Book Loot and Internet Travels

I’m a book person. This has become sort of widely known. This Christmas saw a wealth of stories come my direction…

They won’t last long, of course. I devour books the way a Hostess-goody-deprived youth devours Twinkie cakes; but right now with only one book devoured, and several to go, a veritable feast awaits. Here are the books I received for Christmas:

 

 Stardust by Neil Gaiman

  I already ate this one. I’ve been curious about Neil Gaiman books  for some time, having not read anything by him, but rather a lot  about  him. I saw the movie Stardust, but didn’t know that he wrote  the story  for it. The book read quickly, it was engaging and well  crafted. I’ll be  putting more of his offerings on my book shelf.

 

 

 Wicked by Gregory Maguire

 You’ve likely heard of this one. I looked it up, and yes, this is  the novel that the Broadway musical is based  on. It is the  story of the Wizard of Oz told from the perspective of the  Witch… kind of like Mists of Avalon for the Arthur story. I  have read about eighty pages, and I honestly don’t  understand how this novel would translate to a musical. I’m  curious. Under the Tuscan Sun, the movie, was  unrecognizable from the book, though they were both  excellent in their way. I wonder if ‘Wicked’ manages that.  Maguire is cerebral and detail oriented, and the prose have  been smooth and intelligent, so far.

 

 

 Possession by A.S. Byatt

 I don’t know anything about this novel yet, so here’s some text I  found on amazon.com:

 ”Roland Mitchell, underpaid English research assistant, is on a  search for nineteenth-century poet Randolph Henry Ash’s copy  of Vico, in the hopes that Ash will have written something  enlightening in the margins. The book is brought up from the  vaults of the British Museum, and in it Mitchell finds far more  than Randolph Ash’s thoughts on Vico. Hidden between the  pages, unknown to anyone, are two rough drafts of a love letter to an unknown woman, written by Randolph Ash – a man scholars believe was eternally, faithfully married. From here on, the plot thickens, as they say, to include romance, poetry, parodies of feminist and Freudian criticism, trips to old houses and foreign countries, thefts, deceptions, and true love. Possession is a novel about literary scholarship – a hymn of praise and an attack – a book about modern romance and the lack of it. It is a novel of many voices and about the difficulty of knowing anyone’s voice, even one’s own. It is a magnificent read – thick and engrossing.”

Hm. Well, we’ll see.

 

 The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson

 Ah, my darling Bryson, sent to me by my other darling, who also  sent ‘A Walk in the Woods’ into my life. Alas, alack, where is my  darling Katz? Stephen Katz does not show up except in a brief  sidenote, in this novel, and that almost makes me want to cry. It  is a very nostalgic look back at the world Bryson grew up in: The  fifties. There’s lots of boy joy and young boy humor throughout-  little grossness bits that make this memoir more fun and more  refreshing than watching the Cleavers. But I do miss Katz. I think  Bryson should be primarily employed with writing novels that  feature his cream-soda loving, plain-speaking, plump-rumped, semi-insane travelling buddy, because… well, it would make me very happy.

 

 Not Exactly Rocket Science by Ed Yong

 Ed! Yong! Yes, of my very blogroll, Ed Yong. Our friend, the  science wizard, has collected many writings from his first  year of blogging into a well-crafted book of amazing science  discoveries. ‘Not Exactly Rocket Science’ is written in his  signature, down-to-earth prose, language that a regular,  non-scientist human can actually understand. Since I read  Ed’s blog during that first year, this book means a bit more to  me than if this were just an excellently crafted collection of  amazing scientific revelations. But even if it were just that…  that’s rather a nice addition to the library, don’t you think?

 

 

Pride, Prejudice and Jasmin Field by Melissa Nathan

 Regrettably, I have read half this book already, and while  the idea is cute, like a lot of the movies that have come out  lately, the execution is pretty disappointing. I’m reading it  anyway. It is basically the story of Pride and Prejudice told  in a contemporary setting, around the seed of the plot of  some people putting on the play, ‘Pride and Prejudice’. The  fact that the characters are supposed to represent the  characters from the novel is so thinly disguised, it’s  ludicrous. So are the exhaustive descriptions of each  character’s attractive personal appearance. Ms. Nathan  overwrites, and she also mixes up columnists, critics and  the word ‘journalism’ so liberally that I’m not certain she discerns between the concepts. However, she’s still young. Maybe there’s a work of literature on her writing horizon.

Robert Bateman Natural Worlds (with text by Rick Archbold)

The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories by Tim Burton

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier

Bag of Bones by Stephen King

Goodnight Bush by Erich Origen & Gan Golan

*  * * * * *  * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(This post in progress. I wanted to put something up, though, and didn’t realize it would take such a very long time to go through all those books)

Post Holiday so and so

I’m feeling rather broke, bored and dim-witted.

