindle -- mostly literary criticism, but also some by Bruce Springsteen reflecting on the making of Darkness on the Edge of Town, one of my all-time favorite albums. And I'm still making my way through Neil Gabler's Walt Disney, a biography of gargantuan proportions (I believe the print version is around 1000 pages, so I'm really glad to be reading this one on my kindle). It's an excellent work, but it's very detailed and gets a touch dry at times. The chapter on the making of Snow White was weirdly gripping, though. Hopefully I'll have some more time to really sit down with it this weekend, and then I can move on to something else... "something else" being Life, by KEEEEEEEF... er, Keith Richards. I cannot WAIT to read that book!!
Um, not in the same way I cannot wait for the new Harry Potter movie, though. That would just be crazy.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Fun With Library Books
So The Pook and I went to the library last weekend, and I checked out about 9 books of my own to read.
Oh, stop with the pretending to have a heart failure. I've always loved the library.
Except... I'm a germ-phobe.
I haven't always been a germ-phobe. Or at least not to the extent that I am now. And let me just say that my levels of germ-phobiness don't even approach those of many other people I know. I will, for example, touch the door handle when leaving a public restroom. Usually. Unless it's visibly foul.
But the library... I hold the library responsible for my germ-phobiness. Yes. I do.
You see, a few years ago I was a single mother constantly struggling to make ends meet. I was not at liberty to drop a hundred bucks a paycheck on new books (we won't talk about how much I was spending on my comic collection at the time). So we went to the library all the time.
And so one night, I'm sitting in my favorite chair at home, sipping a beverage and reading a book -- a Faye Kellerman detective novel. And I smell... something. Something like cigarettes. So I check the window, figuring someone from my apartment building must be out front smoking right near my window. But the window was closed.
So I sniff my own clothing -- I've never smoked a day in my life but maybe I went someplace that day where someone else was smoking and it got into my clothes. You know how that goes.
But still nothing.
And then I realize... It was the book.
The whole damn book.
Not just the cover, but every single page. Permeated by the smell of stale cigarette smoke.
And then I start examining the book more closely. And it's filthy. Filthy. It's filthy, and it stinks.
So I thought I'd just read it faster, and try not to touch it. Rest it on my lap, or on the table, and just use one finger to turn the pages. But soon, I felt like the smell of the book was bleeding into my hands. And every 20 minutes or so I was getting up to go scrub my hands clean. But I was really creeped out by thoughts of germs and bacteria and god knows what else crawling all over me.
I finished the book, and the others I had checked out at the same time.
But from that point forward, I've become this person who won't even touch a book in the library unless it looks relatively new. I inspect the edges of the pages to make sure they are properly colored, not deeply yellowed with age and dirt. If it passes those two tests, I flip through it to make sure there are no mysterious stains inside. And then, if not, I'm willing to add it to my check out pile.
Sadly, there are times when even this level of examination doesn't work, and I come home and get 67 pages into a pretty good read and suddenly, there's what appears to be a booger in one of the margins. Or a mysterious food particle in the crease between pages.
And it grosses me out. I mean, there's no better way to say it. It's gross and nasty and it kind of makes me hate people. I mean, what kind of person wipes a booger into a library book? Or any book for that matter? What kind of person thinks it's okay to eat over a library book, which by its very definition means it's shared with other people?
A gross person, that's what kind.
I don't even lend out my own books, because I see how other people treat books, and I can't have my own books come back to me in that condition... if they come back at all. My own father bends back the spines of his books. Bending back the spine of a book destroys it. Eventually the pages will fall out! And don't even get me started on the people who think that it's a good idea to turn down a corner of a book's page to mark their place. Um, how about trying a bookmark, people??
So of course dirty, smelly library books are going to send me into fits of rage.
But I think I've coped pretty well with this latest batch.
Until, that is, I found something mysterious on page 72 of Ruth Rendell's No More Dying Then. And then I became hyper-aware of how smelly the cover was, and my palms started to itch, and I was sure I was going to come down with pink eye or something equally disgusting if I kept reading.
But I did keep reading, and it was an entertaining book. And you should all be so proud of me for conquering my fear.
Until the next time.
Oh, stop with the pretending to have a heart failure. I've always loved the library.
Except... I'm a germ-phobe.
