The time change usually has an adverse effect on my son. So far so good today. He was in his room and I asked what he was up to. I believe he said, "Causing trouble." It's something I say to him when he's up there alone. He's plotting things up there, I know it.
Now he's sitting next to me with a book. I asked what he was doing, he said, "you reading a book." We got him looking through Green Eggs and Ham. He's showing a lot of interest in it.
I've been on a lucky streak with books myself. There was Room which I followed up with Pat Conroy's "My Reading Life." His last two works of fiction have not really done it for me, especially his last one. His non-fiction works though. In the new one he gives a lot of shout outs to his teachers and why Gone With the Wind is one of the best works of American fiction. His storytelling is at a peak here and I found it to be very entertaining.
I'm following these two books with Keith Richards' autobiography, which is very enlightening and rousing - and I'm only at the point the Stones are still forming.
Showing posts with label books 2009. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books 2009. Show all posts
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Books Read: 2009
Nothing really knocked me on my ass this year. King's return was noteworthy and long overdue. Conroy's book was a major disappointment, as was Doctorow. I've finally entered the word of Rebus, which is a cool place to be.
A Boy Alone provided the saddest twist to a work of non-fiction I've experienced in a long time. Denise Duhamel was a fine new poet to me.
If I finished it, the book gets two stars regardless. If the book is a cut above it gets three and four if really good.
It's been tough to find reading time this year. I'll be lucky to finish fifty in 2010. My wife is planning on reading a hundred. Good luck to her.
1) Boy A. Jonathan Trigell. 248 p.
2) George Being George: George Plimpton's Life. Edited by Nelson Aldrich Jr. 423 p. ***
3) On Purpose. Nick Laird. 65 p. ****
4) Berenice Abbott: Changing New York. Bonnie Yochelson. 399 p. (most. pic) ****
5) Ferenc Karinthy. Metropole. 279 p.
6) Charles Laughton: An Intimate Biography. Charles Higham. 239 p.
7) A Boy Named Shel. Lisa Rogak. 239 p. ***
8) Saved. Jack Falla. 276 p.
9) James Tiptree Jr: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon. Julie Phillips. 469 p. ***
10) Eat Me: The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin. K.S. & Carolynn Carreno. 260 p. ****
11) Indelible Acts. A.L. Kennedy. 191 p.
12) Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street. Michael Davis. 379 p. ***
13) I Can See Clearly Now - Brendan Halpin. 272 p.
14) Love, As Always, Kurt Vonnegut as I Knew Him. Loree Rackstraw. 282 p. ***
15) Devil's Garden - Ace Atkins. 354 p. (Worst fiction)
16) The Fire Gospel - Michel Faber. 213 p. ***
17) The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: Heart Pounding, Jaw Dropping and Gut Wrenching Moments from Buffalo Bills History. Scott Pitoniak. 184 p.
18) Denise Duhamel. Ca-Ching! 86 p. ****
19) Watchmen. Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons. 419 p. ***
20) Angela Sorby. Bird Skin Coat. 79 p. ***
21) Rob Ryan. This is for You. (Unpaged) Horrible greeting card art and sad affirmation poetry.
22) Greg Ames. Buffalo Lockjaw. 304 p. ***
23) Roger Moore. My Word is My Bond. 336 p.
24) A Pint of Plain. Bill Barich. 242 p.
25) American Rust - Phillp Meyer. 367 p. ***
26) Brooklyn - Colm Toibin. 262 p.
27) Tea Time for the Traditionally Built. Alexander McCall Smith. 212 p. ***
28) Columbine. Dave Cullen. 417 p. ****
29) Let the Great World Spin. Colum McCann. 349 p. **** (best fiction)
30) The Real Animal House - Chris Miller. 321 p.
31) Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror - John Ashberry. 83 p.
32) Close to Death - Patricia Smith. 119 p.
33) I am Not Sidney Poitier. Percival Everett. 234 p. ****
34) Miracle Ball: My Hunt for the Shot Heard 'Round the World. Brian Biegel. 224 p. ****
35) Teahouse of the Almighty. Patricia Smith. 91 p. ***
36) Used and Rare: Travels in the Book World. Lawrence and Nancy Goldstone. 215 p. ***
37) Sarah Waters - The Little Stranger. 466 p. ***
38) Glover's Mistake - Nick Laird. 247 p.
39) Marcello in the Real World - Francisco X. Stork. 312 p. ***
40) A Boy Alone: A Brother's Memoir. Karl Taro Greenfeld. 355 p. **** (Best non-fiction)
41) Ian Rankin - Knots and Crosses. 256 p. ****
42) George & Sam: Two Boys, One Family, and Autism. Charlotte Moore. 296 p.
43) Richard Russo. That Old Cape Magic. 261 p. ***
44) Jim Beaver. Life's That Way. 299 p. ***
45) Pat Conroy. South of Broad. 514 p.
46) E.L. Doctorow. Homer and Langley. 208 p.
47) A.D. New Orleans After the Deluge. Josh Neufeld. 193 p. ***
48) The Impostor's Daughter. Laurie Sandell. 247 p. ***
49) Little Bee. Chris Cleave. 271 p.
50) Nick Hornby. Juliet, Naked. 406 p. ***
51) Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman. Jon Krakauer. 416 p.
52) Hide and Seek. Ian Rankin. 224 p.
53) The Lost Symbol. Dan Brown. 509 p.
54) American On Purpose. Craig Ferguson. 268 p. ***
55) Highest Duty. Chelsey Sullenberger. 340 p. ***
56) John Irving - Last Night in Twisted River. 554 p. ***
57) Kurt Vonnegut. Look at the Birdie. 251 p. ***
58) Margaret Atwood. The Year of the Flood. 434 p. ****
59) I'm Dying Up Here: Heartbreak and High Times in Stand Up Comedy's Golden Era. William Knoedelseder. 280 p. ****
60) The Adderall Diaries. Steven Elliott. 208 p. ***
61) Last Words. George Carlin. 294 p. ***
62) Chronic City - Jonathan Lethem 480 p. ****
63) Under the Dome - Stephen King. 1074 p. ****
64) Denise Mina. Still Midnight. 368 p. ***
A Boy Alone provided the saddest twist to a work of non-fiction I've experienced in a long time. Denise Duhamel was a fine new poet to me.
If I finished it, the book gets two stars regardless. If the book is a cut above it gets three and four if really good.
It's been tough to find reading time this year. I'll be lucky to finish fifty in 2010. My wife is planning on reading a hundred. Good luck to her.
1) Boy A. Jonathan Trigell. 248 p.
2) George Being George: George Plimpton's Life. Edited by Nelson Aldrich Jr. 423 p. ***
3) On Purpose. Nick Laird. 65 p. ****
4) Berenice Abbott: Changing New York. Bonnie Yochelson. 399 p. (most. pic) ****
5) Ferenc Karinthy. Metropole. 279 p.
6) Charles Laughton: An Intimate Biography. Charles Higham. 239 p.
7) A Boy Named Shel. Lisa Rogak. 239 p. ***
8) Saved. Jack Falla. 276 p.
9) James Tiptree Jr: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon. Julie Phillips. 469 p. ***
10) Eat Me: The Food and Philosophy of Kenny Shopsin. K.S. & Carolynn Carreno. 260 p. ****
11) Indelible Acts. A.L. Kennedy. 191 p.
12) Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street. Michael Davis. 379 p. ***
13) I Can See Clearly Now - Brendan Halpin. 272 p.
