So I've been watching The Philanthropist. I tuned in the first night because I think James Purefoy is kind of a hunk, and during summer hiatus, they're often thin on the ground. His character, Teddy Rist is That Guy. You know, the womanizing raconteur with more money than sense? (Though at the rate this guy wastes money, he's going to be living in a refrigerator carton by the end of the series.) But see, Teddy has a weakness for the vulnerable and the downtrodden, and he lets that get the better of him about as often as he lets a beautiful woman get the better of him. Wow, is he like the junior version of The Most Interesting Man in the World or what?



The first week, Teddy risks life and limb to rescue a small Nigerian boy from drowning. You know this is a particularly selfless act because the guy who is trying to get all the people from the hotel to safety, dismisses this kid as not worth worrying about -- No no, sir, that's just an orphan. We eat them when there are no finger sandwiches for tea. -- Then later, unable to forget this poor child who has lined up to be an hors d'oeuvre by being so careless as to lose both parents, Teddy goes looking for him and discovers that there is a cholera epidemic raging in Nigeria. Again he risks life and limb (he does that a lot) delivering a bag of cholera serum to a remote Nigerian village where -- wait for it -- he finds the boy again! Yes, his good deed is rewarded. So he gives the kid a toy, beds the comely Nigerian doctor and goes on back to his life as a billionaire playboy.

Week two: Teddy risks life and limb to get a man to the hospital to donate a kidney to his dying daughter. (The man's daughter, not Teddy's. Teddy has lost a child himself which makes him very sensitive to children in danger.) Week three: Teddy risks life and limb (Are you seeing the pattern here? Good, because his body-guard is on the verge of a nervous breakdown over this habit.) to rescue a lot of young women who have been kidnapped or otherwise coerced into prostitution by a Russian mafia guy. And there's some stuff about the French government, too, during which Teddy is given the Légion d'honneur, seemingly for telling a damn good story.

For Teddy Rist (BTW, please note the similarity of the name Rist to the word risk. Coincidence? I think not. Heavy-handed? Well, let's just say it meshes nicely with the rest of the series.) no problem is so insurmountable that throwing his money and himself at it won't fix it. But, y'know... in spite of the fact that Teddy has more money than God and knows all the right wines to drink, he's also sort of a big, lovable dork which I think is why he gets so much play from so many otherwise sensible women who normally don't have time for the idiot playboy type. And that's part of the appeal of this show. Another plus is the excellent cast which includes Neve Campbell and Jesse L. Martin as Rist's business partners, a married couple who support his committment to social justice and who are obviously crazy about each other, and Michael K. Williams as Rist's long-suffering body-guard. But I think the most winning thing about the show is that it makes doing good things for other people seem sexy and adventurous. It flies in the face of all those stereotypes of old ladies who rescue cats or society types who write big checks because they feel guilty and anyway they can write it all off their taxes.

So in spite of the fact that there are any number of criticisms I could level against this show, the bottom line is that I find it fun, and I like that it's showing its audience that helping others is a good thing. For that alone I'd cut it a lot of slack.

And then there's James Purefoy.

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I've been writing most of the day, stopping only to chat with Charles, and do some laundry.  I don't really remember eating but I'm guessing I did.

The first novella has gone out to Tazlet for a critique.  (Also because I think she needs to get on this bandwagon.)  The second is currently at just under 5k, which means it's about 1/3rd finished.  My goal is to be able to send three finished novellas to the company by the end of August. After that I intend to finish at least one of these novels and use it as a follow-up.  With luck and persistence, NaNoWriMo may produce a second novel.  It'll be a good beginning.

There's nothing like paying huge bills to remind you of why you're working like a fiend.  Unless I sell some stuff there'll be no new patio and no new windows next year.

In other news, there is no other news.  The house is a wreck because I'm doing very little other than writing.  The basement and garage are disasters.  But I do have clean sheets to put on my bed tonight and a slice of blueberry coffee cake to have with some tea.  Life is suprisingly good, and will be better if I manage to run off all the rest of the dirty dishes before I go to bed tonight.

Oh and someone is playing the music from A Fist Full of Dollars on an outdoor PA system.  What a strange little neighborhood I live in.

This is a video of my friend, Marc, at his forge at the Bristol Faire. As you can see, he was incredibly talented and did beautiful work. Marc died last Sunday. He was only 61. I wish I'd known him better, but I do know that he will be missed.

Beginning with why I hate the 4th of July: Some idiot down the street just set off a firecracker. Again I say, I get the bright, pretty ones, the playing with fire stuff, but noise? What the hell is the point of that? Smart people turn their car alarms off over this weekend is all I'm sayin'.
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I actually made up one of these quizzes for people who are too old to take the "What grade are you in? Who do you have a crush on?" things, but that was years ago. This is a good one, too, so I'm doing it:

Tired of all of those surveys made up by high school kids?! 'Have you ever kissed someone? Missed someone? Told someone you loved them? Drank alcohol?' 38 questions for the people who are a little older... Comment when you finish. I'd love to see your answers.

1. What bill do you hate paying the most? -- Used to be my health insurance premium but since I'm no longer insured that's a moot point. I'd say, credit card bills. It's unfriendly of them to let us take stuff and then expect us to pay for it a month later.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner? -- Romantic? I don't do romantic. But I had a really lovely dinner with good friends last Saturday at Bistro Campagne.

3. What do you really want to be doing right now? -- To be honest, sleeping. I've slept badly for two nights, for various reasons, and I'm tired. Also, the house is quiet, the breeze coming in the windows is cool but not cold, and I spent the morning out working in the yard, which looks a lot better for all the pruning I did and the weeding Dawn did. So yeah, sleeping. In my comfy chair. With some silly, pointless movie on in the background.

4. How many colleges did you attend? -- Five, I think. A teacher's college which I left when I realized that the idea of spending X hours a day in a room filled with kids was right up there with going to Woodfield mall the day after Thanksgiving. Circles of Hell stuff. Then I got my BA at UICC because I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself. I did some post-grad work at NEIU, and some computer work at Wright College, but the best was my time at the School of the Art Institute. I'd go back in a heartbeat, but that means putting together A) a portfolio and B) A lot of money.

5. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now? -- It's orange and it looked so amazing with the teal pants and lavender Crocs.

6. What are your thoughts on gas prices? -- I don't own a car so it's not an issue most of the time. I think it's past time we did something about our dependence on fossil fuels, though, and I hope high gas prices convince people that the nearly free ride is over.

7. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? -- My alarm is my cat, and I thought "Oh phew, your breath is awful."

8. Last thought before going to sleep last night? -- Which time? No seriously that's funny because at 10 p.m. I was so tired I couldn't hold my head up. I went to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes and went face first into the pillows. I didn't undress, feed the cat or even turn off the lights. I don't think I had any thoughts at that point beyond the "Fire bad, tree pretty" sort (Thank you, Buffy.) An hour later I woke up and was wide awake, and then ended up staying up until three, and not falling asleep right away when I did get back to bed. I suspect my last thought was something about being happy to have Caddy all smushed up against my face.