I haven't always been a germ-phobe. Or at least not to the extent that I am now. And let me just say that my levels of germ-phobiness don't even approach those of many other people I know. I will, for example, touch the door handle when leaving a public restroom. Usually. Unless it's visibly foul.
But the library... I hold the library responsible for my germ-phobiness. Yes. I do.
You see, a few years ago I was a single mother constantly struggling to make ends meet. I was not at liberty to drop a hundred bucks a paycheck on new books (we won't talk about how much I was spending on my comic collection at the time). So we went to the library all the time.
And so one night, I'm sitting in my favorite chair at home, sipping a beverage and reading a book -- a Faye Kellerman detective novel. And I smell... something. Something like cigarettes. So I check the window, figuring someone from my apartment building must be out front smoking right near my window. But the window was closed.
So I sniff my own clothing -- I've never smoked a day in my life but maybe I went someplace that day where someone else was smoking and it got into my clothes. You know how that goes.
But still nothing.
And then I realize... It was the book.
The whole damn book.
Not just the cover, but every single page. Permeated by the smell of stale cigarette smoke.
And then I start examining the book more closely. And it's filthy. Filthy. It's filthy, and it stinks.
So I thought I'd just read it faster, and try not to touch it. Rest it on my lap, or on the table, and just use one finger to turn the pages. But soon, I felt like the smell of the book was bleeding into my hands. And every 20 minutes or so I was getting up to go scrub my hands clean. But I was really creeped out by thoughts of germs and bacteria and god knows what else crawling all over me.
I finished the book, and the others I had checked out at the same time.
But from that point forward, I've become this person who won't even touch a book in the library unless it looks relatively new. I inspect the edges of the pages to make sure they are properly colored, not deeply yellowed with age and dirt. If it passes those two tests, I flip through it to make sure there are no mysterious stains inside. And then, if not, I'm willing to add it to my check out pile.
Sadly, there are times when even this level of examination doesn't work, and I come home and get 67 pages into a pretty good read and suddenly, there's what appears to be a booger in one of the margins. Or a mysterious food particle in the crease between pages.
And it grosses me out. I mean, there's no better way to say it. It's gross and nasty and it kind of makes me hate people. I mean, what kind of person wipes a booger into a library book? Or any book for that matter? What kind of person thinks it's okay to eat over a library book, which by its very definition means it's shared with other people?
A gross person, that's what kind.
I don't even lend out my own books, because I see how other people treat books, and I can't have my own books come back to me in that condition... if they come back at all. My own father bends back the spines of his books. Bending back the spine of a book destroys it. Eventually the pages will fall out! And don't even get me started on the people who think that it's a good idea to turn down a corner of a book's page to mark their place. Um, how about trying a bookmark, people??
So of course dirty, smelly library books are going to send me into fits of rage.
But I think I've coped pretty well with this latest batch.
Until, that is, I found something mysterious on page 72 of Ruth Rendell's No More Dying Then. And then I became hyper-aware of how smelly the cover was, and my palms started to itch, and I was sure I was going to come down with pink eye or something equally disgusting if I kept reading.
But I did keep reading, and it was an entertaining book. And you should all be so proud of me for conquering my fear.
Until the next time.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Or Perhaps Not...
I'm never going to finish Freedom.
Honestly, people, I can't even get past the first chapter.
I have tried. Maybe I haven't done my best, but I have tried. I have tried in all different moods, all different places, all different weather (okay, that's not true because we've only had one kind of weather here for the last month: sunny and unseasonably hot), and I cannot find my way into this damn book.
There's nothing to grab onto. Nothing.
I feel like I'm missing something.
I've felt this way before: The Corrections. Cold Mountain. Memoirs of A Geisha. Twilight (although that's just poorly written, so I actually don't feel like I'm missing something so much as attempting to save whatever brain cells are left at this point in my life by giving it a pass). Anything by William Faulkner or Richard Ford. I can probably think of more -- books that I just don't get and can't understand their appeal, that is.
I used to beat myself up about it. But sometime around page 37 of Cold Mountain, I gave myself permission not to do this anymore -- not to force myself to read books just because everyone else was reading them, or because a bunch of people told me they were good. I gave myself permission to read books the way I read them growing up, back before the phrase Required Reading came along and tried to suck all the pleasure out of books (whose idea, by the way, was it that I major in English Lit in college? Because I'm pretty sure it wasn't mine!). I gave myself permission to not finish the book if it still sucked after 20-some-odd pages. And I wasn't going to feel like a failure if I didn't quite get into a critically acclaimed book. Those critics are reading for a paycheck anyway -- they aren't reading solely because it's fun. And you can't tell me that doesn't make a difference.
