Obviously I can't just abandon the Book Club if everyone loves it so much. Because that would mean I was popular and that people loved me and are paying attention to me and that is what I really want out of life. Just ask my mom.
So, let's call off the dogs and say that I was kidding about 'Book Club' being cancelled.
Ha ha?
Let's just say that, instead, Book Club is going to get a Finny make-over. And, so you know, I'm a less is more kind of girl.
So, Book Club will now have less structure (no due dates or polls), less flash (no running sidebar listing all the books on the shelf) and less 'club'. What I'm hoping is that this will mean more books. And that would be a lovely far cry from what I have going on right now which more resembles the less part of the equation.
What that will also mean is that book posts will be surprise occurrences (no due dates, member?), so, if you don't like having your endings spoiled by my haphazard ranting, you'll have to quietly look away on those days when I decide to pull my shit together and review a book. At least you'll be saved by the fact that it probably won't be a super frequent occurrence.
And if anyone gets all biggigity and *must* read my spotty, incoherent and otherwise mostly unhelpful book ramblings, the good old Finny Reads label is there for all to click.
So - in sum - Book Club is being MADE OVER, not cancelled.
Fear not, though, concerned fellow bookworms - Finny will not take the "un club-ness" to heart and turn into a gelatinous glob from staring slack-jawed at TV fishermen and their hot-in-a-looks-like-Bubba-in-10-years-way announcer while shoveling in armloads of popcorn. But if the globbiness is a result of added bookworminess, well, we can talk about revising the old cleanliness/godliness saying to reflect our new found knowledge.
See, I'm mildly incoherent and I am not even reviewing a book. Yeesh.
Anyway - disaster averted. Thanks for chiming in with your personal feelings about how much the untimely cancellation of Book Club would suck. If nothing else, it feeds my bottomless need for recognition and makes me feel like less of a book nerd.
Read on my friends, and we'll chat on a future un-defined date about a book I chose at random (Khalid's newest nugget) which I am sure I'll bang on about aimlessly without coming to an intelligible point.
Enjoy.
Showing posts with label Finny Reads. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Finny Reads. Show all posts
Monday, June 18, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
FINAL: [BOOK CLUB] The Stolen Child, by Keith Donohue
I won't lie, I'm not finished reading this book.
But it is altogether possible that I'll never finish it. Not because it's bad, but because I'm bored and not all that driven to find out what becomes of our little hobgoblin or his clan.
See, the story goes something like this: There are hobgoblins that kidnap children and switch places with them - creating families with a secret hobgoblin child and leaving a hobgoblin clan made up of former children that magically become hobgoblins. Just as the children morph into hobgoblins, so doth the hobgoblin into a real child. Meanwhile the changing is going on, there are bouts of forgetting about hobgoblin-ness and the existence of a secret population of fellow hobgobliners.
Aren't you kind of bored of the premise just from reading the word "hobgoblin" a hundred times just then?
Do it a hundred times more and you might be where I am now.
Don't get me wrong, the premise of secret kidnapping and switching and living amongst mysterious creatures in a hidden society does appeal to me on a "when I was 7 and had a wild imagination" level - but the book itself is not making me care all that much about the main character(s) enough to want to drag my eyes over it night in and night out when I could just as easily be staring down the newest episode of Deadliest Catch.
I realize that makes me a sad example of a bookworm, when I'm being seduced by the blue flicker of the tele, but in the special cases where a book sucks me in, TV is no match for the printed word. But, this is not one of those cases.
Granted, I'm not finished reading yet, so there could be some unexpected turn of events that draws me in to the point where the words "Opilio crab" bounce unnoticed off my noggin, but I'm not feeling it right now. In fact, I think I can kinda see where this is going and am sorta writing out the end of the book in my mind as I read along. This is really confusing when the facts don't match up perfectly because I'm always sure I'm right.
I do realize this is no way to enjoy a book.
Speaking of enjoying a book - I need to get back to this practice. And, as it turns out, having a blogging book club of sorts doesn't seem to lend itself well (at least in my case) to such a thing.
And, I suck at writing book reviews worthy of your eyeballs. It's ok, I've come to terms with it. There are a few factors that contribute to this lack of inspired writing. Not the least of which being the fact that I usually finish the book long before I ever post on it, so I just forget what it was that drew me in (or had me rolling my eyes) so that I can accurately report on it to y'all.
My experience with a magic eye poster in 1989, I can remember in graphic detail, but a book I read a month ago is a total haze.
So, with this in mind, I'll be going on with my normal reading schedule, and if by some miracle a book actually sinks in, I'll post on it. No schedule, no voting, no tedious post where I try to remember what the title was and what inspired me to read it in the first place.
That way, if I get lured into the TV by Mike Rowe's face, and just start using my book as a resting place for my sweating palms, then so be it. And, just so you know, Mike Rowe is my TV boyfriend.
Don't worry, Bubba knows. And, as I've noticed, Bubba and Mike actually share some similar characteristics. Creepy.
Leave it to me, Queen of Efficiency, to have a TV crush on someone who looks like husband.
Anyway, that's the story of Book Club, ie. There is no Book Club. Like Fight Club without the dingy garages and open wounds. I will tell you, though, that I'm going to run out and get the new Khalid book because I loved Kite Runner long time and have heard good things about this latest book. I may not post on it, but I'll read it and probably love it, and probably just TiVo Mike and Sig and my other favorite fishermen so that I can watch them later with appropriate attention (drooling).
But it is altogether possible that I'll never finish it. Not because it's bad, but because I'm bored and not all that driven to find out what becomes of our little hobgoblin or his clan.
See, the story goes something like this: There are hobgoblins that kidnap children and switch places with them - creating families with a secret hobgoblin child and leaving a hobgoblin clan made up of former children that magically become hobgoblins. Just as the children morph into hobgoblins, so doth the hobgoblin into a real child. Meanwhile the changing is going on, there are bouts of forgetting about hobgoblin-ness and the existence of a secret population of fellow hobgobliners.
Aren't you kind of bored of the premise just from reading the word "hobgoblin" a hundred times just then?
Do it a hundred times more and you might be where I am now.
