260/365 - AB
A giant of a man, tall, broad-shouldered, belly poking out over his belt buckle. He speaks nonsense most of the time, used to telling tall tales to his fellow day laborers, so that now we think he's confused about the differences between truth and fiction.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Monday, December 07, 2009
Books! Books! Books!
First up today is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, a novel by Stieg Larsson. (It says exactly that on the super ugly cover of the book, so I'm kind of being snarky.) I read this book because I was told to by people on the Internet. I would link to those people, but as I search through the archives where I think I saw it, I can't find it. (So, if you see that someone in Minneapolis was looking at your archives for an unusual amount of time, hi! that was me.)
I bought this book and the clerk checking me out at Barnes and Noble was all pumped for me to read. "But it takes a while to get into it," she warned in a sort of frightening way.
A while is an understatement. This clerk at B&N has rarely steered me wrong before. This book IS good, but it takes 200 pages to get there (it's a dense book clocking in at 590 pages). In the end and in retrospect, I don't see what an editor could have cut out, but you have to have dedication to get through to the good part. Plus the book is similar to a lot of what I call "those Russian novels" in that you spend the first 100 pages just trying to figure out some of the Swedish names and colloquialisms. A good read, but you're really going to have to slog through the mire on this one.
Then we have The Good Thief by Hannah Tinti. It sucked me at the bookstore with this blurb on the back:
"An American Dickensian tale with touches of Harry Potterish whimsy..." The New York Times
What the fuck, NYT? Craptastic, that's what this book is. I don't get it. I found myself mostly confused by the setting. What year is it? Is it this world? It seems like this world except for the dead walking giant and the dwarf that lives in the chimney. The premise sounds so promising: orphan missing a hand, mysterious stranger takes him from the monks, con artists, a mousetrap factory!! The writing is good. Some sentences I just wanted to savor, to read and reread, to learn how to construct a sentence with more complexity than the declarative ones I use repeatedly in my own writing.
But the plot? The setting? The underdeveloped characters? Lead to me say that this book is a failure of execution.
This morning I finished Dedication by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. I don't really understanding co writing fiction, so I'd be interested in learning more about their writing process. This book is structured so that just about every other chapter takes you back in time to the main character's adolescence and young adulthood while winding back to the present in the other chapters. I have a feeling one of the authors wrote the past chapters and one wrote the present chapters because the chapters written in the past were way more successful and moving. A brief plot summary: long lost jerky love finds girl in the present and hijinks ensue. A fun, light read, although the writing and language is inconsistent at times.
But I saved the best for last. Bestest Friend introduced me to Sarah Dessen's young adult books while we were in Chicago this past summer. I have since devoured the vast majority of the Dessen oeuvre (missing only ones I have on order at our public library). I briefly mentioned dreamland here before as a meh kind of book and while I still agree that book is meh, my flame of love shines deeply for Just Listen. This book? It's the book I brought with me on my recent trip for that awfully sad funeral. It's the book that's by my bedside when I need comfort after waking up in the middle of the night. It's my go to book right now.
That's right. It's young adult fiction. It's a book about a girl growing up. She faces challenges - acquaintance rape, a sister who is sick, and a super bitchy former best friend. But there's this boy. And, frankly, if Owen were a real life boy, I would fight tooth and nail to have him be my boyfriend (blech, forget the detail of how I'm married). I love this book. I love this book. I'm a teeny tiny embarrassed how much I love it, but I can't contain my excitement for it any longer.
(Also good Dessen reads: Along for the Ride and Lock and Key. They deal with very different teen "issues" - divorce and parental neglect/desertion respectively - but I found them both compelling reads. Maybe I am just a sucker for maudlin, over dramatic teen angst. Who cares? I love you, Sarah Dessen!!)
Someday soon I'll write about the Charlaine Harris Aurora Teagarden books. I bet you can hardly wait!!
I bought this book and the clerk checking me out at Barnes and Noble was all pumped for me to read. "But it takes a while to get into it," she warned in a sort of frightening way.
A while is an understatement. This clerk at B&N has rarely steered me wrong before. This book IS good, but it takes 200 pages to get there (it's a dense book clocking in at 590 pages). In the end and in retrospect, I don't see what an editor could have cut out, but you have to have dedication to get through to the good part. Plus the book is similar to a lot of what I call "those Russian novels" in that you spend the first 100 pages just trying to figure out some of the Swedish names and colloquialisms. A good read, but you're really going to have to slog through the mire on this one.