But still. This time I feel like kind of a failure.
I mean, how hard is it to just make a decision to read a book and then read the damn book???
I've read 71 books since late January. I'm midway through the 72nd. I'm (obviously) not counting Freedom. So clearly committing is not the issue. Doing the work is not the issue.
The fact is, the book doesn't speak to me. Several pages into the first chapter, I'm still confused about which family this book is actually about; nothing has really happened and there's all this backstory about people I don't know or care about. The sentences are well-constructed but they're sterile. There's no feeling. And not surprisingly, that was the same major issue I had with The Corrections. I don't think you can distance yourself this much from your narrative and your characters and still get your readers to give a damn about any of it.
So I quit. I give up. I hope everyone else really enjoys "the book of the century" (pfffft). I will not be enjoying with you.
Instead, I am going to finish this awesome biography of Walt Disney that I've been reading.
Maybe that explains everything...
Honestly, people, I can't even get past the first chapter.
I have tried. Maybe I haven't done my best, but I have tried. I have tried in all different moods, all different places, all different weather (okay, that's not true because we've only had one kind of weather here for the last month: sunny and unseasonably hot), and I cannot find my way into this damn book.
There's nothing to grab onto. Nothing.
I feel like I'm missing something.
I've felt this way before: The Corrections. Cold Mountain. Memoirs of A Geisha. Twilight (although that's just poorly written, so I actually don't feel like I'm missing something so much as attempting to save whatever brain cells are left at this point in my life by giving it a pass). Anything by William Faulkner or Richard Ford. I can probably think of more -- books that I just don't get and can't understand their appeal, that is.
I used to beat myself up about it. But sometime around page 37 of Cold Mountain, I gave myself permission not to do this anymore -- not to force myself to read books just because everyone else was reading them, or because a bunch of people told me they were good. I gave myself permission to read books the way I read them growing up, back before the phrase Required Reading came along and tried to suck all the pleasure out of books (whose idea, by the way, was it that I major in English Lit in college? Because I'm pretty sure it wasn't mine!). I gave myself permission to not finish the book if it still sucked after 20-some-odd pages. And I wasn't going to feel like a failure if I didn't quite get into a critically acclaimed book. Those critics are reading for a paycheck anyway -- they aren't reading solely because it's fun. And you can't tell me that doesn't make a difference.
But still. This time I feel like kind of a failure.
I mean, how hard is it to just make a decision to read a book and then read the damn book???
I've read 71 books since late January. I'm midway through the 72nd. I'm (obviously) not counting Freedom. So clearly committing is not the issue. Doing the work is not the issue.
The fact is, the book doesn't speak to me. Several pages into the first chapter, I'm still confused about which family this book is actually about; nothing has really happened and there's all this backstory about people I don't know or care about. The sentences are well-constructed but they're sterile. There's no feeling. And not surprisingly, that was the same major issue I had with The Corrections. I don't think you can distance yourself this much from your narrative and your characters and still get your readers to give a damn about any of it.
So I quit. I give up. I hope everyone else really enjoys "the book of the century" (pfffft). I will not be enjoying with you.
Instead, I am going to finish this awesome biography of Walt Disney that I've been reading.
Maybe that explains everything...
Monday, September 20, 2010
But First! A review of Bellfield Hall by Anna Dean
Bellfield Hall (Anna Dean) was one of the books I received as a birthday gift from my mother in law; it came highly recommended by AustenBlog. It is a mystery set in the Regency period, intended to appeal to fans of Jane Austen. I had started reading it back in March but then got my Kindle right around the same time, and spent the next several months dissing my pile of actual books. So Bellfield Hall languished till I picked it up again yesterday afternoon (I needed a palette cleanser after reading two ridiculous faerie-related young adult novels in a row) and spent the rest of the day reading it.Miss Dido Kent (spinster) is visiting her young niece on the occasion of her engagement party when a young woman turns up murdered in the gardens of Bellfield Hall. Dido's inquisitive nature soon has her investigating the murder a la Miss Marple. It quickly becomes obvious that the murder had to have been committed by someone within the house, and a great many secrets held by all present become known to Dido. The mystery is eventually solved and there is an ending satisfactory to most parties involved.