14) Love, As Always, Kurt Vonnegut as I Knew Him. Loree Rackstraw. 282 p. ***
15) Devil's Garden - Ace Atkins. 354 p. (Worst fiction)
16) The Fire Gospel - Michel Faber. 213 p. ***
17) The Good, the Bad and the Ugly: Heart Pounding, Jaw Dropping and Gut Wrenching Moments from Buffalo Bills History. Scott Pitoniak. 184 p.
18) Denise Duhamel. Ca-Ching! 86 p. ****
19) Watchmen. Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons. 419 p. ***
20) Angela Sorby. Bird Skin Coat. 79 p. ***
21) Rob Ryan. This is for You. (Unpaged) Horrible greeting card art and sad affirmation poetry.
22) Greg Ames. Buffalo Lockjaw. 304 p. ***
23) Roger Moore. My Word is My Bond. 336 p.
24) A Pint of Plain. Bill Barich. 242 p.
25) American Rust - Phillp Meyer. 367 p. ***
26) Brooklyn - Colm Toibin. 262 p.
27) Tea Time for the Traditionally Built. Alexander McCall Smith. 212 p. ***
28) Columbine. Dave Cullen. 417 p. ****
29) Let the Great World Spin. Colum McCann. 349 p. **** (best fiction)
30) The Real Animal House - Chris Miller. 321 p.
31) Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror - John Ashberry. 83 p.
32) Close to Death - Patricia Smith. 119 p.
33) I am Not Sidney Poitier. Percival Everett. 234 p. ****
34) Miracle Ball: My Hunt for the Shot Heard 'Round the World. Brian Biegel. 224 p. ****
35) Teahouse of the Almighty. Patricia Smith. 91 p. ***
36) Used and Rare: Travels in the Book World. Lawrence and Nancy Goldstone. 215 p. ***
37) Sarah Waters - The Little Stranger. 466 p. ***
38) Glover's Mistake - Nick Laird. 247 p.
39) Marcello in the Real World - Francisco X. Stork. 312 p. ***
40) A Boy Alone: A Brother's Memoir. Karl Taro Greenfeld. 355 p. **** (Best non-fiction)
41) Ian Rankin - Knots and Crosses. 256 p. ****
42) George & Sam: Two Boys, One Family, and Autism. Charlotte Moore. 296 p.
43) Richard Russo. That Old Cape Magic. 261 p. ***
44) Jim Beaver. Life's That Way. 299 p. ***
45) Pat Conroy. South of Broad. 514 p.
46) E.L. Doctorow. Homer and Langley. 208 p.
47) A.D. New Orleans After the Deluge. Josh Neufeld. 193 p. ***
48) The Impostor's Daughter. Laurie Sandell. 247 p. ***
49) Little Bee. Chris Cleave. 271 p.
50) Nick Hornby. Juliet, Naked. 406 p. ***
51) Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman. Jon Krakauer. 416 p.
52) Hide and Seek. Ian Rankin. 224 p.
53) The Lost Symbol. Dan Brown. 509 p.
54) American On Purpose. Craig Ferguson. 268 p. ***
55) Highest Duty. Chelsey Sullenberger. 340 p. ***
56) John Irving - Last Night in Twisted River. 554 p. ***
57) Kurt Vonnegut. Look at the Birdie. 251 p. ***
58) Margaret Atwood. The Year of the Flood. 434 p. ****
59) I'm Dying Up Here: Heartbreak and High Times in Stand Up Comedy's Golden Era. William Knoedelseder. 280 p. ****
60) The Adderall Diaries. Steven Elliott. 208 p. ***
61) Last Words. George Carlin. 294 p. ***
62) Chronic City - Jonathan Lethem 480 p. ****
63) Under the Dome - Stephen King. 1074 p. ****
64) Denise Mina. Still Midnight. 368 p. ***
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Best for Last. Book #63
I read my first Stephen King book back in 1983. It was Christine and I was instantly hooked. Got everything I could of his from the college and local libraries. Devoured books about him, even looked for the Bachman's. It was an intense period of reading. He was, and still is, quite the prolific writer. There was a back catalog to catch up on.
But when the Tommyknockers came out in 1987, something had changed. Authors go through peaks, valleys, they write bad books. After that book came out, I believe his creativity declined, noticeably. I read he was doing some serious coke at the time, which would explain a lot. Yet, even after he got off of it, with great difficulty I understand, the quality of his writing had not returned. I still read his work, but no longer was interested in getting it when it was released. What I did read seemed uninspired. The plots were tired. The thrill ride had no thrills, frights, or fun.
Then on my 34th birthday and the night of no goal, King was hit by a car and suffered serious injuries. After that there was some serious rehab, talk of retirement and I wondered if he'd ever return to anything close to form.
He has.
I have to admit to being skeptical when Under the Dome was released. I've heard the term 'King's best in years' many times and the results were unsatisfactory. The 1,074 pages were also an obstacle. Could this book have used some more editing, (yes) some character depth (yes) and culling of plot? (also yes)
The book's title and cover say it all. A small town in Maine is suddenly covered by a transparent dome. Things happen.
From page one King puts the accelerator to the floor and you are in the passenger seat, going "Whooooo!" right along with him. Then he presses down, harder, and you're both going "Whooooo!"
All this while Warren Zevon's 'Play it All Night Long' is blasting out of the speakers.
King kills a lot of people, blows a lot of things up and causes a lot of mayhem - and he's having a ball doing it. Not since the first few pages of The Cell has King enjoyed creating such a disaster. This time he sustains it for the entire length of this massive book. From the opening scenes of a woodchuck's point of view to the final, inevitable explosions, I was held to the page. I can't believe I'm writing this, but I did not want it to end.
There's a lot of political allegory, an exposure of the cruelty of children, a smack down of self righteous Christians and, I think, a bit of a global warming statement within the fury of this novel. Do not be put off by its length.
The book is far from flawless. The editing could have stood a sharper red pen. Some of the dialogue was implausible and groan inducing. The conclusion reminded me of an episode of Star Trek and seemed a bit forced, but I will not allow myself to be mad at it. If this book was written in the fifties, it would be sold in dime stores, waiting for aspiring authors to find on a wire rack. In another world, King would be earning a penny a word, and deserving every cent. You fly through the thinness and savor the meaty parts of this book, and there are many, and they are worth it.
I admit to writing Stephen King off, that he would not be capable of writing a book with the intensity and thrills of his earlier work. After finishing Under the Dome I'm here telling you that I was wrong. He's back. Pass the crow.
But when the Tommyknockers came out in 1987, something had changed. Authors go through peaks, valleys, they write bad books. After that book came out, I believe his creativity declined, noticeably. I read he was doing some serious coke at the time, which would explain a lot. Yet, even after he got off of it, with great difficulty I understand, the quality of his writing had not returned. I still read his work, but no longer was interested in getting it when it was released. What I did read seemed uninspired. The plots were tired. The thrill ride had no thrills, frights, or fun.
Then on my 34th birthday and the night of no goal, King was hit by a car and suffered serious injuries. After that there was some serious rehab, talk of retirement and I wondered if he'd ever return to anything close to form.
He has.
I have to admit to being skeptical when Under the Dome was released. I've heard the term 'King's best in years' many times and the results were unsatisfactory. The 1,074 pages were also an obstacle. Could this book have used some more editing, (yes) some character depth (yes) and culling of plot? (also yes)
The book's title and cover say it all. A small town in Maine is suddenly covered by a transparent dome. Things happen.
From page one King puts the accelerator to the floor and you are in the passenger seat, going "Whooooo!" right along with him. Then he presses down, harder, and you're both going "Whooooo!"
All this while Warren Zevon's 'Play it All Night Long' is blasting out of the speakers.
