I just finished Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian.
Excellent, well-written, meticulously researched, complex characters - I can't say enough good things about this book. It kept me turning pages from the beginning right to the very end.
It is about vampires, but it is not a horror novel. I managed to read it well into the night without feeling as if I needed a crucifix by my bed (unlike Stephen King's Salem's Lot : ) Completely different genre.)
If you're interested in reading it, it might be worth your while to do some background reading, to make the history easier to follow, or you can just do what I did and look it all up afterwards, although Kostova makes it pretty clear and easy to remember. This page is the most concise and helpful. There are some terrific pictures of locales visited by characters in the book that are neat to see. And don't worry, it won't give away any secrets or surprises, although it's not really that type of book anyway.
Here's the Salon review, recommending it. (Safe to read, I think.)
In many ways it is the vampiric equivalent of AS Byatt's Possession, although I don't want to wind anyone's hopes up *too* far. It *is* a first novel, and not as finely crafted or intricate as Possession but it has much the same feel.
[Side note: In an interview with Powell's Books, Kostova says: One of my favorite contemporary fiction writers is A. S. Byatt. Newcomers to her work might want to start with the bestselling novel Possession, a wonderful literary-historical detective story, and go on to her other challenging and beautifully researched novels and novellas, such as Still Life and Angels and Insects. She's a particularly good read for anyone who loves art and art history. ]
I will definitely be buying this book to add to my collection of librarian-related novels. Historians and archivists and librarians are key players in this book, and it's wonderful. It totally appeals to my superior-librarian ego. : )
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Why oh why do they not make children with volume control??
If I hear one more bloodcurdling scream, one more “He hit me!,” “No, he hit me first!,” one more wail of “Mooooommmmeeeeeeeee!!!!!,” one more shriek as if they are having needles put into their eyes when in reality all that’s happened is that their brother has stolen their pillow or book or that damn Scoop; if I have to tell either of them one more goddamn time not to pull the cat’s tail, to wash their hands after peeing, to stop screaming at each other or me, to stop hitting themselves on the head, to stop throwing toys, to stop hammering on the metal radiators, that the laundry baskets are not meant to be ridden down the stairs like a bobsled, that no, we cannot watch one more movie, that the cushions belong on the furniture, that the bathroom is not a playroom; if I have to try to translate one more sentence of Jude’s that sounds like he’s saying “Abby and I are wearing naked pajamas (I am not making that up) or tell Simon one more time that his little friend Sarah has day camp and so cannot come over today; if I don’t get a nap today after having been awakened at SIX A-FREAKING-M by Simon demanding breakfast (Dan pointed out that Si was asleep by 8 last night. Yes, but I was not. Funny how that works. He probably didn’t have laundry to do, dishwashers to unload, and phone calls to return.), if one more stupidly well-meaning person tells me to just get them out of the house, if I don’t get a single damn moment of peace, I swear to God I am going to get into my car and drive off the nearest bridge. Wonderfully, blissfully alone. I realize this would be somewhat inconvenient for Dan as we are still paying off the car and it’s the only one that will fit us all in at once, and because he would then have to find a nanny or something, but I DON’T CARE. I am losing my mind. My children are making me insane. The poor kid in my belly is probably terrified to come out after listening to me yell at the other two all morning long. I’m exhausted and have a headache and cannot wait to go to work tonight.
Questions Answered
Did you ever during your childhood treat a peer badly and wish you could apologize to them now? Were you ever mistreated by a peer during your childhood and wish you had an apology from them?
Yes. I was great friends with Jamey Singer, a smart, dorky boy with enormous feet and thick glasses who was a year older than me. He asked me to dance at the "Farewell to the 8th Graders" dance, and I turned him down because I was with two bitchy girls whom I knew would laugh at me otherwise. I swear that I actually saw his heart break.
As far as being mistreated, people were generally pretty nice to me, or else they didn't know I existed and so couldn't be mean. HOWEVER: Charlie Kubasky, a boy who went to the Polish Catholic school (I went to the [much cooler] Italian one), remarked the summer before we started 9th grade that I had big arms. I was a gymnast, softball player and cheerleader. I was *strong*. But I've been ashamed of my arms ever since, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him.
What type of construction vehicle are you?
A lowboy. I'm strong, squat, and carry heavy loads like a pack mule.
What career would you pick for your child(ren)?
I'd love it if Teddy could be a Lego Master Builder. I think that this would be his equivalent of my dream of getting paid to sit around and read all day.
What three fictional characters would you most like to have dinner with?
Darcy, Rochester and the grown-up Calvin O'Keefe.
At this fictional-character dinner, what do you feed them?
Spanish fly. :-)
Yes. I was great friends with Jamey Singer, a smart, dorky boy with enormous feet and thick glasses who was a year older than me. He asked me to dance at the "Farewell to the 8th Graders" dance, and I turned him down because I was with two bitchy girls whom I knew would laugh at me otherwise. I swear that I actually saw his heart break.
As far as being mistreated, people were generally pretty nice to me, or else they didn't know I existed and so couldn't be mean. HOWEVER: Charlie Kubasky, a boy who went to the Polish Catholic school (I went to the [much cooler] Italian one), remarked the summer before we started 9th grade that I had big arms. I was a gymnast, softball player and cheerleader. I was *strong*. But I've been ashamed of my arms ever since, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him.
What type of construction vehicle are you?
A lowboy. I'm strong, squat, and carry heavy loads like a pack mule.
What career would you pick for your child(ren)?
I'd love it if Teddy could be a Lego Master Builder. I think that this would be his equivalent of my dream of getting paid to sit around and read all day.
What three fictional characters would you most like to have dinner with?
Darcy, Rochester and the grown-up Calvin O'Keefe.
At this fictional-character dinner, what do you feed them?
Spanish fly. :-)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Sorry
Those pics are huge, I know, but I'm at work and can't figure out how to make them smaller. I mean, yes, I think he's the cutest kid in the world, but there's no excuse for screaming it. Those big pics seem to be the blog equivalent of screaming--and I apologize.
That said, I think Val should get the digital camera. Oh, the FUN! Not to mention the immediate gratification! :-)
That said, I think Val should get the digital camera. Oh, the FUN! Not to mention the immediate gratification! :-)
The Interactive Internet Question Game
This is an Interactive Internet Question Game. I got it from Blackbird.
This is how it's played:
1. If you want to play, leave a comment below saying so.
2. I'll post five unique questions to the comments section of this post.
3. You answer them in your blog.
4. In your post, you include this explanation and an offer to interview others.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Here are the questions I got from Blackbird.
1. You can have a $200 gift card, Nordstroms or Starbucks?
Nordstrom’s. One word: Cashmere.
2. Did you write your own wedding vows?
No. We went strictly Protestant-traditional with the exception of the "obey" part.
3. Eight course tasting menu at a four star restaurant or picnic in a field?
Eight-course tasting menu. I had a picnic with the boys last week at the park and wound up with ants in the sandwiches, Jude getting stung by a wasp, and sour chocolate milk.
4. Ever been to the naked beach? (different than skinny dipping, one sunbathes nude at the naked beach)No. Not sure I could, I am so self-conscious about my body.
5. Ever broken any bones? How?
No broken bones. Nothing worse than a sprain, even during my preteen gymnast days. God, I’m boring.
This is how it's played:
1. If you want to play, leave a comment below saying so.
2. I'll post five unique questions to the comments section of this post.
3. You answer them in your blog.
4. In your post, you include this explanation and an offer to interview others.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Here are the questions I got from Blackbird.
1. You can have a $200 gift card, Nordstroms or Starbucks?
Nordstrom’s. One word: Cashmere.
2. Did you write your own wedding vows?
No. We went strictly Protestant-traditional with the exception of the "obey" part.
3. Eight course tasting menu at a four star restaurant or picnic in a field?
Eight-course tasting menu. I had a picnic with the boys last week at the park and wound up with ants in the sandwiches, Jude getting stung by a wasp, and sour chocolate milk.
4. Ever been to the naked beach? (different than skinny dipping, one sunbathes nude at the naked beach)No. Not sure I could, I am so self-conscious about my body.
5. Ever broken any bones? How?
No broken bones. Nothing worse than a sprain, even during my preteen gymnast days. God, I’m boring.
Best Vacation Ever
So many things to catch up on! The trip was wonderful and relaxing, despite having to attend those pesky conference sessions . . . but I won’t complain, since work paid for my airfare and the hotel room. The only thing that was disappointing was the trip to Universal Studios. We had to go in the evening because of my sessions, but I figured it was no big deal since we were in L.A.--I was assuming things stay open rather late.
“Never assume,” my mother used to say, “because it makes an ass out of u and me.” Well, I spent $160 on admission for three people (Ted was full-price because of his height) and we only got to ride two rides: I certainly feel like an ass. We couldn’t even go on the Universal Studios tour, because it closed while we were in line to ride Revenge of the Mummy—at 6:30!