Then we have The Good Thief by Hannah Tinti. It sucked me at the bookstore with this blurb on the back:
"An American Dickensian tale with touches of Harry Potterish whimsy..." The New York Times
What the fuck, NYT? Craptastic, that's what this book is. I don't get it. I found myself mostly confused by the setting. What year is it? Is it this world? It seems like this world except for the dead walking giant and the dwarf that lives in the chimney. The premise sounds so promising: orphan missing a hand, mysterious stranger takes him from the monks, con artists, a mousetrap factory!! The writing is good. Some sentences I just wanted to savor, to read and reread, to learn how to construct a sentence with more complexity than the declarative ones I use repeatedly in my own writing.
But the plot? The setting? The underdeveloped characters? Lead to me say that this book is a failure of execution.
This morning I finished Dedication by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus. I don't really understanding co writing fiction, so I'd be interested in learning more about their writing process. This book is structured so that just about every other chapter takes you back in time to the main character's adolescence and young adulthood while winding back to the present in the other chapters. I have a feeling one of the authors wrote the past chapters and one wrote the present chapters because the chapters written in the past were way more successful and moving. A brief plot summary: long lost jerky love finds girl in the present and hijinks ensue. A fun, light read, although the writing and language is inconsistent at times.
But I saved the best for last. Bestest Friend introduced me to Sarah Dessen's young adult books while we were in Chicago this past summer. I have since devoured the vast majority of the Dessen oeuvre (missing only ones I have on order at our public library). I briefly mentioned dreamland here before as a meh kind of book and while I still agree that book is meh, my flame of love shines deeply for Just Listen. This book? It's the book I brought with me on my recent trip for that awfully sad funeral. It's the book that's by my bedside when I need comfort after waking up in the middle of the night. It's my go to book right now.
That's right. It's young adult fiction. It's a book about a girl growing up. She faces challenges - acquaintance rape, a sister who is sick, and a super bitchy former best friend. But there's this boy. And, frankly, if Owen were a real life boy, I would fight tooth and nail to have him be my boyfriend (blech, forget the detail of how I'm married). I love this book. I love this book. I'm a teeny tiny embarrassed how much I love it, but I can't contain my excitement for it any longer.
(Also good Dessen reads: Along for the Ride and Lock and Key. They deal with very different teen "issues" - divorce and parental neglect/desertion respectively - but I found them both compelling reads. Maybe I am just a sucker for maudlin, over dramatic teen angst. Who cares? I love you, Sarah Dessen!!)
Someday soon I'll write about the Charlaine Harris Aurora Teagarden books. I bet you can hardly wait!!
45 x 365 #259
259/365 - SB
It's hard being the newcomer in a big family, but you really don't get it. Your job is to smile politely and laugh at appropriate moments. Your job is to not hijack the conversation or turn it into a "youfest." Please stop usurping family events.
It's hard being the newcomer in a big family, but you really don't get it. Your job is to smile politely and laugh at appropriate moments. Your job is to not hijack the conversation or turn it into a "youfest." Please stop usurping family events.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Things I Just Don't Get
Okay, enough doom and gloom on the top of my page. Let's talk about things I don't understand.
1) I use the same stall in the bathroom at work several times a day. I choose this stall because it's right next to a window, so it's often the first time I see the weather/sun/sky for several hours. The door of the stall also has an awesome graffiti dog drawn on it. The dog takes up the entire door. If it were a real dog, it would be an Irish Wolfhound. Frankly, the graffiti at our school is awesome. So I like this stall. But the thing is that the toilet paper holder thingmajig comes off the wall every time I use it. And each time, I am taken by surprise, jump up, say a certain word that I would make my students do ten push ups if I heard them say in a school bathroom, and get pissed at myself for not remembering that this would happen. What's my deal?
2) People who say they don't like dogs/cats/other people's pets. What? You don't like ALL cats? You've never met my (borrowed) cat. If you met her, you'd like cats. (I personallyhate don't really like rabbits, but when someone tells me that they have a pet rabbit, I ask the usual pet-related questions and don't pass judgment. Maybe someday I will meet a rabbit I don't think would be better suited for my risotto instead of pethood. Okay, fine. I do pass judgment. But I am mad at myself for it.)
