Movies of Myself

Finder

Have you guys ever used a finder? Ray and Charles Eames used it often in their teachings, and I learned about it in Keri Smith's delightful creativity guide, Living Out Loud. 

A finder is a piece of cardboard or paper with a much smaller square cut out of it. You use the square to focus in on smaller elements of larger things. For instance you can use the finder to separate one box of cereal out of the long shelves at the store, or one face on the page of a magazine spread. It's the opposite of trying to see the bigger picture. You want to embrace the isolated beauty of a tree instead of being swept up in the forest. You can make your own finder using the image below:

I've done a version of finder work in the last few weeks by switching the lens on my DSLR to the 50mm f/1.8D. It's a fix lens, so you can't zoom in and out. The focus area is limited so you have to really pick and choose what you want to look at and emphasize. It's been a great opportunity to get to know this lens more and to focus on the little things. 

It's been a cool exercise in point of view. I'm always telling myself to step back and not get so caught up in the details. But sometimes it's the best thing to get a little bit closer.

Illusions - Shout Out Louds

In my blood, in my bones.

Last week I finished a book I'd been meaning to read all last year: Gabrielle Hamilton's Blood, Bones & Butter. Hamilton is the owner and chef at the restaurant Prune, which my pastry chef friend has been raving about since she moved to New York seven years ago.

Expecting a string of restaurant anecdotes, I was surprised at the emotional intensity of the writing and quite astonished at some of Hamilton's experiences. Again and again she set up the scenarios that make up her life, from her rural childhood to her year as seventeen year old cocktail waitress in New York City, from a spontaneous solo trip through Europe after finishing her MFA to annual summer trips to visit her Italian husband's family over the course of a decade. She sets them up in a way that is immediately immersive and addicting. She pulls you right in to the heart of the matter and still you want more. 

It is not a perfect book by any means. Hamilton is a strong-willed, opinionated and sometimes contradictary person, a rogue writer and chef. She can be harsh, on herself and on others. Her writing is raw and dynamic. Although I've analyzed the last section of the book for days, I am still in a quandry about her utterly strange marriage. But her understanding of the role that food plays in our lives, the memory and experience of food and how it shapes us, is exquisite and it will make you reflect on your own history with food in a whole new way. Her writing has left me feeling all of the emotions she experiences in the memoir: elation, fury, determination, devastion and gratitude. It has made we want to go out and learn and do everything. 

There And Back Again

It is time to re-read an old favorite. It has been, I believe, over twenty years since I read this book with all the wonder and amazement that only a child can feel. I can't believe I'm old enough that I can say that. It is a little bit dismaying and a lot wonderful.

I realize just now at this moment that I've been writing and thinking about The Hobbit quite a lot lately. I'll have to pay extra careful attention while I'm reading to see exactly what it's trying to tell me.

Row For Your Life Toward It

You guys, I've decided to participate in November NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). That means I'll be blogging every day for the month of November, with the possible exception of Thanksgiving Eve and Day. NaBloPoMo started one November years ago, but it's so popular now that there are participants every month. I actually participated last month as well, and was surprised and elated at how challenging and fulfilling it was to write to you all each day. I've also decided to use the NaBloPoMo prompts for November. They give some good insight into personal worldview, and I hope we will all learn a little more about each other. 

11/1 - Tell us your favourite quotation and why.

There is honestly NO possible way I could narrow this down to a single quote. For goodness' sake, I have a weekly sidebar feature just for quotes. It's funny, I can name my favorite song, movie and book, which all seem like impossible tasks. But the quotes that move me seem to change from moment to moment to match my mood. 

There are a couple, however, that I keep coming back to. Both are by Mary Oliver and I have probably shared both before, somewhere along the way. One is a full poem, but it is probably my favorite poem. Why are they my favorites? Because they remind me of the reason why I'm alive, why any of us is alive: to risk everything, to taste every sweetness, to knock on the door and realize that it opens from the inside.

1) “To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” - from "In Blackwater Woods"

2)

"West Wind #2" by Mary Oliver 

You are young.  So you know everything.  You leap

into the boat and begin rowing.  But listen to me.

Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without

any doubt, I talk directly to your soul.  Listen to me.

Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and

your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to

me.  There is life without love.  It is not worth a bent

penny, or a scuffed shoe.  It is not worth the body of a

dead dog nine days unburied.  When you hear, a mile

away and still out of sight, the churn of the water

as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the

sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable

pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth

and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls

plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life

toward it.

Click-Clack the Rattlebag

Neil Gaiman has made a new short story of his available for free download from Audible.com through Halloween! For every download Audible is even donating $1 to educational charities at Donors Choose. The story is a quick and spirited listen and it's even narrated by Gaiman himself.

I really thought that "Click-Clack the Rattlebag" wasn't all that scary. That is until I got up at 4 a.m. the night after we had it on to use the bathroom and lay awake for an hour afterwards thinking of skin and bones and terrors that you least expect. 

L.A. Story

Lately I've been happily working my way through Robert Crais' mystery novels featuring Private Investigator Elvis Cole and his partner Joe Pike. They're exciting and entertaining super quick reads, but the real reason I like them so much is because they're set in L.A. I've realized I simply love books that take place in Los Angeles, especially hard-boiled noir thrillers. It might be a good time to read some more. Guess I'll start a list. If any of you have recommendations, I'd love to har them.

• Ask The Dust by John Fante
• The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy
• Devil In A Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
• Day of the Locust by Nathanael West

The Game is Not Yet Afoot

Well, you all know what a Sherlock Holmes nut I am. I had decided to wait until PBS airs the second season of the BBC's Sherlock on air instead of downloading the heck out of it and enjoying it sooner. May seems VERY far away from now, however, and I'm taking to desperate measures while I wait things out. I've even considered rereading voluminous chunks of the complete short stories now that Patrick has given me this gorgeous new annotated set. Instead I've taken to plugging "Sherlock Holmes" into the etsy search box and totally geeking out over everything. Here's a few of my favorite finds:

Sherlock Holmes SilkScreened Handkerchiefs:

$21 from TheHoneyPress

Vintage Sherlock Holmes Teacup and Saucer Set

$39 from MoreThanPorcelain

The Return of Sherlock Holmes Hollow Book Safe

$44.99 from UnseenCurios

Master of All Masters

I just came across a most strange and charming story from Joseph Jacobs collection of English Fairy Tales. It's a little bit of wit for your weekend:

    A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her and took her home to his house. When she got there he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.