Happy Christmas, Weeblekind

Happy Christmas, Weeblekind!
You know you are the greatest best,
and Happy Christmas to your herd
or flock or pride or pack (or guests).

I hope you get a Christmas smile
a Christmas hug, a Christmas wish;
I hope your presents merely serve
as bonus to your happiness.

I wish you all a happy year,
a happy time, all full of write.
I wish you all a lot of laughs,
a lot of love and happy nights.

For once, I think I’ll simply skip
petitions for my Christmas tax
(O.k., you didn’t send me gifts…
this once I will forgive you that.)

But in the year that’s yet to come
I do present this crucial plea:
Keep hope and patience in your heart
(and don’t let me write poetry).

 

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Kyping from the Classics

This intrigues me. Ever listen to the classical music station and hear a tune that is all too familliar? Lots of contemporary artists have been ‘inspired’ by classical music. Here’s a few examples.

This Night by Billy Joel. Billy gives credit to Ludwig Von Beethoven in the album notes for helping to write this masterpiece.

Did it sound familiar? K, take a listen: Beethoven’s Pathetique, 2nd movement

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I nailed this one when I was listening to a Rachmaninoff CD of my mom’s. Take a listen to Celine Dion’s cover of Eric Carmen’s 1975 power ballad ‘All By Myself’…

…now lend your ear to the Adagio Sostenuto movement from Rachmaninoff’s concerto 2 in C minor. Yup. Carmen borrowed literally from the Adagio portion and ended up having to settle the situation with Rachmaninoff’s estate.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Blues Traveler- Hook: This one blew my mind. I’m a fan of both Hook and Pachelbel Cannon, having memorized the rapid bridge in the former, and also having memorized Pachelbel on the piano for a highschool recital. But I never heard the underlying pattern or ‘Hook’ which the song’s title makes reference to. It’s a clever Ode to Pachelbel- but you’ll need sharp ears to hear it.

Here’s the original Pachelbel Cannon in D major if you aren’t familiar with the work.

Bonus: Pachelbel Korean hip-hop version

Snow

It’s 2 a.m. I haven’t written in awhile. Too much in my head, I guess, hard stuff to put on a page. There’s a lot of less focal things to write about, but what with Christmas baking and a lot of staring out the window…

Today, the house was quiet for a little. The movie ‘City of Angels’ was on, that movie always kind of gets me. I was watching, and I happened to look out the window.

Yeah, we had snow last Sunday, yeah, but it came in the night.

This was the most perfect snow- large, fluffy flakes, and there was this wild, swirling wind, and it seemed to dance out there.

I want to dance. Dance in the snow. Lay my cheek against a warm chest, or, I don’t know…

Dance.

Maybe someday soon.

Throwing Shoes at the President

Grawg.

I can’t help it. I feel a little sorry for the President. I know he doesn’t deserve it, after being a puppet of corporate interests for 8 years, and messing shit up horribly for the next generation, but I’m moronically soft-hearted toward an underdog, and this guy is such an object of ridicule now, I feel sorta bad.

Nonetheless, I watched the video of him getting shoes thrown at his head with much glee, over and over. If you can say nothing else for Senor Bush, it must be admitted that his reflexes aren’t too shabby for a washed out old monkey.

It appeals to my sense of the ridiculous that a journalist lobbed his shoes at the president’s head, during his ultra-grave, super-secret mission to Iraq (a last ditch effort to look like he’s actually done something from the oval office). I mean, haven’t we all kinda wanted to throw something at this guy from time to time? What I particularly enjoyed is that, though the S.S. jumped him and brought the Cairo journalist down, he managed to get both shoes launched off as projectiles before anyone interfered. And there was a pretty lengthy pause in between, too. Deep down, subconsciously, I think everyone at the proceeding was leaning toward seeing if the dude could nail Mr. B with the second loafer, since the first one sailed over. 

Not to say everyone gathered had hostile intentions toward the big buffoon we elected to office, twice; I’m just saying there may have been an entertainment factor in play. You know, the same sort of observational impulse that overtakes onlookers at a shooting gallery. Whatever the case, here’s what the fella said to our president as he launched the tootsie missiles at his bulbous target: 

“This is a farewell kiss, you dog!”

And here is President Bush’s carefully considered, concise response to questions about the incident.

“Uh, it is one way to gain attention. Uh, it’s like going to a political rally and having people yell at you. It’s like driving down the street and having people not gesturing with all five fingers…”

(i can’t stop laughing at that last little gem)

Birthday Bits & Anhinga’s Meme

Look, a lengthy odds and ends post! This is like the unwieldy weekend edition of Stop & Wander. I just won’t charge a buck fifty for it.

