tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46498549465228888532024-03-04T23:01:50.800-08:00Jim Morrison Told MeMy word is bond. You know how I know? 'Cause Jim Fucking Morrison told me, that's why.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-77955858827749019842009-04-05T14:31:00.000-07:002009-04-05T14:46:43.785-07:00Sushi Success!Tom and I have decided that it's often more fun to stay home and cook then to go out. This also helps to save money. We've had wonderful adventures with Irish food (Guinness Pie) and Hungarian (Chicken Parikash and homemade spoetzel) and two exciting experiences with sushi. We inevitably make too much and get sick just from the sheer volume of food eaten, but we are incredibly proud of ourselves. From the first adventure:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheozLYayvhlfNLDfilIeUbUxJK74HKO3TQ1Dp0P07nW-wz2z1tOxvPrn_afENCqnxFK1TRTGRPB7lTAOl50tOHgYWRVSUn1Sy-_HcdiF_O0P4MLoGW_Aw0oDCLhCcPtX-3J7TLdryaVzfY/s1600-h/IMG_0141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheozLYayvhlfNLDfilIeUbUxJK74HKO3TQ1Dp0P07nW-wz2z1tOxvPrn_afENCqnxFK1TRTGRPB7lTAOl50tOHgYWRVSUn1Sy-_HcdiF_O0P4MLoGW_Aw0oDCLhCcPtX-3J7TLdryaVzfY/s320/IMG_0141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321324726739829586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Notice the awesome tempura! We tempura fried shrimp and asparagus. Some of the shrimp ended up in rolls. We also bought fantastic tuna at the farmer's market, as well as asparagus (raw in the rolls), avocado and cucumbers, as well as sesame seeds to roll outside the rice. The real coup was the farm fresh cream cheese we bought. I never knew what a difference there was between the real deal and what you get in the grocery store. There is no comparison. And it was only $1.50 for a huge brick!<br /><br />The green plates are Tom's, but the black are all mine. I finally got to break open the awesome sushi set that my Mom bought me for a Christmas long ago. The second time we made sushi, Lynn was able to join us, which was really just an excuse to make more food.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TVt35EIZMca4_41u8s11nG-1-eQz-5sHzUuSSSuL_wxUR6yu9GxXaFeYX0FxGO3UsQ1uq5CJZctR6jwBmHBJwh9bG6USoKWpK4DWtYBX7lKBQOF6zNh3e6gaoEXAPGDHUCLLGhkt56aH/s1600-h/IMG_0148.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5TVt35EIZMca4_41u8s11nG-1-eQz-5sHzUuSSSuL_wxUR6yu9GxXaFeYX0FxGO3UsQ1uq5CJZctR6jwBmHBJwh9bG6USoKWpK4DWtYBX7lKBQOF6zNh3e6gaoEXAPGDHUCLLGhkt56aH/s320/IMG_0148.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321325882634173842" /></a><br /><br />This time we did tuna and salmon. For some reason, Lynn is a freak who doesn't like shrimp. For shame, woman, for shame. Still, everything was fantastic. We've also learned a lot about how to make the rice and cut the fish, as well as some fun facts about sushi etiquette. How about an action shot?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FscdAJq5RDy64-oxj-MemQdvUqnm2tr_cvNhbY0EKFNTHc5BxHrbRbQemWraVuWAAxTv13E1gUXb2jVHN1vgwpk9H9VX9tAaO26N67KbP-ss3jba8trZpu8MuitxMV9PsMT3cpasP24G/s1600-h/IMG_0139.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FscdAJq5RDy64-oxj-MemQdvUqnm2tr_cvNhbY0EKFNTHc5BxHrbRbQemWraVuWAAxTv13E1gUXb2jVHN1vgwpk9H9VX9tAaO26N67KbP-ss3jba8trZpu8MuitxMV9PsMT3cpasP24G/s320/IMG_0139.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321326627335768402" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-37903158311362895052009-03-05T07:02:00.000-08:002009-03-05T09:47:36.660-08:00King Papers (and Me!) in the News<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejWq3MsNbzR83UKyCGlQurE2cjnHYO3GC1wsop7fkkY2MnAxYKdOw61Sim3Io69vBSYfEyt6ZKKSWK8UkpOfOn-h0aI2TUwsD1CQ4LkXywip29w4-uD-qSnbWJmoigY41Is34xqBvKYFH/s1600-h/MLK.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 129px; height: 86px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejWq3MsNbzR83UKyCGlQurE2cjnHYO3GC1wsop7fkkY2MnAxYKdOw61Sim3Io69vBSYfEyt6ZKKSWK8UkpOfOn-h0aI2TUwsD1CQ4LkXywip29w4-uD-qSnbWJmoigY41Is34xqBvKYFH/s320/MLK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309719780352295378" border="0" /></a><br />I'm actually well-quoted in this story about the King Papers and the city of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Montgomery</span>. Still waiting for a video link, but <a href="http://www.wsfa.com/Global/story.asp?S=9949801">this</a> is a transcription.