The only things that stayed open were the food, games and shops. That’s right--all the things that cost money over the price of admission remained open after the rides closed. I hate those Universal jerks.
And I am so dreading Disney World next month. Ugh.
The best thing about Universal was their City Walk—and only because of the Zen Zone, which has an oxygen bar. :-)
Note the ice cream on the boy’s face; there’s a Ben & Jerry’s at the City Walk, too.
****
Other than the trip, which also included a night in the international terminal at LAX that I won’t bother to horrify you with, I put down The Time Traveler’s Wife in order to read the new Harry Potter, which I was pleased to find that I liked much better than the fifth book. (The only thing that I found really gripping in OoP was the threat of Mr. Weasley's death.) Please finish reading and let me know when I am free to unleash the sadness and vitriol!
I’ll finish TTW soon (although maybe not as soon as I’d like, as the last week of my summer session is next week), and then I will read The Historian and The Closed Circle. Mmmmm . . . . school-free reading.
****
And now: Work.
Silly me, you know, I'm only God
| You Are an Espresso |
 At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping Your caffeine addiction level: high |
(Funny thing is I actually prefer tea, but when in need of coffee, I am a latte drinker. Oh well.)
************************
I think if the Dems are smart, they will quietly applaud Bush’s nominee for Supreme Court Justice (Roberts is conservative but well-qualified. We could do much worse.) and then continue to go after Karl Rove.
This is incredibly impressive:
But in his career as a litigator, Roberts argued 39 cases before the Supreme Court, both as a lawyer in private practice and as one working for the government under Republican administrations. He won 25 of them.
Some facts about Roberts.
(I do ask you to consider the source (even though I personally love Salon)).
***************************
My vote on Rock Star: INXS? Jordys continues to lead. We know the girl can SING. Her rendition of Nirvana’s “Heart-shaped Box” last week was stellar. Her song this week – I didn’t know it - left her to make the best of a bad situation but as usual, the crowd –and the band – were eating out of the palm of her hand. And she makes it look effortless. But if the group is smart, they’ll hire JD too. The guy has balls and talent – doing an Alanis Morrissette song the way he did it took some serious cajones. (As did his interesting version of “California Dreaming” last week). Although his jerky little comment at the end almost ruined it for me. Daphna put on a *kick-ass* performance of Joan Jett’s “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” Her voice and stage presence are really well suited to Joan Jett’s style, so that helped. I can’t believe I am actually watching this, and even care. Oh and btw, I think Dave Navarro is a creepy little man.
******************
Snippets:
Very cool website. Gina and I did this on our old blog, but darn it, we never thought to create a whole new website.
This article on Slate about Roald Dahl, Willy Wonka, and chocolate-factory espionage made me think of this book, which I read several years ago and found immensely entertaining: The Emperors of Chocolate. Sugar can indeed make you crazier!
This morning it was NOT a hundred degrees when we got up. It was seventy and cool and breezy. It’s getting muggy and hot now at 9, but those two hours were bliss.
Note to self - if boys get to school when food is on table, they don't cry nearly as much as when we miss breakfast. It's hard to cry when your mouth is full of pancakes. (This might be a fairly good rule of thumb for life in general, come to think of it.)
The trees in front of our house turn out to be linden trees, I think. They smell wonderful but they make a dreadful mess.
If you feel compelled to raise your voice in anger while discussing personal affairs with a friend, perhaps you could see your way clear to do it somewhere other than the neighborhood coffee shop where there are children, and people trying to read quietly.
Does anyone care what I look like? (I mean other than people who already know like Gina and David and Marisa)? Because we are toying with the idea of buying a digital camera and it might be fun to post some pics, but also, I hate to destroy the mystery : ) What if you liked the blog until you saw my pic and then were totally turned off because I look like an ex-girlfriend or your evil third-grade teacher?
**************************
Jude’s grammatical constructs crack me up:
“Me like strawberries, no.”
“Me eat chicken nugget, yes.”
“Me have diaper change, noooooooo!”
“Me color coloring book, yes.”
This morning to Simon (actually he pronounces it Dyman), in the car:
“Simon, me talk to Mama, yes. To you, no!”
************************
Off to finish The Historian. And pick up The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and Misfortune from the library.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
You never get cookies at the Mexican restaurant.
Si and Jude have taken to calling one of our cats “a piece of toast.” They explain earnestly that Emmy is just a cat, but Septimus is a piece of toast. I have no idea where this came from, or why. Sometimes my boys are unfathomable. Their favorite epithet for each other is Pophead. It started as Pockethead (equally mysterious) and has devolved into Pophead which seems to be considered appropriate for just about every occasion. The other night Dan told Jude to go wash his hands, and Jude did his usual: “No!” then stomped off to the bathroom to wash his hands, muttering “Pophead!” as he went. Dan and I could not even look at each other. Why our two-year-old behaves like a teenager is a question I will have to ponder another time.
*******************
An old friend of Dan’s has two great kids who are several years older than my boys, one of whom is a boy. They often send us these enormous boxes filled with great stuff, like hand-me-down clothes (always nice quality and well taken care of – it’s the only way my guys get to wear Ralph Lauren!), puzzles, toys, and books. Another package came today and the boys were so excited to open it. Jude was psyched because they sent some Blue’s Clues toys (he already has them but he was so thrilled that I just let him play with them anyway); Simon immediately picked up the books (there were about a dozen) and has been reading ever since. In fact, I went in a few minutes ago to turn off his bedroom light and they were both sitting on Si’s bed engrossed in books. (The other night Si was reading to Jude. He’s a good big brother.) It was so cute I just left – another few minutes not-asleep will be ok. Si is *so* my child – I know only two or three other people who would be as excited by someone sending them books as I am, and now apparently Simon is. I always used to worry, What if I have kids who don’t like to read? Apparently this is not going to be an issue with these two. Thank God, since I would pretty much rather read than just about anything else.
************
I had forgotten the soothing power of music. Due to my auditory overload issues, I can go for long periods of time without having to listen to any sort of music. When I am in the house by myself, I like it silent. But for some reason I brought Dar Williams’ Beauty of the Rain in the car with me this morning, and listened to the first song, "Mercy of the Fallen," about a gazillion times on the way to work and on the way home. I just get lost in her lovely, intricate lyrics, and her husky voice. I love Dar Williams. She totally made my bad day better. (Well, her and Finslippy, who made me laugh so hard I was crying at the ref desk this morning.)
Lyric-wise, Dar is my all-time favorite songwriter. (Indulge my adolescent angst for a moment here.)
The first time I heard these lyrics (“After All”, Green World), I cried. And I still do sometimes. How did she know?
And it felt like
A winter machine that you go through and then,
You catch your breath and winter starts again,
And everyone else is spring bound.
And when I chose to live, there was no joy, it's just a line I crossed,
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost,
So I was not lost or found.
And this whole song, Iowa. Does it get any more perfect than that?
**************
Two hundred pages left in The Historian. If not for two children and my job, I’d have been done by now. It’s the kind of book I’d have stayed up all night to finish when I was childless, but at the same time hating to finish it. If it tanks now, I’d be shocked. So everyone go buy it so Elizabeth Kostova can be wealthy and write more!
**********
And now for a public service announcement:
Starbucks Green Tea Frappucino - YUCK.
*******************
An old friend of Dan’s has two great kids who are several years older than my boys, one of whom is a boy. They often send us these enormous boxes filled with great stuff, like hand-me-down clothes (always nice quality and well taken care of – it’s the only way my guys get to wear Ralph Lauren!), puzzles, toys, and books. Another package came today and the boys were so excited to open it. Jude was psyched because they sent some Blue’s Clues toys (he already has them but he was so thrilled that I just let him play with them anyway); Simon immediately picked up the books (there were about a dozen) and has been reading ever since. In fact, I went in a few minutes ago to turn off his bedroom light and they were both sitting on Si’s bed engrossed in books. (The other night Si was reading to Jude. He’s a good big brother.) It was so cute I just left – another few minutes not-asleep will be ok. Si is *so* my child – I know only two or three other people who would be as excited by someone sending them books as I am, and now apparently Simon is. I always used to worry, What if I have kids who don’t like to read? Apparently this is not going to be an issue with these two. Thank God, since I would pretty much rather read than just about anything else.
************
I had forgotten the soothing power of music. Due to my auditory overload issues, I can go for long periods of time without having to listen to any sort of music. When I am in the house by myself, I like it silent. But for some reason I brought Dar Williams’ Beauty of the Rain in the car with me this morning, and listened to the first song, "Mercy of the Fallen," about a gazillion times on the way to work and on the way home. I just get lost in her lovely, intricate lyrics, and her husky voice. I love Dar Williams. She totally made my bad day better. (Well, her and Finslippy, who made me laugh so hard I was crying at the ref desk this morning.)
