Gormenghast

Recently, I read the first two books in Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast trilogy, Titus Groan and Gormenghast.  I really have no idea why these books are classified as fantasy.  I shy away from the category, lest anyone think that I spend my time in dark basements playing Dungeons and Dragons.  I have never played Dungeons and Dragons and don't want to start.  Let me also say that I have never read Lord of the Rings, so I can't really make any statements about it, beyond what I know about the films.  As you might recall, I had a hard time staying awake during the first two films and didn't bother with the third.  Even typing that statement about LoR made me very tired.  This is just to say that I am not very knowledgeable about fantasy.

I came to Gormenghast accidentally, having seen part of the TV series years ago, but then forgetting about it and not remembering what it was that I saw.  Such is my sieve-like brain.  Anyway, I read the first book on the strength of some really fabulous recommendations from many respected people, including Robertson Davies and Anthony Burgess, whom I greatly admired.  To my amazement, there is very little that is fantastical about these books (or, perhaps I really do not understand fantasy).  Having just read some Dickens, I would suggest that they fit more easily into that genre.  They are gothic and grand and thoroughly Dickensian, but maybe better written.  It's clear that Peake is a poet for his prose is indeed poetry.

Naturally, I had to watch the British mini-series after reading the books.  I am somewhat disappointed.   Except in the case of Wonder Boys, I always find that the book is better than the film or mini-series.  The Gormenghast books are vastly superior to the mini-series and I was left feeling a bit betrayed.

About the series, I will say this: I liked the casting, generally, but hated the music completely.  I found the numerous plot changes to be irritating.  I realize that certain things need to be edited out to fit running times and commercial breaks, but leaving out characters and changing fundamental plot elements baffles me.  I found myself becoming irritated by these many changes and hoping that perhaps someone with a greater sense of loyalty to the books will one day make a faithful adaptation.

C@#* Explosion!

So, there I was, walking down a peaceful tree-lined street in Toronto, just minding my own business, when I shoved my hand deep into my pocket and pulled out my iPod Touch.  Ah, I love this fine piece of equipment.  It's smooth, shiny, and wonderful to hold.  I inserted the earbuds into my ears to fire up the tunes.

Remembering that wifi was still enabled, I decided to turn it off, so as to save some battery power.  As I was doing this, I noted the names of the wireless networks in this fine neighbourhood.  There were several nondescript Bell networks with boring names like BELL127; there were a few people who had applied names to their networks, like Lisa this or John that, and many such derivatives with a few pet names thrown into the mix, and possibly a superhero or two.

But then I saw a most curious wireless network called - get ready for this - Cock Explosion!  I am not lying.  Lots of thoughts passed through my head, like, what if his mother comes to visit and wants to hop on his wireless network with her little pink netbook?

Dude's Mom: "What's your network name?"

Dude: "Cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "What?"

Dude: "Cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "You're network is called cock explosion?"

Dude: "Yeah, cock explosion."

Dude's Mom: "Why would you call your network cock explosion?"

Dude: "Why not?  Cock explosion is a great name. It's very visual."

Dude's Mom:  "I'm afraid to ask what your network key is..."

I am sure that his dad would understand all of this, but not his mom.  A colleague told me a similar story about a network in NYC he encountered that was called something like Porn-Loving Bi-Girl.  A father would understand that too, but not a mom.

But, back to the story.  You see that I made the assumption that this is a network operated by a male.  I mean, what women would called her network Cock Explosion?  I can think of a few good names for a racy female network, and this doesn't make the list.  CG later suggested that perhaps it belonged to an escort who was very good at her job.  I am not convinced, but I give him marks for coming (if you'll excuse the gratuitous use of that word) up with alternative suggestions.

My immediate reaction is that this guy must be a porn hound.  I imagined him (but not in any great detail) ending up like Quagmire, once he had discovered the wonders of broadband.  Now, there was no way to figure out which house this Cock Explosion was emanating from, and even if I knew, I would have steered well clear of it.  There were no obvious signs anywhere as to which of these properties was home to Cock Explosion.  I couldn't see any Farrah Fawcett posters in the windows, at any rate.  I detected no one furiously closing curtain or blinds.  It was all peaceful, but I wondered, if I stood there long enough, if I would be able to hear any cock explosions.  I decided that this was not a good idea, and resumed my journey, up to a pub to meet two friends and have a beverage.