9. Do you miss being a child? -- In some ways, sure. In other ways, not at all.

10. What errand/chore do you despise? -- Most of them, really. But the worst is washing the floor.

11. Get up early or sleep in? -- Well it depends on the definition. If sleeping in is defined as sleeping past the time when most people get up, then I sleep in. If it's defined as sleeping more than eight hours, then I sleep in sometimes. I don't get up early unless you define that as getting less than eight hours in which case again, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I generally get about eight hours, but they're not the same eight hours each night.

12. Have you found real love yet? -- Being "in love" with anyone? I don't think so. I doubt I ever will. But it doesn't bother me any more. Used to. But then the idea of dying used to bother me, too.

13. Favorite lunch meat? -- I don't generally like lunch meat, per se, but when I do eat it, it's usually some form of turkey. Turkey pastrami is one I'm quite fond of.

14. What do you get every time you go into Wal-Mart? -- I don't go to Wal-Mart or Sam's Club or any store owned by that company because they suck.

15. Beach or lake? -- Lake. No contest.

16. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual? -- The actual act of getting married? Not if you like the idea. The fact of being married? Nice enough, I guess.

17. Sopranos or Desperate Housewives? -- Neither, but I'm more a Sopranos type.

18.What famous person would you like to have dinner with? -- Can I make a list? It might include: Eddie Izzard, The President, Guillermo del Toro, Rachel Maddow...

19. Have you ever crashed your vehicle? -- I've been in car accidents but never one when I was driving, so I guess not.

20. Ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose? -- No, thank goodness.

21. Ring tone? -- Bad to the Bone, George Thoroughgood.

22. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? -- I don't generally whip out my toothbrush when I'm on a roller coaster or anything. Probably the kitchen.

23. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go? -- I wouldn't mind actually seeing Mt. Shasta. I went past it on the train but was asleep. Everyone else said it was gorgeous by moonlight.

23. Do you go to church? -- Not recently.

24. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationship? -- Since I like the career path I'm on, I suppose relationship.

25. How old are you? -- 57

26. Do you have a go to person? -- For some things, yeah.

27. Are you where you want to be in life? -- I'm where I am. At my age, I don't know that asking for more than that is wise.

28. Growing up, what were your favorite cartoons? -- Oh, Mighty Mouse! I had a ferocious crush on him as a toddler.

29. What about you do you think has changed the most? -- The anxiety levels have dropped dramatically. I spent several years being nuts and afraid of everything, and then I got heavily medicated which ended all that chemically. But I found that once I stopped taking the drugs, it never came back. It's as if taking just a small break was enough to end the cycle.

30. Looking back at high school were they the best years of your life? -- Just the opposite. I came closer to having a nervous breakdown in my senior year than at any other time of my life. I HATED high school.

32. Did you ever own troll dolls? -- Yes, but this was when they were new back in the early sixties, I think it was.

33. Did you have a pager? -- Never.

34. Where was the hang out spot when you were a teenager? -- I suspect that in my neighborhood the most popular place was The Buffalo, a soda shop

35. Were you the type of kid you would want your children to hang out with? -- Hard to say. I was a stupid child, but well-behaved.

36.Who do you think impacted your life the most? -- My folks. I've tried to become a person they'd be proud of.

37. Was there a teacher or authority figure that stood out for you? -- Oh yeah. In college there was Nancy Cirillo, Tom Hoberg, Bill Brincka and Merrilee Cutts. Nancy and Tom taught English, Merri and Bill taught Art. Those four people probably had more impact on what I do than all my other teachers combined.

38. Do you tell stories that start with “when I was your age..."? -- No, thank god, and I hope I never do. When I find myself waxing nostalgic in front of youngsters I always try to find a place in my ramblings where I assure them that I walked 20 miles uphill in the snow every day just to go to school in an unheated, one-room schoolhouse. Just to remind myself not to be too pompous.

__________

The Dr. Bronner Barometer: I bought a pump bottle of Dr. Bronner's lavender soap a while ago, and I've noticed that sometimes it leaks. Actually pulls soap up the pump and leaks out on its own. Just the other day I realized that it happens when the weather gets bad. I guess it's like one of those little glass swans filled with colored water that rises up into the head when the weather turns to shit. How odd. Has that happened to anyone else with any other sort of pump bottle?
__________

Dawn is up at the Renn Faire at a memorial service for our friend, Marc Lupescu. Dawn used to live with him and has taken it kind of hard. I knew him a little and liked him a lot, but I passed on the service because I didn't want to go up there and present myself as a mourner, you know? I didn't feel right trying to claim a share of the grief.

We spent the morning working in the yard. I pruned the magnolia, cutting back two of the five trunks so that it's more shaped and less sloppy-looking, and it looks pretty good now. We're trying to encourage it to grow up instead of out. Ditto the big evergreen near the house. I got under it (my head still itches even after a shower and shampoo!) and cut off all the deadwood, and then thinned the growth so it doesn't so much spread out as grow upward. I also pruned off all the suckers on the Japanese maple, and it looks nice and clean, especially after I took off one low branch that just detracted from the general shape. Tomorrow I want to get to that damn lilac. It's messy and needs a lot of attention. I may have to ask Carlos if I can come into his yard to do some of the work. One of the most interesting moments was when we discovered that the wood of the magnolia smells like cardamom. It's really quite lovely.

Dawn worked like a horse weeding and cutting the grass, but I have to tell you, she's turned into a real gardener. She works hard, does an excellent job and learns very fast. And she likes it. That's a critical thing for any gardener. You have to like the work. The back still looks kind of shitty, but next year we're redoing the patio and putting in raised beds, and doing a lot of general clean-up, so it should improve. And we're going to do a portrait of our cats to hang on the garage wall, and then mosaic a lot of the rest of the garage.

The flowers along our fence with John are starting to climb and bloom. Nasturtiums and clematis are in bloom, morning glories are threatening to take over the world. Moonflowers? Not so much yet, but I am confident they'll come along. Our pumpkin vines are ginormous as as the cukes, and most of the other veggies and fruit are doing quite well, even if everything is behind because of the weather. Our new roses are starting to bloom as are the blackberries. I love watching these things happen, it's like a miracle every day!

On the non-miraculous side, someone stole one of our big terracotta planters. My curse on them.

Charles stopped by and gave me a book about remodeling Kitchens. He spent an hour trying to discourage me from remodeling and I said "Don't you want the business?" He said "Anyone else and I'd be saying "Yeah, sure, let's do it!"" But he never explained why he doesn't feel that way about my kitchen. I promised him a cake next week anyway. Funny man.

Since Dawn is out and Taylor is staying home tonight, there's no girls' night festivities planned so I'm going to read and eat watermelon. Someone planted a flag on our lawn, but I want to hang ours out when I finish typing this post. I'd hoped to finish the novella I've been working on but I got distracted and lazy. Probably tomorrow morning or on Sunday. Jim is coming over tomorrow, so it's less likely to happen since there's still some yard work to do, and I have a stack of horror films that we might end up watching. And 1776 is on tomorrow night! Wheeee.

____________________

You have to see the tiles at this place! I gave the URL to Namaste Nancy, but the more I thought about it the more I thought I should share it with the rest of you.