King kills a lot of people, blows a lot of things up and causes a lot of mayhem - and he's having a ball doing it. Not since the first few pages of The Cell has King enjoyed creating such a disaster. This time he sustains it for the entire length of this massive book. From the opening scenes of a woodchuck's point of view to the final, inevitable explosions, I was held to the page. I can't believe I'm writing this, but I did not want it to end.
There's a lot of political allegory, an exposure of the cruelty of children, a smack down of self righteous Christians and, I think, a bit of a global warming statement within the fury of this novel. Do not be put off by its length.
The book is far from flawless. The editing could have stood a sharper red pen. Some of the dialogue was implausible and groan inducing. The conclusion reminded me of an episode of Star Trek and seemed a bit forced, but I will not allow myself to be mad at it. If this book was written in the fifties, it would be sold in dime stores, waiting for aspiring authors to find on a wire rack. In another world, King would be earning a penny a word, and deserving every cent. You fly through the thinness and savor the meaty parts of this book, and there are many, and they are worth it.
I admit to writing Stephen King off, that he would not be capable of writing a book with the intensity and thrills of his earlier work. After finishing Under the Dome I'm here telling you that I was wrong. He's back. Pass the crow.
Monday, November 23, 2009
It's not even green anymore
So one of these came in the mail today. Not for me, and it does not quite match this picture.
The process took fourteen months, which is a reasonable amount of time considering we dealt with the Department of Homeland Security. We were never called in to interview either. No separating us and asking about toothbrush colors or what the other likes on their eggs. Our long national nightmare has ended. Or, another has begun, who really knows?
A couple of books have been read: First up.
I've been rather jaded about memoirs these days. People are writing that fiction is dead and that memoir is the new literature. Screw that, and double for James Frey. This one, however, is a couple of cuts above the drivel that's being published. Take a true crime, add some drug use, S&M and a very screwed up childhood - Stephen Elliott has created a non fiction work that's part In Cold Blood, part Hunter S. Thompson at his finest and part, well I'm not sure what and that unknown is what makes this one worth seeking out.
I had no idea he was working on a book before he died until a friend pointed it out on Facebook. Carlin was collaborating with Tony Hendra, who did a good job assembling Carlin's thoughts to the page. It provides some great details on his stand up days and a very frank use of his drug use and how it affected his family life. Not a pretty story, but it ends on a high note. It's a shame his heart could not hold up long enough so he could put his story on the Broadway stage. That would have been worth seeing.
Since I have not poated any pics of him for a while, here's one of the boy in the pool. He's been going into the deep end. No knowledge that it's twelve feet deep. No fear. He's been swimming the length of the pool, twenty five meters and back, reaching forward for speed.
We're also up a bit late tonight.
My daily reports tell me this site has been getting lots of recent hits. I don't track from where, unlike other bloggers, and am really not concerned with that. It's always good to see people reading though. Anyone want to say hello? There are a couple of new 'followers' here too. You're welcome to stay, but isn't participation fun? Thank you all for reading.
The process took fourteen months, which is a reasonable amount of time considering we dealt with the Department of Homeland Security. We were never called in to interview either. No separating us and asking about toothbrush colors or what the other likes on their eggs. Our long national nightmare has ended. Or, another has begun, who really knows?
A couple of books have been read: First up.
I've been rather jaded about memoirs these days. People are writing that fiction is dead and that memoir is the new literature. Screw that, and double for James Frey. This one, however, is a couple of cuts above the drivel that's being published. Take a true crime, add some drug use, S&M and a very screwed up childhood - Stephen Elliott has created a non fiction work that's part In Cold Blood, part Hunter S. Thompson at his finest and part, well I'm not sure what and that unknown is what makes this one worth seeking out.
I had no idea he was working on a book before he died until a friend pointed it out on Facebook. Carlin was collaborating with Tony Hendra, who did a good job assembling Carlin's thoughts to the page. It provides some great details on his stand up days and a very frank use of his drug use and how it affected his family life. Not a pretty story, but it ends on a high note. It's a shame his heart could not hold up long enough so he could put his story on the Broadway stage. That would have been worth seeing.
Since I have not poated any pics of him for a while, here's one of the boy in the pool. He's been going into the deep end. No knowledge that it's twelve feet deep. No fear. He's been swimming the length of the pool, twenty five meters and back, reaching forward for speed.
We're also up a bit late tonight.
My daily reports tell me this site has been getting lots of recent hits. I don't track from where, unlike other bloggers, and am really not concerned with that. It's always good to see people reading though. Anyone want to say hello? There are a couple of new 'followers' here too. You're welcome to stay, but isn't participation fun? Thank you all for reading.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Football sestina, not the best idea
I know there were some harsh words about the Bob Dylan Christmas record said here. There is a video out now. It has to be seen to be believed. Bob's wearing a wig that makes him look like Iggy Pop, or Tom Petty. There's a hellacious party going on. I think the guy swinging from the chandelier is the Jack of Hearts.
The boy went to bed at 10PM, woke up at 2AM and is still awake. At least it gave me the opportunity to see that what I started writing last night was total nonsense. It's been a tough month on the page, especially with the 30/30 project happening. I'm not getting much out of it, nor am I putting anything in. Writing the pantoum, getting only one response then seeing another poet write this short throwaway piece (that had a Springsteen song as a title) get scads of attention completely turned me off. Sure I'm being petty and unnecessarily jealous but this was not a clique I was a part of from day one.
The new Margaret Atwood book is rather bleak and fierce. It picks up around the time of Oryx and Crake and runs with bioengineering, pandemics and massive changes in the way humans live. Atwood has some wicked humor going on, and her satire is top notch.
I also liked I'm Dying up Here, a well told story about stand up comedy in Los Angeles in the 1970's. It's a quick read about the founding of the Comedy Store and the early careers of Letterman, Leno, Boosler, George Miller, Richard Lewis and many other comedians. It also has the story of a boycott of the Comedy Store and its operator, Mitzi Shore, that is rather detailed. I wonder how fair the book is toward everyone involved but it seemed a rather balanced reporting of events to me.
Alright, I think the kid's back to sleep. Maybe I can get another hour or two of shuteye.
The boy went to bed at 10PM, woke up at 2AM and is still awake. At least it gave me the opportunity to see that what I started writing last night was total nonsense. It's been a tough month on the page, especially with the 30/30 project happening. I'm not getting much out of it, nor am I putting anything in. Writing the pantoum, getting only one response then seeing another poet write this short throwaway piece (that had a Springsteen song as a title) get scads of attention completely turned me off. Sure I'm being petty and unnecessarily jealous but this was not a clique I was a part of from day one.
The new Margaret Atwood book is rather bleak and fierce. It picks up around the time of Oryx and Crake and runs with bioengineering, pandemics and massive changes in the way humans live. Atwood has some wicked humor going on, and her satire is top notch.
I also liked I'm Dying up Here, a well told story about stand up comedy in Los Angeles in the 1970's. It's a quick read about the founding of the Comedy Store and the early careers of Letterman, Leno, Boosler, George Miller, Richard Lewis and many other comedians. It also has the story of a boycott of the Comedy Store and its operator, Mitzi Shore, that is rather detailed. I wonder how fair the book is toward everyone involved but it seemed a rather balanced reporting of events to me.
Alright, I think the kid's back to sleep. Maybe I can get another hour or two of shuteye.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Passing the Open Windows
Getting my ass kicked in my the 30 in 30 November poetry project. Started out rough as nothing was coming out that was any good. Wrote down a bunch of shapeless nonsense that did not help my confidence. Might have pulled out of it, or not.
Finished the new John Irving book.
Last Night in Twisted River starts out with a bang. A perfectly crafted narrative of a young man drowning in a river. It set the bar high for the reader. Sadly, the next 500 pages does not come close to the power of the first fifty.