I realize that's not much of a recap -- I fear I would wind up telling half the plot if I got much more involved than that.
The read was definitely an enjoyable one, in the same vein as My Dear Charlotte, which I reviewed a few months ago. I liked our heroine immensely, and the setting was everything I want out of a book that's supposed to make me think about Jane Austen. There were times when the voice stepped a bit out of the boundaries of the historical time period -- the characters made comments now and then that wouldn't have been used at the time. This didn't distract me terribly (I read one review in which the blogger alleges the characters say "stuff" all the time, which I would have noticed, so I'll posit that it was said once and since she didn't like the book anyway, it felt like they said it over and over), especially since the aim of the book was true -- e.g. if you enjoy Jane Austen, historical mysteries, Miss Marple, Agatha Christie, or all of the above, you'll enjoy this book. It's very well-written -- not as lyrical as My Dear Charlotte but not pandering either.
I didn't realize until just this morning that this is actually the second book in an intended series; for some reason I thought this was the first. So of course now I have every intention of reading the first one -- but it's not available in the United States! I hate when that happens. Also it appears the third in the series has also been published in the U.K. Here's hoping it is eventually released here as well.
Honestly? It's not going well with Freedom. I continue to struggle my way through the first chapter, having had promises of sex, drugs, rock and roll, and redemption if I can only stick it out. But thus far, it's just a slog through a swamp of too many words. I can't believe Oprah loves this book so much... then again, this is the same woman who wanted everyone to read William Faulkner a few years back. Personally I think the only time anyone should ever read William Faulkner is as a Lit major in college, under threat of not graduating.
Or maybe that's just me.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Stay Tuned...
I'm going to read Jonathan Franzen's new book Freedom. And then I'm going to review it here.
Some pre-emptive disclosure is necessary: I hated The Corrections (it was a long, boring book filled with whiny and unlikable people), and Franzen himself seems like a smug asshole (no one thinks you're hip and cool for turning down Oprah, not even my smug asshole hipster friends, dude, so give it a rest already). So I have to be open about the fact that I am going into reading it with copious amounts of negativity. I am expecting to hate it. But the HYPE! I can't get past it. I really have to read this book that's been called "the novel of the century" and that has caused two of my favorite (female) writers to get all up in arms about gender inequity in the literary world.
Granted the century is but 10 years old, and there's plenty of time for something better to come along. However, I maintain that the best book EVER is Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. And that book came out in 2001. And won a Pulitzer Prize! So it stands to reason that my vote for the Novel of the Century is already cast.
But anyway. I'm gonna read this thing. I am. The whole thing.
No, really.
Some pre-emptive disclosure is necessary: I hated The Corrections (it was a long, boring book filled with whiny and unlikable people), and Franzen himself seems like a smug asshole (no one thinks you're hip and cool for turning down Oprah, not even my smug asshole hipster friends, dude, so give it a rest already). So I have to be open about the fact that I am going into reading it with copious amounts of negativity. I am expecting to hate it. But the HYPE! I can't get past it. I really have to read this book that's been called "the novel of the century" and that has caused two of my favorite (female) writers to get all up in arms about gender inequity in the literary world.
Granted the century is but 10 years old, and there's plenty of time for something better to come along. However, I maintain that the best book EVER is Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. And that book came out in 2001. And won a Pulitzer Prize! So it stands to reason that my vote for the Novel of the Century is already cast.
But anyway. I'm gonna read this thing. I am. The whole thing.
No, really.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Release the Kraken!!!!!
The Pook and I are sitting here watching the reboot of Clash of the Titans. And let me tell you: it is AWESOME.
Granted, I probably wouldn't be saying that if we'd seen it in the theatre and spent 11 bucks per ticket. But on the small screen here at home on a lazy Sunday morning? Awesome.
What they've done is hire some better actors to breathe life into an uber-cheesey script, bring the special effects a bit more current, and yet still maintain a bit of the cheese-factor that we all so loved in the original.
Pook is so into Greek mythology, and it's really fun to listen to him shout out who all the characters and creatures are before they're actually named.