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• The Strain, by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan (boingboing.net)

So... interesting morning already. Dawn, on her way out to work, discovers a mysterious suitcase in front of our house. She calls 311, they disconnect her. So she calls 911 and says "Listen... it's probably nothing but we just put a "I support gay marriage" sticker on the door, and who knows what sort of nut-jobs are out there? What if it's a bomb?" So they promise to send someone out.

She calls me, tells me that the bomb squad will be coming and she's on her way to work. I say "Huh?" She then says "Oh... maybe I should stay." I say "Yes, Sebastian, I think you'd better had." (Eddie Izzard fans may get that. Apologies to the rest of you.) I throw on clothes and meet her in the hallway to wait. And wait, and wait. Now, Caddy's asleep in his little tower right in the front, by the windows, but do I think about pulling him to safety? No. Does she run upstairs to put her babies in their stroller just in case we need to make a quick getaway? No. She does admit that she moved the suitcase away from the house. I observe that she's still alive which bodes well for it not being on a hair trigger.

Finally the police arrive. One squad car. They stare at the suitcase from the car, and we can see them smiling, so of course we start laughing because at six-thirty in the morning, before coffee has been ingested, even the possibility of being blown to bits is mildly hilarious. A very cute cop gets out, walks around the suitcase, laughs, picks it up and throws it in the trunk. Then they take off.

Dawn and I are weeping with laughter by now. She observes that it probably was lost luggage delivered to the wrong house in the dark. I observe that that may be so, but if we hear an explosion and see bits of squad car flying past we'll be very glad we called. We wonder briefly if it might be body parts instead.

We get hold of ourselves, she gets ready to leave for work, and as we open the front door, the squad car shows up again. She goes down to talk to them, then heads off for the bus line. She calls me from there and tells me he was as cute close up as from a distance, but he probably thinks we're insane. Which we are, of course, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a bomb. I observe that it could have been the prayer flags as easily as the gay marriage sticker. Or a disgruntled gardener who hates us because our house is the prettiest one on the block. She says "You never know what sets people off, do you?"

The squad car hasn't come back around since she left. Oh well. There was probably a million dollars and a bunch of drugs in the suitcase. But as Dawn pointed out, we've seen "Shallow Grave." That wouldn't end well.

I was initially surprised when I unpacked these speakers because they were a lot larger than I'd expected. In fact, I think they're rather large for laptop speakers unless your laptop doesn't travel the way mine does, around the house or outside of it. You're not going to be carting these speakers along with you. They'll probably end up as speakers for my desktop.

Portability issues aside, they do provide good sound for their size and price point. Tone is crisp and clear, and while you can't do much more than play with the volume and brighten or darken the sound, you can still do some reasonable fine-tuning here. I'm sure there are audiophiles out there who will disagree with me, but then I don't really think that listening to music or watching DVDs on your computer provides optimal enjoyment no matter how good your speakers. It's a convenience, not worth selling your firstborn for.

Apart from the size, my only other quibble is that here is yet another piece of equipment that I have to find a plug for, and a plug that will accommodate yet another bulky transformer. I realize that external speakers which operate on juice from the computer are probably pretty sad little things, and that it's a trade-off, but I really am getting tired of all those black blocks.

But the bottom line is this: I'm sitting here listening to Pandora Radio and it sounds good to me for a change. The sort of good that would get me back to listening on a regular basis. And that, my friends, is the real test of these speakers and their relationship to my laptop. They may not end up attached to the desktop after all.

Altec Lansing Speakers for Computers/MP3 Players with Crystal-Clear Sound (Black)

Dept. of What I Don't Get: How is it that the only level of discourse fandom seems to aspire to is high dudgeon?

On the home front, I slept very badly to hardly at all last night. I finally got a ziploc bag of ice cubes and brought it to bed with me because I was so overheated I couldn't stop moving around trying to find just one square inch of coolness. When I woke up today the bed was soaking wet. What fun, huh?

Charles came by about noon and we had lunch up at McNamara's. I almost wept with gratitude at the cool air, my face finally stopped feeling as if someone was pricking it with little needles over and over. From there, we went to Lowes and picked out two a/c window units, and then I bought him ice cream at the Chocolate Shoppe. (I also left a Book Crossing book there.)

Abe came by and he and Charles got the two installed, and brought Glinda's down from upstairs. Unfortunately I think hers needs some freon because it blew the circuit breaker. Fortunately nothing else was on it that I know of, so I'm going to leave it as it is for the Seans to deal with when they come by on Monday. This place has crazy electrical wiring. Good, but crazy.

Anyway, the air in here is markedly dryer and somewhat cooler, and I'm feeling a lot better. I'm sure this intolerance for heat and humidity is a terrible moral failing, but honestly? I don't care.

Now Caddy wants something but he won't tell me what. *sigh*

Johannes Cabal has sold his soul to the devil - with immediate possession - in exchange for magic and arcane wisdom that will help him further his research. But he discovers he needs his soul, not for any particular spiritual reason, but because he believes that being without it is hindering his work. And so he sets out to strong-arm Satan into giving it back. He's willing to make a deal, but both he and Satan drive hard bargains, and in the end, Johannes agrees that within the space of a single year he will deliver one hundred other souls in exchange for his own. And just because he's an okay guy, Satan gives Cabal a carnival. Not your fun-and-games, cotton candy and wild rides sort of carnival either, but one which has the potential to corrupt and destroy human beings.

There's something about this book which reminds me a great deal of Gaiman's and Pratchett's "Good Omens" which is one of my favorites. Probably it's the sense that what's going on in the narrative is serious stuff, and should be taken seriously... except it's not. The danger, the corruption, the infernal interference would all make a terrific horror novel, if it wasn't so damn funny. I guess that in the final analysis, evil isn't majestic or magnificent, but rather it's small and petty and even bureaucratic in nature. Evil is less being rent limb from limb by hell hounds and more getting pecked to death by ducks.

But there is an underlying seriousness within this book, and it's about the nature of the individual soul, about the relationships that have made the characters what they are, and which drive them to do what they do. That is, at least, deadly serious, and rightly so. And yet, that seriousness, and the sadness behind it, is always overlaid by a lively sense of the absurd, kept at arms length until the end when the bet with Satan ends and the truth about Cabal's work is made clear.

In spite of a few slow spots along the way, Johannes Cabal, The Necromancer held my attention both through my own sense of the absurd and my curiosity about how it would all turn out in the end. And I have to say that I was satisfied. I enjoyed the heck out of the book, and I think anyone who is willing to go along with the often hilarious narrative, will too.

Johannes Cabal the Necromancer

Let's try this again... (Man I am so hating the LJ post page right now) In general I'll put on the local Classical station if there's nothing specific I want to hear as I work. But if I'm writing something associated with a particular era then I break out the iPod or CDs. I listened to a LOT of 60s music while I wrote "White Rabbit."

So yesterday, I promised Glinda that I'd make hot pork sandwiches for supper. I was going to reheat the potatoes with the but there wasn't much left so I had them for lunch. Fortunately, hot pork is one of those things which requires only decent white bread, a lot of good gravy and a bit of pork to be really tasty. So after exchanging a dozen emails on the subject, she popped on down and we set to putting the sandwiches together. The gravy was on the stove, the sliced pork on the cutting board, inside a ziplock bag, in the microwave, bread on the plates, fizzy water poured... and then I took the pork out of the microwave.