Lyric-wise, Dar is my all-time favorite songwriter. (Indulge my adolescent angst for a moment here.)
The first time I heard these lyrics (“After All”, Green World), I cried. And I still do sometimes. How did she know?
And it felt like
A winter machine that you go through and then,
You catch your breath and winter starts again,
And everyone else is spring bound.
And when I chose to live, there was no joy, it's just a line I crossed,
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost,
So I was not lost or found.
And this whole song, Iowa. Does it get any more perfect than that?
**************
Two hundred pages left in The Historian. If not for two children and my job, I’d have been done by now. It’s the kind of book I’d have stayed up all night to finish when I was childless, but at the same time hating to finish it. If it tanks now, I’d be shocked. So everyone go buy it so Elizabeth Kostova can be wealthy and write more!
**********
And now for a public service announcement:
Starbucks Green Tea Frappucino - YUCK.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
don't eat the green ones, they're not ripe yet
I read Chicken Licken to my boys the other night, from a book I had when I was a child, the Classic Volland edition of Great Children’s Stories. (I had the Mother Goose too and the illustrations are slightly creepy. All the adults look like pedophiles or children-beaters, and all the children look anemic and bratty. The animals are the only ones even slightly resembling normal. But perhaps the illustrations match the stories.) Everyone seems to get eaten at the end of these stories (except Goldilocks, who I personally think deserves to be eaten - “This Goldilocks is juuuusssst right.” ). At the end of Chicken Licken, all the animals – Loosey Goosey, Turkey Lurky, Henny Penny et al. - get lured to the fox’s den and eaten for his dinner. At the end of The Fox’s Sack story, the fox gets eaten by the watchdog. In The Straw Ox (the most boring story ever written), the fox and bear and bunny escape death-by-flaying by promising to the farmer that they will bring him beehives, and vegetables, and flocks of sheep. Of course the poor sheep get eaten. I haven’t ventured into The Three Little Pigs yet (my boys prefer The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig right now anyway) but I am SURE the pigs get eaten. Some of the nursery rhymes are even scary (if you were a blackbird – or a two-year-old who has trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy - would you want to be baked alive into a pie?).
Everyone knows how grisly the Grimm and Andersen fairy tales are (Bruno Bettelheim’s defended said violence), and the way in which Disney has prettified many of the most popular tales – The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, etc.
Abstract from dissertation, Primary Children's Stories as a Function of Exposure to Violence and Cruelty in the Folk Fairy Tale - Barbara Shryock Koelle, University of Pennsylvania, 1981:
Like violence in the television watched by children, the effect on children of violence in the folk fairy tale is controversial. Beginning in the early 19th century critics and educators claimed that the more violent stories provoke fear and anxiety in children, just as today such reactions are connected with television violence. Folk fairy tales were also criticized for providing harmful models of behavior for a youthful audience, as is today's television. Defenders of violence and aggression in the tales have included psychoanalysts and anthropologists, who find in them cathartic and developmental benefits, and writers and artists who stress the values for children of an unexpurgated literary heritage.
There’s probably something to be said for having children learn in this fairly innocuous way that life is not fair or pretty or clean. But I just feel that there’s enough awful stuff going on in today’s world, and now that my four-year-old can read, I already have to hide the newspaper headlines some days. Is it bizarre that I am even uncomfortable reading Curious George to the boys – I mean, that man in the yellow hat kidnapped poor George and took him thousands of miles away, pretty much just to exploit him. At least Babar left the jungle of his own free will, despite the disturbing sight of an elephant in a three-piece suit and spats. And I suppose you can take it too far – my Republican brother refuses to read The Rainbow Fish, claiming that it espouses Communist values.
**************
OK, I thought I had something to say about the INXS reality show – but I really don’t. I can’t stand Swiss Miss or Wil-with-one-L, but otherwise…it’s just that one of the contestants – Ty, the black dude with the mohawk - was a year ahead of me in college, and he was pretty amazing even then. I think he is one of the strongest contestants – Jordys is the other – but my only problem is that I think Ty’s performance betrays his theatre background. He’s got the voice and the moves, but I still see him as Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar. I saw the show a gazillion times because my boyfriend at the time designed the sets, so maybe it’s just me. But Ty is almost too polished, his performance just a little too studied or practiced. My vote goes to Jordys. She’s got the voice, the looks, the moves, and the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, not to mention the band.
***************
Snippets:
Remember what I said about the long-gone custom of the morning room? Well, I find I also long for the days of full-time nannies and the nursery in another wing of the house.
Red gummy bears are the best. The clear ones are the worst.
And while we’re talking about trivial things: does ANYONE like peanut butter salt water taffy? I have never met anyone who does. So why do they continue to make them? Are they that desperate for fillers? Couldn’t they “fill” with one of the good flavors, like peppermint or licorice?
I am looking for an LOC classification poster like the ones we have hanging in the library. I want the blue one. That style may have been discontinued. But I want one to frame and hang in my office at home. I continue to get dorkier and dorkier.
I am approaching my 28th week of pregnancy, and my hips have begun to hurt. I can’t lie on my back without feeling like I am frozen there. And the shortness of breath – it might be the heat, or it might be the pot roast growing enormous and juicy and taking up all my lung space, or it might be a combination of the two. Remind me to never, ever be pregnant in the summer again.
I just heard Simon say, "Oh, Muck just ran over Miss Scarlet and killed her."
I accuse Muck the Bulldozer with his frontloader-thingey in the construction yard!
Gina comes home today and I am very glad. Welcome home, Gina! (And Ted, of course.)
**********
Here's a brief taste of Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian (300 pages and still amazing); the woman can WRITE:
It was early December, we were on the road again, and the lassitude of our summer trips to the Mediteranean seemed far behind us. The high Adriatic wind was combing my hair again and I liked the feel of it, its awkward roughness; it was as if a beast with heavy paws clambered over everything in the harbor, making flags snap sharply in front of the modern hotel and straining the topmost branches of the plane trees along the promenade.
Everyone knows how grisly the Grimm and Andersen fairy tales are (Bruno Bettelheim’s defended said violence), and the way in which Disney has prettified many of the most popular tales – The Little Mermaid, Cinderella, etc.
Abstract from dissertation, Primary Children's Stories as a Function of Exposure to Violence and Cruelty in the Folk Fairy Tale - Barbara Shryock Koelle, University of Pennsylvania, 1981:
Like violence in the television watched by children, the effect on children of violence in the folk fairy tale is controversial. Beginning in the early 19th century critics and educators claimed that the more violent stories provoke fear and anxiety in children, just as today such reactions are connected with television violence. Folk fairy tales were also criticized for providing harmful models of behavior for a youthful audience, as is today's television. Defenders of violence and aggression in the tales have included psychoanalysts and anthropologists, who find in them cathartic and developmental benefits, and writers and artists who stress the values for children of an unexpurgated literary heritage.
There’s probably something to be said for having children learn in this fairly innocuous way that life is not fair or pretty or clean. But I just feel that there’s enough awful stuff going on in today’s world, and now that my four-year-old can read, I already have to hide the newspaper headlines some days. Is it bizarre that I am even uncomfortable reading Curious George to the boys – I mean, that man in the yellow hat kidnapped poor George and took him thousands of miles away, pretty much just to exploit him. At least Babar left the jungle of his own free will, despite the disturbing sight of an elephant in a three-piece suit and spats. And I suppose you can take it too far – my Republican brother refuses to read The Rainbow Fish, claiming that it espouses Communist values.
**************
OK, I thought I had something to say about the INXS reality show – but I really don’t. I can’t stand Swiss Miss or Wil-with-one-L, but otherwise…it’s just that one of the contestants – Ty, the black dude with the mohawk - was a year ahead of me in college, and he was pretty amazing even then. I think he is one of the strongest contestants – Jordys is the other – but my only problem is that I think Ty’s performance betrays his theatre background. He’s got the voice and the moves, but I still see him as Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar. I saw the show a gazillion times because my boyfriend at the time designed the sets, so maybe it’s just me. But Ty is almost too polished, his performance just a little too studied or practiced. My vote goes to Jordys. She’s got the voice, the looks, the moves, and the audience eating out of the palm of her hand, not to mention the band.
***************
Snippets:
Remember what I said about the long-gone custom of the morning room? Well, I find I also long for the days of full-time nannies and the nursery in another wing of the house.
Red gummy bears are the best. The clear ones are the worst.
And while we’re talking about trivial things: does ANYONE like peanut butter salt water taffy? I have never met anyone who does. So why do they continue to make them? Are they that desperate for fillers? Couldn’t they “fill” with one of the good flavors, like peppermint or licorice?