<br /><br />(Like always, I have jacked that photo off the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Internet</span>. Stolen from <a href="http://www.socialcapitalinc.org/">SCI Social Capital Inc.</a>, which seems to be a good organization full of well-meaning people. Seriously, they are all about improving our communities, so they probably won't sue for me taking their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">MLK</span> image off their site. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Holla</span>!)<br /><br />UPDATE: The video link is on the page and I look ghastly! In my defense, I rolled out of the rack and straight into my car to get to work that day. No make-up, no shower. Since I can't be pretty, at least I sound smart.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-79843622113857070602009-03-01T17:07:00.000-08:002009-03-01T17:17:56.426-08:00Really Georgia, really?It snowed all day today. I had to have a stranger help me push my truck when I got stuck in Lynn's parking lot. Because driving was so crappy, I ended up walking a bunch of places and I realized that I have no clothes for this weather. I feel like everything I own (including me) is damp and cold. The snow mostly stuck, and if it's still there tomorrow morning, it means that AUC will close and I don't have to work. Snow day!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EMtidKTcvqEdLAdM2os8uvEVJ0Q_pSWA2jN7gJoZhGvIoZr4T2ciNcaaBzYObwtHVHIjWfNXSGDYRux4TnEs3tv0592ueiKAwQYr2H0UhAgUBqgq5sfBZ5evFJKTkycvB5V88NGXGtxa/s1600-h/IMG_0153.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5EMtidKTcvqEdLAdM2os8uvEVJ0Q_pSWA2jN7gJoZhGvIoZr4T2ciNcaaBzYObwtHVHIjWfNXSGDYRux4TnEs3tv0592ueiKAwQYr2H0UhAgUBqgq5sfBZ5evFJKTkycvB5V88NGXGtxa/s320/IMG_0153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308391607354466034" border="0" /></a>As of this writing, it looks like a lot of the snow has already melted. Yesterday, it was 64 and I had all of my windows open. I walked somewhere and had to take off my jacket because it was too hot. This is the parking lot of my apartment building. My place is actually on the right. I love it, but in this weather the parking lot is ridiculous to navigate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaL8M5w4GkSy0N2zbZYw9z34Al38UkN2s4WKmPG83PA-tSHe2P2grBb5HEPqxU1rX_hbycKcANwRznXcwMtfGkFhRRqUBvZTynFv6z357Nbl-R3e3zF3M1egS5AWGdG3I0P9oURrwUjNrU/s1600-h/IMG_0154.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaL8M5w4GkSy0N2zbZYw9z34Al38UkN2s4WKmPG83PA-tSHe2P2grBb5HEPqxU1rX_hbycKcANwRznXcwMtfGkFhRRqUBvZTynFv6z357Nbl-R3e3zF3M1egS5AWGdG3I0P9oURrwUjNrU/s320/IMG_0154.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308391832323549234" border="0" /></a><br />This is why a truck is a pain in the ass in the snow. All it is is empty space that collects weight. That's about two inches of snow by 4 o'clock today. And I'd been out and about most of the late morning/early afternoon, so it's not as much as actually fell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6evXQZBGX-GXK5-Rtshyd47-7xAWp9eGNHVjau8L_NTEAAZKgSjyS2Q3Mtykj8QGCxkxBGfj8vrb_svuq7RZqJyH_vV030rR8Lvl2YqZUtvLrjZwgtEgm1hOuS8LntV17C_X_FuV_gb6/s1600-h/IMG_0155.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6evXQZBGX-GXK5-Rtshyd47-7xAWp9eGNHVjau8L_NTEAAZKgSjyS2Q3Mtykj8QGCxkxBGfj8vrb_svuq7RZqJyH_vV030rR8Lvl2YqZUtvLrjZwgtEgm1hOuS8LntV17C_X_FuV_gb6/s320/IMG_0155.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308391990868266882" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-22782998813297946492009-02-28T13:59:00.000-08:002009-02-28T14:29:02.321-08:00Book 11: The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKYpr4cDTR0GeN1DcjHgaPRVjE4UbBL6vTEouRK8fWE9JZtUe9B3-ocA9AblvtI9vuhTeMkCMVlOQcLSM0pYv5WMvkh2wLdv5_FSyTkLTtCUMm1Bo6cZ-xZBeW2cYZAPmhy2Fmue5cmYW/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 117px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKYpr4cDTR0GeN1DcjHgaPRVjE4UbBL6vTEouRK8fWE9JZtUe9B3-ocA9AblvtI9vuhTeMkCMVlOQcLSM0pYv5WMvkh2wLdv5_FSyTkLTtCUMm1Bo6cZ-xZBeW2cYZAPmhy2Fmue5cmYW/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307971485720969970" border="0" /></a><br />I am having some fundamental problems with the Cannonball Read. One, I keep accidentally reading books that are under 200 pages, and therefore do not qualify. Two, I am lazy and keep not postin reviews. I have several in the queue that I will try and put up more regularly. Three, is that when I am not reading books that are under 200 pages, I am reading books that are over 500, and they take a minute to finish, especially when you read two or three of them at once.