Any of you have a flat top range? Those of you who do will know that the burners don't normally show that they're hot, particularly when set to "Lo" the way the gravy burner was. And in fact, at that point they don't radiate a lot of heat once the pan is off the burner. Just enough to melt plastic bags, really. So I'm laying the pork out on the bread and suddenly I remember that OHNOES the burner that I put the bag and cutting board on had been hot just a bit ago. I yanked it up and what should I see but strings of plastic coming up with the half melted bag, and the Ziplock logo melted onto the burner.

Why am I telling you this? It's a PSA, really, for anyone out there who is as big a doof as I am. Let the burner cool completely. I mean totally. Let it cool for at least an hour. Most of the plastic will peel right off. And what's left can be removed by careful work with one of those single-edge razor blade paint scrapers. Hold it at about a 45 degree angle and scrape from several directions. And try not to cut yourself. The scraper can also be used for stubborn spills.

Today so far: Rescued a very large striped centipede from my sink by offering him the choice of drowning or crawling into an empty bottle. He chose the bottle, proving that they're actually smarter than some humans, and I carried him outside to hunt in peace and happiness. Then I poked a hole in a can of fizzy water while trying to open the carton. That didn't end well.

I think I'm gonna read for the rest of the day.

Storyteller is a lyrically written series of stories which make up an historical novel about the travels of Gwernin the Storyteller -- and about this he makes a very important distinction; he is not yet worthy to call himself "Bard" -- through dark age Wales. It's not just about medieval Wales, though that would provide material enough, nor just about Welsh culture and the oral tradition. It's also about growth and the education of a story teller, and his adventures along the way. Another reviewer likened it to "The Canterbury Tales" and the comparison is apt. Grove's stories introduce Gwernin to a whole host of colorful characters, and provide hearty doses of humor, surprise, mystery and the like.

This is not popularized medievalism, nor is it strictly academic. Rather it walks a path between the two, neither pandering to contemporary tastes nor remaining so obscure that contemporary readers will not be engaged by it. It remains thoroughly accessible, but without the sort of compromises that might rob it of so much of its authenticity. It's clear that Grove has done her homework here. In fact, it's clear that this is a labor of love for her, and as such it carries even more impact. You write best what speaks to you most clearly.

If I have a quibble with the book, it's that some of the stories lack dramatic tension. They are shortish, and sometimes don't so much end as stop. And yet there's enough here to keep you wanting to read more, which is, in the end, what propels the reader through any book. Recommended for lovers of good historical fiction, or anyone with an interest in Welsh legends and mythology.

I meant to note that while we were out yesterday, we saw tons of tree limbs down. I didn't see any trees that had been knocked over in the storm, but my friend, Molerat, says some went down in her neighborhood. They apparently had a microburst up there and there was water in her basement. Her mother made her phone me to make sure I was okay which is kind of sweet when you think that 40+ years ago when we were first hanging around together, her mom didn't like me much. I guess I grew on her. I'm a habit now.

So no rain today, and the humidity was somewhat lower for much of the day. I still itch but I'm not all sticky and cranky. Though I confess that Glinda and I did two plus hours of snark over Merlin tonight. In fairness, it started with that stupid golf game that ran over. I hate it when sports events run over their allotted time but I realize that they pay for a lot of other programing so I snark about it privately. But tonight, coupled with the deadly tedium of actually watching a golf game (My friend mooncatwalking calls it a mental problem not a sport.) was the incredible lameness of the commentary which ran along the lines of "Well it's really dark here." "Have you ever seen Tiger play when it was so dark?" "Yes, I have, I remember him playing at ______ and it was also dark." "It's really, really dark and he needs this birdie." "Wow, it's so dark here, it's amazing they're still playing." "How dark do you think it will be before they stop the game?" And on and on and on... You know that scene from "Four Weddings and a Funeral" when the two folky types are singing in the church during the first wedding, and Gareth is sitting there making faces and miming that he's ready to puke? Yeah, just like that.

So then Merlin started and they annoyed me right off by referring to Merlin as a "warlock" which... come ON people! By now you should at least know that's not the right word. Call him "sorcerer" or "wizard" but for godssake, drop the warlock thing, will you? Not only does it not mean what you think it means, but it's actual meaning is really negative. Don't introduce your hero to the audience as an "oath breaker." The whole rest of the program was a reality check, though, and now I'm not so annoyed because, hello? Kind of cobbled together. The only reason I'm watching is because I hear from friends that it's kinda gay, and because the boys are cuteish, and Tony Head is in it. I'd be happier if I didn't want to drop kick Uther into next week, but all in all it was amusing enough to keep watching. I am waiting for teh gay.

The people down the street got a new puppy, a Maltipoo, and I want to pick her up and run, she's that adorable. And stubborn? They take her out for walks and she sits down on the sidewalk and refuses to budge. But now she's running after her new mom. I just saw them jog past the house. Well my neighbor was jogging. The puppy was bouncing. And in other neighborhood news the kids have laid in their supply of fireworks (I just love the smell of cordite in the morning.)

I'm too tired to shower again, so that can wait until tomorrow morning. It's supposed to be around 90 this week. I think I'll be working in the basement with the a/c on high. Feh.

Dad, Mom and me

( More photos )

I am SO not a wedding person. I've probably been to half a dozen in my life and the only reason they were bearable was because there were a lot of people like me who just wanted to sneak away and talk and joke with one another. Which is to say that at least a few of them were hardly bearable at all. One in particular with the hideous cake and the designated driver who got shit-faced about an hour into the reception... never mind, it's not worth rehashing.

Anyway, after a lot of coaxing by the bride-to-be and her soon-to-be family I did go to the shower where I ended up at a table where I knew NO ONE. Seriously. *headdesk* So the wedding? I pretty much sent my regrets immediately. I knew I'd be miserable in spite of the fact that I am very fond of the young couple. (God, when did I get old enough to use that phrase "the young couple?") Why make everyone else miserable, too?

So today dawned hot and damp, and I was very happy I hadn't chosen to go to the wedding because I knew I'd already be looking like a wilted lettuce leaf at the church. Jim came on by about 11 and we went out for a late breakfast of chilaquilles, and a run to Half-Price books where I picked up:

• Carnival -- Elizabeth Bear
• Gloriana -- Michael Moorcock (I used to own it, now I want to reread it so...)
• London: The Wicked City -- Fergus Linnane
• Paris: The Secret History -- Andrew Hussey

The last two are overviews of vice in the cities in question. They look like a wonderful resource.

I also sold $45 worth of old books so I essentially got them all for free plus money left over. So I treated for ice cream at The Chocolate Shoppe, and I still have money left over! Go me.

When we got back, I threw together the Russian Cream for dessert, and we went down to the basement to do some cleaning and sorting. Tons of stuff went out to the garage which means we'll have to clean that next, but there is going to be a sale, damn it! I'm selling a bunch of kitchen gear, a lot of knicknacks and lots of other stuff. Now I need to pick a date. Really, though, we got a lot done down there, and once we finished, we pulled a wonderful meal together. We had rosemary-garlic pork loin roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, steamed asparagus and of course the Russian cream with strawberries Romanoff. We watched "Good Night, and Good Luck" while we ate. Terrific film, and worth any number of repeated viewings.