3) Why the women's Cuddle Duds long underwear pants (the Target brand) have a crotch down to my knees. I mean, seriously. I'm not packing a penis down there, why is there so much extra fabric in them? (Yep. I pulled out the long underwear. It got cold here this week. Brrrr.)
4) The layout of our local Barnes and Noble. I go there weekly. I am not terribly bright, but I'm hardly the dumbest person out there, so how come I can't find the section with the books I want? Ever. Every week I'm trudging to the customer service desk to ask. I'm almost a little embarrassed at this point. Maybe I should switch to a new bookstore? Or just start going to the bookstore without a list, wander about aimlessly and pick books off the shelf?
5) People who don't like parades. I don't get it. Maybe it's my marching band geekiness coming through, but I love parades. I love the music and cheesy floats and the kids sitting on shoulders. I love firetrucks, I love awesome cool cars that idle faster than the parade moves that need to have their brakes on the entire time. I love the candy being thrown. I love the community involved in a large-group activity that doesn't involve chanting or commercing. I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I love stumbling on parades during festivals in small towns during the summer. I love the depravity of a good St. Patrick's Day parade. I love the Holidazzle Parade held in downtown Minneapolis every weekend night in December. People who don't like parades? They are usually not my friends.
1) I use the same stall in the bathroom at work several times a day. I choose this stall because it's right next to a window, so it's often the first time I see the weather/sun/sky for several hours. The door of the stall also has an awesome graffiti dog drawn on it. The dog takes up the entire door. If it were a real dog, it would be an Irish Wolfhound. Frankly, the graffiti at our school is awesome. So I like this stall. But the thing is that the toilet paper holder thingmajig comes off the wall every time I use it. And each time, I am taken by surprise, jump up, say a certain word that I would make my students do ten push ups if I heard them say in a school bathroom, and get pissed at myself for not remembering that this would happen. What's my deal?
2) People who say they don't like dogs/cats/other people's pets. What? You don't like ALL cats? You've never met my (borrowed) cat. If you met her, you'd like cats. (I personally
3) Why the women's Cuddle Duds long underwear pants (the Target brand) have a crotch down to my knees. I mean, seriously. I'm not packing a penis down there, why is there so much extra fabric in them? (Yep. I pulled out the long underwear. It got cold here this week. Brrrr.)
4) The layout of our local Barnes and Noble. I go there weekly. I am not terribly bright, but I'm hardly the dumbest person out there, so how come I can't find the section with the books I want? Ever. Every week I'm trudging to the customer service desk to ask. I'm almost a little embarrassed at this point. Maybe I should switch to a new bookstore? Or just start going to the bookstore without a list, wander about aimlessly and pick books off the shelf?
5) People who don't like parades. I don't get it. Maybe it's my marching band geekiness coming through, but I love parades. I love the music and cheesy floats and the kids sitting on shoulders. I love firetrucks, I love awesome cool cars that idle faster than the parade moves that need to have their brakes on the entire time. I love the candy being thrown. I love the community involved in a large-group activity that doesn't involve chanting or commercing. I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I love stumbling on parades during festivals in small towns during the summer. I love the depravity of a good St. Patrick's Day parade. I love the Holidazzle Parade held in downtown Minneapolis every weekend night in December. People who don't like parades? They are usually not my friends.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Unlit
My life is full of women who can emote on cue. My sister thinks of a sad thought and breaks out into tears. My sister-in-law cries at Hallmark commercials. I work with a woman whose sobbing interludes frequent staff meetings (uncomfortable, that).
But I'm not a emoter like that. I get quiet. I pout. I rage inwardly. Occasionally I will raise my voice, but crying is reserved for times of extreme duress. Extreme duress. (And watching Steel Magnolias, Beaches, and The Notebook. But those hardly count.) My husband has probably seen me cry as many times as he has fingers on one hand.
Yesterday was my first normal day back at work, back on my normal schedule, back to my life. I woke up, goofed around with the cat for a bit, went into work, did that, came home, went into my other job, came home, ate dinner, pretended to work out, watched two episodes of season two of Battlestar Galactica with my husband, curled up on the couch. We cleaned up the kitchen, goofed off with the cat (a large part of our daily routine, I guess), brushed our teeth, and then went to bed. Imagine my surprise when, as soon as I crawled into the sheets, the tears came heavy and hard.