Carrie Prejean

Why is it that every loser on the planet has been on Entertainment Tonight but not me?  I deserve to be on that show as much as these other mercenary fame-hunting idiots.  Quite honestly, I don't know who most of the people are on the show, but the whole experience is like a train wreck.  I mean, the cult of celebrity has come to a point where the so-called celebrities are nobodies.  If you don't believe me, just check out Dancing with the Stars. This is the best they can do? The definition of star has fallen to such a point where even I qualify as a star.

Now, after that preamble, we come to Carrie Prejean.  I have a vague memory of Carrie Prejean saying something ludicrous and sexist about same-sex marriage.  She is a right-wing homophobe.  I just read that she had used some of her pageant winnings from the Miss USA pageant to buy breast implants.  I guess she has to prepare for a career in porn, should this beauty thing not work out.

Then there was a breach of contract and a settlement of some sort, and now she is selling her book.  I can tell you that even if I were trapped in a space ship for three or four months on my way to Mars with only her book for a distraction, I would not read it - well, maybe for a laugh, but reading it would probably lead to permanent brain damage.

Serendipitously, I clicked on a CNN video of her being a jerk on the Larry King Show.  Have a look as the spoiled brat has a tantrum on the air:



Talk about a little princess.  I have to say that the word inappropriate was an inappropriate choice or words. And then, I discovered that there is a sex tape.  Big deal.  I suppose she is trying to keep up with Verne Troyer.  I mean, who doesn't have a sex tape?  Even I have a sex tape.

I am angry with myself for giving this small-brained so-called beauty pageant queen with a face like a razor blade even more publicity.  The good news is that she will suffer the ignominy of having her book remaindered soon.

Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane

I took last Friday afternoon off to get some stuff accomplished prior to a busy weekend.  First, I decided to do the grocery shopping.  What's going on with Friday afternoons in grocery stores?  Why are so many weird people allowed to be in public on Friday afternoons?

Immediately upon entering the store, I was confronted with a man who seemed to like talking to pumpkins.  He then turned to me and discussed the prices of produce as compared with all of the other local stores.  Pumpkins, he assured me, were cheaper here than in the other shops, but then he seemed a little perplexed that I did not buy any, but then neither did he.  Pumpkin man moved sideways to examine the butter nut squash and he tried to persuade me to buy one, which I did, because I needed one.  He then went off to have a conversation with the avocados.

I had to wait to select apples, because someone had unfolded his flyer across the entire bin, as if it were his personal table.  And, let me tell you, all of these people were armed with flyers, man.  They were buying items simply because they were on sale.  How else do you explain someone buying liver?  I know, some of these people are from that age group that still believes that liver is good for you.  Suckers!

I put my earbuds in and walked the aisles with a great deal of difficulty because Friday shoppers seem to have no understanding of how to park one's cart so as to let others pass by.  I was stuck behind a woman accompanying her blind husband who, quite frankly, was squeezing the mangoes a bit too hard.  I felt worried for the melons in the next bin.  Is it possible that he thought that he was at home and that those mangoes were really his wife's ... ?  Well, never mind.

I continued around, marveling at the toothless hoards drooling over the saltines, the aged ambling about with able walkers, one of whom was sniffing chicken wrapped in plastic, and those who seemed to have no business in a grocery store whatsoever.

I quickly skirted the near riot by the Depends, and then made my way to the check out, where the person in front of me had all of her credit cards declined; she had no cash to speak of with her.  Quickly, I backed out only to end up behind some belligerent jerk who argued over the limits.  For some reason, he wanted more than 10 cases of pop.

So, my new rule is to avoid Friday afternoon shopping, unless I have no choice.

Trip Recap, part 2

What was I saying again?  Oh yeah, I never argue with free.

One's senses always seem to be heightened when one takes to the streets of a new city.  Cities smell different.  They look different. They feel different.  Dragging my suitcase over to the world's smallest apartment, I keep noticing how weird everything was.  I blame part of that on sleep deprivation.  So, over to the apartment, from one tiny elevator to another tiny elevator, past a smoking dog.