He said to her, "What will you call me?"

"Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir," says she.

He said, "You must call me master of all masters. And what would you call this?" pointing to his bed.

"Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir."

"No, that's my barnacle. And what do you call these?" said he, pointing to his pantaloons.

"Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir."

"You must call them squibs and crackers. And what would you call her?" pointing to the cat.

"Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir."

"You must call her white-faced simminy. And this now," showing the fire, "what would you call this?"

"Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir."

"You must call it hot cockalorum, and what this?" he went on, pointing to the water.

"Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir."

"No, pondalorum is its name. And what do you call all this?" asked he as he pointed to the house.

"House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir."

"You must call it high topper mountain."

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said, "Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum, high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum."

That's all.

If you think you're special, you're probably not.

It's been a busy week and it's going to be an equally busy weekend. I've got lots of custom party pieces to design and print in the next little while and I'm also apparently trying to make sure roly poly animals become the in thing. 

Luckily I've got some great music to listen to while I work away. I'm pretty sure I'll have these two wonderful, wonderful songs on repeat all weekend:

Cinema (Skrillex Remix) - Benny Benassi feat. Gary Go - Thanks, Steph! Yes, this is a good one to dance your heart out to.

Why Even Try feat. Sara Quin (RAC Remix) - Theophilus London - Sara Quin (of Tegan and Sara) sounds lovely on this song, which is sweet and funny and chill at the same time. 

I’m about to go H•A•M.

This week I am:

• dealing with a weird cold that is coming on slow and lingering like a real jerk.

• thinking quite a bit about the riots in England and what it all means.

• making another potato, rosemary and bacon pizza, because this shit is for real. The whole wheat crust from Fresh & Easy market is delish:

• reading Catching Fire, the second book in The Hunger Games trilogy. The first book was insanely compelling. It was such a nail-biter I woke up at 5:00 a.m. one morning to finish it, after I'd stayed up til almost 2:00 a.m. reading it the night before.

• drawing monkeys and lions. It's actually pretty fun!

• falling crazy in love with everything in the upcoming Kate Spade holiday collection.

• really wishing I could take a trip somewhere tropical.

• listening to Watch the Throne which I am really, really digging. Now we all know that a Jay-Z and Kanye West collaboration can't really go wrong, but I was really curious to see how they would blend their styles. So far it sounds like Jay-Z is doing most of the rapping and Yeezy is in charge of the stylized sound. Most of my friends do NOT like Kanye, but I have been staunchly behind him since "Through the Wire" and I'm not changing my mind anytime soon. I'm looking forward to taking a closer look at the lyric book all this week.

No Church in the Wild (feat. Frank Ocean) - Kanye West & Jay-Z

H•a•m - Kanye West & Jay-z

Happy Reading Life

365 - 138
May 18th, 2011

I have my books organized by color again in the new apartment, but it just doesn't look as good as it used to. We donated more than half of our books to the library and for some reason the color code just looks snazzier in large numbers.

I guess it doesn't help that I have started to e-read books more often. I am currently re-reading Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre and it is so much better than I remember. It always feel far behind Jane Austen's novels and Wuthering Heights in my favor, but I love it right now and I'm so glad to be getting to know it again. Perhaps I have matured enough to truly appreciate it. I'm also looking forward to reading the first book in The Hunger Games trilogy after Jane Eyre is finished. 

Are you guys reading anything interesting right now?

In The Beginning

365 - 112
April 22nd, 2011

"The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful ... Love begins with a metaphor. Which is to say, love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory."

— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Mermaid

via Lafayette. on flickr.com

It's songs like this that make Okkervil River one of the greatest bands, if not the very best, making music today. The tune presses every button. It's perfectly delicate, sweetly lulling and then it swirls around you like an unexpected wave, wrenching you in and out as it pleases. It dashes your heart against the rocks and makes you feel everything.

This standalone single, like each and every one of Okkervil River's albums is hale and heartbroken, wry and beautiful, haunting and haunted. If you have enjoyed their music before you'll recognize the swirl of emotion it embodies, so true to life.

Will Sheff is a poet, a lyricist second to none. With "Mermaid" his storytelling is so detailed and immediate.

So I said, “Men, pull her out of the water.
And then lay on hands,
and bind back her flippers and tail
until international waters. And there we’ll feel
what’s human inside of her.”

The song has me thinking and re-reading Pablo Neruda's "The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks" which relays a remarkably similar scenario. And of course the song reminds me of Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid", a story that I loved and then hated and have finally started to appreciate again. Over the past decade the fairy tale made me so angry. Why would she make these choices, give up her own greatest gift, lose her ability to express herself and then sacrifice everything?

But then, it's not only mermaids but humans, too, who do outlandish and unbelievable things for love. We all do crazy and amazing things for love and I've come to understand that, tragic endings notwithstanding, this is the best thing about us.

And it’s out on the lost boiling black water
where I see her float out.
And she’s so thin and so pale.
I see her rise up. And she’s so fast and so fair.
My hands meet and they press to a point in the air,
but my mouth fills with more panic than prayer.
And my skull fills with more color than care.
And my heart fills with love, with too much love to bear.

And I know that I’ll stay, and that she’ll always be there,
my hands sunk in cold sand,
sea-weed strung through her hair.

Mermaid - Okkervil River

You can read along to Will Sheff's full lyrics here as you listen and join me in unabashed excitement as we await Okkervil River's new album, I Am Very Far, which is slated for a May 10th release.

Homemade is Best

I'm a little obsessed with the new baking Ikea cookbook that just hit their Swedish stores. It's called “Hembakat är Bäst” (Homemade is Best) and all of the genius photography in it is by Carl Kleiner.

What makes it special is the arrangement of the individual ingredients, before the mixing process:

So sexy!

It's especially neat to see the before and after photos of each pastry, like this set for some cute little currant tartlettes:

It makes me want to bust out my rolling pin, I'll tell you that much.

Harry Potter Land

via chrisbheath.wordpress.com

Dudes. Did I tell you that a work-related trip will take me to Orlando this coming October? Do you know what that means?

