Where's the Beef?

I like the romance novels...most of you know that. I have no shame about it. Sometimes I just need a palate cleanser. Take this weekend, I read a book about the siege of Leningrad, a graphic novel about the Holocaust, and then watched a French WW I movie. Sometimes I just need a little fluff. And so, happily, I found the recent release of one of my favorite smut authors. She often writes about professional hockey players-yippee! But imagine my disappointment upon reading the book and finding...gasp... a plot! I don't want some story about two people who know each other and kinda like each other. And I certainly don't want to read about their families and their jobs. I want two people who loathe one another on sight but can't seem to fight the draw they have to each other. I want sparks and passion and secrets and fun. Not first dates and trips to the symphony. I don't want to read about an everyday relationship. I want to read about a ridiculous relationship that could never ever happen. This is escapism people! C'mon!

I Love David Sedaris

In a street fight between Stephen King and David Sedaris, you can bet I'll be backing that Franco-phile, snark-loving, little essayist. Spread the word folks, doom is upon us. And to Mr. Sedaris, booksellers around the world thank you, but next time, try autographing the front of the Kindle, right across the screen.

Road Trip

On the way out to Olympic National Park last week, Carrie, Trish and I had fun with a few Madlibs (Which, by the way, are way better when played as an adult.) Here's a little taste...

Kid: I'm starved, Mom. My sphincter is growling.

Mom: I think you've had enough snail food today. You ate enough to choke a scrapbook.

Kid: But I'm a growing police. Dad, can we stop and get a hamburger with bald eagles and sand dollars?

Dad: You just had a scorched breakfast!

Kid: No, I didn't. All I had was a couple of scrambled computers and a glass of tar.

Mom: How about those five pieces of buttered cellar, plus that stack of monuments?

Kid: Eegads! I have to go to the garlic bread room. Can we stop? I have to go real sticky!

Dad: Okay. It'll give me a chance to stretch my guardrails.

Mom: Stop at that diner, I could use a cup of strong turpentine.

Kid: As long as we're stopping, can I have a grilled lactose and some dreary fries? That will hold me till lunch.

Wow, Madlibs really are the lamest game ever invented.

Are You Serious!?!

I know it's late, but I'm having a heart attack. I just went on GoodReads to rate my latest, (4 out of 5 if you're interested). Anyhow, I happened upon a person's page that had a bookshelf called "Kindle". And then I clicked on it. And found countless more people with Kindle bookshelves. First off, don't they realize how absolutely ridiculous it is to label a bookshelf-BOOKshelf as Kindle? It should be a "Small Data File Shelf". Second of all...oh my God! How can you be a book lover, a bookstore lover, a written word lover, and use that dreadful, awful, soul-sucking, portable reading device (God I hate Stephen King). Ug! I'm disgusted! At this moment I have decided that I am a born again Luddite. Goodbye Blog, and facebook and GoodReads. From now on it's letters instead of email, checks instead of debit, BOOKS instead of Kindle, and fresh-baked bread instead of Pop Tarts.

Grumble

I have to say, I hate that Yahoo! posts a "Good Morning" greeting on my email page exactly at 12AM. I know it's technically morning, but come on! I just got home from work for Pete's sake. And if I were to go to bed right now, and get 8 hours of sleep, I would wake up at 8AM and still have a good 4 hours of morning left. It's not morning, Yahoo!, it's night. Get it together!

Who Has the Most Beautiful "Niece" in All the Land?

ME!

Beautiful Mom=Beautiful Baby... It's genetics, people!

Dull

Nothing new, just loads and loads of freaking out. I mean, real honest to goodness, freaking out. The likes of which I haven't experienced since...well, since about a year ago, amidst all the moving, settling in hubbub. When I wake up, this is what goes through my mind,

"AHHH! Good sleep...wait, what day is it?!? Do I have to work today...DID I MISS MY BUS!?!? Hey, Brody. Where's Opal? zzzzzzzzz. Oh shit, what do I have to do today? Wait, am I supposed to study? LSAT, LSAT, LSAT. Law school...LAW SCHOOL LAW SCHOOL LAW SCHOOL LAW SCHOOL. Whose idea was this? Money. No money. I have to pee. zzzzzzzzzz. Hungry."

I think I'm just experiencing the pre-summer visits/excursions stress. Hopefully it will pass when everything is over... and on the proactive side, I've made a list of things to do (as suggested by the madre), so maybe my morning routine won't be quite so full of freak outs if I just stick to the list...and stop wasting my time on the computer.