I am looking for an LOC classification poster like the ones we have hanging in the library. I want the blue one. That style may have been discontinued. But I want one to frame and hang in my office at home. I continue to get dorkier and dorkier.
I am approaching my 28th week of pregnancy, and my hips have begun to hurt. I can’t lie on my back without feeling like I am frozen there. And the shortness of breath – it might be the heat, or it might be the pot roast growing enormous and juicy and taking up all my lung space, or it might be a combination of the two. Remind me to never, ever be pregnant in the summer again.
I just heard Simon say, "Oh, Muck just ran over Miss Scarlet and killed her."
I accuse Muck the Bulldozer with his frontloader-thingey in the construction yard!
Gina comes home today and I am very glad. Welcome home, Gina! (And Ted, of course.)
**********
Here's a brief taste of Elizabeth Kostova's The Historian (300 pages and still amazing); the woman can WRITE:
It was early December, we were on the road again, and the lassitude of our summer trips to the Mediteranean seemed far behind us. The high Adriatic wind was combing my hair again and I liked the feel of it, its awkward roughness; it was as if a beast with heavy paws clambered over everything in the harbor, making flags snap sharply in front of the modern hotel and straining the topmost branches of the plane trees along the promenade.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Can't...stop...to...blog....
Must....read....The Historian....forget HP. I can't put this down.
I am a hundred pages into the 600-some-page book. If Kostova can maintain what she's begun, I know which book I will be giving for Christmas this year.
Historian has been likened to Da Vinci Code, which is sort of like insults along the lines of "Rush Limbaugh is a horse's ass, but we shouldn't insult the poor horse." Only backwards. If that makes any sense at all. So far the book it most reminds me of, not in beauty or scope, but in execution and compelling-ness (is that a word?) is AS Byatt's Possession. With a supernatural twist. High praise indeed. I'll keep you posted.
I am a hundred pages into the 600-some-page book. If Kostova can maintain what she's begun, I know which book I will be giving for Christmas this year.
Historian has been likened to Da Vinci Code, which is sort of like insults along the lines of "Rush Limbaugh is a horse's ass, but we shouldn't insult the poor horse." Only backwards. If that makes any sense at all. So far the book it most reminds me of, not in beauty or scope, but in execution and compelling-ness (is that a word?) is AS Byatt's Possession. With a supernatural twist. High praise indeed. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Everybody has had one and one is enough for anybody.
God, I hate folding sheets. Especially the twin ones with all the elastic still intact. All our double and queen sized ones are so old that there’s no virtually elastic and everyone knows flat sheets are way easier to fold. Thank God my OCD does not compel me to iron them as well. I can only ask so much of my little magic pills. Oy vey.
****************************
I always love reading about the custom of the lady of the house retiring to her morning room after breakfast to deal with correspondence and planning the day’s events. (In Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, the main character feels uneasy because her morning room and all the tools of correspondence still are monogrammed or imprinted by the former mistress of the house. I’d be so happy to have such a space and such time that I would happily use stationery imprinted with Attila the Hun’s monogram if need be.) I can’t imagine why such a useful custom fell out of use. I need a morning room and an uninterrupted hour every morning to deal with my affairs -- or I can just once every few weeks have a frantic morning like yesterday when I was dealing with bills, forms, appointments, gas meter readings, packages to be mailed, and grocery lists to be written.
Speaking of, I was hauling groceries in from my car when I noticed two teenage girls walking down the street. Just meandering down the middle of the street, in the way which drives me bonkers (I mean, why do we have sidewalks?). Grumpy old me: “Hmmph, should probably close the car up…” When I came back out after dropping off several bags inside, they were standing behind my car. Crotchety old me: “What are they doing to my car?” Then one of them asked me, “Do you want some help with the groceries?” I tell you, I felt about an inch tall. I smiled and said no thanks, and that was a really nice thing to do, and they continued on their way. I guess sometimes I don’t have to be all grumpy and negative and expecting bad things. I just never seem to know when.
*******************
Last night Dan and I had a big stupid fight over really nothing, and I was in no mood to really read a book I had to concentrate on. So I picked up Josephine Tey’s Daughter of Time, an old favorite I have read a gazillion times. I believe I have waxed rhapsodic about Ms. Tey before – she has only 7 books and I have read them all numerous times, but DOT is my favorite because it’s all about Richard III, who in my humble opinion had nothing to do with his nephews’ murder. I am a big Richard fan, and I think Shakespeare, Olivier, and the rest have done him dreadfully wrong. When my mom and I were in England in 97, we even went to York to check out the Richard III Museum. We are not his only fans. Tey wrote a well-researched and gripping novel about a centuries-old mystery involving people long dead. No mean feat.
************************
My dilemma: This afternoon I stopped at the library to pick up a book I had requested, and there was Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian staring me in the face. If you’ve been living under a rock, you don’t know that this book is hyped, hyped, hyped, and it’s supposed to be excellent. And yet there was still a copy on the bestseller shelves at the library. I took it. The first page hooked me. But! But…HP comes out in roughly 36 hours, and there’s no way I will finish this in time to start HP on Saturday. Notice I am much more cavalier about ditching both Son of the Circus and Fire From Heaven for the moment to read The Historian. Ditch a book that’s as good as The Historian is supposed to be, crazy. Not start HP immediately upon purchase – even crazier. (Although this might be where I have to admit that I wasn’t all that nuts about Order of the Phoenix. I am less excited about Half-Blood Prince than I have been about any of the others.)
So commend my restraint – I only checked out The Historian, even though the library also had the newest John Irving. (I’ve been reading a lot of Irving lately, and I don’t want to overdo it and then wind up hating his new one without just cause. Familiarity breeds contempt and all that…) Here’s a bonus: My favorite librarian checked The Historian out for three weeks for me, instead of one. Having a favorite librarian has its perks : )
OK, I actually have some real library-related work to do at work tonight, so while I have much to say on the subject of the INXS reality show, the bloodthirstiness of classic children’s literature, and the latest shark attack in Florida, I save those thoughts for another day. Who says I’m not good to you?
****************************
I always love reading about the custom of the lady of the house retiring to her morning room after breakfast to deal with correspondence and planning the day’s events. (In Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, the main character feels uneasy because her morning room and all the tools of correspondence still are monogrammed or imprinted by the former mistress of the house. I’d be so happy to have such a space and such time that I would happily use stationery imprinted with Attila the Hun’s monogram if need be.) I can’t imagine why such a useful custom fell out of use. I need a morning room and an uninterrupted hour every morning to deal with my affairs -- or I can just once every few weeks have a frantic morning like yesterday when I was dealing with bills, forms, appointments, gas meter readings, packages to be mailed, and grocery lists to be written.
Speaking of, I was hauling groceries in from my car when I noticed two teenage girls walking down the street. Just meandering down the middle of the street, in the way which drives me bonkers (I mean, why do we have sidewalks?). Grumpy old me: “Hmmph, should probably close the car up…” When I came back out after dropping off several bags inside, they were standing behind my car. Crotchety old me: “What are they doing to my car?” Then one of them asked me, “Do you want some help with the groceries?” I tell you, I felt about an inch tall. I smiled and said no thanks, and that was a really nice thing to do, and they continued on their way. I guess sometimes I don’t have to be all grumpy and negative and expecting bad things. I just never seem to know when.
*******************
Last night Dan and I had a big stupid fight over really nothing, and I was in no mood to really read a book I had to concentrate on. So I picked up Josephine Tey’s Daughter of Time, an old favorite I have read a gazillion times. I believe I have waxed rhapsodic about Ms. Tey before – she has only 7 books and I have read them all numerous times, but DOT is my favorite because it’s all about Richard III, who in my humble opinion had nothing to do with his nephews’ murder. I am a big Richard fan, and I think Shakespeare, Olivier, and the rest have done him dreadfully wrong. When my mom and I were in England in 97, we even went to York to check out the Richard III Museum. We are not his only fans. Tey wrote a well-researched and gripping novel about a centuries-old mystery involving people long dead. No mean feat.
************************
My dilemma: This afternoon I stopped at the library to pick up a book I had requested, and there was Elizabeth Kostova’s The Historian staring me in the face. If you’ve been living under a rock, you don’t know that this book is hyped, hyped, hyped, and it’s supposed to be excellent. And yet there was still a copy on the bestseller shelves at the library. I took it. The first page hooked me. But! But…HP comes out in roughly 36 hours, and there’s no way I will finish this in time to start HP on Saturday. Notice I am much more cavalier about ditching both Son of the Circus and Fire From Heaven for the moment to read The Historian. Ditch a book that’s as good as The Historian is supposed to be, crazy. Not start HP immediately upon purchase – even crazier. (Although this might be where I have to admit that I wasn’t all that nuts about Order of the Phoenix. I am less excited about Half-Blood Prince than I have been about any of the others.)