It does not mean that it's a bad book, far from it. I think this is a book Irving wrote for the fans. I'm one of them having read everything I could find that he has written. He brings back so many familiar themes from his previous work. The meanness and protection of bears, New England prep schools, fathers telling sons stories disguised as warnings, physically large and powerful women, tragic events centered around a holiday and so much more. It was very hard at me to be mad at him when he used a throwaway line about being bonkers over a dog. If you've read Garp you should get that reference. He even throws Kurt Vonnegut, one of his teachers at the University of Iowa, into the plot!
His prose gets circular and obsessive about details, which has always been a major flaw of Irving's writing. You read a bit more about the logging industry on New England rivers and cooking in North Boston Italian restaurants that you need to. Irving also gets even more autobiographical with one of his main characters, making him an author who writes a political novel about abortion.
The book did not disappoint me. The endings were sad, mostly inevitable. Somehow, and I want to be wrong about this, after twelve novels now, I think Irving is trying to say goodbye. While I understand that there are no happy ending, I'm not sure I'm ready for the ride to end.
Finished the new John Irving book.
Last Night in Twisted River starts out with a bang. A perfectly crafted narrative of a young man drowning in a river. It set the bar high for the reader. Sadly, the next 500 pages does not come close to the power of the first fifty.
It does not mean that it's a bad book, far from it. I think this is a book Irving wrote for the fans. I'm one of them having read everything I could find that he has written. He brings back so many familiar themes from his previous work. The meanness and protection of bears, New England prep schools, fathers telling sons stories disguised as warnings, physically large and powerful women, tragic events centered around a holiday and so much more. It was very hard at me to be mad at him when he used a throwaway line about being bonkers over a dog. If you've read Garp you should get that reference. He even throws Kurt Vonnegut, one of his teachers at the University of Iowa, into the plot!
His prose gets circular and obsessive about details, which has always been a major flaw of Irving's writing. You read a bit more about the logging industry on New England rivers and cooking in North Boston Italian restaurants that you need to. Irving also gets even more autobiographical with one of his main characters, making him an author who writes a political novel about abortion.
The book did not disappoint me. The endings were sad, mostly inevitable. Somehow, and I want to be wrong about this, after twelve novels now, I think Irving is trying to say goodbye. While I understand that there are no happy ending, I'm not sure I'm ready for the ride to end.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Current consumption
Not sure how long this will last, but the music of Mojo Nixon is available for free download at amazon.com in the United States only. I'm not responsible for your personality changes.
Craig Ferguson is a very clever man. His novel gave us indication there was much more ambition underneath the surface.
Now he's written a memoir that exposes him even more. American on Purpose tells the story of his youth, his adventures and his substance abuse problems. It also name checks a number of Glasgow landmarks that I have been to. What it does not reveal is the creative process behind his show. I do not get to watch his program enough, but what I've seen shows me a very talented and entertaining interviewer who goes beyond the fluff and actually talks to his guests. If you do not read the entire book, read it for the last chapter alone. An emotional and touching explanation of why he chose to become an American citizen.
Speaking of fine citizens, Chelsey Sullenberger has cashed in on his moment and put out a book. At least the guy is not a pseudo reality show celebrity and has actually done something that people want to read about instead of putting out a weak brand. Highest Duty: My Search for What Really Matters is the pilot's story of what brought him to that amazing moment when he landed a plane full of people in the Hudson River. It tells us that his whole life was preparation for that moment, and he was ready for it. He also gives much credit for his co=pilot and flight crew, which is something he has always done.
Sullenberger is a decent human being in an era of too much indecency. I'm grateful he told us his story.
Craig Ferguson is a very clever man. His novel gave us indication there was much more ambition underneath the surface.
Now he's written a memoir that exposes him even more. American on Purpose tells the story of his youth, his adventures and his substance abuse problems. It also name checks a number of Glasgow landmarks that I have been to. What it does not reveal is the creative process behind his show. I do not get to watch his program enough, but what I've seen shows me a very talented and entertaining interviewer who goes beyond the fluff and actually talks to his guests. If you do not read the entire book, read it for the last chapter alone. An emotional and touching explanation of why he chose to become an American citizen.
Speaking of fine citizens, Chelsey Sullenberger has cashed in on his moment and put out a book. At least the guy is not a pseudo reality show celebrity and has actually done something that people want to read about instead of putting out a weak brand. Highest Duty: My Search for What Really Matters is the pilot's story of what brought him to that amazing moment when he landed a plane full of people in the Hudson River. It tells us that his whole life was preparation for that moment, and he was ready for it. He also gives much credit for his co=pilot and flight crew, which is something he has always done.
Sullenberger is a decent human being in an era of too much indecency. I'm grateful he told us his story.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Monday this and that
For many years I kept a blog on Live Journal. In April, I stopped posting. I do not miss it. This place and Facebook keep me busy enough. LJ's dying though. Few of the people I knew back in the day are posting anymore, and what I am seeing now is a bunch of twitter digests. Boring. Glad I got out of there when I did.
Zombies. I hate zombies. They do not impress me. You can only moan out 'brains' once, before I'm bored to tears. I wanted to write a poem about how much I hated zombies but Scott Woods beat me to it. I do not give a crap about what to do in case a zombie attacks, zombie walks, zombie pub crawls, zombie mash ups with literature, or anything that has to do with zombies.
I'd rather hear about pirates.
I've just confused my son. He asked for a lollipop. Gave him one, then took one for myself. He was trying to take it out of my mouth.
Been doing some reading. Was not overly impressed with Nick Hornby's latest Juliet, Naked. It tells the story of music fan obsessed with a reclusive musician. The book begins with a clear picture of what internet obsession can do to a person, and their relationships then fades into a story of failing relationships - which is not as interesting as the internet obsessions. Hornby knows his subjects well, yet failed to connect with this reader.
Also limped through the latest product from Dan Brown. Still trying to figure out what The Lost Symbol was trying to tell me amidst all the puzzles, Newton trivia, Masonic rites and action. For all the criticism of Brown, founded and unfounded, he knows how to jump start a book and keep the pace on the floor for nearly 500 pages. This time, his devices were tired, his descriptions creepy (Langdon's finely toned body was heavier than it appeared) and characters cliched.
What is making me happy is my Scottish Sister-in-Law getting me a copy of the new Denise Mina. It's not being released in the U.S. until March.
Yes, my Wife's sister and boyfriend are here for a few days. Taking them to our fine zoo tomorrow and the Circleville Pumpkin Festival on Wednesday. Good stuff, and the weather has warmed up.
Zombies. I hate zombies. They do not impress me. You can only moan out 'brains' once, before I'm bored to tears. I wanted to write a poem about how much I hated zombies but Scott Woods beat me to it. I do not give a crap about what to do in case a zombie attacks, zombie walks, zombie pub crawls, zombie mash ups with literature, or anything that has to do with zombies.
I'd rather hear about pirates.
I've just confused my son. He asked for a lollipop. Gave him one, then took one for myself. He was trying to take it out of my mouth.
Been doing some reading. Was not overly impressed with Nick Hornby's latest Juliet, Naked. It tells the story of music fan obsessed with a reclusive musician. The book begins with a clear picture of what internet obsession can do to a person, and their relationships then fades into a story of failing relationships - which is not as interesting as the internet obsessions. Hornby knows his subjects well, yet failed to connect with this reader.