The darkness is back. I look for joy in the little things, but it's a stretch. The mechanics of doing everyday activities are exhausting. Today I didn't even pretend to work out, I just sat down and stared at my computer for an hour instead. My cell phone rang several times and I just looked at it across the room, unwilling to deal with faux cheerfulness, a mask I would feel the need to don. Finishing this post seems like an obstacle I can hardly face. How to get through the rest of the night, get the dishes done, brush my teeth, and get to bed at a time that isn't ridiculously early is an unbearable thought.
It's a combination of everything. A stressful holiday. A super awful death in the family. Three days of no sunshine and grey skies. A constant niggling in the back of my head that I am forgetting something. It is not unbeatable. I will get up tomorrow, I will go to work, I will come home, I will work out (not just pretend), I will return those phone calls, and I will smile. The darkness will not envelop me.
But just for tonight, I'm going to let that darkness come. Because I'm too tired to fight it.
But I'm not a emoter like that. I get quiet. I pout. I rage inwardly. Occasionally I will raise my voice, but crying is reserved for times of extreme duress. Extreme duress. (And watching Steel Magnolias, Beaches, and The Notebook. But those hardly count.) My husband has probably seen me cry as many times as he has fingers on one hand.
Yesterday was my first normal day back at work, back on my normal schedule, back to my life. I woke up, goofed around with the cat for a bit, went into work, did that, came home, went into my other job, came home, ate dinner, pretended to work out, watched two episodes of season two of Battlestar Galactica with my husband, curled up on the couch. We cleaned up the kitchen, goofed off with the cat (a large part of our daily routine, I guess), brushed our teeth, and then went to bed. Imagine my surprise when, as soon as I crawled into the sheets, the tears came heavy and hard.
The darkness is back. I look for joy in the little things, but it's a stretch. The mechanics of doing everyday activities are exhausting. Today I didn't even pretend to work out, I just sat down and stared at my computer for an hour instead. My cell phone rang several times and I just looked at it across the room, unwilling to deal with faux cheerfulness, a mask I would feel the need to don. Finishing this post seems like an obstacle I can hardly face. How to get through the rest of the night, get the dishes done, brush my teeth, and get to bed at a time that isn't ridiculously early is an unbearable thought.
It's a combination of everything. A stressful holiday. A super awful death in the family. Three days of no sunshine and grey skies. A constant niggling in the back of my head that I am forgetting something. It is not unbeatable. I will get up tomorrow, I will go to work, I will come home, I will work out (not just pretend), I will return those phone calls, and I will smile. The darkness will not envelop me.
But just for tonight, I'm going to let that darkness come. Because I'm too tired to fight it.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Lessons Learned
I wasn't an easy child. I was scared, I was shy, and I wanted to please everyone, but I had no idea how to begin to please.
Uncle Lenny and Aunt Debbie took me in during the summers and treated me like their very own, with patience and love and so much overwhelming kindness. It was they who took me camping for the very first time, swimming in the ocean for the very first time, and "spotting" for deer for the very first time. It was Uncle Lenny who put a video camera in my hands and laughed uproariously when I filmed 45 minutes of a crab shuffling on the beach and about 30 seconds of our actual family. It was with Uncle Lenny and Aunt Debbie that all the bad things that could happen did - running out of gas on a dark, twisty, mountain road; losing keys in a river while tubing; coasting a car to a stop in the pouring rain in a car wash to find that the air filter of their six year old Dodge Caravan had never been changed; and so many other stories of silliness and forgetfulness that it would make your head spin.
He always laughed, my Uncle Leonard. A memorable, booming laugh, easy to come and easy to go. When the car ran out of gas, he laughed. He laughed, grabbed my hand, and said, "well, I guess I get to go for a walk with the cutest girl in the state right now." Five minutes later, when the car pulled up to take us to the nearest gas station, it wasn't luck. It was because Uncle Lenny knew everyone in the whole damn city and it was, of course, someone he had done business with before.