If only there were some way to transfer that love of Greek mythology into "love of 4th grade."
Granted, I probably wouldn't be saying that if we'd seen it in the theatre and spent 11 bucks per ticket. But on the small screen here at home on a lazy Sunday morning? Awesome.
What they've done is hire some better actors to breathe life into an uber-cheesey script, bring the special effects a bit more current, and yet still maintain a bit of the cheese-factor that we all so loved in the original.
Pook is so into Greek mythology, and it's really fun to listen to him shout out who all the characters and creatures are before they're actually named.
If only there were some way to transfer that love of Greek mythology into "love of 4th grade."
Book Review: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo
So this is kinda weird: I actually read this book.Weird, because usually the very fiber of my being cringes away from anything that "everyone is reading," anything with the amount of hype that's surrounded this particular book for what seems like ages.
But then someone told me they didn't like it, which was interesting since it seems like everyone and their dog loves this book. And then I read something about it in an article about the casting of the American version of the movie, something that intrigued me -- I can't remember what. And then they had a free sample available in the Kindle Store, so I read the first two chapters, and while they were not life-changing in any way, shape or form, I did feel compelled to continue.
So this book is a mystery novel about an investigative journalist in some amount of professional disgrace who receives an offer from a wealthy elderly retired CEO of a large family-owned corporation to look into the disappearance (and probable murder) of his niece back in the late 1960s. Along the way, he is assisted by a young woman who is ostensibly a background check expert for a security firm but comes by most of her info by hacking. She has issues. She is the "girl" of the title, covered in several tattoos, including a dragon on her shoulder.
First of all, she is a woman in her 20s, so right off it irked me that the book was called The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. The other reason this title irked me is because she's not the main character. She's a sidekick at best. Personally, I don't think a book should be named for its sidekick. How misleading would it be to have called a Sherlock Holmes book The Adventures of Watson? Extremely, that's how.
But getting past the title, I did really enjoy the book. It's a mystery, as I said, and has a lot in common with most of the work I enjoy in the genre (PD James, Jonathan Kellerman, Faye Kellerman, etc.) -- just enough back story for the detective (or in this case, the investigative journalist) to keep him an interesting character; a clear painting of the supporting cast members; intriguing setting (Sweden, a country I really knew nothing about other than its location and some other very basic information until I did some research the other day); and a good mystery compounded by a lack of evidence and the amount of time that's passed since the subject's disappearance (36 years). The book has a lot of lengthy conversation in it, and not quite so much action as one might expect from the average thriller -- towards the last quarter of the book, there's quite a bit of action, but otherwise it's more of an intellectual thriller.
Occasionally it feels as if there are moments that have been kind of lost in the book's translation from Swedish to English. Weird motivations and dialogue that doesn't seem to progress properly from point A to point B to point C -- it just goes straight from A to C. But it wasn't terribly distracting.
I didn't do any background reading on the book and the other two in the series till after I finished, and now I'm a little concerned -- there's a secondary plot line about the girl, where she has some kind of mysterious past which has caused the issues she has now. And I suspect the plan was to spread this plot line throughout the remainder of the series... which was intended to be 10 books. 10! But the author died before completing the 4th, for which there is apparently an outline or some notes or something. Which means... total cliffhanger. I bet.
I'm going to go ahead and read the other two books. I recommend this one if you like the genre. It's no literary masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, and I can't quite wrap my head around what about it has so captivated so many; there is fandom surrounding this book to rival Harry Potter and Twilight (although it's a grown up fandom, so not as screechy and annoying as the TwiHards), and I just don't get it. I would far prefer to see millions of people go all book-groupie on PD James' ass if they're going to get addicted to a mystery series, but I suppose that's just my personal penchant for a good British mystery talking.
Oh, speaking of which -- the author was clearly a fan. He had his main character reading British mystery novels throughout the book. Including something unnamed by Elizabeth George. Inspector Lynley for the win! Which was a nice touch.
And I'm not gonna lie: the whole thing was made easier by the fact that Daniel Craig (swoon) has been cast as the main character in the American version of the movie, and I was thus able to just picture him the entire time I was reading. That was kind of awesome.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Book Review: Major Pettigrew's Last Stand (Helen Simonson)
I loved this book.No, really. I can't think of a single bad thing to say about it.