I am not claustrophobic, but this free apartment is insanity.  Now, if someone gave me title to this apartment for all time, for me to use whenever I dropped into Paris, I might say no.  Free accommodations are fantastic, and I never say no to free, but next time I just might.

Once the bed was unfolded, the entire room was filled, save a small alleyway around the perimeter.  Now, you might think that would be OK, but the roof had a serious pitch on the east side, upon which I bashed my head several times.  Of course, I am well accustomed to head bashing, and have reduced my brain cell count by a factor of ten over the years, so I ought to be used to this, but it turned old very quickly.

To stand at the sink (yes, there was a sink in this room) meant that one had to tilt one's head a good thirty degrees to port and stand as far west as possible.  Below the sink were an assortment of pots and pans, but bending over proved problematic.  Next to the pots was a small bar fridge.  Above the fridge sat a two burner hot plate, but I feared actually using it without a good deal of scrutiny because I felt that the sloping ceiling, skimming the tops of the pots, would burst into flames at any second.

Believe it or not, they managed to fit a shower stall in the room, right at the entrance.  Aside from when I was sleeping, this was the most comfortable spot in the room, but I did keep smashing my arms against the enclosure and usually managed to accidentally turn the water off a few times during each shower.  So, we had a room not much bigger than a double bed, a sink with bar fridge and shower stall.  Oh, and there was no bathroom: the whole place was a shower room, really, what with the steam flowing out of the shower stall.  I just had to hang up my shirts and let them steam.

So, to use the facilities, one had to trip down the hall (bonjour here, bonjour there, along the way) until one came to a toilet room.  Now, if I stood in front of the toilet to micturate, the entire quadrangle became intimately acquainted with my anatomy.  There are no secrets in Paris, I guess.  If one had to sit, they quadrangle people got a view of the back of your head.  No big deal there.

There was no sink in the toiletroom, but there was a sink that looked positively Roman outside, or you could walk back to your room, tilt your head 30 degrees to the port side, and wash your hands there, but jumping into the shower was actually easier.  If you hung your towel and clothes correctly, you could get a good motion going and be fully clothed with just a few twists and turns and grunts and almost no bruises.

Trip Recap, part 1

It's funny how I spent three weeks in Europe and haven't really said much about it. So, I guess it's time. Speaking of time, I am aging. Years ago, I took the night flight to London and, when I arrived, I continued throughout the day even though I did not sleep on the plane.  By the way, I am envious of those who can sleep on trains and planes. I can't do it. Anyway, years ago, I popped off the plane in London, and engaged with the city. I slept later, as usual.  It was no big deal.

This time, I was whacked after the flight to Paris. I could barely keep my eyes open. Eventually, I decided to take a nap, and left instructions to be woken in 1.5 hours. I woke up in a daze and stumbled around the apartment as if I hadn't slept for days. I was confused, couldn't think straight, and hardly knew where I was. But then, I looked out the window and saw the Eiffel Tower and the traffic on Rue Montparnasse and quickly figured it out. So, the lesson to be learned is that I am getting old. Crap

The good news about the flight is that Air Canada came up with very good gluten-free food options that were also free of dairy! I was quite impressed. Ages ago, when Air Canada offered no such menu choices, I requested a fruit plate, thinking that such a menu item would contain fruit. Sure, there was a bit of fruit, but the thing came with a baguette, half a pound of cheese, and a piece of cake. In what universe is that considered to be a fruit plate? The poor fruits were seriously outnumbered by glutinous substances and congealed bovine slime!  But, back to the story.

This trip to Europe was so many months ago, I can't even remember what we did on day one, other than transport our bags to the smallest apartment I have ever seen.  Really, it was a room, a closet, in fact.  It was so small, that to rent the place would be illegal according to the various laws of France.  But, it was free, and I never argue with free.

Take a Walk on the Wild Side



I bought two pairs of shoes last weekend in Montreal. On Saturday night, we had a couple of drinks at Bily Kun, and met up with a friend from TO.  Damn, it gets cold early in Montreal.  Winter must suck in Montreal.