Poor Jim has to drive all the way home. Glinda and I have only to drop into bed, but I can't sleep unless I shower again. Ugh.

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Well, monsoon season is upon us here in Chicago.  Actually it pretty much has been for months now; we've had so much rain that watering even newly planted flowers has been pretty much unnecessary.  But today the skies opened up in a near-apocalyptic downpour which caught the guy from Pete's by surprise on our front steps.  Poor man looked like he'd just stepped in from enjoying the latest hurricane, and the bag with our drinks in it disintegrated in my hand.  Yeah, it got that wet between his car and our door.

The noise and light show started last night, just after I got to bed.  Glinda told me it lasted an hour, but despite the room being hot and humid, I fell asleep pretty quickly and didn't notice much until about seven-thirty this morning when it sounded like someone was tossing rocks at the windows.  I thought "Hail?" but no, it was just that the raindrops were so big and coming down with such force they sounded like balls of ice hitting the glass.  

Our poor potted plants are just about drowned in spite of having ample drainage.  No fraises des bois for us this year, I fear.  And one of the tomato trees got knocked over by the force of the downpour which also smashed some strawberries on the vine.   I tried to drain some of the water out of the pots, but to no real avail.  And it's poured twice since then, and looks like it's going to have another go with us before it stops.  You can tell there's been a lot of flooding.  I saw a young rat scampering across the street this evening.  You don't usually see them out unless their burrows are disturbed.  Frankly, I should've called the city right away, but I just couldn't find it in my heart to report him.  I know it's wrong, but I was luckier than he was; my house stayed dry.

And while the week was generally cooler than normal, it's suddenly gotten hot, which makes the humidity that much more unbearable.  I've had two showers and shampoos today, and am somewhat less hopeful that I'll get through another summer without a/c than I was a week ago.  We'll see.  Assuming my hair doesn't fall out from all the washing, I might tough it out again.  The only reason I'm still up is that it's gone down to 70 and I'm sitting by the window, enjoying a breeze.  My bedroom is really unpleasantly hot in spite of the fan, so I'm hoping to stay up until I'm tired enough to just drop off easily. 

I have a lot of good friends who like hot weather *koffGlindakoff*  I desperately try not to bludgeon her when she wishes for it as she does when I beg the gods for freezing temperatures and snow.  She'll just have to deal with me scratching constantly (hot, humid weather makes me itch) and being progressively crankier.

On the positive side, Lisa clued me in to something called "restorative" yoga, and I've decided to give it a shot.  Maybe I can find the spiritual wherewithal to come to like hot weather, too.

Nah.

Bob Willoughby has posted 48 photos of Audrey Hepburn which have never been published before.  If you're a fan of hers, these will knock your socks off.  And do be sure to check out Willoughby's other photo sets on Flickr.

Firefox has a new update (BTW, it looks pretty good, so check it out if it hasn't already updated for you) As usual I scrambled around to make sure I had up to date add-ons, and lo, I found some new ones.  The most promising one is Zemanta, which is supposed to add relevant content to your blog posts.  

For example I can blog about J. S. Bach, or Leonardo da Vinci.  Or I can not be a pretentious twat and blog about Hugh Jackman's thighs or Viggo hot-like-a-burning-thing Mortensen, and Zemanta should offer me a choice of photos and relevant links and citations.  So let's see what it's got for me right now...

Ah, apparently Zemanta is confused when you divide a person's name, so let's try plain old Viggo Mortensen...

Ah, that's nice.

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Normally they seem simplistic and silly at best. At worst they're so badly put together they're not worth taking. This one was pretty well thought out.

Your result for Which fantasy writer are you?...

Philip Pullman (b.1946)

19 High-Brow, -21 Violent, 25 Experimental and 19 Cynical!

Take Which fantasy writer are you? at HelloQuizzy

Let's face it, we've become pretty sophisticated, which means that Frankenstein and Godzilla don't really cut it anymore. And the hack-n-slash gorefest crap that passes for horror these days is almost not worth the time it takes to yawn through them. So when I find a good, solid monster movie that makes me tense up and say "Oh my god!" at least once, I know I'm on to something.

If you don't already know, Cloverfield is set in post-9/11 Manhattan. During a Bon Voyage party, something attacks the city, decapitating the Statue of Liberty, in a very memorable moment, and laying waste to the Empire State building, the two most enduring symbols of New York. Add to that the memory of the events of September 2001, and you have the sense that this story isn't going to end well.

There's a breakneck race through the streets and subways of Manhattan, and ever-longer peeks at the monster and its spawn, but there's never enough time to take it all in, never time to allow the mind to process exactly what it is that's happening, so the imagination takes over, which any old school horror aficionado will tell you is the most effective way to scare the bejeebers out of someone. Let their mind do the work for you, let them imagine what is happening, what could happen, what will happen.

The casting of relative unknowns and the use of a near-real-time narrative are both critical to allowing the audience to put itself into the story. I only saw one actor with whom I was familiar, and it did push me right out of the film for a moment because it suddenly registered as just a movie, an entertainment. Until that moment I was very caught up in the narrative. I know that when I'm sitting forward in my chair urging the characters to "follow the rats, always follow the rats!" that I've been quite properly hooked.

In the end, Cloverfield is really nothing more than a monster movie for the 21st century, but one which doesn't depend on blood and gore, or some lunatic with a butcher knife. It's good fun.

( In which I blather a lot and am rather dull about it )
Glinda had the week off because she wanted to paint her bedroom, so on Monday, Charles came and took us to Lee Lumber to order the four windows which absolutely HAVE to be replaced. Three are for the second floor windows, and one for my bedroom. Damn things are falling to bits around us. We chose a nice set of Marvins for the back, with the same blue finish as on the downstairs windows, but the new ones are double-hung, in part because they're a bit cheaper and in part because when the wind gets a-rockin' back there, casement windows will end up in Oz if they happen to be open even a bit. Infinitely safer. Then we picked up Glinda's paint and went for a late lunch over at McNamara's because Charles had a jones for some mashed potatoes. Finished up at Family Fruit Market and the day was just over with. What's with that? Why is time flying by so much faster than it did when I was a kid? Why is it faster than it was ten or twenty years ago?

On Tuesday the only thing I actually remember doing is helping Glinda edge the paint on her walls. It only took a couple of hours but for some reason when we finished the day was pretty much shot, though I can't recall what else we did! I do know we had to go out and clean up a huge boxload of dirt and sod that we'd left by the garbage cans, but which the garbage guys wouldn't take. We'd ripped out the sod when we planted the nectarine, and the box had stood out in the rain for nearly a week, so it had fallen apart in the interim. I do get why they wouldn't take it but ugh, what a mess. And the wind knocked one of the pots off the front steps, and smashed it. I tried to repot the jasmine but to no avail, so over the weekend we put it in the ground next to Stumpy Pete, the remnants of our pine, and it's already starting to climb.

