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

A Box Full of Sin, Sunday Stories, and a Lizard Invasion

I'm going to alter the date to make it look as if this was posted on Sunday, although it's really Monday. I'm sneaky that way.

First things first. In the Oh.My.Gosh. category, this box full of chocolate arrived from Nikki in Italy, Saturday afternoon:

Thank you, Nikki!!!!! Only one item was slightly melty, thanks to the fact that the postman walked the box to our doorstep. That would be the slightly mushed-looking KinderEgg on the left, which let me know with a quick sag that it was in need of a chilling. Hubby helpfully marched the box straight to the fridge. The days of chocolate puddles are coming, but not yet here. Good timing, eh?

I was in a hurry to photograph everything before I lost the sunlight, though, and look what I did: plunked the eggs on the grass upside-down. Ah, well. You get the idea.

For Sunday Indulgence, I read bits of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Murikami, Life Class by Pat Barker, and The Last Single Woman in America by Cindy Guidry (which is so offensive that I'm tempted to ditch it). I also managed to squeeze in two short stories:

*Warning* I don't give away the endings in the following summaries, but skip both if you plan to read the stories soon, as they may contain spoilers.

Oddy and Id - from Virtual Unrealities: The Short Fiction of Alfred Bester. Set in a far distant future, the story describes the strange life of Odysseus Gaul, who was so named "in honor of Papa's favorite hero, and over Mama's desperate objections." In spite of frequently throwing himself in harm's way, Oddy is spared repeatedly by phenomenal good luck. Encouraged by all who know him, a turn comes when one of his college professors, while checking over Oddy's lab work, discovers that Oddy is not just lucky -- he's the opposite of accident-prone: he's good-luck prone. The impossible occurs simply by way of Oddy's desire for it to happen. Aware of Oddy's ability to effect events by mere desire, a group of professors set out to ensure that Oddy is taught in way that will cause him to absorb the best of morals. Imminent war, they reason, will then be prevented by ensuring Oddy's yearning for peace; and, only good will come of his natural ability. Unfortunately, there's more to Oddy's special talent than meets the eye.

Well, gosh. I heart Bester. It was seriously tempted to just toss everything else aside and keep chugging through Bester's short stories, but I kind of like reading short stories by different authors on Sunday, so I think I'll continue to hold back.

13 Phantasms - from 13 Phantasms and other stories by James P. Blaylock. A man by the name of Landers goes up to explore the attic of his rental house, where the widowed landlord has preserved 4 boxes belonging to her late husband and labeled with the single word, "Astounding". Inside, Landers discovers neatly stacked and well-preserved issues of Astounding Science Fiction from the 1940s. After reading one magazine from cover to cover, Landers merrily fills out an order form for a series of books entitled 13 Phantasms, sticks the first of 6 one-dollar installments in an envelope and mails it, expecting his dollar to disappear. Instead, the books soon arrive with a note -- What, the sender inquires, is the meaning of that 50-star flag on the stamp?

*End spoiler warning*

Like the movie The Lake House, 13 Phantasms is a story of time-traveling mail but with a unique twist. Again, I was tempted to ditch everything else and continue reading Blaylock's short stories, but I stopped myself. We'll see if I last till next Sunday. 13 Phantasms is a recent library-sale purchase. I had no idea what a lucky purchase I'd made!

An interesting aside: I have a sneaking suspicion that I read some Star Trek fan fiction by Blaylock in the 70's; the name sort of rings a bell. Since I only bought one book of Star Trek short stories and I still have it (both boys have claimed it at one point or another), I think it's a safe bet I'm remembering the author's name correctly.

And, the lizard invasion . . . The husband and I pulled into our driveway on Saturday and counted 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5 lizards peeking out from the window shutters on our garage. Yes, of course I ran for the camera.


Coming up: A review of Persuasion by Jane Austen. But, we have a storm headed our way, so don't hold your breath.

Blogger funkiness: I'm currently unable to update my sidebar layout because of Blogger Gremlins. So, apologies in advance if the book covers don't change in sync with my reading, for a time. I know from experience that these things usually clear up within a week or two; hopefully, the problem won't last long.

Happy "Oops, it's Really Monday" from Bookfool

Sunday Salon Goes Splat

Well, hmm. Not a great start to joining in on the Sunday Salon. I did read a tiny bit on Sunday, but it wasn't quite what I'd hoped for. And, I didn't have the energy to write up a Sunday Salon post on what little I read, after getting a late start on our return home because extra lane timers were needed at the state swim meet in Laurel, MS. We had a pleasant weekend and volunteering as a lane timer means the excitement of watching great gigantic splashes of water moving toward you, seemingly in slow motion. What fun when they reach you! Always dress in quick-dry clothing for a swim meet. I also enjoyed all those Tiggers bouncing around in their swimsuits as they mentally prepared for their races.