So commend my restraint – I only checked out The Historian, even though the library also had the newest John Irving. (I’ve been reading a lot of Irving lately, and I don’t want to overdo it and then wind up hating his new one without just cause. Familiarity breeds contempt and all that…) Here’s a bonus: My favorite librarian checked The Historian out for three weeks for me, instead of one. Having a favorite librarian has its perks : )
OK, I actually have some real library-related work to do at work tonight, so while I have much to say on the subject of the INXS reality show, the bloodthirstiness of classic children’s literature, and the latest shark attack in Florida, I save those thoughts for another day. Who says I’m not good to you?
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Insert California Reference Here
It took forever to get here, but we made it. And do you want to know the best part (aside from the Cyber Cafe at the convention)? The woman who took care of my car rental was charmed by my sweet son, so she gave us an upgrade for $50. I drove up the 405 and down Santa Monica Boulevard this afternoon in a red Mustang convertible! :-) I don't think I've been so charmed and caught up in a moment--on my own behalf, not Teddy's--for a really, really long time.
I'm wrecked, though. I didn't eat all day, because of my freak-out issues (which weren't too much of a problem this time), so I was ravenous when we finally checked in to this fancy hotel. We decided to order room service. I'm such a fool. Pizzas, pasta, water, pop, and desserts were $100! But it was worth it, I think. Between that and the car I feel like I should be off to Beverly Hills High to meet Kelly and Dylan. (I apologize to those who don't get the reference, but I watched 90210 for its entire run. We all have our guilty pleasures.)
So Teddy and Kim are enjoying the pool and I'm walking around with a new canvas bag filled with freebies and a name tag necklace. A drink, a few munchies, and I'm off to bed.
Oh! I'm about half-way through The Time Traveler's Wife. Love!!!!
I'm wrecked, though. I didn't eat all day, because of my freak-out issues (which weren't too much of a problem this time), so I was ravenous when we finally checked in to this fancy hotel. We decided to order room service. I'm such a fool. Pizzas, pasta, water, pop, and desserts were $100! But it was worth it, I think. Between that and the car I feel like I should be off to Beverly Hills High to meet Kelly and Dylan. (I apologize to those who don't get the reference, but I watched 90210 for its entire run. We all have our guilty pleasures.)
So Teddy and Kim are enjoying the pool and I'm walking around with a new canvas bag filled with freebies and a name tag necklace. A drink, a few munchies, and I'm off to bed.
Oh! I'm about half-way through The Time Traveler's Wife. Love!!!!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Oh, you should never, never doubt what nobody is sure about.
My nutritious breakfast of the day – a coffee frappucino and some sun chips (hey, they’re multigrain!). See what happens when you are the third child? If I ever have another baby, I’ll probably be snorting cocaine for breakfast, chased by a rum-and-coke and beer nuts.
******************
I wandered around the bookstore yesterday, debating buying some books. I sat down on the floor and read the first chapter of Wesley Stace’s Misfortune, restrained myself from buying it, and went home to request it from the library. Because interesting as I found the beginning, what if the rest sucks? Hardback books are very expensive these days, it’s a big risk : ) I also requested from the library The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (who knows why?) and a book that just looked like it could be either a lot of fun or really deadly simple, Cordelia Underwood, or, The Marvelous Beginnings of the Moosepath League. Then I went home and started reading Mary Renault’s Fire From Heaven, about Alexander the Great’s boyhood. I have all of Renault’s historical novels because my mother was a big fan, but none of them ever grabbed me. But since I was too lazy to haul my pregnant self up off the floor at B&N, I just slid myself down the row, from the S’s to the R’s, and browsed among the Renaults. Fire From Heaven starts with a snake slithering into the 4-year-old Alexander’s bed, and rather than feeling threatened, he assumes it is his mother’s pet snake - I was hooked. So I am concurrently reading Fire From Heaven which is very likely going to turn out to be a good read but utter trash, and John Irving’s Son of the Circus. The phrase “dwarf blood” is just so evocative, don’t you think?
***********
Guardian summer book reccs, both commoner and celebrity:
Books on the list that also happen to be on my to-read pile:
A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth; Perfume – Patrick Susskind; HP and the Half-Blood Prince – JK Rowling.
Books I’ve read and that I can heartily second the recc:
Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie; The Kite Runner – Khaled Hasseini; Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris (his essay on his French class’s take on Easter traditions makes me giggle just thinking about it. It is possibly the funniest thing I have EVER read, even funnier than the Great Dane essay in - heck, which is it? - Barrel Fever or I think, maybe, actually, Naked. For a quick summary, read this. But take the time to get the book and read the entire thing, I promise it's worth it.)
List of books I need to decide if they sufficiently pique my interest to be added to the to-read list: My Summer of Love (this is the second or third time this one has crossed my radar, time to check it out); Memoirs of Hecate County (fabulously creepy cover); Our Hidden Lives: The Everyday Diaries of a Forgotten Britain 1945-48; Birdsong (Sebastian Faulks, and this looks like it just might be too similar to The French Lieutenant’s Wife for my taste…); The Glass Palace; The Promise of Happiness (Justin Cartwright, not available in the States).
I also just requested from the library Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich, due to Jessa Crispin’s ringing endorsement coupled with my natural interest in the homeland of my maternal grandparents.
***************
My cool, suave, cynical husband got sucked into reality TV world last night with the INXS show. He spent many minutes reassuring me that *this* reality show was different “because it’s real. These are people who really want to front INXS! All the other reality TV shows pad the cast with fake competitors.” Uh-huh, dear. Pat him on the knee. You continue to live in your little fantasy world, it harms no one. But oh, how the mighty have fallen. And oh how the not-so-mighty wife is smirking.
I also would like to thank Dan for installing a ceiling fan in the bedroom this weekend. Keeping in mind the man has degrees in both mathematics and electrical engineering, I was the one who had to kindly point out that if you were to insert the remote control base skinny end first into the fan base and *then* connect the wires, it would be much easier than connecting all the wires and then jamming the fat end of the base, tangled in wires, through the very tight space provided.
And the dear one actually said to me this weekend, “You are very pretty. Sure, you had a weight problem but after this baby…” Um. Excuse me. I admit that of the past 55 months, 15 of which has had me more than three months pregnant, and 31 of which I was mostly either nursing (read: ravenous 24-7) or newly pregnant, I have indeed mostly looked at least three months pregnant. But honestly, cut me a break! I at least have those 15 months and two children to show for my belly flab. What’s your excuse?!
**************
My brother has left the state, on an eleven o’clock bus this morning. I don’t think I have ever felt relieved to see him go before. But as I said it was much like I imagine having a third child around will be, only the baby won’t drink all our Guinness and rum.
***************
Snippets:
Steve Almond has a terrific article on Salon about the remake of Willy Wonka. I sort of want to see it but at the same time, his article makes me understand why I don’t *really* want to see it. Although, since I no longer get stoned, I could probably happily pass on the experience anyway. Best to have my memories. And this, which I cannot decide, is it funny-cool or just plain weird? (Or in the parlance of my teen years, funny-haha or funny-peculiar?)
Happy belated Birthday, Jessa! I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.
***********
Useless snippets:
“You will get caught. We will fine you.” Yet another brain trust storing her kids in the trunk of her car for a long road trip. **NEWSFLASH** If you need to put your kids in the trunk, perhaps you need a bigger car. And do you really think you will get away with this? Or maybe you will. The stern warning at the beginning of this blurb? For seatbelts. Of course, if you had enough seatbelts, you wouldn’t have to put your kids in the trunk, now, would you?
Shakin’ the dice: Why is gambling specifically the compulsive behavior exhibited? Why not hand-washing, or sex? What is it that targets that gambling gene? Isn’t that just bizarre?
******************
I wandered around the bookstore yesterday, debating buying some books. I sat down on the floor and read the first chapter of Wesley Stace’s Misfortune, restrained myself from buying it, and went home to request it from the library. Because interesting as I found the beginning, what if the rest sucks? Hardback books are very expensive these days, it’s a big risk : ) I also requested from the library The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (who knows why?) and a book that just looked like it could be either a lot of fun or really deadly simple, Cordelia Underwood, or, The Marvelous Beginnings of the Moosepath League. Then I went home and started reading Mary Renault’s Fire From Heaven, about Alexander the Great’s boyhood. I have all of Renault’s historical novels because my mother was a big fan, but none of them ever grabbed me. But since I was too lazy to haul my pregnant self up off the floor at B&N, I just slid myself down the row, from the S’s to the R’s, and browsed among the Renaults. Fire From Heaven starts with a snake slithering into the 4-year-old Alexander’s bed, and rather than feeling threatened, he assumes it is his mother’s pet snake - I was hooked. So I am concurrently reading Fire From Heaven which is very likely going to turn out to be a good read but utter trash, and John Irving’s Son of the Circus. The phrase “dwarf blood” is just so evocative, don’t you think?