Trip

I am off to Montreal tomorrow and will return Sunday.  Have a nice weekend.

ESL-isms

I know a woman who collects funny ESL sayings. I think she started this because her mother referred to the the HMV music stores as HIV. I knew another person who called a hangover an overhang. Hilarious indeed. A colleague just sent me an email, and instead of saying, "no one can remember anything," she wrote, "No one can remember everything!" I can't argue with that, can I? Anyway, this reminds of a Bruce Cockburn album called You've Never Seen Everything.  So true.

I AM NOT SAFE

Check out this freaky email message I received in two different email accounts:

From DIGO GROUPS izubeidat@psi.uned.es
Sent Monday, October 12, 2009 12:30 pm
Subject YOU ARE NOT SAFE

with respect to you i signed a contrate deal to accasinate you, but my feeling's wont allow me to do that because of your personality. please reaply me now.for forther information.I expect you to reaply withen 3 days of reciveing this message.

I have grown accustomed to all manner of spam that insults my intelligence, like that from Nigerian Princesses, who think that they need my help to cash a cheque. It's ludicrous. But, threatening someone with assassination (or, accasinatation) is going too far, if you ask me.

But, what really irritates me is illiteracy. I know that spammers routinely misspell words to get past spam blockers. So, if it were up to me, I would construct an email filter that blocks any messages with more that a few spelling errors or grievous errors in syntax.

Maybe someone could do that for me. Please!

Comments Comments Comments

I am not certain if I am busy or distracted or lazy, but, as you may have noticed, I have not gone out into the blogosphere and left a trail of pithy comments for ages.  You may have also noticed that I have not posted very much lately either, and that is because I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy.  You see, the post is part one, and then one has to turn around and leave a trail of pithy comments all over the blogosphere, a task I currently find too troublesome since I am either too busy or too distracted or too lazy.  This is odd, really, because no blogger should feel that s/he can't blog simply because s/he feels that s/he will fail to uphold the other end of some tacit social obligation.  So, that's that.  I plan to post more soon.  As for commenting, we will see how it goes.

I like this song. I even bought the CD.

Owls

As I was walking down the street, a bird fell out of a tree and landed on my shoulder.  It was difficult to see it, because of where it chose to alight.  Have you ever tried to look at your shoulder?  I could feel its feet, gripping my flesh, making me a bit nervous.  Just then, I looked to my right and noticed two other birds on a branch right near me.  Clearly, they were siblings.  I had no idea what kind of birds these were, and I felt foolish, because I should have known.

As I was deep in thought, trying to put a name to these birds, a man walked past carrying a black bear.  I asked him if he knew what these birds were.  They were owls.  Yes, owls, but they looked like they had been bred with penguins.  I panicked, ducked a little, looked to the sky, fearing I was about to suffer the same fate as Lord Sepulchrave, 76th Earl of Groan.  My companion, to whom I hadn't paid any attention until then, clearly had no such fear.  All I could think to do, once I had noted that the sky was clear, was to take these orphan birds to some sort of animal hospital or bird sanctuary.

I strapped them to my bike, and headed out, finally finding such a place. However, when the warden of the bird sanctuary inspected my owls, he concluded that they were stuffed.  Indeed, as I ripped open the plastic bags that I had sealed them in, I agreed that they were plushies.  But, as he left to finish building his grand piano, these owls became more animated and then I realized that they were hungry.  Seeing no mice or other types of rodentia lurking about, I found apples in a neighbouring farm.  I stole some apples from the hens, and fought my way into the dusty road (feeling a bit like the father in The Road, who finds ash-covered apples in a dead orchard), and tried to orient myself.

I decided to head south, toward the amber light, and then my son woke up and woke me up too. It was 4:55, and I never got back to sleep, but I heard the little one sawing logs for the next two hours, while my brain obsessed about things, like why I couldn't get back to sleep.

Talk Talk Talk

A librarian I know once said that she became a librarian because she didn't like public speaking or computers. She now realizes how ridiculous this sounds. Most academic librarians spend all day in front of a computer (currently, that's my new iMac) and some of us spend a lot of hours in classes handing out wisdom. Today, I did my annual talk to 150 1st year students in a certain professional department. I think this was my fourth session so far this term. Last week, I spoke to 110 science students. I have more sessions coming up, including a three hour research methods class for some masters students. Who would want to listen to me speak for three hours? I don't even think Barrack Obama could hold their attention for that long.