Birthday Bits-

There were some fun things about Sierra’s b-day that I didn’t share in the last post cus I was in a more introspective, sentimental sort of mode. These are a bit less sentimental. Life tends to be, doesn’t it?

1) Most every year, I wake Si up at 2 a.m. on December 9th to tell her the story of her birth. That is the moment that she was born. We curl up together, and I tell her the story, then wish her a happy birthday and she goes back to sleep. For the most part, she has gotten sleepily into the spirit of our little ritual, but the year she turned six years old, she simply wasn’t having it. I attempted to rouse her from her uber slumber, and after several seconds she opened her eyes really wide and gave me  the most fiercely cranky expression ever composed on a six-year-olds features. She told me to “Go Away, Mama, I AM SLEEPING.” flipped over on her other side, and promptly fell back asleep. Since my startled laughter didn’t provoke the slightest reaction from her sleeping frame, I decided to give her a break, and we skipped the story telling that year. I have this to say for my child: She may be shy, and cute and little girl and everything, but she can put her foot down when the situation warrants.

2) Sierra’s b-day loot from her friends and family were replete with Littlest Pet Shop toys and these things called ‘Webkinz‘ (???). I often play littlest pet shop with her-those are the little Bobblehead critters, and they make good imagination aides. She has like a million of them, but one of the things she got, was a large (ugly) plush littlest pet shop with a code on its collar.

A code. That’s pretty much what the Webkinz were, too. They looked to be pretty plain and uninspired stuffed animals to me. The excitement generated by the kids at the party seemed to be over the code. You take this to the computer, enter the code in the Webkinz website, and- (this is copy from the site) “you enter Webkinz World where you care for your virtual pet, answer trivia, earn KinzCash, and play the best kids games on the net!”

So. It’s like a secret password to this virtual universe. We sure didn’t have that sort of thing when I was a kid. It disturbs me on some level that the idea of ‘virtually’ caring for a pet is exciting to children. The whole ’sims’ bandwagon, where you do life-like things in a computer universe- that’s a bit bizarre, isn’t it? Real life chores becoming recreation in a digital environment. Er, k. The point of this virtual labor would be…?

Can’t really knock the modern toys too hard though- I still remember getting unbearably excited over My Little Ponies and Rainbow Brite. 

3) I told Sierra she could get any kind of cereal for her birthday breakfast. (We stick to the high-fiber goat-fodder sort of cereals usually, and try to steer clear of ‘junk’ brands. Which is nice, cus that means getting a junk cereal is sort of an occasion.) So Sierra told me she wanted Cocoa Puffs. Only, when I went to the store, I didn’t know if she said Cocoa Puffs or Cocoa Pebbles. It seemed to me she meant Cocoa Pebbles. I mean, it has a cute little red headed girl on the front, and the other one had a kooky-ass bird on it. I used my logic to deduce, since Sierra makes so many food decisions based on the visual, that it was probably Cocoa Pebbles she wanted, so that’s what I bought.

It is impossible for me to convey the degree of reproachfulness my daughter mustered in both look and tone when she informed me with sorrowful disappointment, ‘I said Cocoa Puffs. You bought Cocoa Pebbles. I don’t LIKE Cocoa Pebbles.’

I really wanted to know how she knew she didn’t like Cocoa Pebbles. She only really knew she liked Cocoa Puffs because she had it at one of her friend’s houses where they exercise an open door policy toward junk cereal. My theory was she probably never tried Cocoa Pebbles, and would like it a whole lot if she just gave it a chance. I had her try them, even though she didn’t want to. That’s right, I made my daughter try a sugary bowl of chocolate flavored rice detritus. I’m sorta stubborn sometimes.

She’s *more* stubborn. I maintain that she was unfairly predisposed to hate Cocoa Pebbles merely because they showed up to disappoint her when she was anticipating Cocoa Puffs. If you actually try Cocoa Puffs and Cocoa Pebbles, you’ll probably notice that Cocoa Pebbles are way, way better. And I’m not just saying that cus they have 3 grams of fiber and (bizarrely) several fewer grams of sugar per serving than Smart Start cereal.

Nope, not at all. I’m saying that because that kooky-ass bird looked triumphant when I went to go buy a box of his stupid cereal after striking out with the Cocoa Pebbles. I can’t stand a smug marketing gimmick, so henceforth, I simply hate, hate, hate Cocoa Puffs. 

Anhinga’s Meme

I don’t really know that this meme is Anhinga’s. She probably got it from someone else, but I got it from her so now it’s the Anhinga Meme. What you do is highlight in bold those things on the list that you’ve actually done. Interesting for me to see what anhinga had experienced, and kinda cool, too, to see what my tally was out of 100.