Don't get me wrong, the premise of secret kidnapping and switching and living amongst mysterious creatures in a hidden society does appeal to me on a "when I was 7 and had a wild imagination" level - but the book itself is not making me care all that much about the main character(s) enough to want to drag my eyes over it night in and night out when I could just as easily be staring down the newest episode of Deadliest Catch.
I realize that makes me a sad example of a bookworm, when I'm being seduced by the blue flicker of the tele, but in the special cases where a book sucks me in, TV is no match for the printed word. But, this is not one of those cases.
Granted, I'm not finished reading yet, so there could be some unexpected turn of events that draws me in to the point where the words "Opilio crab" bounce unnoticed off my noggin, but I'm not feeling it right now. In fact, I think I can kinda see where this is going and am sorta writing out the end of the book in my mind as I read along. This is really confusing when the facts don't match up perfectly because I'm always sure I'm right.
I do realize this is no way to enjoy a book.
Speaking of enjoying a book - I need to get back to this practice. And, as it turns out, having a blogging book club of sorts doesn't seem to lend itself well (at least in my case) to such a thing.
And, I suck at writing book reviews worthy of your eyeballs. It's ok, I've come to terms with it. There are a few factors that contribute to this lack of inspired writing. Not the least of which being the fact that I usually finish the book long before I ever post on it, so I just forget what it was that drew me in (or had me rolling my eyes) so that I can accurately report on it to y'all.
My experience with a magic eye poster in 1989, I can remember in graphic detail, but a book I read a month ago is a total haze.
So, with this in mind, I'll be going on with my normal reading schedule, and if by some miracle a book actually sinks in, I'll post on it. No schedule, no voting, no tedious post where I try to remember what the title was and what inspired me to read it in the first place.
That way, if I get lured into the TV by Mike Rowe's face, and just start using my book as a resting place for my sweating palms, then so be it. And, just so you know, Mike Rowe is my TV boyfriend.
Don't worry, Bubba knows. And, as I've noticed, Bubba and Mike actually share some similar characteristics. Creepy.
Leave it to me, Queen of Efficiency, to have a TV crush on someone who looks like husband.
Anyway, that's the story of Book Club, ie. There is no Book Club. Like Fight Club without the dingy garages and open wounds. I will tell you, though, that I'm going to run out and get the new Khalid book because I loved Kite Runner long time and have heard good things about this latest book. I may not post on it, but I'll read it and probably love it, and probably just TiVo Mike and Sig and my other favorite fishermen so that I can watch them later with appropriate attention (drooling).
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
[BOOK CLUB] The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri
I'll just go right out and say it, regardless of the clanging cliche, this was one of those books I was sad to finish. And, despite my desire to avoid getting all dramatic and melancholy over a book, I still want to share the feeling I'm left with having finished it.
Like catching a beautiful fish - The whole experience is at once enjoyable, anxious, frustrating and satisfying. I try to enjoy the journey: casting repeatedly into the current, trying not to get too antsy about adjusting where the fly falls, patient with the fish that rise to the surface but don't bite. And finally with The One who does bite, reeling it in and admiring it briefly under the surface of the water, letting it slip easily off the hook and through my fingers back into the cool ripples of the river.
Ok, so I haven't been out on the river yet this year and I'm ready to reassemble my fly rod and get to casting. Sorry. It has started to seep into other parts of my life...
Back to the book, though.
My favorite thing about this book was the not-so-tied-up-in-a-bow ending that I was anticipating. As the story got closer to the end and Gogol started making more predictable decisions, I started getting this nagging feeling that the author was going to mail it in and pull a "happy ever after" on me. So glad I was wrong.
I'll concede something else here, too - there wasn't too much overt drama here. And I like that. See, sometimes I avoid books/movies/TV shows/people because the stories are too dramatic, too overwrought, too get-me-all-tied-up-in-a-knot and it bugs. I prefer the sensation of a more authentic slice-of-life story that isn't so artificially woven with catastrophic events that by the end of the book you're mostly bald and seeking varieties of medical attention.
Like Suite Francaise, I got the fly-on-the-wall feeling (btw: Why am I using so many hyphenated descriptors? Bubba is going to call me out on this one, fo sho.) of peeking into a life so much different than my own without any prejudging or bias. That is the work of a fine author, in my opinion. I never felt like I was being guided into judging any of the characters in one way or another.
I'm being kind of vague about the specific story line, in the event that you haven't read the book yet, because this is one I'd recommend pretty highly and I don't want to ruin it for you. Plus, Amazon gives a pretty beefy sum of the story and I'm not in the business of writing book reports anymore. At least not in the traditional 5th grade sense. So I'll sum my thoughts up as such: A pleasurable and intriguing story of an Indian man growing up in the US, including all the conflict that comes with integrating with American society.
Your thoughts?
For my next trick, I say we move on to The Stolen Child. I would have chosen Water for Elephants, but I picked it up mid-month and couldn't manage to keep my hands off it and have thus finished it prior to book choosing time. I do, however, recommend it pretty highly - especially if you have ever threatened to run way to the circus. After reading this book though, I'm glad I didn't get farther than the driveway.
So, let's meet back up on, say, 6/15, to chat on The Stolen Child.
Like catching a beautiful fish - The whole experience is at once enjoyable, anxious, frustrating and satisfying. I try to enjoy the journey: casting repeatedly into the current, trying not to get too antsy about adjusting where the fly falls, patient with the fish that rise to the surface but don't bite. And finally with The One who does bite, reeling it in and admiring it briefly under the surface of the water, letting it slip easily off the hook and through my fingers back into the cool ripples of the river.
Ok, so I haven't been out on the river yet this year and I'm ready to reassemble my fly rod and get to casting. Sorry. It has started to seep into other parts of my life...
Back to the book, though.
My favorite thing about this book was the not-so-tied-up-in-a-bow ending that I was anticipating. As the story got closer to the end and Gogol started making more predictable decisions, I started getting this nagging feeling that the author was going to mail it in and pull a "happy ever after" on me. So glad I was wrong.