Back to the immediate topic: It seems I have not succeeded in signing up for the Sunday Salon, although I tried twice, so I'll just do my own Sunday posts until I show up on the list. I'll come up with some decent moniker, next week, if I remain invisible at the official website.

For yesterday's Sunday Salon effort, I read an essay from Granta 67: Women and Children First: "Leonardo's Grave", written by Ian Jack. The title refers to the genuine Nova Scotia grave of a man thought to be one of the Titanic's lost stokers, J. Dawson, who may have been fictionalized in the movie Titanic (James Cameron says the naming was a coincidence and Titanic experts claim the J. Dawson buried in Halifax was an artist by the name of Joseph, not a stoker named Jack) and became a bit of a romantic hero in the form of Leonardo DiCaprio. Author Jack talks about the movie Titanic, what was real and what was fictionalized and how the facts became distorted even at the time of the sinking.

*Note: I've updated this post because I didn't have the Granta beside me while writing it and have altered it to reflect some screw-ups on my part. I'm sure there are more that I've missed. Thanks to Chris and Tammy for some explanation.*

My favorite part was his declaration that James Cameron took a tale of male heroics during a time of tragedy and turned it into a romantic story with a girl-power ending. That actually made me laugh because I'm not a fan of the movie and, although I'd always thought the scenery was set beautifully inside and out (it was lovely to actually feel as if one was seeing inside the steam liner in full color) my personal opinion was that the storyline was quite a joke. I loved the way the author explained the job of a fire stoker, the back-breaking time spent shoveling coal and being scorched in front of a burning furnace . . . and how little time that would have left such a fellow to teach a lady how to spit. The author noted that the Newfoundland Halifax, Nova Scotia grave of the real-life J. Dawson, two years post-movie, was still decorated with numerous flowers, notes and keys (because the fictional Jack Dawson was handcuffed and nearly drowned as the water was rising -- then, of course, Rose saved the day). He also nattered on about Wallace Hartley, one of the band members considered a hero for continuing to play on as the ship sank. This particular issue of Granta was released in 1999 and I purchased it at the local library sale, last week. I paid a quarter for it -- my favorite price.

I chose that issue of Granta specifically because of "Leonardo's Grave". I've just recently finished Walter Lord's classic story of the sinking of the Titanic, A Night to Remember, and Lord's follow-up book, written after the Titanic's discovery by Dr. Robert Ballard, et al., The Night Lives On, neither of which I've reviewed because of the tragic loss of my calendar. Okay, maybe not tragic but it's definitely disheartening. Both were enjoyable reads and I believe I'll just skip the reviewing, apart from saying that the latter is simply an update of what's been learned since the 1955 classic's publication and I consider both books worth reading although A Night to Remember is the better of the two. Anyway, "Leonardo's Grave" continued my recent Titanic-themed reading and it nicely rounded off that particular reading theme. I do believe I've finished with the Titanic, for now.

Other reading on Sunday: a tiny bit of Persuasion by Jane Austen. Of the works I've read by Jane Austen, Persuasion is the first that I've found not particularly compelling. The characters are a bit wooden and the writing itself somewhat convoluted. Usually, I have no trouble at all reading Jane Austen, but Persuasion was published posthumously and I have to wonder . . . did the editor die, also? Because someone needed to take a red pen to that book. I'll carry on and hope that the reading improves.

It's sunny outside, so I need to get going. Although the husband packed my camera, I didn't take a single photo this weekend, apart from one snap of the way people parked at the swim meet. More on that, later. The camera didn't come out of the bag, the rest of the time, because it was dark, dreary, rainy and cold in Laurel. There simply wasn't anything worth photographing until the drive home, when we saw a beautiful kestrel perched on a line parallel to the highway. The highway had no shoulders and, anyhow, my camera was buried in the trunk, so I wasn't able to photograph him. But, kiddo and I both said, "Cooooool." You'll just have to trust us -- he was cool.

Since several people on one of my book listservs have been downed by the flu, I wish all of you well and hope you're not among those filling out the brown bits in the CDC's flu map. Apparently, this year's flu is rampant and debilitating. We've been unaffected, so far. Stay well, everyone!

Bookfool, knocking wood