<br /><br />But the hardest problem for me has been that I am an inveterate re-reader. I <span style="font-style: italic;">constantly</span> have the overwhelming urge to reread books in between new books; it's a palate cleanser for the brain. For instance, after reading <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Tiger</span>, I caught the last 30 minutes of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Godfather</span> on TV and then spent four days rereading the vastly superior novel. I can't help myself. Other rereading favorites are anything by Clive Barker, <span style="font-style: italic;">Moby Dick</span>, Chandler and Hammett, Prisco's loathed <span style="font-style: italic;">The Hellfire Club</span> and, for an unknown reason, <span style="font-style: italic;">9 1/2 Weeks</span>. Sue me.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />Since adding my anme to the ranks of the Cannonballers, I've reread at least 10 books, and am knee-deep in whale blubber and revenge fantasies as we speak. Luckily, the hunt for the white whale is easily left and returned too; that's one of the reasons that I love it. True story: in 10th grade I wona prize for writing a paper about homosexuality in <span style="font-style: italic;">Moby Dick</span>. Melville didn't title a chapter "Squeezing Sperm" for nothing.<br /><br />As for <span style="font-style: italic;">The White Tiger</span>, it's fucking great. The titular character, also known as Balram Halwai and Munna, is an entrpreneur in Bangalore. After hearing that the Premier of China is coming to India to discuss industry, he feels the need to write His Excellency and tell not only the truth about his own nefarious past as well as the truth of India's present, which can be summed up in one recurring phrase, "What a fucking joke."<br /><br />Balram's story is an easy one: he is born in a small, crappy town into a large, crappy family. His education, where he actually shows promise and earns the nickname "white tiger", is cut short so that he can work. When his older brother is sent to Delhi to earn enough for a wedding, Balram goes along and begs his way into driving lessons. Eventually he is hired as a driver for a wealthy and important family with roots in his own home town. Balram soon becomes the driver for one of the sons of the family, who has been Westernized by years spent in America, and even has a gauche, Christian wife. Balram loves and despises his master; he is old-school Indian and can't understand when his master rejects the fealty that Balram demonstrates, including a willingness to confess to a killing committed by his master's wife. Soon after this event, the wife leaves, the husband spirals into self-loathing, and Balram eventually murders him for money and a new chance at life in Bangalore.<br /><br />Balram does this because he knows that his master and his family are corupt. They bribe government officials so that they can continue to exploit the natural resources and people of Indian. Corruption is somehting that all Indians seem to be familiar with and to accept as an everyday part of life. What separates Balram is that he questions why he should not be in the rank of the corrupt, rather than serving at their feet. He sees his chance and takes it, despite knowing that if he is caught, he will die, and that no matter what happens to him, his family will likely be tortured for information that they do not have.