I'll concede something else here, too - there wasn't too much overt drama here. And I like that. See, sometimes I avoid books/movies/TV shows/people because the stories are too dramatic, too overwrought, too get-me-all-tied-up-in-a-knot and it bugs. I prefer the sensation of a more authentic slice-of-life story that isn't so artificially woven with catastrophic events that by the end of the book you're mostly bald and seeking varieties of medical attention.
Like Suite Francaise, I got the fly-on-the-wall feeling (btw: Why am I using so many hyphenated descriptors? Bubba is going to call me out on this one, fo sho.) of peeking into a life so much different than my own without any prejudging or bias. That is the work of a fine author, in my opinion. I never felt like I was being guided into judging any of the characters in one way or another.
I'm being kind of vague about the specific story line, in the event that you haven't read the book yet, because this is one I'd recommend pretty highly and I don't want to ruin it for you. Plus, Amazon gives a pretty beefy sum of the story and I'm not in the business of writing book reports anymore. At least not in the traditional 5th grade sense. So I'll sum my thoughts up as such: A pleasurable and intriguing story of an Indian man growing up in the US, including all the conflict that comes with integrating with American society.
Your thoughts?
For my next trick, I say we move on to The Stolen Child. I would have chosen Water for Elephants, but I picked it up mid-month and couldn't manage to keep my hands off it and have thus finished it prior to book choosing time. I do, however, recommend it pretty highly - especially if you have ever threatened to run way to the circus. After reading this book though, I'm glad I didn't get farther than the driveway.
So, let's meet back up on, say, 6/15, to chat on The Stolen Child.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
[BOOK CLUB] You Suck, A Love Story by Christopher Moore
Two posts in a day? Yeesh, stop me.
So, for those of you out there following along, this month's book was You Suck, A Love Story by Christopher Moore.
If the title itself didn't peak your interest then you and I are not the kindred spirits I thought we were. Boo.
However, if you went out and got the book (whether it was because of the sexy title) and made your way through it over the last month and a half or so - let's chat.
I was wondering if the premise and story might get some eyebrows lifting, since it's basically about youngish vampires living in San Francisco who, other than vampire-ing around at night, lead pretty normal lives. But that is the beauty of this book, and it's predecessor, Bloodsucking Fiends, also by Christopher Moore (Obviously. Shut up.)
The beauty is this - if you squint hard enough and have enough cocktails, you can pretty easily imagine something like this happening to you. I did. Frankly, I'm planning a little trip to the Marina Safeway next time I'm in SF just to check around for errant Animals or an old blue whore.
There was a scene in Bloodsucking Fiends where Jody is first getting her vampire-y powers and kicks some guys ass at a laundromat. Beauty. Then in You Suck, she talks about how she prefers her life as a vampire because she can walk alone at night, in dark alleys, through rough hoods, etc and never feel scared.
I don't know about you all, but having walked to BART after working all day and half the night, I'd have loved knowing I could defend myself from the stinky riffraff that wanders those streets at night. That's just me though.
Anyway, I don't want to get all preachy and "Woman Power" on you guys, because that is boring. But I like that little side note in this entertaining read that I breezed through in a few short days. I won't lie, I eat up anything he writes, so this was another "run right out and get it because I'm getting the shakes" pick since I've finished all his other books.
It didn't hurt that this episode included a Hummer limo full of cracked out dudes fresh from Vegas, the aforementioned blue whore, the super old vampire from Bloodsucking Fiends that was so much fun the first time and some scintillating vampy love (meow). However, I could have done entirely without the stupid Abby and her wicked annoying vampire chronicles or whatever they were.
Christopher, if you're out there, this was not your best character ever. Just, ugh.
Overall though, a fun read to tie up my Christopher Moore swoonfest and properly adorn the bookshelf with his entire collection. If you dug this book and want to lay your naked steaming eyes on some more, a few of my other favorites were; Fluke, Lamb and Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove.
Think me weird all you like, these were all fabulously entertaining.
And, as always, I'm ready to swerve wildly in another direction with the next book: The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. Even though I just saw a preview for the movie based on this book (hello, annoying), I still want to read it. I'm just hoping that while I'm reading it some hammerhead doesn't come up to me and go, "Hey! I just saw that movie. Did you know that XYZ person does XYZ crazy thing that changes the whole ending?!"
Because then I would have to kick.
Meet back on 5/1 and I'll tell you how many were wounded in the reading of this book.
Cheers!
So, for those of you out there following along, this month's book was You Suck, A Love Story by Christopher Moore.
If the title itself didn't peak your interest then you and I are not the kindred spirits I thought we were. Boo.
However, if you went out and got the book (whether it was because of the sexy title) and made your way through it over the last month and a half or so - let's chat.
I was wondering if the premise and story might get some eyebrows lifting, since it's basically about youngish vampires living in San Francisco who, other than vampire-ing around at night, lead pretty normal lives. But that is the beauty of this book, and it's predecessor, Bloodsucking Fiends, also by Christopher Moore (Obviously. Shut up.)
The beauty is this - if you squint hard enough and have enough cocktails, you can pretty easily imagine something like this happening to you. I did. Frankly, I'm planning a little trip to the Marina Safeway next time I'm in SF just to check around for errant Animals or an old blue whore.
There was a scene in Bloodsucking Fiends where Jody is first getting her vampire-y powers and kicks some guys ass at a laundromat. Beauty. Then in You Suck, she talks about how she prefers her life as a vampire because she can walk alone at night, in dark alleys, through rough hoods, etc and never feel scared.
I don't know about you all, but having walked to BART after working all day and half the night, I'd have loved knowing I could defend myself from the stinky riffraff that wanders those streets at night. That's just me though.
Anyway, I don't want to get all preachy and "Woman Power" on you guys, because that is boring. But I like that little side note in this entertaining read that I breezed through in a few short days. I won't lie, I eat up anything he writes, so this was another "run right out and get it because I'm getting the shakes" pick since I've finished all his other books.
It didn't hurt that this episode included a Hummer limo full of cracked out dudes fresh from Vegas, the aforementioned blue whore, the super old vampire from Bloodsucking Fiends that was so much fun the first time and some scintillating vampy love (meow). However, I could have done entirely without the stupid Abby and her wicked annoying vampire chronicles or whatever they were.