Well, that's all I have to say about that. I guess I have to get back to work and continue being a bad blogger.

Oh, have you seen those Hitler videos on youtube? The video is taken from a feature film. (The original clip is somewhere on youtube) but people keep adding their own subtitles. Some are hilarious, like:

And there are more!

Busy/Beatles/Macs/Roller Derby

Yup, it's September and the kids are back in school, which means I am busy, busy, busy. A colleague of mine refers to the students at this time of year as the "boob and bellybutton brigade." Judging by what I just saw at the reference desk, she is dead-on. Sometimes I like my job.

I have been adjusting to the Mac world. On my desk at work is a brand new iMac. In fact, I am typing on it right now. I am not sure how long the keys will remain white, however. At home, I have a brand new MacBook pro. I like it. Talk about a solid piece of machinery. The bottom is milled from a single piece of aluminum. I've gone over to the bright side, so take that Bill Gates. I have moved into my new office, so everything feels new and improved.

I am kind of interested in the new Beatles remasters, but not that interested enough to shell out for them. If anyone wants to buy me one or both box sets, I'd be happy to allow you to do that.

Did you know that there is a women-only boxing club in TO? I kid you not:

http://www.torontonewsgirls.com/

It's cool, but probably not as cool as the rolling derby librarian in Toronto. She is a member of the Death Track Dolls. Someday, I will get out and see them in action.

There: another boring post perfectly-executed.

Darcy Allan Sheppard (Al)

Last night, I joined the memorial ride for Darcy Allan Sheppard, along with about 1000 other cyclists. We headed east on Bloor, rode south on Yonge to Queen Street and then headed up University Avenue. Lots of Police on bikes joined us and blocked traffic to permit the cyclists to make their way. Generally, the cars and crowd seemed tolerant, but I heard a few derisive comments from the sidelines.

In case you have no idea what happened, a couple of nights ago, Michael Bryant, the former Attorney General of Ontario, rammed into Al's bike. Al confronted the driver from the passenger side, then went round to the driver side of the car. Bryant decided to flee, so Al grabbed the car door and hung on, clearly an unwise decision. The fact that he had allegedly been drinking did not help. The amazing thing is what happened next, something that has been caught by surveillance video and witnessed by many people.

Bryant speed away at high speed on the wrong side of the street, later mounting the sidewalk in an attempt to dislodge Al from his car. He drove into mailboxes and poles before Al was finally shaken loose. In the end, his rear wheels drove over the cyclist, killing him. Al was pronounced dead at a local hospital.

It is difficult to defend the actions of an enraged cyclist who grabs onto a car, but I have to think that if I were in that situation, I would have stopped my car. What kind of a maniac makes the reckless decision to scrape the guy from his car? What was his lawyer girlfriend sitting in the passenger seat thinking about this?

Bryant was touted by some as being a future Premier of the province. This is clearly never going to happen, and I have to think that he is cursing himself for succumbing to a fit road rage. At the memorial, someone suggested that he is likely to only get 2 years. That's not enough.

As many of you know, I cycle year round in Toronto and I have had my share of run-ins with motorists. The two groups tend to hate each other, and I blame that on the lousy cycling infrastructure in this city (this view was reinforced by my recent trip to Amsterdam, which is a cycling paradise by comparison). I also blame it on distracted drivers who are always in a hurry.

Yes, there are lots of idiotic cyclists. This morning, for example, I stopped at a red light and watched as 10 cyclists passed me and proceeded through the intersection as if the light were green. This pisses me off because drivers take this as evidence that all cyclists are law breakers. I stop all all red lights. But, I may do a rolling stop at stop signs on quiet residential streets when it is safe and clear. I see nothing wrong with that.