<br /><br />Balram is pretty much a monster, but he's a funny monster. Humor is really what elevates the novel from being another poor-man-driven-to-crime story, into a scathing criticism of Indian government, society, and Hindu religion from the perspective of an equally corrupt, but imminently likeable narrator. Balram may be a bastard, but he is loveable. Passing a sign in Bangalore, he reads:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"HOW BIG CAN YOU THINK?<br /><br />I held my hands off the wheel and held them wider than an elephant's cock.<br /><br />'<span style="font-style: italic;">That</span> big, sister-fucker!'"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Now, what's not to love?<br /></div></div>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-46512285733574158312009-02-03T12:03:00.000-08:002009-02-03T12:05:18.280-08:00You look so good, I raw you hoe.As in, "What we need a rubber for?" Surely, this is a sign of the Apocalypse.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ob4DmOU0L4c&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ob4DmOU0L4c&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-44910049526878107062009-02-01T17:33:00.000-08:002009-02-01T18:14:24.087-08:00Book 10: Fatal Vision by Joe McGinniss<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0syTz1QSXhW8ENWhv86ASmbLocNVB65axZDu67A9-Y2G-btzXOwo5-ThjJrmufL11qfW4BVb2nSJWp5QB5S4E0JDAtEo_R_0NxY8n0-thZIUgbA4aJdrDWdu9jOyCR3GOqX_eHIKkYjk/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 83px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0syTz1QSXhW8ENWhv86ASmbLocNVB65axZDu67A9-Y2G-btzXOwo5-ThjJrmufL11qfW4BVb2nSJWp5QB5S4E0JDAtEo_R_0NxY8n0-thZIUgbA4aJdrDWdu9jOyCR3GOqX_eHIKkYjk/s320/images.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298007315160944002" border="0" /></a> Do not trust this man.<br /><br />I can't imagine a time when people believed that Jeffrey MacDonald didn't kill his wife and children. In ealry 1970 Fort Bragg military personnel answered an emergency call at the home of Dr. MacDonald, a Green Beret surgeon. The MPs found an injured MacDonald and three corpses. His pregnant wife and two daughters, 5 and 2, had all been bludgeoned and stabbed multiple times. MacDonald's injuries were not life-threatening.<br /><br />MacDonald claimed that four "hippies" had broken in, attacked him, and killed his family. "Pigs" was written in blood on the headboard of his bed. Only 6 months after the Manson family murders of Sharon Tate and her friends, MacDonald's story threw Fort Bragg and the neighboring community of Fayetville into a panic that lasted months. The investigation of the physical evidence was seriously bungled by military investigators and it took another 6 months for the team handling the case to look at MacDonald as a suspect.<br /><br />Nearly a decade after their deaths MacDonald hired journalist Joe McGinniss to chronicle his murder trial, as well as his life up to that point. With complete access to MacDonald, the closed courtroom trial and all of the documents of the defense, McGinniss quickly became convinced that the well-respected doctor was guilty.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fatal Vision</span> is a chilling read not only because McGinniss is brilliant at building tension, but also because MacDonald is so clearly guilty. It was only about 30 pages in that I thought "That motherfucker killed them." The physical evidence is staggering, but MacDonald dug his own grave by being, in turn, cold, violent, sarcastic andso egomanical that it's hard to believe that he wasn't a suspect from Day One.<br /><br />It is sobering to read an account of a crime committed before<span style="font-style: italic;"></span> DNA testing and the explosion of forensic science in American popular culture. I cringed at the mistakes made by investigators; a single episode of <span style="font-style: italic;">CSI</span> has taught me enough to know that 20 people should not run in and out of a crime scene, that garbage should not be taken away, and that investigative personnel should not be using the phone or the toilet inside a house full of physical evidence.