Which is exactly what they said on Literary Transgressions when they reviewed it. So I'm really original, in addition to being a Mary Sue.
So this is the story of a man in his 60s whose wife has passed away; his brother passes away right at the start and forces Major Pettigrew to confront his own mortality, but only in a very quiet, subtle way. He lives in a smallish English town and follows a pretty set routine; but then he befriends the widow of a Pakistani shop owner, which defies both the expectations of others as well as his own. It's one of those books where it seems like nothing much happens, but you're gripped by the lovely writing, and then you get to the climax and it turns out a great many things have happened. Along the way, we see Major Pettigrew deal with his grown son, who isn't quite what the Major expected of his child. And there is a subplot about some valuable antique guns, which are the Major's most cherished possessions... until they aren't any longer.
What I think I enjoyed most is how the author didn't paint any of the characters as dislikable cliches. Everyone is mostly likable, or is forgivable -- even some of the Major's friends who disapprove of his relationship with the widow simply because she's Pakistani, even the self-absorbed son, even the crazy old aunt who stabs someone with knitting needles.
Of course, the book reminded me of everything I love about my favorite British movies and books, and that didn't hurt. I think this was Helen Simonson's first book, and I shall look forward to many, many more.
------------------------
So it turns out I've read about 55 books already in 2010. 55!! That of course far surpasses my goal of one book a week for the year. I'm a good little reader. Always have been.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
My snark has left the building.
I hate it when I want to be snarky, but I can't find anything to be snarky about. Snarkiness is kind of my stock in trade. I feel like everyone relies on me to be snarky because they think I'm funny, and then I feel bad when I let them down. I mean, it should be easy to find stuff to snark on. But even I have to be inspired.
And the line between cynicism and snarkiness is becoming thinner and thinner. For example, I find that I'm completely cynical now about politics and Lindsay Lohan. I can't say anything funny about either of those subjects. And this worries me, because if I can become cynical about those two sources of formerly endless amusement, can't I become cynical about almost everything?
A depressing thought indeed. I don't ever want people to call me "the cynical one." I want to always be known as "she's so funny."
Come on, Paris Hilton. Do something effed up so I can make fun of you. Something more effed up than partying on some ugly rich dude's yacht and letting people think you're getting paid to do it.
And the line between cynicism and snarkiness is becoming thinner and thinner. For example, I find that I'm completely cynical now about politics and Lindsay Lohan. I can't say anything funny about either of those subjects. And this worries me, because if I can become cynical about those two sources of formerly endless amusement, can't I become cynical about almost everything?
A depressing thought indeed. I don't ever want people to call me "the cynical one." I want to always be known as "she's so funny."
Come on, Paris Hilton. Do something effed up so I can make fun of you. Something more effed up than partying on some ugly rich dude's yacht and letting people think you're getting paid to do it.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Book Review: The Help
I had The Help recommended to me by several friends who read it earlier, and it was actually one of the first books I downloaded to my kindle when I first received it. But I didn't read it right away, and then actually kind of forgot I had it (that's the danger of not having an actual physical pile of books to keep track of). So it was a nice little surprise to find it hiding back there on page 10 of my book list. And it was an even nicer surprise that it was such a good read!In case you've not heard, The Help is a story about two African-American women who work as maids in the home of white families in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960s, and one young white woman who decides to tell their stories. Each chapter is written from the point of view of one of these three women. Their lives are just on the edges of the civil rights movement, and they are all affected by the Jim Crow laws of the state of Mississippi. I say "all" to include the young white woman, because she too is hindered by these laws -- they hinder her ability to be herself, a decent human being, and prevent her from standing up for what's right. But stand up she does -- by quietly telling the stories of the "colored" women who raise the white children of wealthy families.
There have been some complaints about the (white) writer using African-American dialect for the two black main characters, but I suspect these complainants are those kind of overly politically correct people who are so concerned about being perceived as racist that all they ever do is worry about what color someone's skin is, and therefore circle back around to actually being racist. I thought that the dialect was really well done -- not mocking in any way, but just the right amount, and soothing in its cadence. The differences between the voices of the two maids are subtle, but they are there -- one is more educated so she doesn't write in dialect, but when she's recapping conversation, she'll show herself speaking in dialect; the other had to leave school after 6th grade, and her written communication shows it, as she does write in dialect. However, both women are clearly shown as being of above-average intelligence and strength.