***********
Guardian summer book reccs, both commoner and celebrity:
Books on the list that also happen to be on my to-read pile:
A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth; Perfume – Patrick Susskind; HP and the Half-Blood Prince – JK Rowling.
Books I’ve read and that I can heartily second the recc:
Midnight’s Children – Salman Rushdie; The Kite Runner – Khaled Hasseini; Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris (his essay on his French class’s take on Easter traditions makes me giggle just thinking about it. It is possibly the funniest thing I have EVER read, even funnier than the Great Dane essay in - heck, which is it? - Barrel Fever or I think, maybe, actually, Naked. For a quick summary, read this. But take the time to get the book and read the entire thing, I promise it's worth it.)
List of books I need to decide if they sufficiently pique my interest to be added to the to-read list: My Summer of Love (this is the second or third time this one has crossed my radar, time to check it out); Memoirs of Hecate County (fabulously creepy cover); Our Hidden Lives: The Everyday Diaries of a Forgotten Britain 1945-48; Birdsong (Sebastian Faulks, and this looks like it just might be too similar to The French Lieutenant’s Wife for my taste…); The Glass Palace; The Promise of Happiness (Justin Cartwright, not available in the States).
I also just requested from the library Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich, due to Jessa Crispin’s ringing endorsement coupled with my natural interest in the homeland of my maternal grandparents.
***************
My cool, suave, cynical husband got sucked into reality TV world last night with the INXS show. He spent many minutes reassuring me that *this* reality show was different “because it’s real. These are people who really want to front INXS! All the other reality TV shows pad the cast with fake competitors.” Uh-huh, dear. Pat him on the knee. You continue to live in your little fantasy world, it harms no one. But oh, how the mighty have fallen. And oh how the not-so-mighty wife is smirking.
I also would like to thank Dan for installing a ceiling fan in the bedroom this weekend. Keeping in mind the man has degrees in both mathematics and electrical engineering, I was the one who had to kindly point out that if you were to insert the remote control base skinny end first into the fan base and *then* connect the wires, it would be much easier than connecting all the wires and then jamming the fat end of the base, tangled in wires, through the very tight space provided.
And the dear one actually said to me this weekend, “You are very pretty. Sure, you had a weight problem but after this baby…” Um. Excuse me. I admit that of the past 55 months, 15 of which has had me more than three months pregnant, and 31 of which I was mostly either nursing (read: ravenous 24-7) or newly pregnant, I have indeed mostly looked at least three months pregnant. But honestly, cut me a break! I at least have those 15 months and two children to show for my belly flab. What’s your excuse?!
**************
My brother has left the state, on an eleven o’clock bus this morning. I don’t think I have ever felt relieved to see him go before. But as I said it was much like I imagine having a third child around will be, only the baby won’t drink all our Guinness and rum.
***************
Snippets:
Steve Almond has a terrific article on Salon about the remake of Willy Wonka. I sort of want to see it but at the same time, his article makes me understand why I don’t *really* want to see it. Although, since I no longer get stoned, I could probably happily pass on the experience anyway. Best to have my memories. And this, which I cannot decide, is it funny-cool or just plain weird? (Or in the parlance of my teen years, funny-haha or funny-peculiar?)
Happy belated Birthday, Jessa! I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.
***********
Useless snippets:
“You will get caught. We will fine you.” Yet another brain trust storing her kids in the trunk of her car for a long road trip. **NEWSFLASH** If you need to put your kids in the trunk, perhaps you need a bigger car. And do you really think you will get away with this? Or maybe you will. The stern warning at the beginning of this blurb? For seatbelts. Of course, if you had enough seatbelts, you wouldn’t have to put your kids in the trunk, now, would you?
Shakin’ the dice: Why is gambling specifically the compulsive behavior exhibited? Why not hand-washing, or sex? What is it that targets that gambling gene? Isn’t that just bizarre?
The Passion Cliché
Take a moment and think about how many stories you’ve read and movies and TV shows you’ve watched where antipathy between two characters disguises a deep passion. I’m now wondering, after reading yet another Katie Fforde book (Stately Pursuits), whether I’m so conditioned to think this way that, upon meeting some horrible, boorish, attractive man, I might register extreme dislike and then assume I’m in love.
Is this a cliché because it’s an easy story telling device, or is it based on something true? Should I start haunting Republican events or some such unlikely place and look for an offensive lout? Maybe I should seek out local Rush Limbaugh fans? Is that where real passion (because, let’s face it, my marriage to a gay man—while filled with love—was noticeably lacking in passion) lies?
Is this a cliché because it’s an easy story telling device, or is it based on something true? Should I start haunting Republican events or some such unlikely place and look for an offensive lout? Maybe I should seek out local Rush Limbaugh fans? Is that where real passion (because, let’s face it, my marriage to a gay man—while filled with love—was noticeably lacking in passion) lies?
Monday, July 11, 2005
This has NOTHING to do with books
Jude’s new favorite thing to do with his remaining fingers when his thumb is in his mouth? Jam them up his nostrils. Good thing he’s so damn cute otherwise.
Also, the Judeman has a shaky grasp of gender roles and male/female anatomy (understandable at two). Jude seems to be under the impression that the redoubtable Mimi is Lucy’s father! And that he has a baby in his tummy too!! “Mama, my baby…tickin’!”
********
Uncle Curt brought Simon Clue Junior, in which the characters eat a piece of cake at a certain time, with a certain drink, and you have to determine who, when, and with what. For example: “I accuse Professor Plum at 3 o’clock with lemonade!” or “I accuse Mrs White at 5 o’clock with the cola!” So naturally Simon wanted to know what the grown-up Clue people ate. I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the differences in the games. In the grown-up version, of course, people run around braining each other with candlesticks and wrenches. As if there isn’t enough talk of death in this household. I am sure Colonel Mustard would much prefer a nice piece of cake with some chocolate milk – but I could be wrong.
*********
Having my brother around, while theoretically pleasant, is a bit like having a third child – or maybe a dog.
**************
The Perfect sister-in-law is coming back here with the boys so they can attend the same venerable high school institution that their father and his brothers and their father attended (and which, yes, my boys will also attend). Can I just tell you that after years of living in McMansions in suburbia, they have decided they now want to live in the one part of town I would give my eyeteeth to buy a house in? Not that I don’t love my house or my neighborhood, but if I had a million bucks…I admit that this time my hatred is so not justified, I am merely white-hot jealous. Except that after a year and a half of house hunting, I happen to know that they will need twice the money they plan to spend to buy anything approaching what they are used to, in this particular part of town. I am a small, petty, bitchy, mean person who deserves to go to hell *after* spending her life in a trailer park, but I can’t help it. I am glad that they will not be taking up residence on Beechwood Boulevard without laying out way more cash than they intended.
****************
I started Philip Roth’s The Human Stain. I am really interested in the story and I like his characters, but I can’t stand the way Roth writes. I’ve read Portnoy’s Complaint and Goodbye Columbus, and tried to read The Plot Against America, about which I felt very similarly. Cool idea, but I just HATE Roth’s writing style. What I hate about it exactly, I can’t quite pinpoint, but I just can’t bear to read him. So that’s just the way it goes, I guess. It’s probably the same ineffable reason I hate Richard Dreyfuss.
So I don’t know what to read next. I think I may try Barry Unsworth’s Sacred Hunger. It DID win the Booker, after all. Or maybe I’ll take advantage of my brother being here and run to B&N for something new. Because I really don’t have enough books…
Also, the Judeman has a shaky grasp of gender roles and male/female anatomy (understandable at two). Jude seems to be under the impression that the redoubtable Mimi is Lucy’s father! And that he has a baby in his tummy too!! “Mama, my baby…tickin’!”
********
Uncle Curt brought Simon Clue Junior, in which the characters eat a piece of cake at a certain time, with a certain drink, and you have to determine who, when, and with what. For example: “I accuse Professor Plum at 3 o’clock with lemonade!” or “I accuse Mrs White at 5 o’clock with the cola!” So naturally Simon wanted to know what the grown-up Clue people ate. I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the differences in the games. In the grown-up version, of course, people run around braining each other with candlesticks and wrenches. As if there isn’t enough talk of death in this household. I am sure Colonel Mustard would much prefer a nice piece of cake with some chocolate milk – but I could be wrong.
*********
Having my brother around, while theoretically pleasant, is a bit like having a third child – or maybe a dog.
**************
The Perfect sister-in-law is coming back here with the boys so they can attend the same venerable high school institution that their father and his brothers and their father attended (and which, yes, my boys will also attend). Can I just tell you that after years of living in McMansions in suburbia, they have decided they now want to live in the one part of town I would give my eyeteeth to buy a house in? Not that I don’t love my house or my neighborhood, but if I had a million bucks…I admit that this time my hatred is so not justified, I am merely white-hot jealous. Except that after a year and a half of house hunting, I happen to know that they will need twice the money they plan to spend to buy anything approaching what they are used to, in this particular part of town. I am a small, petty, bitchy, mean person who deserves to go to hell *after* spending her life in a trailer park, but I can’t help it. I am glad that they will not be taking up residence on Beechwood Boulevard without laying out way more cash than they intended.