The motherflipping WIZARDING WORLD OF HARRY POTTER, yo!!!

Tickets and rooms are booked. I've had contemplative discussions with both Patrick and my sister about what houses we would be sorted into.  Now I just have about three months to daydream about walking through Hogwarts. I am so excited I can barely even think about it.

 

via hello random stranger

I can't wait to get a wand at Ollivander's and pay eight dollars to drink a butterbeer! I even can't wait to eat chocolate frogs while I stand in line for four hours to walk past Dumbledore's office. 

via talons & tea leaves

This is going to be amazing.

In me you can confide, I'm always by your side.

Mid Week Mini Music Mix

I've been reading Cory Doctorow's novels this week, blazing through them at an alarming pace. They're smart, funny, irreverent and have just enough technology in them to make me feel delighted that I (mostly) understand what he's talking about. 

Best of all, his books are available for free download from his website in a wide array of formats. I'm still going to buy the hard copies of the books though, and donate them to my local library. I'm reading Doctorow's Little Brother right now and I'm so inspired by the section in his foreword about how important libraries, classrooms and bookstores are. Each chapter of Little Brother is dedicated to one of the author's favorite book purveyors and he also supports an organization called Adopt-A-Classroom. 

It really got me thinking about how much a good teacher can enrich your life and how many amazing teachers have influenced mine. I'm currently friends with a number of teachers who contribute a lot of their own money and uncompensated time to their classrooms, and I'm sure that's becoming more of an issue every year with all the budget cuts in education. 

I'm sponsoring a second grade classroom at my old elementary school and I hope that my small contribution will help make things a little easier. What I like most about it is that all of the proceeds will go to the classroom; the organization doesn't take any fees for administration. This is a situation where even a small donation will make a big difference and I hope you will consider adopting a class, too. 

Odessa - Caribou Caribou has switched gears and gotten all dancy and I think I like it. Of course I do. 

Everlasting Light - The Black Keys I'm still loving on the eloquent funk of this Black Keys album. I always smile when this album opener comes on. 

Lights - Interpol This is the track that Interpol emailed out to fans a few weeks ago and it reminds me of their glory days with their first two albums. I have high hopes and high anxiety about their new album and I'm hoping they'll be back in fine form. 

Howlin' For My Baby (Featuring Jordan Hudson & Mike Coykendall) - M. Ward I've really been enjoying Volume 2 of the soundtrack for the HBO series True Blood. It perfectly captures the sultry, Southern mood of the show and its heroes. 

You are here to be swallowed up.

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.

Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum

I am this close to getting this quote as my next tattoo, I love it that much. Just a friendly reminder to be true and to sing sweetly. To cry out for all the things you ever wanted. To live deeply and well and to know that that's what this is all for. 

With Love and Squalor

My favorite book back in high school was The Catcher In The Rye. Yes, I was one of those kids. A misunderstood malcontent. An empathetic wiseguy. A profound brooder who was one anxiety attack away from understanding everything. I think they call us hipsters nowadays.

In the ensuing years I came to love J.D. Salinger's other books just as much, probably more. I could barely wrap my head around Franny and Zooey, but I tried my damndest. An old yellow-covered copy of Seymour that I'd snatched up at a garage sale had a prize spot on my bookshelves. Nine Stories helped me navigate deep inside my own mind and accept what lingered there, under glass or covered in dust. Eventually I grew away from Salinger's works. They reminded me too much of ghosts I could never get rid of. 

But occasionally they would still call out in a voice I couldn't ignore. A few years ago I brought The Catcher in the Rye along on a trip to New York City, packing it at the last minute almost as an afterthought. Each morning I would rise early and step out to read it, leaning up against the hotel window, looking out, perhaps, over the same city streets that Holden Caulfield walked on. It was pretty much perfect. I spent the days thinking often on how things come and go and never come again, which is a thought that Salinger's words often inspired in me. 

"How wonderful, how sane, how beautifully difficult, and therefore true."

Read and run. R.I.P.

The Killer

 

Here's the deal with the Matz graphic novel The Killer:it will change the way you see yourself.

The story is told from the point of view of a hired marksman, a remarkably intelligent and coolly nonchalant hitman who has killed at least dozens of times. He is solitary and relentless, yet also reflective and reasonable. He is a law unto himself. A sociopath.

And yet, within the first couple of pages of the book, he sweeps you into his world, into his way of life and train of thought in a most assuredly compelling manner and soon you find yourself sympathizing with him, rooting for him against the police and against ordinary citizens. It is startling and unsettling.

This graphic novel is just so well done. The panelling is extraordinary, with dark, intense artwork and remarkable storytelling. The action is tight and the philosophy is deliciously deep. It's the kind of book that will keep you thinking about it weeks and months after you've read it. A favorite passage:

A simple thought: trust and friendship are a little bit like money. If you make a bad investment, you have a hell of a lot to lose. Much more than what you've invested. If you invest them right the benefits are infinite, and priceless. That's the one difference.

It will leave you with a million thoughts about your personal definitions of right and wrong, trust, priorities and goodness. It will have you examining all the little lines in life and exactly where and how we draw them.

Clairaudients (Kill Or Be Killed) - Bright Eyes

Enter freely, and of your own free will!

via www.gearfuse.com

To counteract my fifteen year old sister's predictably ardent jonesing over the next Twilight movie, I've convinced her to read Bram Stoker's Dracula with me along with Infinite Summer: Dracula. The Pod acquiesced with startling alacrity.

P: So what's this book about? Dracula?

B: Yes, it's about Dracula. 

I hear nothing for a week. Then a midday text arrives: "Dracula is BO-ring." 

Also: "Hahaha, have you seen the Gummi Bear video??" (warning: the Gummi Bear wears yellow underoos and I regret severely all 2 minutes and 43 seconds of my life lost to the viewing of his jiggly boogie-down.)

B: I don't understand why they let this Gummi Bear record a full album. Also, why do I share classic novels with you and you reciprocate with the Gummi Bear video?

P: At least dancing gummi bears aren't BO-ring.

But she can't fool me. The Pod is still reading it and at an even faster pace than I am. Stay tuned as I share our thoughts on the hard knock life of Count Dracula and Co. through the month of October.