Also limped through the latest product from Dan Brown. Still trying to figure out what The Lost Symbol was trying to tell me amidst all the puzzles, Newton trivia, Masonic rites and action. For all the criticism of Brown, founded and unfounded, he knows how to jump start a book and keep the pace on the floor for nearly 500 pages. This time, his devices were tired, his descriptions creepy (Langdon's finely toned body was heavier than it appeared) and characters cliched.
What is making me happy is my Scottish Sister-in-Law getting me a copy of the new Denise Mina. It's not being released in the U.S. until March.
Yes, my Wife's sister and boyfriend are here for a few days. Taking them to our fine zoo tomorrow and the Circleville Pumpkin Festival on Wednesday. Good stuff, and the weather has warmed up.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Coming soon
My friend Louise did an amazing job with very short notice and assembled a chapbook for me to have at IWPS. I sent her a bunch of poems last night, along with a bio, title and a couple of pictures to choose from.
By lunchtime today she organized the work, made the cover and put together the book. Ok, she has a template, but I'm still impressed.
Here's the bio:
Born on Long Island. Ed has lived in Columbus, Ohio for nineteen years. Ed attended and eventually graduated from The State University College of New York at Fredonia. Ed spent the eighties in a radio studio, the nineties in wine shops and the rest of his time working in libraries. He finally began reading his poetry at Writer's Block in 2006 and has since done several features and appearances in the state. His goal is to read in all of Ohio's 88 counties. He has a long way to go. Ed was the Writer's Block representative of the Individual World Poetry Slam in 2009. He came in second place in the poetry competition at the Columbus Arts Festival, also in 2009. When not blogging Ed spends time with his lovely wife and son.
It's my first book.
I have a few copies to trade, sell, use as a calling card this weekend. When we come back, there will be a second printing I'll let you know about.
Thank you all for your support, donations, and advice. I'm really excited about this trip and opportunity. It's going to be fun sharing the art, meeting a lot of people and representing Writers Block on the national stage. I should be able to update from Berkeley and will have some great stories about my IWPS experience.
We fly out on Wednesday afternoon.
By lunchtime today she organized the work, made the cover and put together the book. Ok, she has a template, but I'm still impressed.
Here's the bio:
Born on Long Island. Ed has lived in Columbus, Ohio for nineteen years. Ed attended and eventually graduated from The State University College of New York at Fredonia. Ed spent the eighties in a radio studio, the nineties in wine shops and the rest of his time working in libraries. He finally began reading his poetry at Writer's Block in 2006 and has since done several features and appearances in the state. His goal is to read in all of Ohio's 88 counties. He has a long way to go. Ed was the Writer's Block representative of the Individual World Poetry Slam in 2009. He came in second place in the poetry competition at the Columbus Arts Festival, also in 2009. When not blogging Ed spends time with his lovely wife and son.
It's my first book.
I have a few copies to trade, sell, use as a calling card this weekend. When we come back, there will be a second printing I'll let you know about.
Thank you all for your support, donations, and advice. I'm really excited about this trip and opportunity. It's going to be fun sharing the art, meeting a lot of people and representing Writers Block on the national stage. I should be able to update from Berkeley and will have some great stories about my IWPS experience.
We fly out on Wednesday afternoon.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The Busy Month Begins
Spent a good part of yesterday at the Nisonger Center, which went well. N. was on his best behavior and he showed the doctors and observers what he was all about. What's ahead is a bit of waiting, some good referrals, and hoping the insurance is good enough.
Weirdness out of the world of David Letterman, seems someone has been blackmailing him. A CBS news producer threatened to write a book and screenplay saying that Letterman was sleeping with members of his staff unless the talk show host gave him two million dollars. Letterman went on his show and admitted that he had done so.
What is it about Letterman that stalkers, kidnappers and blackmailers seem to orbit around him? This didn't happen to Carson did it?
In the middle of Nick Hornby's new book, Juliet, Naked. Liking it a lot so far, he's back to music geekery as the subject matter. His smack at middle aged men who regret staying up late listening to downloaded music hit a bit close to home though!
Five days until we leave for IWPS!
Weirdness out of the world of David Letterman, seems someone has been blackmailing him. A CBS news producer threatened to write a book and screenplay saying that Letterman was sleeping with members of his staff unless the talk show host gave him two million dollars. Letterman went on his show and admitted that he had done so.
What is it about Letterman that stalkers, kidnappers and blackmailers seem to orbit around him? This didn't happen to Carson did it?
In the middle of Nick Hornby's new book, Juliet, Naked. Liking it a lot so far, he's back to music geekery as the subject matter. His smack at middle aged men who regret staying up late listening to downloaded music hit a bit close to home though!
Five days until we leave for IWPS!
Monday, September 7, 2009
Yelling at a book to make it stop
South of Broad, Pat Conroy's first work of fiction in fourteen years is an overwrought, over dramatic story with unrealistic relationships and implausible dialogue. I wanted to like this book, and had been looking forward to it for many months, years even.
It tells the story of Leopold Bloom King, a young man waking up to the world around him after his brother's suicide at the age of ten. Conroy bombards us with many irritating references to James Joyce, since King's Mother, a former nun, wrote her dissertation on Joyce and named both of her sons after characters in Joyce's novels.
Conroy piles on the glib, adds three metaphors when one powerful one would suffice, fills us up on the melodrama and impossibility of fact in chapter after chapter. He even names two of his characters Niles and Fraser, and they marry. Isn't that precious?
Every part of a dysfunctional family is in this books five hundred plus pages. Want rape, incest, suicide, AIDS, forbidden love, disease, drug dealing, alcoholism, murder, racism - it's all here and Conroy buries us in heaping mounds of sadness balanced by face slapping banter.
And when a major character dies (I really do not think I'm giving anything away here) none of the characters friends barely goes through any grief stage. Yet, when there's any other scene in which even a minor tragedy occurs, there is weeping, howling and sobbing.
The final chapter, in which the reason King's brother commits suicide is revealed has become of the most used cliches in recent history, (it wasn't the butler, but it should have been) I felt sadness, not for any of the characters, but for me reading this, and for Conroy for having to stoop to write this nonsense. I expected better from him, and got a third rate paperback from the remainder bin.
It tells the story of Leopold Bloom King, a young man waking up to the world around him after his brother's suicide at the age of ten. Conroy bombards us with many irritating references to James Joyce, since King's Mother, a former nun, wrote her dissertation on Joyce and named both of her sons after characters in Joyce's novels.
Conroy piles on the glib, adds three metaphors when one powerful one would suffice, fills us up on the melodrama and impossibility of fact in chapter after chapter. He even names two of his characters Niles and Fraser, and they marry. Isn't that precious?
Every part of a dysfunctional family is in this books five hundred plus pages. Want rape, incest, suicide, AIDS, forbidden love, disease, drug dealing, alcoholism, murder, racism - it's all here and Conroy buries us in heaping mounds of sadness balanced by face slapping banter.
And when a major character dies (I really do not think I'm giving anything away here) none of the characters friends barely goes through any grief stage. Yet, when there's any other scene in which even a minor tragedy occurs, there is weeping, howling and sobbing.
The final chapter, in which the reason King's brother commits suicide is revealed has become of the most used cliches in recent history, (it wasn't the butler, but it should have been) I felt sadness, not for any of the characters, but for me reading this, and for Conroy for having to stoop to write this nonsense. I expected better from him, and got a third rate paperback from the remainder bin.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Pages and Pictures and Wine, Oh My!
A publishing trend I've noticed over the past few years is authors who write novels simply to have them made into movies. I'm sure this has been happening for a long time, but it's taken me until recent years to notice this. I enjoyed reading Jonathan Tropper's novel, This is Where I Leave You. It is full of some very hysterical dialogue, some poignant family issues and memorable characters. What I found myself doing more was imagining who would play the characters as actors than viewing them as characters in a book. I did not hate this book, at all, but found it striving to be a 300 odd page treatment for a shorter screenplay than a work of literature.