****************
I started Philip Roth’s The Human Stain. I am really interested in the story and I like his characters, but I can’t stand the way Roth writes. I’ve read Portnoy’s Complaint and Goodbye Columbus, and tried to read The Plot Against America, about which I felt very similarly. Cool idea, but I just HATE Roth’s writing style. What I hate about it exactly, I can’t quite pinpoint, but I just can’t bear to read him. So that’s just the way it goes, I guess. It’s probably the same ineffable reason I hate Richard Dreyfuss.
So I don’t know what to read next. I think I may try Barry Unsworth’s Sacred Hunger. It DID win the Booker, after all. Or maybe I’ll take advantage of my brother being here and run to B&N for something new. Because I really don’t have enough books…
Books
I finished The Rotter's Club Saturday, and I think Coe did a great job writing a story that is concerned about issues both big and small. The protagonists are high school boys in 1970s Birmingham, and their lives are necessarily small and selfish, but they begin to see that the world is bigger than their heads or their homes or their school.
There's tragedy and sadness, maudlin teen angst, and some scenes that made me laugh out loud.
It's a good read, and I can't wait for the sequel, The Closed Circle, to come in at B&N.
I also read Judith Moore's memoir, Fat Girl. Christ, what a downer. This is reviewed on the June issue of Bookslut, and I was curious to see if maybe the reviewer disliked the book because she couldn't identify. I can tell you that I identified with much of Moore's thoughts and feelings, and even some of her history. I can tell you that Moore is a very talented writer. And I can tell you that I wish I hadn't read the book. It's depressing and ugly and lacking much in the way of happiness or hope. I acknowledge Moore's right to tell her story and work out her past and her feelings, but this is one memoir I could have lived without.
Next up, Nekropolis. This is the author of that short story you gave me, Val, about the chips that monitor peoples' whereabouts . . .
There's tragedy and sadness, maudlin teen angst, and some scenes that made me laugh out loud.
It's a good read, and I can't wait for the sequel, The Closed Circle, to come in at B&N.
I also read Judith Moore's memoir, Fat Girl. Christ, what a downer. This is reviewed on the June issue of Bookslut, and I was curious to see if maybe the reviewer disliked the book because she couldn't identify. I can tell you that I identified with much of Moore's thoughts and feelings, and even some of her history. I can tell you that Moore is a very talented writer. And I can tell you that I wish I hadn't read the book. It's depressing and ugly and lacking much in the way of happiness or hope. I acknowledge Moore's right to tell her story and work out her past and her feelings, but this is one memoir I could have lived without.
Next up, Nekropolis. This is the author of that short story you gave me, Val, about the chips that monitor peoples' whereabouts . . .
Overheard
I overheard a discussion at the library this weekend between a young clerk and a teen-aged looking patron:
"What are those Left Behind books? Are they any good?"
"Um . . . they're . . . um . . . they're religious. They're about . . . like . . . the Rapture?"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
I wanted to hug them both.
"What are those Left Behind books? Are they any good?"
"Um . . . they're . . . um . . . they're religious. They're about . . . like . . . the Rapture?"
"Oh."
"Yeah."
I wanted to hug them both.
My Turn!
This is so much fun, Val! I have to confess, though, that this reminds me of Mad-Libs for grownups. I'd love to get my sister to fill in the blanks, for example, and then let her in on the poem. :-)
Here's mine:
I am from the blue hair brush, from Merit Light 100s and RC Cola and 7Up.
I am from the dirt pile in the field where backhoes dug the foundation, from a red-brick-split-level, from the sharp concrete hearth of a fireplace that Dad still never lets Mom light.
I am from the jagger bushes, clover and powdery driveway dirt, the twiggy baby trees, dandelions and the deep, coffee bean tan and chlorine-red eyes from hours and hours and hours in the cold, blue backyard pool.
I am from shooting a rifle off the back porch at midnight on New Year’s Eve and oily, oily skin; from Grandma Nannie and Pap and two Aunt Barbs, two Aunt Lindas and three Uncle Ricks.
I am from the nurses who never take care of themselves and dancers who love the sight of a camera.
From “You’ll be better before you’re married,” and “Gina-I-Can’t.”
I am from Catholic school, where a nun told us that one day a bomb would release a gas that would kill all the people and animals in the world, but leave all the cars and buildings unharmed; where the ancient church the Italian families went to was razed and replaced with a monstrosity of 80s architecture and orange industrial carpeting.
I'm from Czechoslovakia and It’ly, kolatch and ravioli, from scrambled eggs with peas and wafers dipped in honey and pastine and polenta and ambrosia.
From the time Jamie toddled around the back yard chewing on a robin’s egg she’d found, the way Ricky sucked down packets of ketchup, and Gram’s journey from four heart attacks to kick boxer.
I am from black and white photos crammed in a sagging box, faded color prints jammed alongside them—nothing in any kind of order. I am from poses on stairs, peeking through curtains, and snaps of kids jumping and flipping and diving. I am from family photos taken in front of a rhododendron, on back porches, front porches, porch swings and pool decks. We almost never go anywhere—our photos are home.
Here's mine:
I am from the blue hair brush, from Merit Light 100s and RC Cola and 7Up.
I am from the dirt pile in the field where backhoes dug the foundation, from a red-brick-split-level, from the sharp concrete hearth of a fireplace that Dad still never lets Mom light.
I am from the jagger bushes, clover and powdery driveway dirt, the twiggy baby trees, dandelions and the deep, coffee bean tan and chlorine-red eyes from hours and hours and hours in the cold, blue backyard pool.
I am from shooting a rifle off the back porch at midnight on New Year’s Eve and oily, oily skin; from Grandma Nannie and Pap and two Aunt Barbs, two Aunt Lindas and three Uncle Ricks.
I am from the nurses who never take care of themselves and dancers who love the sight of a camera.
From “You’ll be better before you’re married,” and “Gina-I-Can’t.”
I am from Catholic school, where a nun told us that one day a bomb would release a gas that would kill all the people and animals in the world, but leave all the cars and buildings unharmed; where the ancient church the Italian families went to was razed and replaced with a monstrosity of 80s architecture and orange industrial carpeting.
I'm from Czechoslovakia and It’ly, kolatch and ravioli, from scrambled eggs with peas and wafers dipped in honey and pastine and polenta and ambrosia.
From the time Jamie toddled around the back yard chewing on a robin’s egg she’d found, the way Ricky sucked down packets of ketchup, and Gram’s journey from four heart attacks to kick boxer.
I am from black and white photos crammed in a sagging box, faded color prints jammed alongside them—nothing in any kind of order. I am from poses on stairs, peeking through curtains, and snaps of kids jumping and flipping and diving. I am from family photos taken in front of a rhododendron, on back porches, front porches, porch swings and pool decks. We almost never go anywhere—our photos are home.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
I am from
The blog path leading me to this exercise: Pea soup > Simple things> Anything of interest?> Fragments from Floyd.
The template is here.
Then, write your own version-- where you're from...
You might be surprised what you find as you rummage around in those dusty old trunks--your personality, your family history and traits, and the places you've called home--as you complete the poem with your own memories and facts.
I think it would be a joy to read this personalized poem from a group of bloggers who "sort of" know each other. This could extend the depth of bond between strangers.
*****************
I am from the brown leatherette cigarette case, the backyard swimming pool, and mashed potatoes from a box, from Dell’s Iced Tea and little white Keds and a carton of Kool Filter Kings.
I am from the brightest green house, the “good” turquoise carpet, the purple car parked out front because the garage is full of bikes and lawn mowers and empty baby food jars. After my father’s death, I am from piles of papers and corridors of boxes, and way too many cats.
I am from the locust tree that threatened to fall every storm, the crocuses that bloom in early spring under the front-porch evergreens, the maples in the backyard sheltering the never-finished patio. I am from the matched apple trees and tiger lilies growing out of the compost heap.
I am from freezing Christmas Eve afternoons finding the Perfect Tree with my impossible-to-please mother, from swimming at the Y on Friday nights and driving to Whale Beach on summer Saturdays, and stubbornness and quick-fire temper, from Sofrun and Sam-and-Elsie and Lala and Dustball.
I am from shouting and hollering and then, just as quickly, hugs and kisses; from never knowing quite how to express affection. I am from hours-long walks on Sunday afternoons and early morning talk radio on the religious station.
From After laughter comes tears, and I’ll never have anything nice, from I’m nervous, and Nucleus-1,2,3,4,5.