On Wednesday Jim came by to help with the painting. As is our habit we went out to breakfast first, and did a bit of shopping at Epco since we discovered that Charles had absconded with our paint rollers when he took his stuff out of the basement. But after a reasonable amount of lollygagging we got down to it, and within three hours we'd pretty much done two coats. We were using Benny Moore's new Natura (I think that's what it's called) which is zero VOC, and gorgeous to work with. It's also cheaper than Aura, which makes it an all-around winner. And the colors Glinda chose were amazing! The walls are a kind of medium pinky-fuschia, and the ceiling is Maxfield Parrish blue with granite sparkles mixed in. The crown molding is a metallic silver, and once she gets her bed frame together, and scores some saris for window treatments and some other decor ideas, it's going to be beautiful and exotic.

I have no clue what I did on Thursday. Seriously, I've forgotten entirely. But on Friday, Judymoe came by a bit early and we got four eps of Buffy and three of Angel watched. We'd originally planned to go up to Devon for some shopping, but it didn't pan out because there was a lot of other stuff planned for the weekend, and she didn't feel up to it. Which was cool, we were all really tired.  She and Glinda were going to a concert on Saturday night, and Glinda, Jim and I were going to be doing some more gardening during the day. 

In fact we finished the planting!  I could hardly believe it when everyone said "Is the planting done?" and I couldn't think of anything else that had to go into the ground.  We have an amazing lot of stuff.  Don't know if it'll all grow, but if even some of it thrives it'll be wonderful.  We had a bunch of melon and pumpkin seedlings left over and I passed them on to Old John a couple of doors down.  Or rather, I left them on his step.  I hope he can use them.  I know how much he loves gardening.

And then today we had dinner with darling fajrdrako who was at Torchsong over the weekend.  We ended up at Gibson's Steakhouse in the Doubletree, and frankly the prices nearly choked me but it was remarkably delicious.  And was so good just to be able to sit and talk with her again.  The problem with being a hermit is... well not seeing anyone very often!  LOL

Now I'm sleepy, so I'm going to sign off.  I'm having company on Tuesday -- Molerat is bringing her mother over for her (Mom's) 80th birthday.  It's not my idea of a great way to celebrate, but apparently her mother is happy about it so that's all that matters.  I'll be making a mixed berry shortcake, and have laid in a supply of coffee and cream because her mom is Swedish, and coffee is one of the necessities of Swedish life.  Heja Sverige!  And good night.

A plane lands in New York with most of its passengers and crew dead. As the FBI and CDC investigate the possible causes for the tragedy, something begins to happen to the few survivors.  And that something is spreading like a virus.

I am not easily frightened by fiction.  In spite of being a lifelong fan of the genre, I can count on my fingers the number of times I've been spooked by a book or film.  But I have to say that delToro and Hogan have managed to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up with "The Strain."  They seem to have an unerring instinct for the unsettling, the sinister and the downright creepy.  Their writing is also informed by what has gone before in the horror genre -- the similarity between the dead airplane (even the electronic and mechanical processes failed utterly) with its grisly cargo of corpses, and the dead ship which brings Dracula to England is not an accident.  They write with an awareness of what will get under our skin, what will move us to turn on the lights and lock the doors.

But the horrors here are not all supernatural.  As in "Pan's Labyrinth" the Nazis play a supporting role, and the combination of real world horror and unreal is a stomach-knotting one.  Real horror exists on many levels, inside our hearts as well as our minds.

I also have to say that while I find that many narratives need time to develop before they catch my interest, Hogan and del Toro caught me right from the first page.  It's a compelling, well-written, nail-biting book that may well send you running for the locks and light switches.  Highly recommended.

I have a prankish heritage. My mother never let an April Fool opportunity go unpranked, and though I can't claim the level of her mad skills, I have had some modest successes in the past. And that's one reason why I love this book so very much. It's familiar, it speaks to the prankish side of me, and there's a hell of a lot of good material here for future reference.

If you're at all familiar with the concept of flashmobs, you'll get an idea of the m.o. and scale of many of these "missions." Groups -- often quite large -- come together at a pre-arranged time to play a well-choreographed joke on the world. In fact, one of the most popular of the missions in the book is really nothing more than a flashmob, a group of people all of whom have the same MP3 on their players, all of whom push "Play" at the same moment and procede to follow the recorded instructions. The mental image of a hundred or more people silently leaping about, dancing, or pummelling one another with balloons makes me grin. If it doesn't do the same for you, then skip this book and go read about something more suited to your sober soul.

As far as I can see, the pranks here are good-spirited, friendly jokes, not intended to hurt anyone either physically or emotionally. If it was otherwise, they wouldn't be so universally amusing. And really, when you think about it, getting a group of people to come together to put smiles on faces is a delightfully altruistic act. As the author points out, of his impulsive impersonation of Ben Folds one night in a West Village bar, many of the patrons went home thrilled to have talked to a genuine rock star, and the ones who knew better, got some great theater that night.

Recommended for those with a taste for high silliness, and lively senses of humor.

Harvey and Kate both wear their disappointments on their faces.  Not intentionally, of course, but because the years of disappointment have taken their toll.  For Harvey, it's losing the things he had, for Kate, it's never having had the things she wanted.  They manage.  They live their lives.  And when they meet, they seem to understand each other instinctively.

In the hands of two less capable actors, the characters of Harvey and Kate would have been cliches, but Hoffman and Thompson are such pros, that you suffer with them through embarrassing and painful moments like Harvey's daughter telling him she wants her stepfather to give her away at her wedding, or Kate on a blind date being overwhelmed by a group of people who she doesn't know and with whom she has nothing in common.  Thompson's face, her body language, even the expression in her eyes was so familiar to anyone who has found themselves feeling like the odd person out.  Hoffman truly becomes the man who is so battered by bad luck and bad choices that the look in his eyes says that he's nearly been crushed by life.  His walk is a shuffle, and there is an air of bewilderment about him as if he can't quite figure out where and how he went wrong.

And yet somehow these people, who are not so much wounded as just lost and alone, manage to meet and connect in a way so profound that though neither truly believes in the magic of love, they both allow themselves to be driven by the hope of it.  They truly seem to like each other, and perhaps the recognition that this is the best and most reliable basis for any relationship is what makes them take that leap of faith.

The film, in fact, revolves around the idea of connections.  Harvey's job hinges on being able to connect with clients, Kate's mother is obsessed with her new next-door neighbor, Harvey's daughter is getting married and Harvey has just one last chance to connect with her and her new husband in some meaningful way.  It's a very human film and a humane one because no one is the butt of jokes or easy humor.  They're all just trying very hard to connect.

One of the things I loved about the film is that everyone in it looks like a real person, like someone you'd meet on the street.  They're dressed that way, too.  There's no glam to the cast, no toothpaste ad smiles or designer duds, no makeup to make you wonder why a stunner like Thompson can't seem to find her man.  The women in the background are real-looking women in all shapes and sizes.  They're dressed like normal people and they live like normal people, not in fancy homes which make you wonder how on earth they can afford such upscale real estate.  This is a film the audience can connect with too.

Last Chance Harvey

Seriously, I thought I'd heard the last of my old place. I've tried avoiding it as much as possible, to the point where I decided not to go back to my dentist until he moved his office. So the other day I get a call from his office manager which was nice because I like her and we did chat for a while, but it turns out that the people who bought the place had the car of the hygenist's boyfriend towed from one of the spots designated as for dental parking.