Earlier this week my Scottish Wife and I found a new (to us) little oasis just outside of Olde Dublin.Indian Run Falls is quite lovely and I imagine even more water would be flowing if we had a wetter summer.
Went out for a bit this afternoon to check out Urban Scrawl, a very cool endeavor to promote the artists of Franklinton, a pocket of blight just west of downtown Columbus that is trying to lift itself out of dire straits artistically.
There's even a cool skateboard area in Dodge Park.
Did a double take at the grocery store wine department this afternoon.
The wine on sale is Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon. Back in my time in the wine business this wine was highly allocated and rarely seen in shops, let alone in the wine area of Kroger. Seeing it on sale was quite shocking. Must be an off vintage, the winery or distributor being desperate for cash or Silver Oak itself has gone way out of fashion by the fickle wine aficionados.
The few times I did get to try it, the wine was not worth the price.
Earlier this week my Scottish Wife and I found a new (to us) little oasis just outside of Olde Dublin.Indian Run Falls is quite lovely and I imagine even more water would be flowing if we had a wetter summer.
Went out for a bit this afternoon to check out Urban Scrawl, a very cool endeavor to promote the artists of Franklinton, a pocket of blight just west of downtown Columbus that is trying to lift itself out of dire straits artistically.
There's even a cool skateboard area in Dodge Park.
Did a double take at the grocery store wine department this afternoon.
The wine on sale is Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon. Back in my time in the wine business this wine was highly allocated and rarely seen in shops, let alone in the wine area of Kroger. Seeing it on sale was quite shocking. Must be an off vintage, the winery or distributor being desperate for cash or Silver Oak itself has gone way out of fashion by the fickle wine aficionados.
The few times I did get to try it, the wine was not worth the price.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Page to page to still on page
Been reading about George and Sam, happy I do not have two autistic children. Having one means you are surrounded by constant energy. I can't imagine having that intensity from both sides, and being outnumbered by it.
Can't say he's a new writer, or that he was completely unknown to me but I just read my first Ian Rankin novel and I was very impressed. I'm going to try and space out the Inspector Rebus novels, which really carry the grit and subtleties of Edinburgh. Rankin knows the city well and makes me want to see more of the city, in the same way Denise Mina knows the streets of Glasgow.
Rebus seems to be a complex character, a heavy drinker, smoker, philanderer and Christian with a lot of issues. There are sixteen more books in the series to go. Maybe I'll get to the end of the series by 2012, if we all live that long.
Last night was another poetry slam at Writers Block for IWPS qualifying. It was another low energy crowd, despite MC Rachel's efforts at getting reactions.
I Drew second in the first round, just like last week. Now I'm going to start complaining about drawing that slot! And just like last week, Scott went first. And just like last week, Scott ended up winning the night.
I wanted to take a cattle prod to the crowd, and did my best in round two as I did Folsom Clothing Blues: Fall 2009. It's a piece about NFL convicts and a fashion show and it keeps updating itself. I put Vick in this edition and forgot all about Plaxico Burress. Next time.
So how does a guy get two years in jail for accidentally shooting himself with an unregistered gun while a drunk driver kills a guy with his Bentley gets thirty days?
Anyway. Back to slam. I ended up in third last night, which I believe puts me in the Grand Slam next Wednesday night. It's going to be a night of intensity as the grand slam poets bring out their best. I went to bed last night and ended up getting up to write a new poem.
That's how it's going to be!
Can't say he's a new writer, or that he was completely unknown to me but I just read my first Ian Rankin novel and I was very impressed. I'm going to try and space out the Inspector Rebus novels, which really carry the grit and subtleties of Edinburgh. Rankin knows the city well and makes me want to see more of the city, in the same way Denise Mina knows the streets of Glasgow.
Rebus seems to be a complex character, a heavy drinker, smoker, philanderer and Christian with a lot of issues. There are sixteen more books in the series to go. Maybe I'll get to the end of the series by 2012, if we all live that long.
Last night was another poetry slam at Writers Block for IWPS qualifying. It was another low energy crowd, despite MC Rachel's efforts at getting reactions.
I Drew second in the first round, just like last week. Now I'm going to start complaining about drawing that slot! And just like last week, Scott went first. And just like last week, Scott ended up winning the night.
I wanted to take a cattle prod to the crowd, and did my best in round two as I did Folsom Clothing Blues: Fall 2009. It's a piece about NFL convicts and a fashion show and it keeps updating itself. I put Vick in this edition and forgot all about Plaxico Burress. Next time.
So how does a guy get two years in jail for accidentally shooting himself with an unregistered gun while a drunk driver kills a guy with his Bentley gets thirty days?
Anyway. Back to slam. I ended up in third last night, which I believe puts me in the Grand Slam next Wednesday night. It's going to be a night of intensity as the grand slam poets bring out their best. I went to bed last night and ended up getting up to write a new poem.
That's how it's going to be!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
There are no happy endings
It's a been awhile since I've had the rug pulled out of me while reading a book. The plot twist in Sarah Water's 'Fingersmith' was a great one. That was fiction.
What Karl Taro Greenfeld does in his memoir, "Boy Alone: A Brother's Memoir," is so skillful and manipulative. It makes you scream and curse while throwing the book across the room. But this story is true, and you hurt for the what could have been, what should have been, but is not.
Greenfeld has a younger brother, Noah, who is has autism. In the late 1960's and 1970's there was very little information, let alone quality therapy, for autistic children. Often, they were sent to institutions, where they were subject to unspeakable neglect and abuse with no hope for recovery.
Both of Noah's parents took on his condition, going to great personal and financial expense to try to cure Noah. Karl Greenfeld's father, Josh Greenfeld, wrote three books on the family's attempts to give Noah a normal life. His mother, Foumiko Kometani, has also published successful books about her son.
Boy Alone is a brutal book to read. Greenfeld is unflinchingly honest about his relationship with his brother, family, and his own flaws as an adult who has been through rehab.
It's an interesting primer and well written story about what it's like to have a sibling who has autism, and the struggles a family goes through to make a life. It's also a parent's worst nightmare.
By all appearances this is a sunny book. All signs would appear that there is an 'and they lived happily ever after' ending. This book took the wind out of me. I expected something to happen that did not, and got hit hard in the gut. It's an alarm as to how we should be treating teenagers and adults with autism, but are not. I highly recommend this book, but you have been warned.
What Karl Taro Greenfeld does in his memoir, "Boy Alone: A Brother's Memoir," is so skillful and manipulative. It makes you scream and curse while throwing the book across the room. But this story is true, and you hurt for the what could have been, what should have been, but is not.
Greenfeld has a younger brother, Noah, who is has autism. In the late 1960's and 1970's there was very little information, let alone quality therapy, for autistic children. Often, they were sent to institutions, where they were subject to unspeakable neglect and abuse with no hope for recovery.
Both of Noah's parents took on his condition, going to great personal and financial expense to try to cure Noah. Karl Greenfeld's father, Josh Greenfeld, wrote three books on the family's attempts to give Noah a normal life. His mother, Foumiko Kometani, has also published successful books about her son.
Boy Alone is a brutal book to read. Greenfeld is unflinchingly honest about his relationship with his brother, family, and his own flaws as an adult who has been through rehab.
It's an interesting primer and well written story about what it's like to have a sibling who has autism, and the struggles a family goes through to make a life. It's also a parent's worst nightmare.