Dracula

Hey, have you guys heard? Apparently vampires are all the rage right now.

Okay, I'll admit it. I have, much to my chagrin, read the Twilight books. Read them at breakneck speed, as if they were laced with back alley literary crack. They are the fiction equivalent of McDonald's french fries, with nary an ounce of true nourishment, yet soooo addicting. And recently I've worked through all of Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire novels, the very ones that inspired the HBO series True Blood. They are hilarious fun, all nine of them so far. But through the years before this I pored over Anne Rice's epic tales, spent late nights reading the awesomely violent exploits of Anita Blake, vampire hunter. Salem's Lot, Carmilla, Lost Souls...the list goes on and on. Vampire books old and new. So this whole craze? Yeah, I'm down with it.

And now that Halloween is approaching I'm going back to the book that led to a month of sleepless nights in junior high and that made me sink my teeth (booyow, grandma) into all this vampire business in the first place: Bram Stoker's Dracula.

I'll be reading it with the Infinite Summer group. And because I've read it twice before, I've decided to kick it up a notch with the delectable New Annotated Dracula, a 2008 release that features a plethora of historical and contextual notes. I do hope that some of you will join me along the way. You can read Dracula for free online here or download it from Google books, also for zero dinero. I promise it will be a bloody good time (zing!)

Queneau

via Thomas Guest

What is this strange and beautiful book? It's a copy of French poet Raymond Queneau's Cent mille milliards de poèmes (One hundred million million poems). According to the bevrowe.info page on the Sonnets:

Queneau’s Cent Mille Milliards de Poèmes is derived from a set of ten basic sonnets. In his book, published in 1961, they are printed on card with each line on a separated strip, like a heads-bodies-and-legs book. All ten sonnets have the same rhyme scheme and employ the same rhyme sounds. As a result, any line from a sonnet can be combined with any from the other nine, giving 1014 (= 100,000,000,000,000) different poems. Working twenty-four hours a day, it would you take some 140,000,000 years to read them all.

How cool is that? The sonnets have been translated into English and the site even has a page where you can view randomized sonnet combinations or make specific medleys of your own. This is the first one I put together. The Sonnets themselves are both fanciful and unusual, so they make for a great creative pool to wade into.

Summer Reading

Okay, alright.

I've decided to read Infinite Jest over the next few months for Infinite Summer.

I've always wanted to read the book and all the articles I went through this past winter about the life and hard times of David Foster Wallace have inspired me even further. The Summer begins officially on June 21st so there's plenty of time to get in gear and join in if you are so inclined.

Of course, I might try to get a jumpstart on my reading over the next couple of weeks, lest this turn out like my grandly disastrous undertaking of Ulysses a while back.

Waldo

You guys love Where's Waldo, right? Yep, I thought so. I'm not very good at Where's Waldo but I've got a lot of fond memories of the books from childhood. Two awesome Waldo-related things recently:

(photo via statetheatrenj)

1) The Most Waldos - A Guinness World Record was set this past April for the most people gathered together and  dressed as Waldo. This must have been hilarious. 1,052 Rutgers students made this happen. Bless them.

2) Odlaw. For some reason, I had either completely forgotten, or was never even aware of the existence, of Waldo's arch-nemesis. In the Where's Waldo Wiki (yes, for reals) Odlaw is described as "mean, nasty, loathsome and disgusting. His number of good deeds are few and all he cares about is getting his hands on Waldo's magic walking stick."

Oh my god, I love him. He is dressed like a bumbleebee and he has creepy sunglasses and pervy mustache. Why?? He lives in a swamp populated by numerous Odlaws and other creatures that are yellow and black. And even his mother does not like him. This is tremendously and wonderfully bizarre.

Too Cool To Be Forgotten

My favorite graphic novel ever is Alex Robinson's Box Office Poison so I am always excited when he has a new publication. His latest book, the short volume Too Cool To Be Forgotten, centers around Andy Wick, a forty-something family man who turns to hypnosis therapy as a last-ditch effort to quit smoking. He finds himself transported back to high school, where his smoking days began. What he learns about himself while he's there is tremendous, and how it helps with his noctine addiction is just the least of it.

As always, Robinson's writing is so funny and smart and real. I have to admit that I completely teared up at the end of this book (this does not mean the book is that sad, since I've been known to weep openly over Liberty Mutual commercials.) I can't wait to read it again in a few weeks to see what I missed the first time around. The panels shown here depict one of my favorite parts of Too Cool To Be Forgotten, a pivotal party scene where Andy remembers having his first ever cigarette. Awesome quote: "...but just try and enjoy yourself every once in a while. No one is ever on their deathbed wishing they'd spent more time being uptight and judging people, right?"

Cats and Little Kittens

Just a quick tip if you have kids or if you are gonna: if your kid really likes a book, I mean really likes it, do them a favor and stash it away. They're gonna remember it later on and they'll be insanely delighted that they can look through it again, especially if it's gone out of print. 

My family didn't keep any of the books from my childhood and so I'm constantly looking for things that I only vaguely remember. My decade-long search for Esther Averill's Jenny and the Cat Club is a good example of this. This charming series of stories about a shy little black cat's many adventures in Greenwich Village was an absolute favorite of mine when I was little but its star was already waning by the time I was reading it. It subsequently went out of print and basically faded away. With the advent of the internet I was able to recall the title after very careful searching, but there were only a few overpriced and dilapidated copies available for purchase.

Much to my delight the series was optioned for reissue a few years ago and they are every bit as whimsical, heartwarming, quirky, sweet and flat out funny as I remember. I love little Jenny Linsky and her teeny ice skates. I love her retired sea captain owner, her good friend, the very brave Pickles the Fire Cat and Jenny's red scarf that the captain hand-knit for her. It makes me so happy that one of the other members of the Cat Club plays a nose flute and that Jenny's adopted brother writes thrilling cat poetry.

I loved these stories so much when I was little that I demanded a kitten (the one and only time I ever demanded anything). And that's how I found out I was allergic to cats :P These books are a quick and enchanting read. Highly recommended for your little ones. Highly recommended for anyone, really.

Cat Piano - Seabear

From The Stacks

Let's discuss the library books I checked out eight weeks ago, shall we?