Head over to a main street and I see cyclists with headphones, cyclists racing through red lights, cyclists peeling out of sides streets and on to main streets without looking (I often have to ring my bell at them), cyclists riding on the wrong side of the street, cyclists riding without lights, etc. Listen, my fellow cyclists, if you want respect on the roads, you must ride responsibly, even if it means waiting out 20 seconds at a traffic light when there are no cars coming the other way. To the drivers out there, please share the road. To the city, please invest in more cycling lanes and clear them in winter.

Reading Update (because yesterday's post wasn't boring enough)

To follow on from yesterday's extremely boring post, I offer another extremely boring post about books that I have recently read.

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

Although I enjoyed this book, I sincerely hope that Dickens didn't always resort to improbable coincidences in his novels. I mean, Great Expectations had enough of that for anybody. Oliver Twist contains even more astounding coincidences. It's a bit tiring and hard to accept, but it does help to wrap up the plot nicely.

This was the second Dickens book for me. It took me many years to finally get around to reading Boz and I am happy that I did. But really, enough with the coincidental plot devises already. A Tale of Two Cities awaits my attention.

Fabrizio's Return by Mark Frutkin

Fabrizio's Return is a lighthearted and somewhat comedic novel about a priest being assessed years after the fact for potential sainthood by the Devil's Advocate, a Jesuit sent by the Pope to ask all of the tough questions and dig around for details. Along the way, we meet many interesting characters, including a rather comedic and insolent dwarf called Omero and Rodolfo, a man who wears a skeleton on his back. The novel features magical potions and seductions and music. All-in-all, this is a very good book.


Rachel Papers by Martin Amis

I have read lots of Amis, but never got around to this one, until recently. It's pretty good for a first novel. It has lots of sex and hilarity. I am not sure what to say about it, beyond that. It's well-written (of course) and a quick read. If you like Amis, you will probably like this.

Other People by Martin Amis

What a strange book is this. There is a mystery at the heart of the story about a woman who has amnesia. She manages to piece together parts of her history, but we are left to deduce other things about her and her past. Personally, I wouldn't rank this as being among my favourite Amis books (that honour might go to London Fields or Dead Babies). Still, if you must read everything he has written, you don't need me to recommend it, because you will have already read it.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I mentioned this book in yesterday's post, but here it is again. I was totally engrossed in this book. Sure, there may be other post-apocalyptic novels out there, but this is a very poetic one. Every time I check Amazon.com for reviews on books I have read, I am stunned. Sure, more than 1000 people rated this as a 5 star book. Bizarrely, nearly 200, or so, seem to think that this book merits only 1 star. I shouldn't be surprised at this stage. Look at reviews for books generally regarded as literary masterpieces, and some doofus will give it one star. Even more perplexing is the fact that Microserfs -- one of the books on my list of the worst books ever written, along with The Mysteries of Pittsburgh - a book that also gets my vote for dumb titles that bear no relation to the book -- receives so many 5 star reviews.

Anyway, The Road is a fascinating book. The prose is powerful and poetic, yet restrained. It paints an evocative picture. I will admit to wondering - as Mister Anchovy did in a comment to the preceding post - how this could possibly be made into a movie. Well, if they take great liberties, then perhaps. I hope it stays true to the book.

OK, no more pseudo-book reviews, at least for a while.

Michael Chabon

Among the books I read recently are several by Michael Chabon. Here are some brief notes.

Maps and Legends

This collection of non-fiction pieces is really a showcase for Chabon's vocabulary. If you are looking for lots of examples of purple prose in one manuscript, this is the book for you. Some of these pieces are enjoyable--if overwritten--but others left me cold. I have little interest in comic books, and so I skimmed those essays quickly. I would recommend this book for hardcore Chabon fans only or for those who want to improve their vocabulary.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

As I just said, I have no interest in comic books, so you might wonder why I would read a fictionalized account of the rise of the comic book in America. Good question. I have no idea what the answer is. So, yeah, this is a story about the comic book in the US of A. Despite the subject matter, the book is quite engaging and very well-written. It probably deserves the Pulitzer Prize that it won. While it might not be Chabon's finest novel, it is right up there. The ending made sense too. It is 646 pages, but it didn't feel like it.