Christopher, if you're out there, this was not your best character ever. Just, ugh.
Overall though, a fun read to tie up my Christopher Moore swoonfest and properly adorn the bookshelf with his entire collection. If you dug this book and want to lay your naked steaming eyes on some more, a few of my other favorites were; Fluke, Lamb and Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove.
Think me weird all you like, these were all fabulously entertaining.
And, as always, I'm ready to swerve wildly in another direction with the next book: The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. Even though I just saw a preview for the movie based on this book (hello, annoying), I still want to read it. I'm just hoping that while I'm reading it some hammerhead doesn't come up to me and go, "Hey! I just saw that movie. Did you know that XYZ person does XYZ crazy thing that changes the whole ending?!"
Because then I would have to kick.
Meet back on 5/1 and I'll tell you how many were wounded in the reading of this book.
Cheers!
Thursday, February 01, 2007
[Book Club] Suite Francaise, Irene Nemirovsky, Sandra Smith (Translator)
I will admit, albeit sheepishly, that I still don't know how to properly pronounce the title of this book. But you'll be glad to know, I'm sure, that it has not stopped me from trying out every possible variation while I suggested it to everyone under the sun. As it turns out, even the so-called French speakers that surround me in my daily life can't consistently pronounce the book's name, so I have stopped feeling guilty and started just being happy that I came across Suite Francaise in the first place.
I was totally drawn in by the history of the book before I even ordered it. I had been doing my usual prowl around Amazon, testing the whole "Recommendations for You" business and finding it mostly horseshitty since it was making recommendations based on kids movies I'd bought for my little cousins and books that had previously been Recommended for Me and had sucked the bag. For some reason (unadulterated procrastination) I went through and did some fixing up of my recommendations (marking Not Interested next to Batman Begins, for instance) and a scant hour later, I was actually able to see some marked improvement. Oh, so this thing does work. Huh.
And the title that kept floating to the top, a recommendation based on books I'd actually liked, turned out to be a total keeper.
To me, Suite Francaise has nearly all the elements that I find enjoyable in a read. Rich history, an interesting author, elements of history that I can recall from my neglected childhood textbooks, mild voyeurism, deranged behavior, blatant humanity and murder.
Had the book been perched on a chocolate cake and made me laugh out loud, I probably would have married it.
I thought the unbiased mirroring of individuals fleeing their homeland (France) during the German invasion of WWII was simply stare-worthy. I'm sure there were times that Bubba looked across the living room at me and instead of seeing his wife, saw a bug-eyed, slack-jawed drooling fiend thumbing page corners anxiously while waiting to flip.
I simply couldn't look away. Like sitting in an airport watching all the freaks go by in their bizarre flying attire (why tie so many sweaters around your waist?), I was just riveted by the raw representation of the characters and their many personal flaws. Not to mention the fact that the author was ripped from her home and shipped to Auschwitz before she was able to finish the third, and what I'd imagine would be, the most excruciating section of the book, never left my mind.
BTW, did anyone else find the section with the priest horrifyingly fresh? No neat happy endings around here.
A quote from her journal a few weeks before she was arrested and taken to Auschwitz, read that she meant to describe " daily life, the emotional life and especially the comedy it provides."
Now, there isn't much comedy lying around in the stories of WWII, fleeing of homelands, loss of life during war, genocide, etc. But there's plenty of irony. And so, perhaps this is more of a "Haha ironic" kind of comedy rather than "Haha funny". That's just me though. I've been known to miss a joke or two before.
The section (Dolce) that she devoted to unmasking the lives of people living under German occupation was bold and honest. At no point in the book did I feel like she was siding with one viewpoint or another, simply pulling back the curtain on reality and what people do to survive and maintain their sanity. I totally appreciated that. I never felt pandered to. And there was some stuff in there that wasn't all that pretty.
In the end, I felt more like I was watching the sections of the book from a second story window than flipping through pages of a novel. Wretchedly honest and unforgiving, she gives you an authentic feeling for what people go through during situations as severe as escaping invasion and enduring occupation.
And with that under our belts, I'm ready for something weird.
And no one does weird like Christopher Moore.
You Suck: A Love Story
See you in a month and a half (let's say 3/15). Happy honking.
Finny
I was totally drawn in by the history of the book before I even ordered it. I had been doing my usual prowl around Amazon, testing the whole "Recommendations for You" business and finding it mostly horseshitty since it was making recommendations based on kids movies I'd bought for my little cousins and books that had previously been Recommended for Me and had sucked the bag. For some reason (unadulterated procrastination) I went through and did some fixing up of my recommendations (marking Not Interested next to Batman Begins, for instance) and a scant hour later, I was actually able to see some marked improvement. Oh, so this thing does work. Huh.
And the title that kept floating to the top, a recommendation based on books I'd actually liked, turned out to be a total keeper.
To me, Suite Francaise has nearly all the elements that I find enjoyable in a read. Rich history, an interesting author, elements of history that I can recall from my neglected childhood textbooks, mild voyeurism, deranged behavior, blatant humanity and murder.
Had the book been perched on a chocolate cake and made me laugh out loud, I probably would have married it.
I thought the unbiased mirroring of individuals fleeing their homeland (France) during the German invasion of WWII was simply stare-worthy. I'm sure there were times that Bubba looked across the living room at me and instead of seeing his wife, saw a bug-eyed, slack-jawed drooling fiend thumbing page corners anxiously while waiting to flip.
I simply couldn't look away. Like sitting in an airport watching all the freaks go by in their bizarre flying attire (why tie so many sweaters around your waist?), I was just riveted by the raw representation of the characters and their many personal flaws. Not to mention the fact that the author was ripped from her home and shipped to Auschwitz before she was able to finish the third, and what I'd imagine would be, the most excruciating section of the book, never left my mind.
BTW, did anyone else find the section with the priest horrifyingly fresh? No neat happy endings around here.
A quote from her journal a few weeks before she was arrested and taken to Auschwitz, read that she meant to describe " daily life, the emotional life and especially the comedy it provides."