<br /><br />With hindsight, MacDonald's story was completely ridiculous. I do understand that it would have been a lot easier for people, especially for military personnel, to believe in roving bands of murderous hippies, in 1970. Now we know enough about the drug culutre of that era to realize that the Manson family murders owed much more the Manson's personal magnetism and control over weak minds, not to drug use. The LSD counterculture (MacDonald claimed that the assailants chanted "Acid id groovy") is practically quaint in the spectre of the heroin and crack industries.<br /><br />MacDonald, serving threee life sentences, refuses to waver from his story. He has always manitained his innocence, and his continuing self-promotion is disgusting. McGinniss was a clever enough writer to let MacDonald hang himself in the book, by interspersing long passages of transcripted stories from MacDonald, with accounts of the crime and subsequent trials. MacDonald comes off as a sociopath and liar, hundreds of pages before court testimony, letters and diaries reveal that even his accounts of dating in high school are almost completely ficticious. All of MacDonald's stories reveal a sad need to always cast himself as a hero living a life full of challanges that he ably meets. He's a classic egomaniac.<br /><br />MacDonald was convicted without the help of <span style="font-style: italic;">Fatal Vision</span>; he specifically hired McGinniss to make him look good. Although McGinniss had insisted on editorial priviledge before contracting with MacDonald, he did not tell anyone on the defense that he was convinced MacDonald was guilty. He let them believe, for years, that he was working to clear MacDonald's name; he did this so that his access to the convict and all documents would be continued until the book was finished. After it's publication, MacDonald sued for fraud and after a mistrial and the threat of another law suit McGinniss settled out of court. This relationship is popularly cited as a case of journalistic malfeasance, as exploitative as Capote and Perry Smith.<br /><br />Frankly, I don't care that McGinniss crossed the line with Jeffrey MacDonald. All I care about is that after years of appeals that went all the way to the Supreme Court, MacDonald remains in prison. It's clear that he committed a terrible crime out of anger, but also clear that his is a kind set to snap at any moment. We are all safer with him behind bars. As for McGinniss, his talent trumps the ethical question. We learn, as he learned, that MacDonald is a monster, and he deserves whatever life prison has to offer him.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-11993995725350146652009-01-29T15:52:00.000-08:002009-01-29T16:10:02.959-08:00Truck bought; Sausage adoptedOver Christmas I bought myself a new truck. Observe,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKwANciMwCdGY7b6Tww4leWWBRDAeNrTD47T8xOaTrjHZjazwXH8ePzs-B1-a4XeNHFDgaBnpyHu0XGjwpJBxXmJab4L3FtzegiAFsSc5GaF_zJvBEIqr2QyDzljnLEtoYsyJVB1-9mqJ/s1600-h/IMG_0135.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKwANciMwCdGY7b6Tww4leWWBRDAeNrTD47T8xOaTrjHZjazwXH8ePzs-B1-a4XeNHFDgaBnpyHu0XGjwpJBxXmJab4L3FtzegiAFsSc5GaF_zJvBEIqr2QyDzljnLEtoYsyJVB1-9mqJ/s320/IMG_0135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296868984452897570" border="0" /></a><br />I'm not positive it was the smartest move, financially speaking, but it is so nice to walk out of my house, put a key in the ignition of a vehicle and actually have it turn over. It's been a long time since I had a car that I could rely on and it feels amazing. Of course, I branded it right way...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxyB1isY63LwTF-lKoCvqJ_Dr7P9SeYY0oBGRkJdPbWWdzXNCdO3COOzcHgQL5d9y_L3OeJBb9mDJ32d5OnOyPxvRrccHGi8jNI9d3zaDzlQdav6O778ZwIaM0xkK5jY6O-ecXkOnh6wj/s1600-h/IMG_0134.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxyB1isY63LwTF-lKoCvqJ_Dr7P9SeYY0oBGRkJdPbWWdzXNCdO3COOzcHgQL5d9y_L3OeJBb9mDJ32d5OnOyPxvRrccHGi8jNI9d3zaDzlQdav6O778ZwIaM0xkK5jY6O-ecXkOnh6wj/s320/IMG_0134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296869657041736114" border="0" /></a><br />About a week into January, I adopted a cat from our intern, Karen. She had taken her in off of the street, but found that she couldn't take care of her long-term. They were calling her "DC" for "Damn Cat". I decided that "Dixie" was close enough.