I am from church three times a week, and vacation bible school in the summer, punch and cheap cookies softening in the humidity, dressing up for Sunday school and playing tag in the parking lot.
I'm from Kiev, from running away to the army at sixteen, from half-a-block-from-Mount-Ephraim, from homemade birthday cakes and meatloaf and cups of hot sweet tea and rubber eggs and ice cream sundaes at Green Valley.
From Mom dumping ice cream on Daddy’s head, from Dad scrabbling through the gravel driveway to find the lost engagement ring, and from the way Uncle Johnny lost his hair to a bullet in the War.
I am from the boxes in my attic, the stuck-together Polaroids ruined in a basement flood, from the Ellis Island rubbing and the only family photo taken, before I was even thought of.
**********
The template is here.
Then, write your own version-- where you're from...
You might be surprised what you find as you rummage around in those dusty old trunks--your personality, your family history and traits, and the places you've called home--as you complete the poem with your own memories and facts.
I think it would be a joy to read this personalized poem from a group of bloggers who "sort of" know each other. This could extend the depth of bond between strangers.
*****************
I am from the brown leatherette cigarette case, the backyard swimming pool, and mashed potatoes from a box, from Dell’s Iced Tea and little white Keds and a carton of Kool Filter Kings.
I am from the brightest green house, the “good” turquoise carpet, the purple car parked out front because the garage is full of bikes and lawn mowers and empty baby food jars. After my father’s death, I am from piles of papers and corridors of boxes, and way too many cats.
I am from the locust tree that threatened to fall every storm, the crocuses that bloom in early spring under the front-porch evergreens, the maples in the backyard sheltering the never-finished patio. I am from the matched apple trees and tiger lilies growing out of the compost heap.
I am from freezing Christmas Eve afternoons finding the Perfect Tree with my impossible-to-please mother, from swimming at the Y on Friday nights and driving to Whale Beach on summer Saturdays, and stubbornness and quick-fire temper, from Sofrun and Sam-and-Elsie and Lala and Dustball.
I am from shouting and hollering and then, just as quickly, hugs and kisses; from never knowing quite how to express affection. I am from hours-long walks on Sunday afternoons and early morning talk radio on the religious station.
From After laughter comes tears, and I’ll never have anything nice, from I’m nervous, and Nucleus-1,2,3,4,5.
I am from church three times a week, and vacation bible school in the summer, punch and cheap cookies softening in the humidity, dressing up for Sunday school and playing tag in the parking lot.
I'm from Kiev, from running away to the army at sixteen, from half-a-block-from-Mount-Ephraim, from homemade birthday cakes and meatloaf and cups of hot sweet tea and rubber eggs and ice cream sundaes at Green Valley.
From Mom dumping ice cream on Daddy’s head, from Dad scrabbling through the gravel driveway to find the lost engagement ring, and from the way Uncle Johnny lost his hair to a bullet in the War.
I am from the boxes in my attic, the stuck-together Polaroids ruined in a basement flood, from the Ellis Island rubbing and the only family photo taken, before I was even thought of.
**********
By and large, mothers and housewives are the only workers who do not have regular time off. They are the great vacationless class.
Circumcision. Even just the word makes me cringe anymore. Not being religiously obliged to do so, we chose not to circumcise our boys. My husband was a staunch advocate of this position but for some reason lately has been expressing worry that they will be teased in school due to the natural, um, beauty of their apparatus. Now there’s part of me that realizes that some of this is just him worrying, because he needs something to obsess about and the airplanes are no longer flying over our house every 45 seconds. There’s another part of me that angrily defies him to circumcise two toddlers (he is NOT suggesting this, I am just extraordinarily defensive). And then the Wall Street Journal published this blurb about a study conducted in South Africa apparently proving that circumcision helps prevent contraction of AIDS. I imagine they vetted the participants pretty strictly but I still can’t help but wonder about 1) the participants’ health conditions before the year-long study, and 2) how sexual behavior due to cultural differences (i.e., versus the sexual behavior of American or European men ) would skew the results. Maybe I am just trying to not feel guilty about one more thing. Since, you know, Jude practically had heatstroke yesterday and I am still feeling way guilty about that.
************
Tom/Katie just get freakier and freakier.
Can I get a Scientology chaperone for my boys? I’ll bet it would be cheaper than a babysitter.
****************
This is such a cool idea, science classes based on Harry Potter. Parents should be thrilled to death that such an innovative and enthusiastic teacher is taking a special interest in their kids. If she gets slammed by the conservatives and/or parents out to ban HP, then all I can say is that I will be heartily disappointed.
*******
Apparently the ref desk is now also Directory Assistance. This morning I have looked up the phone numbers for: two county bar associations, a city-based pro bono organization, an out-of-state pro bono organization, the county’s family appeals court, and the new Shop ‘n’ Save in the East End. All for my Private Number patron. Is AT&T charging for 411 service now? Well, it’s still simpler than delving into the Latin roots of the Hail Mary, or finding out a Supreme Court Justice’s personal stance on reproductive-rights law, which is normally the sort of thing PNP wants. That is, when she’s not trying to find out biographical information on the judges of Dancing with the Stars.
************
I’m sitting at the ref desk smelling this yummy, lightly citrus scent and wondering where it’s coming from. Thursday we had a patron who smelt of orange Pez (this is a good thing) and I had to ask her what her perfume was (Giorgio Wings). So I was prepared to do so again when I realized it’s ME. I am the yummy smell. I put on my French perfume this morning. It’s probably the Parisian equivalent of Charlie, you can buy it in any pharmacy in Paris, but I love it. It’s Molinard’s Les Senteurs Orange-Cannelle. I have a good friend who is always jetting off to exotic places and whenever she’s in Paris, she buys me some more for my birthday. As long as she can keep me supplied, I will happily wear it for the rest of my natural life. It comes in these beautiful blue bottles of which I have quite the collection growing on my bathroom window sill. They’re empty but they’re so pretty I can’t bear to just toss them. I occasionally alternate it with this stuff I picked up in Stone Harbor last year, specially formulated “for the Aries.” It’s peppermint and honeysuckle, so nice, but I do adore the citrus. This is my next fragrance purchase: Bath & Body Works verbena body splash Yum. Because smelling like a lemon is a good thing.
***********************
I am working on a post about sharks. I happen to totally dig sharks, love reading about them, and mostly sympathize with the poor man-eating creatures. I actually have favorite shark books. And I shall share them with you. Soon. Along with this cool poem idea I found out about on another blog.
************
Tom/Katie just get freakier and freakier.
Can I get a Scientology chaperone for my boys? I’ll bet it would be cheaper than a babysitter.
****************
This is such a cool idea, science classes based on Harry Potter. Parents should be thrilled to death that such an innovative and enthusiastic teacher is taking a special interest in their kids. If she gets slammed by the conservatives and/or parents out to ban HP, then all I can say is that I will be heartily disappointed.
*******
Apparently the ref desk is now also Directory Assistance. This morning I have looked up the phone numbers for: two county bar associations, a city-based pro bono organization, an out-of-state pro bono organization, the county’s family appeals court, and the new Shop ‘n’ Save in the East End. All for my Private Number patron. Is AT&T charging for 411 service now? Well, it’s still simpler than delving into the Latin roots of the Hail Mary, or finding out a Supreme Court Justice’s personal stance on reproductive-rights law, which is normally the sort of thing PNP wants. That is, when she’s not trying to find out biographical information on the judges of Dancing with the Stars.
************
I’m sitting at the ref desk smelling this yummy, lightly citrus scent and wondering where it’s coming from. Thursday we had a patron who smelt of orange Pez (this is a good thing) and I had to ask her what her perfume was (Giorgio Wings). So I was prepared to do so again when I realized it’s ME. I am the yummy smell. I put on my French perfume this morning. It’s probably the Parisian equivalent of Charlie, you can buy it in any pharmacy in Paris, but I love it. It’s Molinard’s Les Senteurs Orange-Cannelle. I have a good friend who is always jetting off to exotic places and whenever she’s in Paris, she buys me some more for my birthday. As long as she can keep me supplied, I will happily wear it for the rest of my natural life. It comes in these beautiful blue bottles of which I have quite the collection growing on my bathroom window sill. They’re empty but they’re so pretty I can’t bear to just toss them. I occasionally alternate it with this stuff I picked up in Stone Harbor last year, specially formulated “for the Aries.” It’s peppermint and honeysuckle, so nice, but I do adore the citrus. This is my next fragrance purchase: Bath & Body Works verbena body splash Yum. Because smelling like a lemon is a good thing.
***********************
I am working on a post about sharks. I happen to totally dig sharks, love reading about them, and mostly sympathize with the poor man-eating creatures. I actually have favorite shark books. And I shall share them with you. Soon. Along with this cool poem idea I found out about on another blog.
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