Now, there isn't much comedy lying around in the stories of WWII, fleeing of homelands, loss of life during war, genocide, etc. But there's plenty of irony. And so, perhaps this is more of a "Haha ironic" kind of comedy rather than "Haha funny". That's just me though. I've been known to miss a joke or two before.
The section (Dolce) that she devoted to unmasking the lives of people living under German occupation was bold and honest. At no point in the book did I feel like she was siding with one viewpoint or another, simply pulling back the curtain on reality and what people do to survive and maintain their sanity. I totally appreciated that. I never felt pandered to. And there was some stuff in there that wasn't all that pretty.
In the end, I felt more like I was watching the sections of the book from a second story window than flipping through pages of a novel. Wretchedly honest and unforgiving, she gives you an authentic feeling for what people go through during situations as severe as escaping invasion and enduring occupation.
And with that under our belts, I'm ready for something weird.
And no one does weird like Christopher Moore.
You Suck: A Love Story
See you in a month and a half (let's say 3/15). Happy honking.
Finny
Friday, December 15, 2006
[BOOK CLUB] The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, Bill Bryson
I won't lie, I *may* be over Bill for the time being.
In true Finny fashion, I binged on the too-good thing and gave myself a stomachache. Like when I was about 10 and decided that a good afternoon snack would be a bowl of Oreos covered with Cool Whip. Eaten with a spoon at hand-in-the-cookie-jar speed, I made myself sick enough so that I didn't go near an Oreo for a good decade. And I've never looked twice at Cool Whip since. Thankfully, my last dose of Bill in the Thunderbold Kid was pretty good and I had some good laughs, but it was no Walk in the Woods or Sunburned Country. So, in the end, I didn't barf, but I'm not going back for more, at least not now. I feel like I'm not yet at the Cool Whip stage with Bill, but I'm definitely approaching the Oreo stage.
Thunderbolt Kid was an amusing look at what it was like for Bill to grow up in Des Moines starting in the 1950's or so. I didn't get a lot of history or drama, but I did get a good idea of what it would have been like to go to school with a perpetual pants pooper or be a paper boy in a nice midwestern neighborhood.
I liked the nostalgia of drive-in movies, his first experience with a billboard, his quest to touch boobs and the way he described how his uncle flocked fellow diners while he ate potatoes, but beyond that, I didn't really find myself gasping for breath from laughing like I had in the past.
I thought it was because I'd gone from reading his new material to reading his old material. I thought for sure I'd pick this newest work up and immediately be thrown to the floor with hysterical laughter. I thought I had just gotten turned in the wrong direction and was about to right myself with a brand new book, hot off the presses and full of hilarity.
Darn.
I think the thing that I never fully latched onto was the weaving of his childhood fantasy of superheroship at random intervals throughout the story. I'd have rather him just made fun of a few more passersby than waste precious page space trying to tie his childhood experiences together with intermittent references to the zapping of neighborhood dogs or stories of imaginary destruction and devastation while wearing a raggedy old thunderbolt sweater.
But I won't be a total downer. Especially since it was my idea to go straight to another Bryson book after The Lost Continent, and I dragged you all down with me. I did have some good chuckles and I do really like his smiling picture on the inside flap of the book. So it's not a total loss. And I was, at one point, laughing on the couch loud enough for Bubba to call out from the office to see if I'd gotten my hand stuck in the dustbuster or accidently squooshed the cat. Which is more than I can say for the majority of books I've read in my lifetime. So, at the end of the day, Bill has set the bar so high that I'm not sure even he is up to the challenge. But the good news is that he has a quiver full of fabulously entertaining books - some just more than others.
So, I hope you all were able to enjoy the book, smile a bit and then look forward to something a little different, perhaps something with more riveting historical flavor.
Perhaps written by someone who's untimely death in the Nazi concentration camps left her masterpiece unpublished until 60 years later when her daughters uncovered it and released it for printing. Someone who knows what it's like to flee ones homeland for uncertain fates.
I'm imagining humanity, drama, introspection, honesty and a good look into the day to day experiences and struggles of people ousted from their lives in the face of an invading war.
I have high hopes.
Suite Francaise
Join me, won't you? Let's meet back in the New Year - say 2/1/07. I'll bring my big fat mouth and a G&T.
Oh yeah - don't forget to vote (and comment) on The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, (poll at right). Then get to reading and having yourselves nice holidays and all that.
Cheers.
In true Finny fashion, I binged on the too-good thing and gave myself a stomachache. Like when I was about 10 and decided that a good afternoon snack would be a bowl of Oreos covered with Cool Whip. Eaten with a spoon at hand-in-the-cookie-jar speed, I made myself sick enough so that I didn't go near an Oreo for a good decade. And I've never looked twice at Cool Whip since. Thankfully, my last dose of Bill in the Thunderbold Kid was pretty good and I had some good laughs, but it was no Walk in the Woods or Sunburned Country. So, in the end, I didn't barf, but I'm not going back for more, at least not now. I feel like I'm not yet at the Cool Whip stage with Bill, but I'm definitely approaching the Oreo stage.
Thunderbolt Kid was an amusing look at what it was like for Bill to grow up in Des Moines starting in the 1950's or so. I didn't get a lot of history or drama, but I did get a good idea of what it would have been like to go to school with a perpetual pants pooper or be a paper boy in a nice midwestern neighborhood.
I liked the nostalgia of drive-in movies, his first experience with a billboard, his quest to touch boobs and the way he described how his uncle flocked fellow diners while he ate potatoes, but beyond that, I didn't really find myself gasping for breath from laughing like I had in the past.
I thought it was because I'd gone from reading his new material to reading his old material. I thought for sure I'd pick this newest work up and immediately be thrown to the floor with hysterical laughter. I thought I had just gotten turned in the wrong direction and was about to right myself with a brand new book, hot off the presses and full of hilarity.
Darn.
I think the thing that I never fully latched onto was the weaving of his childhood fantasy of superheroship at random intervals throughout the story. I'd have rather him just made fun of a few more passersby than waste precious page space trying to tie his childhood experiences together with intermittent references to the zapping of neighborhood dogs or stories of imaginary destruction and devastation while wearing a raggedy old thunderbolt sweater.