Now, when the new lot was paved and laid out, I had no say in the way it was done, it just got done, and the spaces were all marked out ahead of time. So I asked the guy who is like their troubleshooter or go-between, the guy who gets things done, which spaces are mine, and he told me. I put up signs. He later reneged on two of the spaces, leaving me only five, and I wasn't happy about that, but I had other things to worry about so I said fine.

Flash forward at least six or eight years, and now I'm being asked to provide some kind of written statement that the spot where the boyfriend was parked was in fact considered to be dental parking. Seeing as how they apparently never took the signs down after they bought it, I think it's their problem, but the last thing I want to do is get dragged back into some tempest in a teapot over a place I have no more interest in. If I end up being asked to go into small claims court over this I think I'll go ballistic.

Not to put too fine a point on it, it's bullshit. I don't think the car should have been towed, but I'm no longer the owner and I don't know what the arrangements have been in the last year. Everyone involved just needs to get over themselves and negotiate a settlement. Oh and leave me out of it. For godssake, this isn't some multi-gazillion dollar lawsuit, it's a towed car. What is wrong with people?

The life of an expat American has always held a kind of allure for readers. Between the World Wars, jazz age writers and artists populated the cafes and salons of Paris, writing, arguing, drinking coffee and making art, talking poltics and guzzling champagne. And ever since then, France has been something of the holy grail for the American romantic. Its expatriate history, both real and imagined, is rich and exciting.

The years after WWII were like a collective sigh of relief for young people. War was over, time to throw themselves into life again. And among those who do so with ferocity is Sally Jay Gorce, the Dud Avocado. She's a young woman who is so full of life she doesn't begin to know how to spend it. Her ambitions finally bring her to Paris, and into the orbit of an American theater and its director with whom she decides to fall in love.

In spite of her feelings for Larry, she does tend to take up with other men at an almost alarming rate, and much of the book details her romantic entanglements and how they never quite mesh. Even her feelings for Larry prove problematic in the end, and after a vivid, frenetic and troubling year in France, all she wants is to go home and become a librarian.

It's difficult to dislike Sally unless you're scandalized by her. She's a smart girl, but she has no sense, which is as much a function of her age as of the way she's trying to live her life. Perhaps she does have an unfair advantage in rich uncle Roger who bankrolls her time in Paris, and helps her out of the enormous hole she's dug herself into. But through it all, she is just so filled with life, so open to whatever it brings that it's hard not to be rooting for her to find her destiny, no matter who or what that might be. When Sally's illusions shatter, it doesn't destroy her. She is sadder and wiser, but no less determined to find her own way.

"The Dud Avocado" is apparently one of those books which gets rediscovered by each new generation, and perhaps that's because it speaks to the youth and hope in all of us. We all start out determined to live life on our own terms, we all learn hard lessons, and if we're tough and lucky, we bounce back the way Sally Jay does, stronger for what we've experienced. I think this is a book for everyone who lives with hope and an open heart.

The Dud Avocado (New York Review Books Classics)

Before I start I need to warn you that though DW says it supports the legacy lj cut tags, apparently it does not. I don't know how the formatting is going to turn out either here or over at LJ so if you're spoiler-phobic, just stop reading now.

The Sunday before last, Dawn, Jim and I had some garden work to do (what else is new?) and didn't really feel like doing it. Someone suggested going to see Trek again -- they'd seen it on Saturday, I hadn't -- and I was very excited by the idea so I checked showtimes and since we had about five hours to the cheapest show, it gave us impetus to go out and finish our tasks quickly. We rolled into the theater about twenty minutes before the show began with popcorn and sodas, and I found myself thinking about the other Trek films I'd gone to see.

I had vivid memories of being bitterly disappointed in the first film, and thrilled with the second (Wrath of Khan) I'd actually stopped going after #4 (Voyage Home) not because I didn't like it but because I was just getting weary of the whole franchise. I'd tried watching the spin-off series, but never cared much for them, and the original in syndication, but found it cheesy and silly. I wish I could say otherwise, but I felt that after years of fannishness for ST:TOS, it was time just to call it a day. I'd seen every episode, written and read tons of fanfic (None of mine still exists that I know of.) and seen four films of varying quality and interest. Basically I figured the affair was over.

But I have to tell you, from the moment the film began, I was hooked. Yes, there were problems, but I didn't care. I still don't. Because there's life in the old dog yet. ( Read more... )

No, and I don't expect to, either. I've never actually met anyone with my last name who wasn't a relative, and my grandfather once told me that we're all related to varying degrees that can be traced.

It's been raining on and off all day, and since about eight a storm's been threatening. The wind has been fierce, and there have been sporadic lightning flashes, and a distant roll of thunder, but it's all seemed rather half-hearted. Just now, though, the rain began in earnest, and the thunder is getting louder, the lightning brighter.

I love nights like this. Unless of course the power goes ou

A must-have for any serious student of comparative religion is a general guide to the religions of the world. Nelson's Illustrated Guide to Religions is most useful for the Christian student of comparative religion. Its author, James Beverly, is a devout Christian and admits that he views all religions through that glass.

One might expect to see a clear bias from an avowed Christian, but Beverly is adamant about approaching each subject with love and tolerance, and this approach serves his readers well. The information is set out for us, and while there is analysis based in Christian thought, it's not intrusive; use it or not as you choose. The facts he sets out are no more or less valid no matter which you choose. I found no evidence of the twisting of facts to serve an agenda which is a good signal, in my opinion. It means that Beverly believes his faith is strong enough to withstand an honest comparison with any other. I found it all quite refreshing as well as reassuring.

That said, I must admit that the section on Witchcraft was disappointing. I can't set it down to any bias on the part of the author since he is clearly trying hard to make sense of what is a difficult subject to begin with. But either he got bad information and wasn't able to work through it, or he was simply overwhelmed by the amount of often conflicting information available about Wicca, Neo-Paganism and the other religions which he seems to think are virtually interchangeable. For example, in spite of a separate chapter on Satanism, he does cite Satanism in this chapter, implying that some witches are Satanists, which is simply not true. (Satan is a Christian construct and Wicca has no roots in Christianity or even in the other two great Mid-East religions, Islam and Judaism.) He uses Witch, Wiccan and Pagan almost interchangeably, and while it's often difficult to differentiate -- ask any six Neo-pagans what they believe in or call themselves and you'll get at least twenty answers -- it's worth doing so if you're trying to be fair to the faith.

I don't believe that the few drawbacks of this book are going to be too problematic for most readers. What is critical is that for the most part Beverly has done his homework, and he has been consistent in presenting his information fairly. That makes this a valuable reference.

Nelson's Illustrated Guide to Religions: A Comprehensive Introduction to the Religions of the World

Honestly I don't know what people are thinking when they market books anymore. The blurb on this book would have you believe that it's not only a laugh riot -- except for the beach scene which is "horrific" -- but that it's so remarkably written and in some way so easy to spoil that it all but swears the reader to a code of silence. And in fact, it's none of those things. All those marketing ploys actually do a disservice to an excellent book and if I were the author, I'd hate it that my work was being so misrepresented.