I would never have tried to use that video camera. But Uncle Lenny insisted. When I demurred, claiming to not know how to do it, he told me that we all have to start with everything somehow. New experiences scared me, but I was reassured right then. We are all tyros when we first start. No one expects perfection the first time out. Uncle Lenny expected me only to do my best and even if that wasn't perfect, it would be just fine with him. And what would we do without that 45 minutes of film of the crab?
They didn't have children of their own. But they had us - their nieces and nephews who adored and loved and cherished them.
Uncle Lenny died two days before Thanksgiving. I've spent the last seven days going from one family function to another, not knowing if I should laugh or cry. On Sunday night, I sat next to Aunt Debbie on a couch, the same couch I spent many a night sleeping on, just one of the many nieces and nephews swarming around the house, desperate to let Aunt Debbie know that we are her children, we aren't going anywhere, and we will be there for her.
I think now of the lessons he taught me, never with a lecture, but only by example. Money is important, but how you spend it is more important. Do you want fancy garbage bags or a trip during the summer? When life hands you lemons, screw the lemonade. What can you do with the lemons themselves? Perfection is overrated. Do your best, do a job you're proud of, and go on a big vacation once a year, twice if you can make it work. Don't be so quick to judge people. They might just surprise you with their kindness and generosity. Laugh often. Laugh so hard it makes it your stomach hurt. Don't ever forget to tell the ones you love that you love them.
I love you, Uncle Lenny.
Uncle Lenny and Aunt Debbie took me in during the summers and treated me like their very own, with patience and love and so much overwhelming kindness. It was they who took me camping for the very first time, swimming in the ocean for the very first time, and "spotting" for deer for the very first time. It was Uncle Lenny who put a video camera in my hands and laughed uproariously when I filmed 45 minutes of a crab shuffling on the beach and about 30 seconds of our actual family. It was with Uncle Lenny and Aunt Debbie that all the bad things that could happen did - running out of gas on a dark, twisty, mountain road; losing keys in a river while tubing; coasting a car to a stop in the pouring rain in a car wash to find that the air filter of their six year old Dodge Caravan had never been changed; and so many other stories of silliness and forgetfulness that it would make your head spin.
He always laughed, my Uncle Leonard. A memorable, booming laugh, easy to come and easy to go. When the car ran out of gas, he laughed. He laughed, grabbed my hand, and said, "well, I guess I get to go for a walk with the cutest girl in the state right now." Five minutes later, when the car pulled up to take us to the nearest gas station, it wasn't luck. It was because Uncle Lenny knew everyone in the whole damn city and it was, of course, someone he had done business with before.
I would never have tried to use that video camera. But Uncle Lenny insisted. When I demurred, claiming to not know how to do it, he told me that we all have to start with everything somehow. New experiences scared me, but I was reassured right then. We are all tyros when we first start. No one expects perfection the first time out. Uncle Lenny expected me only to do my best and even if that wasn't perfect, it would be just fine with him. And what would we do without that 45 minutes of film of the crab?
They didn't have children of their own. But they had us - their nieces and nephews who adored and loved and cherished them.
Uncle Lenny died two days before Thanksgiving. I've spent the last seven days going from one family function to another, not knowing if I should laugh or cry. On Sunday night, I sat next to Aunt Debbie on a couch, the same couch I spent many a night sleeping on, just one of the many nieces and nephews swarming around the house, desperate to let Aunt Debbie know that we are her children, we aren't going anywhere, and we will be there for her.
I think now of the lessons he taught me, never with a lecture, but only by example. Money is important, but how you spend it is more important. Do you want fancy garbage bags or a trip during the summer? When life hands you lemons, screw the lemonade. What can you do with the lemons themselves? Perfection is overrated. Do your best, do a job you're proud of, and go on a big vacation once a year, twice if you can make it work. Don't be so quick to judge people. They might just surprise you with their kindness and generosity. Laugh often. Laugh so hard it makes it your stomach hurt. Don't ever forget to tell the ones you love that you love them.
I love you, Uncle Lenny.
Friday, November 20, 2009
45 x 365 #258
258/365 - AH
You are the kind of guy I want to watch a football game with and discuss different recipes to make guacamole. You aren't a guy I want to talk about politics or teaching strategies. A nice guy who doesn't think in future tense.
You are the kind of guy I want to watch a football game with and discuss different recipes to make guacamole. You aren't a guy I want to talk about politics or teaching strategies. A nice guy who doesn't think in future tense.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