The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander - That's right. The first book in the Chornicles of Prydain series. Damn straight. I read, I believe, the first two books (this plus The Black Cauldron) when I was in elementary school and enjoyed them very much. They're still entertaining, if a bit spare. Taran the Assistant Pig Keeper is often exasperating in a sweet way. The book was a short, quick read and satisfied my craving for some straightforward fantasy/mythology.

Special Orders by Edward Hirsch - After only a few pages I realized that this isn't my kind of poetry. The metaphors are a bit too obvious. But the real reason why I couldn't get through this book? The text of each poem is printed in a serif font, whereas the titles employ a very different sans serif typeface. This drives me completely fucking nuts.

The Name of The Rose by Umberto Eco - Hey, The Name of the Rose, I bet you are a really good book. I have heard tons of great things about you and I was totally rubbing my palms together in delight at tackling you. Seven murders at a monastery, the book jacket promised! However, why must you have not one but TWO horrifically boring introductions?? The first one was by some fictional translator of the novel spouting lengthy nonsense about the origins of the "manuscript". Holy crap that sucked. The second introduction was - okay I have no idea what it was. It took me an hour just to skim three pages (fine, yes I dozed for most of that hour) so I skipped sraight to the actual book and, yeah, your'e going back to the library unread, brother. I'm sorry, I just do not have to brain power to figure your shit out right now.

Bloodfever by Karen Moning - Oh nos. The second I sat down with this and saw it was the second book in a series I had to back off. I cannot read out of order. It's ungodly.

The Master Butchers Singing Club by Louse Erdrich - This book makes up for the rest of massive library failure because it was really damn good. It tells the story of a German man who fought in World War I and then transplanted his young family to the U.S. making it as far as North Dakota. The events that unfold and the strange and fascinating people who tangle themselves into place over the years make for incredible storytelling. I found myself reading more and more slowly as the book progressed because I couldn't bear to see it end. I've loved Erdrich since high school but hadn't read one of her books in years. I'm so glad I came back to her.

Lost In The Plot

I've really been in the mood for a good mystery lately. All my life I've loved reading mystery novels and I finally figured out a few weeks ago that it's because I am so absolutely hopeless at picking up clues and figuring out what's going on.

I know people who can blithely keep track of every single character's subtlest quirks and moves and, by the time they get to the end of a book, will shrug knowingly because they'd suspected all along. I suppose there's a certain satisfaction in that but there isn't the wonderful shocking thrill which I always get. The "oh my god are you kidding how could it POSSIBLY be them?!?!" Sometimes I think I've purposefully stopped even trying to figure out whodunnit, even a little, because I want my surprise to be as big and as gratifying as possible. Really, I had no idea that would happen.

After the Sharpie Cakes

Book Club went and saw Haruki Murakami speak at Zellerbach Hall on the Berkeley campus last Saturday evening in conjunction with our inaugural read, Kafka on the Shore (I know, best book club ever, man.) My favorite things from the talk:

1. Murakami just finished a new book! A long one, by his report. It should be published in Japan next year.
2. He was wearing deck shoes.
3. His first novel, Hear the Wind Sing, was written in the early morning hours between the time he spent operating his jazz club, Peter Cat. He described the jazz club as "making cocktails, making sandwiches and kicking out drunk patrons." Hear the Wind Sing was written quickly and easily, for fun, for his own enjoyment.
4. He had trouble recalling the name of one of his books (South of the Border, West of the Sun).
5. To Murakami writing is going "deep into the underground and open a special door into a dark room and write about what I find there". It's a scary and dangerous psychological place and he explained that you have to be pretty darn strong to come back from it routinely. One of the ways he manages this is through running in the sun.
6. He also compared writing to video games, casting the author as both the programmer and the player.
7. Murakami is friends with Thom Yorke. Of course.

I hope to read another of his books before the end of the year, though not through Book Club. Our next book will most likely be Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book. If this sounds enticing to you and you can meet in the Bay Area, Book Club is currently in open enrollment. Send me an email, book lovers.

Sharp Teeth

I read such a cool book this week: Sharp Teeth by Toby Barlow. I picked it up from the library because of the neat cover (the dog teeth are shiny silver) and because of positive blurbs from Christopher Moore and David Mamet. Now this is a story written in free verse. Alright, I realize I've lost about half of you. It's also a story about lycanthropes. Alright, there go the rest of you.

Seriously, though, this novel tells of the slow circling and the sharp intersections of three separate packs in modern day L.A. and of the people, guilty and guileless, who get swept up in their path. It's darkly funny, vicious, sexy and unique. Barlow uses the rhythms of poetry to create something exquisitely intense and immensely readable. I raced through this book in a few hours on Monday and I've been thinking about it a lot ever since. If you're looking for something different, something quick and tricky, this is it.

All Over Coffee

I read something wonderful last week: a collection of "All Over Coffee" strips collected in book form.

"All Over Coffee" is a remarkable comic by writer and artist Paul Madonna that runs each Sunday in the San Francisco Chronicle. It's almost always a single panel inkwash drawing of a SF city scene paired with one of Madonna's personal and moving observations, or with one of his poignantly accurate fictional conversations.

I can't begin to describe the beauty of this book. Madonna paints San Francisco in strokes and tones that are endlessly melancholic, yet you can tell there is love in each line. The words themselves, sometimes a funny little tale about spying on a neighbor, sometimes just the briefest half sentence, just the glimpse of a feeling, are tremendously thought-provoking.

Yet, always, always there is the feeling that you've heard someone say these things to you before, and you are so sorry you almost forgot them. But this time you're paying much closer attention and you swear you'll hold on to the feeling. Or maybe it's more like you've been waiting for someone to say these things; that you'd created the space for them in your head. Maybe it's all the same feeling.

Buoyancy

I have several copies of this poetry collection, one of the few books I read regularly. I turn to it, and my other Coleman Barks translations of Rumi, almost religiously; with both faith and fervor. These words must be read repeatedly, so fleeting is the feeling they contain. They remind you constantly to live, and that fire dies out so easily in the drizzle of our everyday lives. Each time I turn the pages, they nudge me right into life again.

I keep one copy in a breakdroom drawer at work, for afternoon inspiration. Three weeks ago I saw it on the lunch table and figured that one of my co-workers was flipping through it. This past week I found a small stack of loose leaf papers in the drawer, with bunches and snippets of the poetry hand-copied on both sides.