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA00Ca4270SfaIYOcEUEJy2iyy3BeVUDZJAcNoocDc1cpL0DudYlb5cmeYzif8j0m8lvWFqBDM5_yNBxf3srW__Qu2EP7b-axoOFkOSrmJlOthMSSSsy6iyTQRi3br0qkG16vuHZI5irh/s1600-h/IMG_0132.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgA00Ca4270SfaIYOcEUEJy2iyy3BeVUDZJAcNoocDc1cpL0DudYlb5cmeYzif8j0m8lvWFqBDM5_yNBxf3srW__Qu2EP7b-axoOFkOSrmJlOthMSSSsy6iyTQRi3br0qkG16vuHZI5irh/s320/IMG_0132.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296870317203008514" border="0" /></a>She's mean as Hell and fat as a little sausage, but sweet too, in that way that cats have of being wonderful companions, yet total dicks at the same time. In fact, right now she is sitting next to me on the couch, watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Homicide</span> while I update my blog. I just tried to pet her and she clawed the shit out of me. The world is normal again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmF1oMkA86I0yCIRYUFWBS3oYEeJPR7DweKogJbm5jZQhsySSdux06SSF411szpDEmRC6f_AfFQGq-g2eoR2S4L9qzOCARZ4In4aQxr3mYx1veUJVblIyA0Y83OHHjVBC_4vz798x7M0n/s1600-h/IMG_0133.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtmF1oMkA86I0yCIRYUFWBS3oYEeJPR7DweKogJbm5jZQhsySSdux06SSF411szpDEmRC6f_AfFQGq-g2eoR2S4L9qzOCARZ4In4aQxr3mYx1veUJVblIyA0Y83OHHjVBC_4vz798x7M0n/s320/IMG_0133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296871268289344418" border="0" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-51378160407564098092009-01-22T11:03:00.000-08:002009-01-22T11:06:48.468-08:00All Hail the Dark Lord<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmh7Mp0VelYiofxCis0a6QzJkBMElzmPHzB7p8_eiv4xr4KUbCUgnUM3JMHGDnTcrwOOGHDcupYbo6LIf2R__lMXIUAcLBvOuP-phUzYlXRGvayyE3SzCA26raUW0e2wGLDFt2BUiT4br/s1600-h/mickey-rourke-for-peta.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmh7Mp0VelYiofxCis0a6QzJkBMElzmPHzB7p8_eiv4xr4KUbCUgnUM3JMHGDnTcrwOOGHDcupYbo6LIf2R__lMXIUAcLBvOuP-phUzYlXRGvayyE3SzCA26raUW0e2wGLDFt2BUiT4br/s320/mickey-rourke-for-peta.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294196102916638322" /></a><br /><br /><br />He's not pretty and he's not nice, but damn it if he isn't one fine actor. Mickey got a Best Actor nod this morning, folks. Hail the Dark Lord, indeed.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-13447606653961566102009-01-17T06:31:00.000-08:002009-01-17T07:01:00.800-08:00Book 9: The Delivery Man by Joe McGinniss, Jr.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9W4yFpd7P8IeULC_G9ZuzgJzjcR04BQfqee_Qe4NrA3GFqTE8m36LKhh_UaF_asfWyIcJCnJVcJo7QOx7p3fLRvxPkB4KBTz9lt-M2MUgg8eAI2KN05hiMhoWaDCHau_l8oYi2tNKP8dl/s1600-h/41lJ9ydNSFL._SL500_.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9W4yFpd7P8IeULC_G9ZuzgJzjcR04BQfqee_Qe4NrA3GFqTE8m36LKhh_UaF_asfWyIcJCnJVcJo7QOx7p3fLRvxPkB4KBTz9lt-M2MUgg8eAI2KN05hiMhoWaDCHau_l8oYi2tNKP8dl/s320/41lJ9ydNSFL._SL500_.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292277783538542018" /></a><br /><br /><br />Chase is a delivery man in Las Vegas. He delivers prostitutes. He picks them up at home or, more often, from the suite at the Palace Hotel, and drives them to other hotels or men's homes. His friends, Bailey and Michele, have rented the suite for the summer, and they pay him to drive Michele, and an increasingly large number of high school girls, to appointments. Chase knows that this is wrong, but he is hamstrung by apathy and the beautiful Michele, who he has known, and maybe loved, since they were children.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Delivery Man</span>, which is Joe McGinniss, Jr.'s debut, is frightfully sparse in language, and rich in character and heartbreak. It's impossible to not compare him to early Brett Easton Ellis; like the characters in <span style="font-style:italic;">Less Than Zero</span> McGinniss's cast is selfish, self-deluded, violent, apathetic, and full to the gills with booze or drugs. His language is pared down and conveys the perfect sense of desolation that is so often heavy-handed in novels about young people frozen in life by bad choices.