But I won't be a total downer. Especially since it was my idea to go straight to another Bryson book after The Lost Continent, and I dragged you all down with me. I did have some good chuckles and I do really like his smiling picture on the inside flap of the book. So it's not a total loss. And I was, at one point, laughing on the couch loud enough for Bubba to call out from the office to see if I'd gotten my hand stuck in the dustbuster or accidently squooshed the cat. Which is more than I can say for the majority of books I've read in my lifetime. So, at the end of the day, Bill has set the bar so high that I'm not sure even he is up to the challenge. But the good news is that he has a quiver full of fabulously entertaining books - some just more than others.
So, I hope you all were able to enjoy the book, smile a bit and then look forward to something a little different, perhaps something with more riveting historical flavor.
Perhaps written by someone who's untimely death in the Nazi concentration camps left her masterpiece unpublished until 60 years later when her daughters uncovered it and released it for printing. Someone who knows what it's like to flee ones homeland for uncertain fates.
I'm imagining humanity, drama, introspection, honesty and a good look into the day to day experiences and struggles of people ousted from their lives in the face of an invading war.
I have high hopes.
Suite Francaise
Join me, won't you? Let's meet back in the New Year - say 2/1/07. I'll bring my big fat mouth and a G&T.
Oh yeah - don't forget to vote (and comment) on The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, (poll at right). Then get to reading and having yourselves nice holidays and all that.
Cheers.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Finny gets Freaky
Tag, I'm it.
Despite my year+ on Blogger, this is my first meme-tagging moment. Call me a late bloomer.
And to make my tagger feel better after her recent admission of acronym-itis in the comment field of this post, I should say that I felt compelled to look up the true definition of "meme" online (an idea, project, statement or even a question that is posted by one blog and responded to by other blogs. Although the term encompasses much of the natural flow of communication in the Blogosphere, there are active bloggers and blog sites that are dedicated to the creation of memes on a regular basis.) True, "meme" isn't an acronym, but it's something of a nerdy-online kind of word that I wasn't 100% clear on. So, whatever. I'm a dork.
This meme, as it were, asks me to pick up the nearest book in arm's reach, flip to page 123 : line 5 and put the words from the next three lines into my post:
..."previously set free-for drug-related offenses and parole revocation in particular-were instead locked up. Between 1980 and 2000, there was a fifteenfold increase in the number of people sent to prison on..."
I feel compelled to put some context around the above three lines which are in Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner.
The theory they are writing about, which the aforementioned three lines work at explaining, is that the drop in crime rate during the 90's was explained, by some, to be the effect of incarcerating more criminals for drug and parole related crimes. This, however, is not a theory shared by the authors of the book.
In fact, the theory they present is much more controversial and definitely worth a read through. I think I whipped through this book in an afternoon and did find many of their theories to be at least provocative enough to consider if not totally rational and acceptable.
I won't lie though - conservative thinkers should come prepared with helmet. Some questions are asked in this book that are probably illegal in our redder states.
Now comes my turn to tag - please forgive me for this chain letter-esque activity. I figure, at least it's book related, which I do enjoy, and you three always have shit going on that I find interesting. PS, no hard feelings if you don't meme-along.
Laura in AK - I would love to see what book you have nearby since it's probably something wildlife related, or perhaps sleddog-ish?
Africankelli - since Shelley put me down for getting her into blogging, I think you deserve the same treatment you big enabler, you.
And Farmgirl, even though I know you don't have time for this since you're probably out in the back 40 managing the sheep or busy at the stove with one of your recipes that I will copy and pass off as my own.
The End.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Exactly what I want
I can't be the only one sad to be back at work after the long four day weekend. Although everyone around here acts like there's nowhere else they'd rather be than behind their laptops, clicking away at email and listening to their cubemates cell phones going unanswered.
Not that I don't have a big red heart for my job, but my long weekend was so blissfully full of exactly what I wanted to be doing that the jolt of being back in the office is startling and its making me already miss everything I did over the last four days. I *KNEW* it was going to fly by, and it did.
I love how I act like I was changing the world or making vast personal improvements or something.
Not exactly...
In fact, at this time yesterday I was padding around in my kitchen putting a pork shoulder into the crockpot for a pulled pork dinner and thinking, "Gee, at this time tomorrow, I'll be at work."
Now I'm sitting at work thinking, "Gee, I should have been spending more time trying to invent my time machine instead of wrestling with pork shoulder."
Grrr...
So, instead of doing exactly what I want to be doing right now (Taking a long walk? Howling with laughter as Bubba puts pretzel rods up his nose? Knitting a ski hat in front of my fireplace? Who can say?) I'm elsewhere thinking about all the sweet shit I did over the long weekend.
Sweet = baking a lot of loaves. 30 to be exact:
Pumpkin chocolate chip bread, lemon poppyseed cake, lemon pound cake, fresh orange cake - all personally taste tested for deliciousness by Bubba himself (see pre-porno photo of him above with the Lemon Poppyseed.)
And then I made some pulled pork sandwiches with pickled cabbage, fresh rolls and fries for dinner. You know, because we didn't eat enough at Thanksgiving. And because my oven was bored from disuse.
Sweet also = wrapping all my holiday gifts. Oh yes, all of them. I won't go into detail, but I will say that there is a very impressive stack of gifts wrapped up in un-Christmasish paper on a shelf in my newly organized closet.
Shivers.
It is so swell in there.
Another sweet thing = This new Bryson book started getting funnier toward the end, so I'm almost done with it. Although I'm having a hard time thinking of the next book. Ideas?
Yet another sweet thing = The latest live Foo Fighters album.
Oh.
Grrrrrrrrr.
It is so [better word for fucking awesome].
I am become the Foo.
Not that I don't have a big red heart for my job, but my long weekend was so blissfully full of exactly what I wanted to be doing that the jolt of being back in the office is startling and its making me already miss everything I did over the last four days. I *KNEW* it was going to fly by, and it did.
I love how I act like I was changing the world or making vast personal improvements or something.
Not exactly...
In fact, at this time yesterday I was padding around in my kitchen putting a pork shoulder into the crockpot for a pulled pork dinner and thinking, "Gee, at this time tomorrow, I'll be at work."