I finally realized that our dear refugee is using the Rumi as writing practice. She's enrolled in an English language class which meets several times per week and, in addition to filling out the vocabulary and grammar worksheets she's constantly poring over, she's been writing out pieces from my book.

I wonder if she understands a single word of it. In a way, it's perfect. To learn letters by rewriting the modern adaptation of the words of a 13th century Sufi mystic. There is poetry, there is life, in this. "Does sunset sometimes look like the sun's coming up?" What could this say to her? Last week she asked us what "if" means. I want to say, it means to keep asking.

We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute
of eternity. We are pain
and what cures pain, both. We are
the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.

strange lights

I have come upon something wonderful: the work of the poet Jean Valentine, especially her latest publication: Little Boat.

Her poems are brief and keen and to the point. What point? It's not clear. I am never sure what she is saying, but I always feel exactly what she is saying. Yet, the poems change each time I read them. It's so easy to emphasize one line over another, this word or that syllable, and the very face of the poem changes, the very heart. 

The poem shown in this photo, which I've copied into my commonplace book of poetry is my favorite from the book, but there are many others that call me insistently back to their pages.

When she told me


When she told me over the telephone you died
I lay down and cried, "Don't you stop loving me."

In the West Side Market, I heard your voice
from the ceiling say out loud to me, I love you.

In the park, to a chestnut tree,
to the light through hundreds of leaves, I said, I love you.

It was you.          And it was my life, run, to what,
-----you closer than touch.

A symbol of Irish art.

I think I need a game plan where reading Ulysses is concerned. Three times in a row now I've settled down on the couch to read it and fallen straight asleep after 20 minutes. Granted, they were all delicious naps lasting a good three hours in duration, full of hazy rowboats and the sea. Ulysses is a good dream book.

I had the vague notion upon starting the book that I would march through 100 pages a week. Now, usually I'd never allow myself the luxury of seven entire weeks to finish a book. But I thought this particular novel deserved the time. However, I find myself on page 41 at the end of the first week. And my reading speed is diminishing. Not good.

At what point, I wonder, will I stop kicking and struggling against Joyce's perplexing style and let myself enter the story? The linguist in me is tickled pink, believe me, and I actually think I understand, if just a little, what has happened so far to Stephen Dedalus (I am almost to the part where Bloom is introduced.) But I'll get to a part like this:

A garland of grey hair on his comminated head see him me clambering down to the footpace (descende), clutching a monstrance, basiliskeyed. Get down, bald poll! A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the altars's horns, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of kidneys of wheat.

and my brain is like, "Huh. Well, don't bother yourself with that now, Beckie. Wouldn't you rather just recline a little more? Leave the jackpriests to their own designs." And I'll be dead unconscious about twelve seconds later.

The thing is I really want to finish reading this book and have wanted to for about ten years. In fact, I keep nervously eying my front door, certain that a school representative will show up and announce that my degree is forfeit because I've never read it. I think I'll shelve all the plans I had for today and just dedicate myself to Ulysses. Hopefully the rainy weather will continue and help me find my place with it.

51 and Counting

Earlier in the year I declared my attempt to read 52 books for fun in 2007 and I've been keeping track of my progress as best I can. Check it out! I'm only one book away from reaching my goal :)

Yes, I know it looks like I kind of cheated. A good percentage of my books are graphic novels or poetry books. But in my own defense, I almost always read comics and poems about three to four times through. So I think it's fair to list those books here individually. Looking back I see that I didn't read a lot of new releases. The focus was the paring down of my absurdly large "to read" list.

The question that remains is what do I read for my last book of the year? It doesn't have to be something stunning or monumental, but I'm drawing a complete blank, even on the type of book I want to tackle. Anyone have a suggestion or recommendation that you enjoyed this year?

Perfect Example

Three years ago, during a visit to Golden Apple Comics, I discovered the work of John Porcellno. Porcellino has been quietly self-publishing an autobiographical zine called King Cat Comics since 1989. I've been lucky enough to get hold of a few single issues of King Cat and they have always been a delight. Now I've been reading little bits of the hefty collected King Cat Classix each night.

Porcellino's art is almost unbelievably spare, just line drawings with no shading. His text, especially in the recent years since he's started to study Zen Buddhism, is equally simple. But together, the effect is revelatory.

Porcellino has become a master at capturing the small moments that truly make up our lives, the seemingly inconsequential thoughts that flow constantly beneath the mind's surface. He makes present the precious things we forget so easily; the immense quiet of the desert night, freaking out over a moth fluttering around bedroom, the strange sense of our dreams.

Reading his work always make me wonder, how can I better understand my life? Or more importantly, how can I better remember to accept it? Inspired by the Top 40 feature in King Cat, I've written out a quick Top 12 for the last couple of weeks.

If you happen to see Porcellino's books, especially Perfect Example or Diary of a Mosquito Abatement Man, please give them a try. This isn't just for those of you who like comics. This is for absolutely everyone.

Stories to come.

So as some of you may know, I am an absolute Harry Potter Freak and I am fairly quaking in my boots waiting for both The  Deathly Hallows and the new movie to come out. Seriously excited here, folks. Every time I walk into a bookstore with a Harry Potter display I am instantly drawn to it, like a paper clip to the world's biggest magnet. Even if it's a display I've already looked at before. It's silly.

Some of you also may know that one of my other literary series loves is His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman's trilogy about souls, war, religion, daemons, worlds upon worlds and oh my god, these books hold SO much that I can't even begin to discuss them. There was a time when I bugged everyone I knew to read these books. Those of you who succumbed were richly rewarded, I hope. These books are also slotted into the "young adult fantasy" genre

And now it looks like a movie based on The Golden Compass is coming out this December. And I sincerely hope this is well done, although I have my doubts. There's just way too much to mess up - the bear warriors, the daemons themselves. The site for the movie is interesting though, if only for the detail about an item in the book called the Alethiometer. We will see what happens.

Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

One day during senior English class in high school our teacher went around the room and had us each tell what we were currently reading. This is an excellent time-waster, and I would certainly employ it on a day when I was too distracted or fed up to lecture.