It's hard to say anything bad about this book -- it's not heavy handed with its message; it's well-written but also simply written; I really liked the three main characters, and I really despised the characters I was meant to despise. The rest I mostly felt sorry for. I was pleased to learn that my mother's book club had a discussion about how they all really learned a lot from reading this book -- most of them having grown up far from the American south, and (it must be said) far from very many people of color. They didn't know that this is what it was like before integration and busing, and the banning of Jim Crow laws. It's easy for someone in my age group to by cynical about this book, but if a book can open the eyes of just one person who reads it, I say it's a job well done.
In the end, it's a pretty light read, although there are some really serious topics covered that will give you pause for a while after finishing it. I do highly recommend this one.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
It takes a diversionary tactic to know a diversionary tactic.
I just read this uber-annoying article in today's Washington Post about how Sarah Palin has taken great exception to the NAACP's recent move to condemn the racism prevalent in the Tea Party movement. She was all, "It's just a diversionary tactic to avoid talking about the real issues." And digging further, the Tea Party is all offended that anyone would accuse them of racism among their ranks and blahdee blahdee blah. Nevermind the fact that the racism is blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain -- we're all insane, and to accuse them of racism is -- you guessed it -- a diversionary tactic.
First of all, Sarah Palin is a fucking bitch. I can't even begin to tell you how much her mere existence makes my blood boil. In fact, until she turned up on the political scene, I'm not sure I ever really knew the meaning of "makes my blood boil." But now I do. It's anger with a passion so fierce that it literally makes your insides feel like there's heat running through your veins.
So thanks for that, Sarah Palin, you halfwit nimrod.
(Maybe that's redundant, calling someone a halfwit nimrod? Whatever.)
And then as for the Tea Party in general -- these people make me angry because they get so much airtime with their ludicrous scare tactics and lies to the American people. And they are clearly a loosely organized, poorly educated modern day mob. And for the media to pretend that this is some sort of well-organized, mobilized legitimate political force is disturbing way past irresponsible journalism.
But I think what really grates is this notion -- that Palin and the Tea Partiers would have you believe -- that racism is over in America because we somehow managed to elect ourselves a black President.
Uhhh, yeah... dream the fuck on. Dry that one out and you can fertilize the lawn with it.
Maybe it's where I live -- in the middle of the country, not at the edges where politics seem to happen in a weird vacuum. But racism is alive and well and happening every single day, all around us. Having a black President of the United States hasn't changed a damn thing. And if I see it -- me, a white girl from the suburbs -- you can bet your ass that anyone with less than pale skin tones sees it and feels it every single day.
Please don't let these people fool you. Don't fall for their latest con. Racism is sadly alive and well. Don't let Sarah Palin and her ilk trick you into thinking it's not.
CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!
First of all, Sarah Palin is a fucking bitch. I can't even begin to tell you how much her mere existence makes my blood boil. In fact, until she turned up on the political scene, I'm not sure I ever really knew the meaning of "makes my blood boil." But now I do. It's anger with a passion so fierce that it literally makes your insides feel like there's heat running through your veins.
So thanks for that, Sarah Palin, you halfwit nimrod.
(Maybe that's redundant, calling someone a halfwit nimrod? Whatever.)
And then as for the Tea Party in general -- these people make me angry because they get so much airtime with their ludicrous scare tactics and lies to the American people. And they are clearly a loosely organized, poorly educated modern day mob. And for the media to pretend that this is some sort of well-organized, mobilized legitimate political force is disturbing way past irresponsible journalism.
But I think what really grates is this notion -- that Palin and the Tea Partiers would have you believe -- that racism is over in America because we somehow managed to elect ourselves a black President.
Uhhh, yeah... dream the fuck on. Dry that one out and you can fertilize the lawn with it.
Maybe it's where I live -- in the middle of the country, not at the edges where politics seem to happen in a weird vacuum. But racism is alive and well and happening every single day, all around us. Having a black President of the United States hasn't changed a damn thing. And if I see it -- me, a white girl from the suburbs -- you can bet your ass that anyone with less than pale skin tones sees it and feels it every single day.
Please don't let these people fool you. Don't fall for their latest con. Racism is sadly alive and well. Don't let Sarah Palin and her ilk trick you into thinking it's not.
CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!
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