<br /><br />Chase and his friends are all pathetic. In flash backs we learn that from an early age Michele and Chase's sister Carly were whores. Carly was Bailey's girl back then and he pimped her at a young age as he pimps the twenty-something Michele, and scores of underage girls, now. Carly is absent in the present, but functions as a full character because that absence is the cause of much unexplained tension between Chase and Bailey.<br /><br />Chase is the only person who has ever managed to get out of Vegas and his sad destiny, by making a splash in the local art world, attending NYU on an art scholarship, and meeting the beautiful, intelligent Julia. But Chase could not handle New York, because he is tied to Michele and Las Vegas, so he moves back and teaches art at a local high school and pretends on the phone to Julia that he is still painting and will leave Vegas soon to be with her. He is eventually fired for beating a student, a rich thug whose girlfriend is being pimped by Bailey and Michele, and this confrontation drives the novel toward an unavoidable climax.<br /><br />It is to McGinniss's credit that expected events in the novel, like the reappearance of the thug and the dissolution of his relationship with Julia, still carry a powerful sting. None of his characters are particularly likable, save Julia and Chase's friend Hunter, who manages to do what Chase can not by leaving, but they are compelling. There is a certain glee to be had when bad things happen to these stupid, selfish people. A perfect example is when Julia visits for a black MBA conference, and the vain and oblivious Michele is put in her place after trying to convince several investment bankers that she is involved in Vegas development. It is a delightfully painful scene that rings true, as we all know the joy of seeing a know-it-all and liar shut down. Of course, the biggest moment of Schadenfreude is Chase's fate. Though smart and passionate and talented, Chase deserves his comeuppance because of his inability to <span style="font-style:italic;">just fucking do something</span>. He has options and he wastes them. For this sin, he receives a terrible punishment. True to form, the final line of the novel let's us know that, if nothing else, the bad things that happen to Chase wed him to his fate: finally, he is all in.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-91487398232091316352009-01-14T05:19:00.000-08:002009-01-14T05:26:35.566-08:00Annnnd, it's on!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmib-jTfHUYaZvmESYgvSN_FeQgwuQokWOVCYLEMqhSBjrFxt4ZrgTfOQNkborW-ZQjvgXeJcRRvLcIbn1JI29rU_ciWM-G4XJEgKoQHOPIZUFatpl2MMqALivlBgjxPPMT-KTL62Bcwim/s1600-h/mlkingmug1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmib-jTfHUYaZvmESYgvSN_FeQgwuQokWOVCYLEMqhSBjrFxt4ZrgTfOQNkborW-ZQjvgXeJcRRvLcIbn1JI29rU_ciWM-G4XJEgKoQHOPIZUFatpl2MMqALivlBgjxPPMT-KTL62Bcwim/s320/mlkingmug1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291140196295475746" /></a><br /><br /><br />Yesterday the collection that I've been working on for over a year, the <a href="http://www.auctr.edu/mlkcollection/">Morehouse College Martin Luther King Jr. Collection</a> (no comma, for some reason Morehouse doesn't like it), came open for research. The finding aid is online and we've gotten some nice press from the local paper, the <a href="http://www.ajc.com/metro/content/metro/atlanta/stories/2009/01/13/king_papers_online.html">Atlanta-Journal Constitution</a> and the local NPR affiliate, <a href="http://publicbroadcasting.net/wabe/news.newsmain?action=article&ARTICLE_ID=1457237">WABE</a>. I was particularly happy about the call from WABE. I'm a big NPR nerd and it was cool to answer the phone and hear a reporter's name that I actually know (and like), Odette Yousef.<br /><br />Now if I can just get through the next 9 1/2 months...Anybody need an archivist in October?Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-15373243508182382342009-01-12T14:57:00.000-08:002009-01-12T15:46:52.554-08:00Books 7 and 8: A Red Death and White Butterfly by Walter MosleyAfter reading the first Easy Rawlins mystery (<i>Devil in a Blue Dress</i>) and the last (<i>Blonde Faith</i>) in 2008, I've decided to go back and read through all of the Rawlins novels. <i>A Red Death</i> and <i>White Butterfly</i> are the second and third in that series, and neither disappoints.