During my turn I talked about the fantastic Kurt Vonnegut novels I'd read lately: Cat's Cradle and Player Piano. I think the teacher's response was somewhere along the lines of "Yes, science fiction is so popular and some good books are coming out of that genre." I seethed quietly all the rest of the period.

Vonnegut was an outstanding writer with an amazing mind and outlook on modern life. So much more than just a science fiction writer. If you're looking for a new book to read, pick up his older short stories collection, Welcome to the Monkey House, and take your pick of the titles in there. Some of those stories will really make you think, and will stick with you, as they've remained with me, for years and years.

I only realized four years ago that Chilly Willy is a penguin.

So apparently Penguin Books did this thing a few months ago called My Penguin, where they released 6 of their classics with blank covers. The book purchaser has free reign over what their own copy looks like. I enjoy this, and have lots of ideas for what I'd do to customize my books. I'd populate the covers of Grimms' Magic Tales with every character mentioned within. Then picture Emma in eight or nine comic panels (maybe I'd draw most of it and use fabric scraps as accents.) And let me tell you, I'd have Dorian Gray bringing all kinds of sexy back.

But the trouble is, I can't find these books. Not much luck searching "my penguin" . Maybe it's only a British/Canadian thing? If anyone's seen these in person or found any US versions, please do let me know.

Now I'm not looking for absolution.

I never tried to learn anything from reading fiction when I was younger, which is an ironic lapse for an eventual English major. I was too literal, never trying to relate to characters that didn't appear, at least on the surface, to be like me. I only skimmed the surface of tales that enumerated the fallacies of the gods. I didn't try hard enough to understand that the adventures of a boy along the Mississippi were meant to expose ignorance and injustice. I didn't live in the close fog of an English moor; I couldn't appreciate the volatility of unexpurgated passions.

But then the sententious cynicism of a sixteen year old boy in early 50's New York became the world that I could relate to more than anything I'd ever read and, from then on, I could always find a quality, situation or feeling in every story that I could relate to distinctively.

My sister and I have been reading a fantastic graphic novel, Gene Yang's American Born Chinese, together and it has been such a rewarding experience. Pleasing and expressive artwork and the most genuine storytelling propel this story, told in three separate and eventually intertwined parts. And this book has made me do a mountain of thinking; so much more than I expected. Thinking, of course, about what it is to be Asian and American, and both. But also thinking about what it is to be yourself and about how you interact with others.

I've thought a lot about developing conversations and relationships. About how, when you're very small, you're so selfish! You don't want to share things and it's so hard to see from another's perspective. Then you learn to see the bigger picture, and the different ties you form and sever begin to shape you. The book made me think about how you deal with these ties and how openness to improvement in this realm should be something you never stop giving the utmost consideration to. I'm starting to reach a point in my life where I want to try to be less selfish. I want to be nice to people not because they're nice to me or because I can get something out of it, but because it's the good thing to do. I want to be less dismissive, more respectful of differences and of the fine lines that hold us apart. And the ones that keep us together.

Everyone's singing this song:Walking in My Shoes - Depeche Mode

Crater Lake

Since I'm going to be gone all next week I felt like a real jerkus maximus for backing out of an SF visit I'd planned. I was regretful too; Operation Asleep By Eleven was my top priority, but after a long Friday and Saturday at work I was feeling a tad bluesy. So it was awesome to the power of awesome that Ben came down to surprise me yesterday, ready to watch some Pythons and kindly bearing some kickass presents: KFC ("panacea dirty south style") and Louise Gluck's Averno.

Huge sigh of contentedness! I have been anticipating this book for so long, but in the recent confusion had forgotten to procure it. I'm kicking myself now because it is absolutely taking my breath away. There is no modern poet whose words I relate to as instantly and completely as Gluck's. Because of this I always have insanely high expectations of her poetry; yet I am never disappointed. I'm working through the book again, but, after a first read, I truly think this might be her best work to date. The last few months I couldn't explain my own circumstances to myself. Now I open this book and read my own dark and hidden thoughts in it. I woke up at 3:30 (my witching hour) and my eyes fell on the words:

I have been lost before, I have been cold before.
The night has come to me
exactly this way, as a premonition---

I was abuzz with thoughtful pleasure all day in the afterglow of this book.

Louise Glück is my own personal Jesus.

Oh, I'm terribly excited! I was browsing Amazon tonight and I saw that Louise Glück's next book of poems will be published in February of next year. She is by far my favorite poet and her work means so much to me. Unspeakably much. Indescribably much. And it's been SO long since she's put a book out. Her last collection, The Seven Ages, was published in 2002. There was a marvelous chapbook that came out last year, but that only fueled the fire.  The new book weaves her usual autobiographical poems with  the story of Persephone. I absolutely can't wait.

Book Review September 02 '05

Mind Wide Open

When I moved in March I left nearly all of my books at home. I took a dozen with me, that was all.

Then when I was back at the end of June I packed up a few more and now I have about six or seven shelves full. But it's still not enough, and I always get caught up looking through all my books when I'm at my parent's house.

It's rather embarrasing, because there are so many books here that I haven't had time to read yet. At the same time I always love doing it because it inspires the desire to read.

The insatiable need to learn, to read, to absorb culture and stories and knowledge is so fulfilling to me, like a cup of warm fragant tea on a cold night. Actually studying the material brings its own rewards, but the feeling of wanting to take in as much as you can, the desire to read and to learn is, in and of itself, something that brings wonder.

On this weekend I've settled down with an old college textbook on Eastern World Religions, which is ever so much more fascinating now that I don't have to read it. And my study of it has made me want to look at maps and find out more about Indian and other Asian history, and I am excited about it, restless in a good way, hungry for more.  How wonderful knowledge is.

Book Review July 26 '05

Reading Project, Blast Off

So when I was visiting with Caroline on Saturday we started talking about books we'd been reading lately after I spotted a copy of Survival of the Prettiest on her coffee table. Unfortunately, the books I've been reading lately = pretty much nothing, and I felt really sad about it. It's so awful; I actually told Judy a couple of weeks ago that I was getting stupid from watching so much t.v., but I hadn't made any attempts to change my habits. My brain is definitely at a nadir.