By all appearances this is a sunny book. All signs would appear that there is an 'and they lived happily ever after' ending. This book took the wind out of me. I expected something to happen that did not, and got hit hard in the gut. It's an alarm as to how we should be treating teenagers and adults with autism, but are not. I highly recommend this book, but you have been warned.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Recent page turnings
The first book of Percival Everett's I read was American Desert. The book's dark humor really stuck with me, a guy was decapitated then came back to life in the funeral home, and I sought out more of his work.
Full disclosure, I did not realize he was African-American until about 2/3 of the way through the book when I looked him up online.
Since then I've read some of his other work, most of the time thinking he's one of the good writers few people read - but those who do cherish his work.
I Am Not Sidney Poitier is his latest, and it tells the story of Not Sidney Poitier, a man who was born after 24 months of gestation and the complications of the name. It also has Ted Turner delivering hysterical non sequiturs and then a version of Everett himself makes an appearance. It reminds me of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions and it's an entertaining read.
The picture is of Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder Andy Pafko. It was taken at the Polo Grounds on October 3rd, 1951, just after New York Giants third baseman Bobby Thompson hit the historic game winning home run in game three of the National League playoffs to send the Giants to the World Series.
The question is: what happened to the ball?
No one knows. There has been a lot of speculation. Don Delillo wrote about it extensively in his novel Underworld, but it still has not shown up.
Brian Biegel takes on the assignment in his book Miracle Ball, an excellent book of memoir and skilled research that tells the story of a man in the midst of crippling depression who gets out of it by trying to find an object, and ends up finding much more.
It must have been a great time to be a baseball fan in New York in the 1950's. There were three exciting teams in the region and the rivalry was fierce. My family were all Yankees fans.
I still remember the anger and passion a friend's father had in his voice when, over thirty years later, we talked about the Brooklyn Dodgers.
"Walter O' Malley, that son of a bitch! He took them away!"
Had I been around, I think I would have put my allegiances to the New York Giants. Surly Leo Durocher was their manager, Sal 'the Barber' Maglie on the mound and the greatest of all the center fielders, Willie Mays gave his all.
I own a replica New York Giants baseball hat.
This book helped me remember what it was like to be a Mets fan. As to the location of the fated ball, there's a great mystery to be solved. It involves the Pafko picture above, some impressive CSI work, a lot of memories jogged, an amazing coincidence or four and more than one miracle.
Full disclosure, I did not realize he was African-American until about 2/3 of the way through the book when I looked him up online.
Since then I've read some of his other work, most of the time thinking he's one of the good writers few people read - but those who do cherish his work.
I Am Not Sidney Poitier is his latest, and it tells the story of Not Sidney Poitier, a man who was born after 24 months of gestation and the complications of the name. It also has Ted Turner delivering hysterical non sequiturs and then a version of Everett himself makes an appearance. It reminds me of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions and it's an entertaining read.
The picture is of Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder Andy Pafko. It was taken at the Polo Grounds on October 3rd, 1951, just after New York Giants third baseman Bobby Thompson hit the historic game winning home run in game three of the National League playoffs to send the Giants to the World Series.
The question is: what happened to the ball?
No one knows. There has been a lot of speculation. Don Delillo wrote about it extensively in his novel Underworld, but it still has not shown up.
Brian Biegel takes on the assignment in his book Miracle Ball, an excellent book of memoir and skilled research that tells the story of a man in the midst of crippling depression who gets out of it by trying to find an object, and ends up finding much more.
It must have been a great time to be a baseball fan in New York in the 1950's. There were three exciting teams in the region and the rivalry was fierce. My family were all Yankees fans.
I still remember the anger and passion a friend's father had in his voice when, over thirty years later, we talked about the Brooklyn Dodgers.
"Walter O' Malley, that son of a bitch! He took them away!"
Had I been around, I think I would have put my allegiances to the New York Giants. Surly Leo Durocher was their manager, Sal 'the Barber' Maglie on the mound and the greatest of all the center fielders, Willie Mays gave his all.
I own a replica New York Giants baseball hat.
This book helped me remember what it was like to be a Mets fan. As to the location of the fated ball, there's a great mystery to be solved. It involves the Pafko picture above, some impressive CSI work, a lot of memories jogged, an amazing coincidence or four and more than one miracle.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Speed of Things
It's over. 6-5 Detroit. An absolutely brutal too many men on the ice penalty led to a power play goal with 46 seconds left. Crappy way to lose a game. A loss for the home team means the season is over. I would have liked to see the Blue Jackets win one game at home, for themselves, the fans, the uniform. The Blue Jackets played hard, coming back to tie after being down 3-1, then 5-3. The crowd did not give up, it was the loudest it's ever been in Nationwide Arena, but the bounces and calls went the Red Wings way - and Osgood had been on fire in net. Tonight, though, they have found some chinks in his armor.
This was one heck of a hockey game. The Blue Jackets left it all out there. Even Russell and Modin had goals. Easily the most intense game the Blue Jackets have ever played. No shame in losing to an obviously better talented Red Wings team.
It's a fine learning tool for next season though.
Got to hand it to the crowd. They were loud and supportive all night long, even when they were down two goals.
A lot going on behind the screen here. Stuff to worry about. There's a lot of work to do. Got the lawn mowed after work. Going to be a glorious weekend and I do not want to do anything other than enjoy the weather, and start cleaning.
One of the weirdest things about this year so far is that the two best books I've read have been poetry. More on this as I form it.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Catharsis that left me shaking
Wrote what may be the angriest poem I've written to date today. Went to Cup O' Joe after work to build on what I scratched out between processing books, then formulated more of it in the car while waiting for a train to go by. Sometimes the thoughts and the process turns up my adrenaline so high. It was hard to catch my breath. It may be a piece of junk, we'll see, but the experience of writing it was intense.
Read a couple of books. One of them is the worst fiction I've finished this year. It's about the Arbuckle murder trial. I was unimpressed with the author's locker room talk. Then found out he was a college football player at Auburn. Which may explain that but not all the misogyny. He tried to be clever by inserting Dashiell Hammett into the plot. It does make historical sense as he was a Pinkerton operative and worked on the case. While that was the most interesting part of the book, the graphic and unnecessary violence toward women put me off. Even the solving of the murder, and the placement of a certain newspaper citizen mogul and his paramour into the solution was weak. Heck, I hated this book which is another work of fiction on Arbuckle and still found it more entertaining than this piece of dreck.
The new book by Michel Faber is a bit more satisfying.
It's a slim volume, well anything of his is slim in comparison to The Crimson Petal and the White, which you should all have read by now. In The Fire Gospel a down on his luck linguist discovers a set of manuscripts in a bombed out statue in an Iraqi museum. He smuggles them out, translates them and discovers they are the work of Malchus, a man who was actually witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus and reveals some information that changes the course of Christianity. But this is no Da Vinci Code (and hey, Dan Brown's new one is coming out in September) and Faber uses a lot of dark wit and situations to form a quick, but ultimately blase conclusion. I enjoyed the book, but it's a trifle. I really need to find something I can sink my teeth into right now. Because changes are a coming.
Read a couple of books. One of them is the worst fiction I've finished this year. It's about the Arbuckle murder trial. I was unimpressed with the author's locker room talk. Then found out he was a college football player at Auburn. Which may explain that but not all the misogyny. He tried to be clever by inserting Dashiell Hammett into the plot. It does make historical sense as he was a Pinkerton operative and worked on the case. While that was the most interesting part of the book, the graphic and unnecessary violence toward women put me off. Even the solving of the murder, and the placement of a certain newspaper citizen mogul and his paramour into the solution was weak. Heck, I hated this book which is another work of fiction on Arbuckle and still found it more entertaining than this piece of dreck.