Now I'm sitting at work thinking, "Gee, I should have been spending more time trying to invent my time machine instead of wrestling with pork shoulder."
Grrr...
So, instead of doing exactly what I want to be doing right now (Taking a long walk? Howling with laughter as Bubba puts pretzel rods up his nose? Knitting a ski hat in front of my fireplace? Who can say?) I'm elsewhere thinking about all the sweet shit I did over the long weekend.
Sweet = baking a lot of loaves. 30 to be exact:
Pumpkin chocolate chip bread, lemon poppyseed cake, lemon pound cake, fresh orange cake - all personally taste tested for deliciousness by Bubba himself (see pre-porno photo of him above with the Lemon Poppyseed.)And then I made some pulled pork sandwiches with pickled cabbage, fresh rolls and fries for dinner. You know, because we didn't eat enough at Thanksgiving. And because my oven was bored from disuse.
Sweet also = wrapping all my holiday gifts. Oh yes, all of them. I won't go into detail, but I will say that there is a very impressive stack of gifts wrapped up in un-Christmasish paper on a shelf in my newly organized closet.
Shivers.
It is so swell in there.
Another sweet thing = This new Bryson book started getting funnier toward the end, so I'm almost done with it. Although I'm having a hard time thinking of the next book. Ideas?
Yet another sweet thing = The latest live Foo Fighters album.
Oh.
Grrrrrrrrr.
It is so [better word for fucking awesome].
I am become the Foo.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Unexplained bacon
I worked from home on Friday. A nice little perk I like to take advantage of when I:1.) Have a lot of work to get done and need to be in the chaos-free realm of my house in order to finish it all
or
2.) Have a lot of laundry to do
Friday qualified on both counts, so there I was clacking away on the laptop when Bubba pinged me to tell me that the aforementioned "Surprise wonderful thing" he'd aluded to at dinner the other night had arrived.
YAY!
At my office.
Boo.
And he was going to be in a meeting until wayyyyyyyyyy late and couldn't go by and get it.
Boo.Boo.
And if it was left to sit over the weekend it would not be so wonderful on Monday when I returned to the office.
Boo.Boo.Boo.
So, after exhausting all possible options that would both transport the Wonderful Surprise to my house AND keep me from having to put on regular clothes, it came down to me settling for flip flops with my ratty jeans and hoping to hell nobody I knew was in the lobby when I dashed in for the Wonderful Surprise that was now waiting with our receptionist.
Of course, if I were a less obsessive person or someone who wouldn't, say, trade democracy for a Wonderful Surprise, I might have let the thing sit over the weekend and then deal with whatever Wonderfulness may or may not still exist after three days sitting with our receptionist . But, we know I'm not like that and was obviously going to get my unexplained bacon one way or another.
*Sidenote: For those of you who are not avid Simpsons watchers (or Futurama, ATHF, Harvey Birdman, Drawn Together, Family Guy, Venture Bros, etc) , you may need to watch more animated TV shows in order to fully appreciate my posts. Plus it will enrich your life with immature laughter. Just a suggestion.
To sum up, no one saw me in my rattiness except the receptionist and the delivery person who was excited to see that the Wonderful Surprise they'd brought to my empty desk was being retrieved. And in case you haven't put 2 and 2 together yet, the Wonderful Surprise was the irises in the photo above.
Let me just say that getting flowers for no reason is as Wonderful as I've been led to believe. Also, I wish the hag from dinner the other night were here to see me now - boy, would she choke on that Cabernet.
The End.
OH! Don't forget - Our First Blogging Book Club is tomorrow and I expect you all to chime in with your comments/summaries/favorite moments/internal injuries that resulted from the book.
ALSO - I will let you know what the new book is. Good lord the suspense is too much, I know.
Monday, September 25, 2006
I told you I was a nerd
Let me say, right up front, before you all get mad at me - I'm super extra happy and excited that people as lovely as yourselves (you know who you are) want to join in on the book clubbing! I knew people still read books. I just knew it.
And, before you get all uprise-y, I did warn you of my nerdiness with my previous post. You know, as it referred to my desire for a book club so that I could channel my nerdy need for book convo amongst peers...
And so, I will now profess to you my nerdy situation - I finished the book.
*pause for criticism and squawks of annoyance*
I know, I know. We have a month already still. Sometimes I annoy myself with these things that I do.
Let's blame it on the San Francisco 49ers, shall we? They suck and yet I still feel the loyal fan responsibility to watch every last agonizing down lest they somehow pull out a miracle play and actually *gasp* win a game. Or at least tag a fieldgoal and put some points on the board. It's a long shot, but I hold out hope.
And, while I hold out hope, I read my book from the couch so that I don't scream loud at the TV, frightening Hubby, neighbors, fat cat, etc. And to bring this rambling story home to you extra special (and forgiving*) book clubbers - the 49ers have sucked extra wind so far this season (yes, we're only on week 3 here) and so I've had plenty of time to soothe my frayed nerves with book reading and Bombay Sapphire while perched nervously on the westernmost corner of my couch cushion.
So, with nerdy confession out of the way, I say - peel back the cover and enjoy the crap out of this book so we can dish on 10/31. And, to make up for my premature enjoyment, I'm going to take a copy of this book (my personal one) overseas to the international branch of our book club so that we can have well-rounded chatter on the subject in one month's time. It's only fair, I say.
Speaking of which...9 days to go...
And, before you get all uprise-y, I did warn you of my nerdiness with my previous post. You know, as it referred to my desire for a book club so that I could channel my nerdy need for book convo amongst peers...
And so, I will now profess to you my nerdy situation - I finished the book.
*pause for criticism and squawks of annoyance*
I know, I know. We have a month already still. Sometimes I annoy myself with these things that I do.
Let's blame it on the San Francisco 49ers, shall we? They suck and yet I still feel the loyal fan responsibility to watch every last agonizing down lest they somehow pull out a miracle play and actually *gasp* win a game. Or at least tag a fieldgoal and put some points on the board. It's a long shot, but I hold out hope.