Everything's going to get turned around, though. Yesterday I finally finished Shadow Divers, and it was SO incredibly awesome to have my brain stimulated by something that didn't involve either the Food Network, Robot Chicken or a C-list celebrity that it's renewed my literary desires (no offense to Robot Chicken, of course.)  I'm committing myself to reading a book a week. That isn't much compared to how much I used to read, but I do want to set a realistic goal here. I'm going to keep myself on task by reviewing my reads here, and I've also decided that poetry and graphic novels can't count towards my weekly reading count. I'm way overdue taking this type of action. And I'm very excited about it.

Shadow Divers, the true story of deep sea wreck divers who, over the course of several years, uncover the mystery of a U-boat at the bottom of the Atlantic, was utterly incredible. It drew me in immediately and completely and made me feel not only like I knew every person involved, but like I was actually at each and every dive, feeling the overwhelming emotions the divers must have experienced. I learned a ton about the sport of wreck diving and a good deal about WWII history and U-boat history, too. It's an amazing story, expertly told. It gets a solid 90/100.

Seasons

I usually post snippets of my favorite things that I am reading in my "quote of the week" column on the right. But sometimes something is too lovely to be edited. Such is the case with this poem by Pablo Neruda:

"Love"

Because of you, in gardens
of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the        
parks, the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten        
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory        
of you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy        
walls. I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in        
every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects. 

      

--from Passions and Impressions

Like most Neruda it is melancholy but beautiful; perhaps beautiful because it is so sad. The imagery is haunting and gorgeous, deeply moving because of the perfect balance of simple statement and complex feeling.

Every once in a while I implore people to try poetry, to seek it out, to give it a chance. Poetry, read for pleasure, never has to be hard or confusing or boring. Poetry is what we want it to be and will do what we wish it to do for us. It should be easy to understand because it is how the heart thinks. Happy reading.

Ever After

Fairy tales are a hobby of mine. I've loved them as long as I can remember and I devoured every one I could find as soon as I could read on my own. Over the years I've studied the Grimm brother's works, Hans Christian Andersen, Andrew Lang's colored fairy books and on and on. I've enjoyed numerous retellings of my favorite stories, including both of Robin McKinley's versions of Beauty and the Beast and this hobby has also led me to fascinating readings in mythology and cultural and sociological studies.

I'm not discriminating about what I read before bedtime, as long as it's something. Usually whatever I read does not influence my sleeping thoughts; not even the books about Ted Bundy or Jack the Ripper. But the fairy tales do. I've had all sorts of strange and sad and outlandish dreams lately, which really makes me think about how fairy tales stretch and stray from our understanding of the real world, and also how close fairy tales strike to the heart of our fears.

One of the most common fears, recurring again and again is the desolation of being alone in the world without your mother. Think about it: Cinderella, Snow White, Hansel and Gretel, Rapunzel; these stories and many more shows how hard life can be when you don't have your mother to help you.

That's why, even though I wouldn't mind magic and fancy gowns, dancing and a guaranteed happy ending, I'm glad my life is not a fairy tale. I miss my mom, but I know she is there for me. I think that today is even more important for children than it is for mother's. It reminds us of what we have. In that spirit, Happy Mother's Day, everyone.

All Rise

Wow, have I really lost it. I forgot that I had jury duty starting this week! I just called right now and the court recording told me that I did not have to report for duty tomorrow. I can only assume, and hope, that I didn't have to report today either. Oops.

It's ironic that I should've forgotten because I have been anticipating this week, and being called in and possibly serving as a juror on a case, for months now. My addiction to American Justice and City Confidential have me thinking that I'm some sort of Sherlock Holmes clone or something. Yeah, me and about 10 million other people. As Kate would say, "Good job, Ghostwriter." I've only gotten called to jury duty once before and I never served on a case. I don't know what I think it's gonna be like; probably the People's Court complete with the Honorable Judge Marilyn Milian. Or better yet, Judge Wapner. In reality I'd probable get stuck with some dull robbery case with racist and illiterate fellow jurors. Nevertheless, powers that be, I think there should be professional jurors. I personally would enjoy this job.

My forgetting though, is even more ironic because I've been obsessively reading and watching crime shows and books for the past week. I'm like a vortex of criminal knowledge. I finished Michael Baden's Confessions of A Medical Examiner and ran out today to get an Ann Rule book, a book about an elite homicide investigation unit of the LAPD and Gregg O. McCrary's The Unknown Darkness: Profiling the Predators Among Us. I've also been watching my CSI Season Four dvds as if they contained the secret to eternal life. As morbidly entertaining as it has all been I find myself unreasonably paranoid and jumpy as a result. Hm, definitely a bad attitude to go into jury duty with.

Art is Hard

I can't remember the last time I wasn't reading a book or getting into a new cd or band, but this seems like an especially fruitful time where entertainment is concerned. I have entertainment in abundance. A cornucopia of fun, if you will.

Music: I am absolutely loving the Autumdivers debut cd. I had never heard of them before and I still am not seeing much press about them at all, but their cd just happened to be on one of the Virgin Megastore listening stations, and the rest is history. It is truly beautiful music; music you can really feel. The kind of music that makes me wonder if it came out of my subconscious. It makes me glad and sad to be human. Very bitersweet.

I'm also excited to explore the cds that I just got at Amoeba: the first Embrace album, a really bizarre Sufjan Stevens album, the new Blue Nile, an old Beulah cd and The Future Soundtrack of America. An album with Death Cab for Cutie, R.E.M, the Flaming Lips, Bright Eyes and Elliott Smith that goes towards progressive non-profit organizations? Count me in!

Books: Some of you remember that I've been dying to read Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell and now that it's finally out I plan on attacking it with a vengeance. If only it wasn't so damned slow for me. It's not boring at all. But at the pace that I'm reading a snail could cross the Atlantic twice before I finish it.

I'm still plodding away at McCarthy's Bar and having a great time while I'm at it. Can't fault a book that has a pub story every five pages.

Next, I'm planning to start in on The Essential Rumi, and wet my feet with Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man before I begin Ulysses. I can't wait.

What tops everything at the moment though is that next Monday is the season premiere of Everwood. Scott Wolf comes on board as a new doctor. Anne Heche plays Dr. Brown's new love interest. We might find out what the hell happened to Ephram and Madison's baby. Sweet.