The new book by Michel Faber is a bit more satisfying.
It's a slim volume, well anything of his is slim in comparison to The Crimson Petal and the White, which you should all have read by now. In The Fire Gospel a down on his luck linguist discovers a set of manuscripts in a bombed out statue in an Iraqi museum. He smuggles them out, translates them and discovers they are the work of Malchus, a man who was actually witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus and reveals some information that changes the course of Christianity. But this is no Da Vinci Code (and hey, Dan Brown's new one is coming out in September) and Faber uses a lot of dark wit and situations to form a quick, but ultimately blase conclusion. I enjoyed the book, but it's a trifle. I really need to find something I can sink my teeth into right now. Because changes are a coming.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Spring Reading
Reading has picked up the last few weeks. Even with my mind elsewhere on very important things I managed to squeeze in three books.
First up is Michael Davis' 'Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street.
I found this book to be both informative and frustrating. Learning how the show evolved and the efforts it took to get the government grants to fund the show was fascinating. I also learned a lot about Captain Kangaroo, which I never watched. Bob Keeshan was a cantankerous man with a sincere talent to entertain and educate children. What I did not feel enough was the presence of Jim Henson and many of the people who made Sesame Street the cultural icon it became. We hear way too much about the producers of the show, and their talents and limitations. Plus, I felt the Northern Hollaway (who played David) was dealt with rather disrespectfully while the roles of all the characters who played Gordon were barely mentioned. And Henson, with his sudden death, left a mess for his family to clean up concerning his verbal agreements with Disney.
I'm not sure Davis could have written a better book though. I think an oral history of the program, with all the actors and writers of the program would give the show its due.
Next up is a book that has some relation to the first. I Can See Clearly Now by Brendan Halpin.
Halpin is known as a writer of Young Adult novels but also has several adult works under his belt. This is one of the latter. It's a fictionalized telling of how the children's program Schoolhouse Rock was made. Halpin tells the story from the view of the musicians and songwriters who worked on the project. This is one of the book's major flaws. There are five viewpoints, and the narrative gets muddled because Halpin is unable to give the characters distinct voices. It's well researched with plenty of early 1970's references that are spot on. There's plenty of drug use, as a coffee can of herb is always in the studio to provide inspiration. This is a book I wanted to like, as Halpin is a very sincere and hard working author. Not a book I can recommend though. Try this one instead.
Finally, the memoir.
If you know me, you already know about my admiration for Kurt Vonnegut. When I saw that one of his former students, who had an affair with him, had written a book about it - my b.s. detector went off. I was pleasantly surprised that Loree Rackstraw did not do a hatchet job on him. Instead she wrote a fair book that may be a bit over kind to his work. Rackstraw and K.V. met in the sixties when he was teaching at the University of Iowa, they became very close. Eventually their affair turned into a life long friendship. It's also a critical assessment of most of K.V.'s work, and that gets a bit gushing at times. But their friendship is a kind one, and it's good to see someone I admired greatly shown to be a decent, but far from perfect man.
All right. Next up. Blue Jackets vs. Blackhawks. Blue Jackets need ONE POINT to make the playoffs for the first time. I may be back later!
First up is Michael Davis' 'Street Gang: The Complete History of Sesame Street.
I found this book to be both informative and frustrating. Learning how the show evolved and the efforts it took to get the government grants to fund the show was fascinating. I also learned a lot about Captain Kangaroo, which I never watched. Bob Keeshan was a cantankerous man with a sincere talent to entertain and educate children. What I did not feel enough was the presence of Jim Henson and many of the people who made Sesame Street the cultural icon it became. We hear way too much about the producers of the show, and their talents and limitations. Plus, I felt the Northern Hollaway (who played David) was dealt with rather disrespectfully while the roles of all the characters who played Gordon were barely mentioned. And Henson, with his sudden death, left a mess for his family to clean up concerning his verbal agreements with Disney.
I'm not sure Davis could have written a better book though. I think an oral history of the program, with all the actors and writers of the program would give the show its due.
Next up is a book that has some relation to the first. I Can See Clearly Now by Brendan Halpin.
Halpin is known as a writer of Young Adult novels but also has several adult works under his belt. This is one of the latter. It's a fictionalized telling of how the children's program Schoolhouse Rock was made. Halpin tells the story from the view of the musicians and songwriters who worked on the project. This is one of the book's major flaws. There are five viewpoints, and the narrative gets muddled because Halpin is unable to give the characters distinct voices. It's well researched with plenty of early 1970's references that are spot on. There's plenty of drug use, as a coffee can of herb is always in the studio to provide inspiration. This is a book I wanted to like, as Halpin is a very sincere and hard working author. Not a book I can recommend though. Try this one instead.
Finally, the memoir.
If you know me, you already know about my admiration for Kurt Vonnegut. When I saw that one of his former students, who had an affair with him, had written a book about it - my b.s. detector went off. I was pleasantly surprised that Loree Rackstraw did not do a hatchet job on him. Instead she wrote a fair book that may be a bit over kind to his work. Rackstraw and K.V. met in the sixties when he was teaching at the University of Iowa, they became very close. Eventually their affair turned into a life long friendship. It's also a critical assessment of most of K.V.'s work, and that gets a bit gushing at times. But their friendship is a kind one, and it's good to see someone I admired greatly shown to be a decent, but far from perfect man.
All right. Next up. Blue Jackets vs. Blackhawks. Blue Jackets need ONE POINT to make the playoffs for the first time. I may be back later!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
How to cultivate customers
Been so busy this year I've had little time to read, and what I have read has not stood out.
Until I saw that Kenny Shopsin had put out a book late last year.
I first heard of his restaurant years ago from an article in The New Yorker that Calvin Trillin wrote. It's in the forward of "Eat Me."
And, no, I've never been there. The man's a puzzle. He does not want publicity, but has put out a book and maintains a web presence. It reminds me of another place I've never been Seattle's Grouchy Chef.
Both cooks seem to have skills in the kitchen, but subject their customers to sets of rules and are not afraid to kick anyone out for breaking them.
From Shopsin, "Some people tell me they're deathly allergic to something and that I have to make sure it's not in their food. I kick them out too. I don't want to be responsible for anyone's life-or-death situation. I tell them they should go eat in a hospital. Often after I do that, they'll back down and tell me, well, they're not that allergic. And then I really want them to leave because now I know they're assholes."
The book is also blessed with a good portion of Shopsin's recipes, and some cool philosophy on the cooking of eggs, pancakes and soup. It's a book that was more fun than I expected. Now, I have to get to Essex Street, ask for a cheeseburger - and not get kicked out.
Until I saw that Kenny Shopsin had put out a book late last year.
I first heard of his restaurant years ago from an article in The New Yorker that Calvin Trillin wrote. It's in the forward of "Eat Me."
And, no, I've never been there. The man's a puzzle. He does not want publicity, but has put out a book and maintains a web presence. It reminds me of another place I've never been Seattle's Grouchy Chef.
Both cooks seem to have skills in the kitchen, but subject their customers to sets of rules and are not afraid to kick anyone out for breaking them.
From Shopsin, "Some people tell me they're deathly allergic to something and that I have to make sure it's not in their food. I kick them out too. I don't want to be responsible for anyone's life-or-death situation. I tell them they should go eat in a hospital. Often after I do that, they'll back down and tell me, well, they're not that allergic. And then I really want them to leave because now I know they're assholes."
The book is also blessed with a good portion of Shopsin's recipes, and some cool philosophy on the cooking of eggs, pancakes and soup. It's a book that was more fun than I expected. Now, I have to get to Essex Street, ask for a cheeseburger - and not get kicked out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)