I finished the Steve Almond, and am in love for the first time all over again, as they say. I will buy it and give the sweet man my money just as soon as I can.
Almond wrote in Candyfreak that he used to roll around in piles of candy when he was a kid. Now that he’s (chronologically, anyway) an adult, I think he’d like to roll around in piles of words. He’s the kind of writer who sees and feels and loves and hates with abandon, and it’s clear that if he couldn’t put the words on the page, he’d explode. I like that in a man.
This collection of essays includes among other things, a tribute to Kurt Vonnegut, an explanation as to why Almond would like the Red Sox Nation to SHUT UP (which is engaging even if, like me, you don’t care at all about baseball), some of Almond’s early experiences with sex (to paraphrase Elaine from Seinfeld, I don’t know how guys walk around with those things), and an account of the first few days of his daughter’s life, in which he was sure he had killed her at least a dozen times—and which made me have to take off my glasses and wipe tears from my eyes, because I couldn’t stop laughing.
I like Almond’s essays much better than his short stories, and if you like essays at all, you should at least grab this from the library.
I’m in a bit of a reading slump now, though. I started MT Anderson’s Feed, which was recommended by a woman I work with (she has a 7th grader), and it’s mildly amusing, and okay . . . but I don’t like the feeling of doom the whole thing gives me. It’s not hard to imagine that (should humanity continue to exist, anyway) we’re moving in that direction more quickly than we think. And anyway, I left the book at work, so I don’t have it for the weekend.
I started Christopher Moore’s Island of the Sequined Love Nun, but as much as I live him (and that title), the book isn’t grabbing me. This is my second attempt, and I think I might give it up as a bad job.
I have two books to pick up from the library when I finish my shift. I think I requested Alison Pace’s Through Thick and Thin based on a Jen Lancaster recommendation. The other book is Joe Haldeman’s The Accidental Time Machine, and I can’t remember where I heard of it or why I requested it. I guess I’ll find out.
I watched Knocked Up last night after The Boy went to bed. I enjoyed it very much—I like nearly everyone in the cast a lot, and it’s got its sweet, funny, or sweetly funny moments, but I was expecting it to be hilarious. I laughed a lot more at The 40 Year Old Virgin—maybe because I’m so much closer to 40 myself? I’m not even entertaining the though of seeing Superbad, because I’m clearly too old.
That’s about it for me. I’m making the journey to my parents’ house tonight to see some out-of-state relatives, and then it’s back to work at the library tomorrow. And I have to fit cleaning the bathroom and doing some laundry in there. And getting some groceries. Ugh.
That is all.
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