The Final Solution: A Story of Detection

I really looked forward to reading this compact novella about Sherlock Holmes, though he is not mentioned by name in the book. I was not blown away. That's not to say that this is not a good and worthwhile read. The story is deceptively simple, and one that ends without the perfect Holmesian deduction; yet, there is something elegant in the writing and the ending, where it is left to the reader to divine the answers.

The Mysteries of Pittsburgh

In my growing list of worst books I have ever read, I will add this piece of garbage. It's perplexing that this novel ever found a publisher. The protagonist is a boring sexually-confused chap who seems to cry a lot. His father is a gangster. The story is dumb. There are sections when the writer slips out of the first-person narrative into an implausible omnipotent first person narration. In other words, he becomes a mind reader. And then there are the little irritating things like tides on Lake Erie.

If you want to read Chabon, skip this one and stick go for Wonder Boys or The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, or maybe even the book that follows.

The Yiddish Policemen's Union

I am not really sure that I am qualified to comment on this book. There is so much Jewish lore that I do not understand, and I think I missed some of the subtleties of the plot because of that. I hated the first 120 pages and, looking back, I feel that my distaste for this book was a reaction to just having just read Chabon's abysmal first novel, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh. I was still angry that such a piece of trash was ever published.

TYPU needs an edit. There are digressions that serve absolutely no purpose at all, and make the novel longer than it needs to be. I could give you examples, but I won't. It's a good and interesting book. It's nice to see that Chabon has improved as a writer since his first stinker was published in '89.

This is soon to be a Coen Brothers movie. I would like to see it when it comes out a couple of years down the road.

Wonder Boys
I saw this film ages ago, when I had no idea who Mr. Chabon was. I loved this movie. I still love this movie. Normally, I would never read a book if I have already seen a film adaptation, but I made an exception in this case. I have a nagging feeling that the movie is better. I can't believe I wrote that line, because I have never felt that way before. The book is always better. The book is supposed to be better. Of course, this means that I will have to see the film again to see if I am right about this.

Back to Work and Getting Re-adjusted

Well, that was a long break from life. I took a lot of time off in August and did lots of stuff, and neglected other things, like a leaking eve on my house. C'est la vie, non? I decided that during my time away that I was not going to come back to my high-paid job. Who needs the aggravation? Who needs the money? The trouble with coming back is all of the crap that piles up. I have lots of it. I will be digging out, going to meetings, teaching some classes. This is why I want to be independently wealthy. Well, that's one of the reasons. I just want to be rich, "%$#&ing fifthly %$#&ing stinking rich." Yeah, that is from a song. I bet you don't know which one.

I read a number of books last month. I may even tell you what they are. I just finished Cormac McCarthy's The Road only to discover that a film version will be released in October. That was good timing. I quite like seeing movies after having just read the book, but I don't generally read books if I have seen the film with a recent notable exception that I will relate tomorrow or later, if I can find the time.

And now, I must do some work...

Hiatus

I will be taking a hiatus for most of the rest of the summer, but don't be surprised if a podcast should appear here during that time. It might just happen. I shall return.

Since it was raining this morning, I decided to take the subway to work, something I rarely do. I continue to be amazed at what I see on the subway. For one, I still cannot believe that there are people who willingly wear Crocs in public. WTF! To me, that's like wearing your slippers to work/school. Now, I am fully aware that some people reading this post probably own Crocs and will swear that they are the most comfortable footwear they have ever owned. Well, good for you. They are ugly and dumb. Unless you are a child, leave the Crocs at home. Wear them to the beach, if you must.

As I have said very many times, I am stunned that any woman would apply makeup in public. I gather it's because they are pressed for time, or something. Who knows? This morning, I watched two young women apply all manner of face paint while sitting on a crowded subway car. The one on the right spent about 15 minutes applying mascara to her upper right eyelash: it just went on and on and on. The other had a tray of various blushes, eye shadows, lipsticks, etc. The oddest thing is that she devised a new (well to me anyway) use for a dessert spoon.

From my position, I was uncertain as to what exactly she was doing with the utensil. I came to two possible conclusions: she used the spoon to apply mascara; or, she used it to curl her eyelashes. I wish I had an answer. I should probably add, for the sake of full disclosure, that I really do not like makeup, especially lipstick.