Surprisingly Inconsistent Sunday, Including Bookfool's Entry into The 21st Century

Hi Everybody!!

First things first. Before I babble, I must share a lizard pic because it's been too long since you've gotten any lizard love from my blog and that's just wrong:

All together, now. Awww, so cute! We also have a huge, hairy spider hanging out at our house, but I didn't think you guys would appreciate him.

Second . . . good news! Thanks to Trish's wonderful post (I have no earthly idea how I found that post, in the first place, but it sure helped), I have finally figured out Google Reader!!! Bookfool has entered the 21st Century!! Squeee! Many thanks, Trish! Now, if I can just catch up with all those posts. There were two problems with the process of adding everyone currently on my blog roll (plus a few extra blogs I happened across whilst bopping around the blog world) to my Google Reader:

a.) I had to really fight my urge to stop and read every post as I loaded, and

b.) I ended up with 634 entries to read.

c.) Yikes. Look at (b). That's scary.

Third, although this really should be first, simply because it's been a few days: A squillion thanks to Care of Care's Online Book Club for bestowing this bit of bloggy coolness upon my little self:

Since I think everyone who visits my blog is cool, I'm going to be lame (again) and not pass this on to any specific people. You're all automatically inducted. There. Isn't that cool? Or, rather, kool. No, let's go with "cool".

Bookish quote moment:

The summer of 1997, Hale-Bopp rode the sky above Hollyburn Mountain every night for weeks on end. Sometimes it was buttery and weak, and sometimes it looked like felt cut with blunt kindergarten scissors -- but not once did I ever get used to seeing the damn thing up there. It wasn't natural. Nothing in the sky seems natural to me except the sun and the stars. Even the moon, for lack of a better word, is on probation. Why the thing can't just stay full all the time drives me nuts. Crescent? Waxing? Waning? Oh, just make up your mind.

-- from Eleanor Rigby by Douglas Coupland

Sunday Short Story:

I just finished reading "Inside Information" from The Three Button Trick and Other Stories by Nicola Barker. Oh, Lordy, that was a weird little story. Here's a quote:

Martha's embryo was unhappy about its assignment to Martha. Early on, just after conception, it appealed to the higher body responsible for its selection and placement. This caused something of a scandal in the After-Life. The World-Soul was consulted -- a democratic body of pin-pricks of light, an enormous institution -- which came, unusually enough, to a rapid decision.

"Tell the embryo," they said, "hard cheese."

In case you're interested, that is one smart little embryo and he eventually comes up with a clever solution to that troublesome poorly-assigned mother issue.

Because I am one scattered chicky:

Apparently three books at a time is not enough. Is not enough? Are not enough? Oh, help. I'm losing my grasp of grammar. Point being, I happened to be sitting on the futon and therefore away from my little stack of current reads. And, I didn't feel like getting up. So, I began reading a fourth book, which just happened to be nearby: Mozart's Sister by Nancy Moser. Earlier in the month, I attempted to read Mozart's Sister and it just didn't "click" for me. But, this time the book glared at me and then unaccountably and suddenly screamed "Pick me up!!!" And, in a softer voice,"Go ahead, you know you want to . . . " In this manner, the book ended up getting 50 pages of itself read. Amazing how insistent a little book can be. And, this time I'm enjoying it thoroughly. Mozart's Sister is just what it sounds like -- historical fiction about Wolfgang Mozart's equally talented big sis, Nannerl, told in first person.

Dangerous Capitalization Fever:

That High Altitude Leadership review I keep talking about is halfway finished . . . and on hold because the husband is not being cooperative. He claims he's stuck on Hawaii time and (whine, fuss, wail) has The Misery. It should be done by tomorrow, though, or someone's going to get a swift kick back into Central Standard Time. However, it's a little hard not to forgive a man who brought home chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. They are a serious Negotiation For Forgiveness tool.

But, watch out -- chocolate-covered macadamia nuts can be a deadly choking hazard:

I popped one into my mouth, last night, and sucked it right into my windpipe. Fortunately, I just leaned forward and it popped back out or you'd all be putting up memorials to a dearly-departed Bookfool (or maybe not, but you get the point). At the moment that piece of candy lodged in the wrong place, I had this little flash of intuition during which I realized choking would be a very sucky way to die.

Favorite place name to say out loud, repeatedly:

Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

Seriously, isn't that just loads of fun to say aloud? I'm not sure if I'm pronouncing it correctly, but I could repeat that name all day. I'm not bored, just goofy.

I have no right to covet books because so many have walked into my house, lately. But, still. My son wanted to go to the bookstore while we were out and about; and, how do you tell a kid, "No, you can't go to the bookstore! No, no!" Well, you don't, especially if you really want to keep the joy of books alive in him. So, I wandered around and found a couple of novels to covet:

Searching for Eternity by Elizabeth Musser and

The Legend of the Firefish by George Bryan Polivka

Has anyone read either of those titles? They both looked interesting for entirely different reasons. Whilst doing a quick search to make sure I wrote down the latter author's name correctly, I happened across this review of The Legend of the Firefish. The words "ripping yarn, full of grace in style and content" just served to reinforce my covetous inner book ninny.

I have forged a path into our spare room, which, upon the husband's irrational decision to completely empty a room and recarpet it while I was away (and then finding out that Home Depot's independently hired room-measuring chick either can't measure or is into fraudulently adding nonexistent square footage, deciding to put down hardwood flooring instead, then discovering the flooring is uneven), became rather a glorified closet. For 10 months we have been unable to set foot inside that room. Even the cat lost interest in exploring after a few perilously perched books came crashing down one day.

In celebration of the newly forged path, I filled two boxes full of VHS tapes and (it's okay; I'll never read them) books to donate to the library's perpetual sale corner. Plus, I can now actually reach some of those books you guys keep recommending. How many times have you heard me say, "I have a copy of that, but it's buried," in recent months? Well, I'm proud to say I don't have to repeat that same stupid comment about every single book in that room, now. Just . . . maybe 25% of them. There's still a part of the room that I can't get to. I suppose that's what I'll work on, this week. It's like hacking your way through a jungle.

And, now, I'm off to bed. Forging a path is hard work. I hope to catch up on blog reading and commenting (at Google Reader!!!), along with the completion of those two reviews that have been languishing in the draft box, this week.

Happy Sunday! Or, Monday. You know, whatever works for you.

Bookfool, Proud Cleaner of Spare Rooms, Forger of Paths, Reader of Fine Books and Discoverer of a New Century