1. Started your own blog 

2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band (clarinet)
4. Visited Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland 

8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo (at church, while in highschool)

11. Bungee jumped 
12. Visited Paris (I wish)
13. Watched a lightning storm
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (scrapbooking)
15. Adopted a child 
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train

21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon (on purpose?)
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice (someday)
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset

31. Hit a home run.
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied.
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David

41. Sung karaoke. 
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant (homeless fella, hamburger)
44. Visited Africa 
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance (but i wasn’t the injured one)
47. Had your portrait painted 
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling (snorkeling, Bahamas)
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie (do home movies count?)
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business 
58. Taken a martial arts class.
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen

61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies 
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial

71. Eaten caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades 
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone.
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (someday?)

81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating. (with help)
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life.
90. Sat on a jury

91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person 
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a mobile phone
99. Been stung by a bee
100. Read an entire book in one day (several times)

I think I my total was 48, but kinda went cross-eyed tryin’ to count them.

mine

Yesterday, my daughter turned 11 years old. Eleven years old! Wow. Woah. How can this be? Well, this year I believe it a little bit more than I did last year- working my mind around the fact that a decade had passed since her birth was a weird one. Eleven was less, shall we say, unexpected?

I haven’t been the most terrific mother of all time. In fact, early on, I wasn’t even average. I really wish I could have that time machine slapped whimsically on my wish list, so I could go back to her early years and be there in ways I wasn’t able to at the time. I missed stuff. I missed stuff, and that stuff doesn’t come back around again.

This will probably be the only child I ever have. There’s a sort of symmetry to that. What she missed out on from me will be my loss too. I’m not going to try and ‘do it right’ now that I’m older, and some old wounds have healed more. This was my baby, this was my experience. There’s always been for me, in this one, a sort of secret spring of unbearable emotion, which I could only contain when she was young, walking a careful balance between feelings that seemed terrifying, and the dutiful imperative to care for a living organism.

Way back then I was her guardian. It’s only fairly recently, a handful of years maybe, that I’ve been more of a mother.

But someday she’ll know how deeply and continually she was loved. Here’s where the power of words come in: She has them now, the words. She clutched her carefully saved allowance money last week, and walked it by increments to the school librarian to take advantage of the school book fair. Day after day, w/out a word to anyone she came home with another book and another one. The possibility of a Nintendo DS game fell by the wayside, along with the d.v.d and candy options she’d been eyeing early on. Sierra opted for books.

And  in my dog-eared journals, years that signified the premature ending of a first college run, the discovery of a pregnancy, journals I don’t open because there are swift scratches of thoughts from a mind I’m still afraid to recognize, there’s a name repeated over and over, sometimes with question marks. There’s one little poem of joy, and endless statements of frustration, guilt, fear. This was language to a tiny, fragile daughter from a mother cocooned in fear. I’m glad she didn’t hear the odd, despairing yawps from this jumbled mind in her infancy; I’m glad choices that might have taken her farther away from me at least filled her world with the sounds of people and music and industry that all children need.

But someday she’ll find these and know, she has always been overwhelmingly, heart-breakingly loved.

zeufli butterflies

It happens, it just happens…

 

There is no excuse, or explanation.

 

You just hold on.

 

 

And sometimes, you get your face smashed in…

 

And sometimes you do the smashing.

 

But what’s left after all that fear and uncertainty and desire, is an echo…

 

And that echo is the soul.

 

So hold on.

zeufli

Naw, I donno what it means. It just seemed like the word to fit the picture. So I’m going to draft my own definition.

zeufli- n. a pattern or knot of color or energy that draws the eye’s focus toward a central point.

Shall we do another?

Well, if you’re certain.

Two cats are currently breaking my ’stay off the bed’ policy. They look angelic and purrrfect while breaking the rules, and not like the little furbags of fleas and pestilence I just know they are. Maybe I should give up the fight to maintain a cat-free zone, but consider this: Would you walk around in a cat litter-box and then climb into bed?

No? Me either. I don’t mind soiling my coverlets with my monkey-ickiness. I am a great ape, and my monkey-ickiness must, of necessity, go where I go. But this is a whole other species of ick. This is feline ick comingling with my monkey soil.

 Maybe I better not think about  it too much.

 Yesterday I started reading  ’Animal, Vegetable, Miracle; A  Year of Food Life’ by Barbara  Kingsolver. Yesterday a boy  made me cry. Yesterday a boy  also made me laugh.

 I think my rebel kitties ought    to go take their cuteness and feline ickiness to a boy’s coverlet, and leave me in peace to brood on the symbolic relationship between subsidized soybeans and love affairs.

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..

gesundheit.