And, while I hold out hope, I read my book from the couch so that I don't scream loud at the TV, frightening Hubby, neighbors, fat cat, etc. And to bring this rambling story home to you extra special (and forgiving*) book clubbers - the 49ers have sucked extra wind so far this season (yes, we're only on week 3 here) and so I've had plenty of time to soothe my frayed nerves with book reading and Bombay Sapphire while perched nervously on the westernmost corner of my couch cushion.
So, with nerdy confession out of the way, I say - peel back the cover and enjoy the crap out of this book so we can dish on 10/31. And, to make up for my premature enjoyment, I'm going to take a copy of this book (my personal one) overseas to the international branch of our book club so that we can have well-rounded chatter on the subject in one month's time. It's only fair, I say.
Speaking of which...9 days to go...
Friday, September 22, 2006
Book club
As it turns out, I'm the slightest bit nerdier than my book clubmates. Yes, I'm sure this comes as a shocker to one and all.
And since the recent decision was made to put our regular book club meetings on hiatus in lieu of Movie Night (a less intimidating occasion without the pesky homework), I've been finding it hard to release my white-knuckled grip on the concept of regularly reviewing books amongst my peers.
So, I'm bringing book club to the blog.
There will still be the same wine drinking and snack eating (even if only on my end, but come on and join me) as before, except that the comments will be posted on the blog instead of blurted out between gossipy recountings of office misbehavior while pouring second (third) glasses of wine.
So, fellow book worms, won't you join me in the dimantling of modern literature by picking up the book you see along the right chrome here and coming back with your comments on the noted date? It will be fun and enjoyable, with very little travel required, and will perhaps divert your eyes from the TV in time to save your cornias from certain damage. Plus, if you've never read any of Bill Bryson's stuff, I bet you'll be glad you stumbled across it. And, if by some miracle, you don't find yourself honking out loud with laughter, I'll apologize right here in front of everyone for misguiding you.
And, if no one wants to join me, I'll carry on by myself. Returning on Halloween to sum up and comment on what is already (just a few pages in) a terminal side-splitter.
Have good weekends, all.
And since the recent decision was made to put our regular book club meetings on hiatus in lieu of Movie Night (a less intimidating occasion without the pesky homework), I've been finding it hard to release my white-knuckled grip on the concept of regularly reviewing books amongst my peers.
So, I'm bringing book club to the blog.
There will still be the same wine drinking and snack eating (even if only on my end, but come on and join me) as before, except that the comments will be posted on the blog instead of blurted out between gossipy recountings of office misbehavior while pouring second (third) glasses of wine.
So, fellow book worms, won't you join me in the dimantling of modern literature by picking up the book you see along the right chrome here and coming back with your comments on the noted date? It will be fun and enjoyable, with very little travel required, and will perhaps divert your eyes from the TV in time to save your cornias from certain damage. Plus, if you've never read any of Bill Bryson's stuff, I bet you'll be glad you stumbled across it. And, if by some miracle, you don't find yourself honking out loud with laughter, I'll apologize right here in front of everyone for misguiding you.
And, if no one wants to join me, I'll carry on by myself. Returning on Halloween to sum up and comment on what is already (just a few pages in) a terminal side-splitter.
Have good weekends, all.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Off topic: Another Finny Secret
I've let you in on some of my Secrets before; my love affair with shoes (and consequently Zappos.com), my obsession with every member of the cucurbit family, magazines , the San Francisco Giants, etc. Some of them may have come as a surprise (to everyone except Hubby who knows how bizarre I can really be), but I daresay none of my secret obsessions is more surprising (based on the collective reactions from numerous friends and acquaintances) than my deep-seated interest in the Iditarod.
This probably came from my parents - a mom who loves EVERY sport and a dad who loves huskies. Combined, this meant that we always had a husky (whether it be Fang, Blossom or Teaka) roaming our 3.5 acres and the first Saturday of March we scoured the news for any footage of the Iditarod start in Anchorage.
Being the sport of few that it was (and still kinda is), coverage was hard to come by back then before the blessed days of the Internet, but we looked our eyes to the bone regardless. My mom would cut out articles buried deep in the sports section and tape the news on every channel so we could get our eyes on whatever was out there.
When I was in my early teens my mom gave me, what would become, my favorite book of all time: "Winterdance" by Gary Paulson. This is, IMHO, the funniest, most entertaining and most intoxicating book written on the topic of the Iditarod that I've come across. And I have all the books. In fact, since reading Winterdance, I've been on a life long mission to find another Iditarod book that brings back the starry-eyed, laugh till you honk, first-time-high kind of buzz that I got from Winterdance. I've read this book no less than a dozen times.
I've told you all that to tell you this; on Saturday a great hero of mine passed away.
Susan Butcher, four time winner of the Iditarod and great inspiration to men and women the world over, died of leukemia at the age of 51.
For anyone who's followed the sport of mushing, or even glanced at the title "My Lead Dog was a Lesbian" (Brian Patrick O'Donoghue) with a raised eyebrow in a bookstore, it is likely that you've at least been touched by the world of sled dog racing, heard the name Butcher and come to understand (even a little bit) the monstrous impact she had on the world of mushing. This woman, in a phrase, rocked it's foundation.
I won't go all laundry list on you and detail all of her accomplishments or get all on my soapbox about her dedication to the dogs, the kennel or the race. What I will do, however, is say that the determination and bullish steadfastness that this woman showed throughout her life and career has been a constant inspiration for me.
I mean, really, if she can move from Massachusetts to the Alaskan Interior, to live by herself in subzero temperatures and train up a team of sled dogs to win the Last Great Race -- what's a little overtime, right? And to think, I bitch about having to commute in the rain. How about across the tundra, at 40 below, behind a team of 15 dogs disappearing into the ever approaching storm - for 1150 miles? Now that's a commute.
For those of you interested in getting more formally acquainted with this Fine Madness (as Gary Paulson would say), do some eyeball stretches (you'll thank me when they get into the part about the hair-raising conditions these teams go through), do a little reading up and get back to me when you need reading suggestions or want to plan a trip to Anchorage for the race start. I've always wanted to go and it's one of those things on The List.
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