Revenge

As I was arranging the last post, Opal, whose psychic powers I have already discussed here, came into my bedroom scooting her little butt on the carpet. Given the previous minute's litter box scraping noises, and the pervasive smell of fresh cat shit, it could only mean one thing. Of course, I try to grab her as quickly as possible. But, because she knows what's coming, and is quite naturally freaked out by the giant turd stuck to her, she runs from me...scooting all the way. Run, run, run. Scoooooooot! Run, run, run. Scooooooooot! Until I catch her, and try first to pick it off with wadded up toilet paper, but it's stuck pretty good, so I wash it off in the sink...with my hands. If that's not love, I don't know what is. Although, I guess I technically didn't do it for love so much as saving the floors from being covered with even more shit.

Why I Will Have to Buy New Blinds When I Move

My New Catchphrase

"I'm so broke. If I were a superhero, my superpower would be being broke."

Overheard on the Bus

This guy was listening to either a teeny, tiny boom-box, or seriously damaging his ears with his headphones. Either way, he was playing music that was audible to everyone on the bus. And this girl says, "I don't mean to be a bitch but could you turn that down?" And the guy does, and the next minute the girl gets on her phone and talks loud enough for the whole bus to know she's not getting along with her boss at work. So either she wanted him to turn down the music so she could hear her telephone call, or she didn't quite get the irony of the situation.

As a side note, I'm surprised the bus driver didn't say anything to the boom-box guy. She's usually a real hard ass and won't take any shit. She's so tough that I panic if I can't get my bus pass out of my wallet quick enough, I'm always afraid she's gonna drive off without me.

Feathered Friends my Ass

I finally did it, I dragged myself out of bed in the pre-dawn hours to go running before work. Okay, maybe not pre-dawn, but 7:20 AM is pretty damn early for me. I filled my water bottle, tightened my shoes, blasted my Killers music, ran out the door, turned the corner and... got attacked by a crow. What the hell! It wasn't like I turned the corner, and ran into a bird that happened to be flying on my same trajectory but in the opposite direction. HE ATTACKED ME! He dive-bombed me three times, screaming with that derisive crow screech. Did he think I was a predator, I mean I've seen crows do that to eagles, but me! And I would like to say to that crow..."You picked the wrong human to attack. I used to be on your side! And now you've ruined it for all the other crows. "

Some thoughts and theories from coworkers and friends:
-"Maybe he thought my hair was an animal to eat like owls that think women's ponytails are squirrels."
-"He probably had a nest nearby."
-"He was just having a bad day."
-"OH MY GOD!!!! CROWS REMEMBER YOUR FACE! You better be careful!"

Me, I think he was just commenting on my running form.

Credit Where Credit is Due

One of the things that makes me crazy about the book industry is the marketing of an author's name as opposed to their actual book.
Case in point...Stephen King. Can you even tell what the title of the book is? What if I wanted to read The Stand, I wouldn't be able to pick it out from all the other Stephen King titles. Not to mention the fact that I feel like the authors are shouting their names at me.

The latest convert to this self-aggrandizing. ego-maniacal BS is none other than chick-lit, mega-author Jodi Picoult. That's right, the "author" of such classics as My Sister's Keeper, and 19 Minutes would rather you buy books based on her name, not the actual content of her novels. Are you surprised? I know I am.

What brings this to my attention is the latest release from the Wonder Woman comic series, written by, you guessed it, Jodi Picoult. I will set aside the commentary that not just anyone who can string a coherent sentence together can write a comic. And I will postpone my judgment as to whether a "best selling" "novelist" can understand the complexities of timing and pacing necessary to write a successful graphic novel. I guess my real issue is, how many of you readers out there know who Wonder Woman is? And how many know Ms. Picoult?... Than why the hell is Jodi Picoult's name so god-damned big?!?!
On a side note, as I haven't read this particular graphic novel, I'm curious as to whether Wonder Woman faces some kind of drama concerning a suicide pact between two teenage lovers gone horribly wrong, or the realization that the man she loves, a commercial airline pilot who's plane crashes into the Atlantic, actually has a whole other family in Britian... oh wait, that was Anita Shreve. My apologies.

ONIONS!

Cooking with onions isn't just a danger to humans....

It's Official....

The most depressing book title...ever.