Briefly, "Little Bee" is about a young Nigerian refugee whose very existence changes the lives of a group of English citizens in dramatic ways. It's a good story and well-written but it would be silly of me to say that I don't want to tell you more because I don't want to spoil it for you. That would feel like me saying "I have NO idea what this is about."

It's about sadness. Really. It's not funny, except perhaps in small details where you might find yourself smiling ruefully. It's a sad book filled with sad and often thoughtless people. It's about how we cover our sadness with layers of so-called civilization, wrap our fears in popular culture, and never ever have the opportunity to face any of it and learn to rise above. Little Bee knows how to rise above. She's known how to do it her whole life because there's nowhere to hide in her country. Poverty, abuse and death are common where she is from, and if you don't want them to destroy you, they must be transcended.

I read the first two chapters just waiting for the comedy to begin. I waited for the beach scene with a measure of anxiety. I waited for some enormous surprise which I would long to tell others, but would keep to myself out of a sense of reader's decency. And each time, I found the truth to be something quite different. I'm actually happy about that because, for me at least, it means I was reading a book that might not be dismissed in a year or even a month as some pop cultural flash. It's a book which should make you think about the world and your place in it, and about what we owe to one another as human beings on this increasingly small, spinning globe.

I found it profoundly moving.


Little Bee: A Novel

My favorite, which I think was written by W. H. Auden:

Sitting singly in the gloaming, no longer two and two
As unwilling to be wedded as unpracticed how to woo,
With regards to being mated
Asking still with aggravated
Ungrammatical acerbity: To who? To who?

As for myself:

As a verse form, the limerick is grand;
Simple, and almost offhand.
And a limerick clean
Is rarely seen,
So there's nothing about them that's bland.

Does that count as a meta limerick?

Thanks to each of you who commented on my previous post. I imagine you caught that it was a rough day for me this year and I appreciate your kindness. ETA: I want to respond to each comment eventually, but right now they make me wibble.

A family portrait




My great-great grandmother, Ellen
My great grandmother, Ella Jane (left)
My grandmother, Mary Belle (right)
And my mother, Eleanor





And my great-great-great grandmother, Lucy, who was born in 1783 in Vermont.

I missed my mother very much, today.  Wherever she is, I hope she still knows I love her.

Honestly you'd think I'd be so used to noises (including sirens and gunshots) because of where I lived for the last 40 or so years that nothing much would bother me,  but after a year here I find I'm attuned to all sorts of noises, and odd ones stand out dramatically.  There's a distinct unloading-of-truck noise going on just outside my line of sight, and it's annoying me because it sounds wrong to me.  Imagine that; I used to wake up to the sound of beer trucks unloading, and now it sounds all wrong to me.  But around here, the rule is silence, or relative silence anyway.  It's usually broken up by bird song.  And after noon, the cars start to move through the neighborhood more frequently.

 But mornings are lovely here, especially on the spring.  I went out walking yesterday morning when the air was cool and the sun was warm.  I looked at people's flowers, their porches, I got ideas for ours.  I smelled lilacs on the breeze and said hello to other people also out strolling.  They do that on this block, they stroll.  Not just walking-the-dog strolling but let's-just-take-a-walk strolling.  They sit on their front porches, too.  They tend their plants and sweep their sidewalks, mow their lawns and clean up litter that blows onto it.  

I like sitting here in the mornings, at my desk in the northwest corner of my living room.  I open the windows and feel the breezes blow in, smell the flowers, hear the birds.  I drink my tea and talk to the clutch of baby squirrels who have just this week started coming out of their nest somewhere atop my neighbor's building, and exploring the neighborhood.  It seems nearly impossible but they're even cuter at that age than they are as adults.  

I like it here.  I like that I know the noises, and that there are some which are utterly out of place.  I like the light in the morning, soft on the lawns and trees, and I like the scent of newly-mowed grass, a scent that's drifting in from next door as I type.   I lived where I did because there was love there.  Now that it's gone, I live here because there is peace, and I'm learning to love it.

This can be a quick one. Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.

Einstein's Dreams -- Lightman
The Lord of the Rings -- Tolkein
Good Omens -- Pratchett and Gaiman
Bard -- Lllewellyn
Wuthering Heights -- Bronte
Dancers at the End of Time (Trilogy) -- Moorcock
The Dream King -- Blunt
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society -- Shaffer
Carrington -- ed. Garnett
The Lymond Chronicle (all six books) -- Dunnett
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance -- Pirsig
The Bible
The Works of Shakespeare (many, not all)
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass -- Carroll
World War Z -- Brooks

I imagine there are many others that I'm forgetting but these are the ones which immediately sprang to mind.

"'wichcraft" up at Persimmon Frost: http://persimmonfrost.dreamwidth.org/4225.html

New review of 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die is up at Persimmon Frost: http://persimmonfrost.dreamwidth.org/4003.html

visited 32 states (64%)
Create your own visited map of The United States or jurisdische veraling duits?


visited 6 states (2.66%)
Create your own visited map of The World or another interesting project

I've done well in this country, not so well globally.

We started the gardening today, and even though Dawn and Jim did the bulk of the work, I'm exhausted. I must say that things are looking much nicer in front. And once the huge evergreen is out and the roses and border plants are in, it'll be really pretty. The back is another thing entirely.

Still just floored over the events on Dollhouse, Chuck and Heroes. Too tired to talk about them, though.

Off to take a good hot bath to relax these old bones, and then to bed. I leave you with this memorable image from Upside-down Dogs:

Pietro The Basset Hound

I just posted Pomegranate Seeds (Part of the White Rabbit universe) over at Box.net and I reread it before posting. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by how well it held up. I think it's one of the better things I've ever written.

I've posted a new review over at Dreamwidth. Vanessa and Virginia

I have three. First three requests here in comments get
them.

And now there are two.

One.

And then there were none.

The painting is nearly finished!  The shade of fuchsia I chose for the walls is just amazing.  It's gloriously pink and pretty without being saccharine.  And now that the tiles are all grouted, the bath enclosure looks wonderful, too.  I picked up a new shower curtain and liner today, and some other bath accessories.  I can't wait to climb into that tub and soak until I look like a Sunsweet prune.

I've gotten off my lazy butt and started posting my stories to a file sharing site.  Honestly, I don't have the patience to format everything for the web, nor do I have web space just now, so they're download only.

So far there are two major pieces posted there.  For Highlander readers I've posted White Rabbit in .doc and .pdf formats.  For Oz readers, Rough Trade is up in .html and .doc formats.  There will be more eventually so check back occasionally.

Zounds, but I have forgotten me this day.  Tis "Talk like Shakespeare" day.  Thou may'st ask "Whyfor?" and I shall tell thee this:  Tis the anniversary day of the great bard's birth, and well should we celebrate his native genius which hath given the world such joy.  Prithee, share the glad tidings with thy friends.  If thou bloggest, do post in the name of Will Shakespeare.

Check out my Flickr account. The most recent five photos are what my bath enclosure currently looks like. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

This is an excellent place to cross-post my reviews as well as photos of my projects (though uploading photos is still not possible, apparently.)  I don't know how much I'll cross post to Live Journal, but I'll figure that out as I go along, too.