<br /><br />As you'd expect from Mosely, both novels involve a crime that Easy gets pulled in against his will by a government agent; the IRS/FBI in the former and the LAPD in the later. While putting together the pieces that the cops, white and black alike, can not, Easy drinks, smokes, loves a woman or two and most importantly, associates with the deadly Mouse, his best and most dangerous friend.<br /><br />In ARD, Easy is forced to spy on a suspected Communist organize to avoid prosecution by the IRS. Since the days of DIABD Easy has invested his ill-gotten gains in property all over Watts, and the IRS is both rightfully suspicious and racially motivated to prosecute. In a deal with the FBI, Easy agrees to go under cover at a black church and investigate the organizer. In his personal life, Easy is happy and frightened to find that EttaMae, wife to his friend Mouse and his own lost love, arrive in Los Angeles after leaving Mouse and taking his son, the deliciously names LaMarque.<br /><br />In WB, Easy has found a wife and had a daughter; he is also acting as father to Juan, the abused and mute young boy that he saved in DIABD. This time around there is a serial killer lose in Watts, focusing on young, black party girls, and the LAPD comes to Easy for help in asking around the black clubs that the victims frequent. <br /><br />Both books follow a similar pattern: Easy gets involved; Easy gets drunk; easy gets his heart broken; with Mouse, Easy finds the bad guy and either they, or the cops, put him away for good. What makes the books special within the series is the continued progression of Easy as a character; he moves right along in his development with black America.<br /><br />In both books, Easy is hesitant to get involved in the case not only because he is being strong armed, but also because he doesn't want to get involved. In WB, Easy only agrees to join the case after a white woman is killed, and he feels the guilt of not helping his community until a woman of another color died. And in ARD Easy's eyes are opened by the organizer and he learns that there is more to know about the government that hating it; without knowledge of the world and the system, he can never successfully fight it.<br /><br />As essential in these books is the development of Easy as a man in relationship to women. In DIABD, Easy sleeps with close friend's woman while his friend is passed out in the next room. This is not the man that you meet in last year's <i>Blonde Faith</i>. The later Easy doesn't drink, or cheat or avoid his responsibilities to black folks or Watts. In ARD and WB, Easy is learning how to be a man. The Easy of WB starts off as someone who laughs when his wife accuses him of rape, because he doesn't believe that a man can do that to his wife and that when she says "No", she really means "Yes". By the end of WB, that Easy no longer exists. It's not just that he's been hurt, but that he now sees women as more than possessions and outlets for lust.<br /><br />Despite his flaws (misogyny, drunkenness, and an irresponsibility toward his own children that borders on the criminal), Easy is intensely lovable, as is the evil Mouse. I'd be hard pressed to think of another more compelling duo in modern literature, particularly since the kind of business that Easy and Mouse get up too, whoring, drinking and violence, is so close to my own heart. Beyond that, Mosely's style is irresistible. It's a gumbo of street slang from various eras, country talk (as most of Watts' residents are transplants from Texas or the Deep South), and brilliant insight. There is also plenty of sex and, as I've mentioned on this blog before, Mosely's sex scenes are intense and sweaty and oftentimes the best parts of the books. It is no wonder that in 2008 Mosley also released an erotic novel.<br /><br />To put it briefly, the Easy Rawlins novels are <span style="font-style:italic;">worth your time</span>. They are carefully crafted, intelligent, sexy and compelling and unlike many likable series of detective fiction, the plot of each book is important in the sense that Mosely fits it into a larger period of American history. Spanning two decades in Watts, these books are miniature histories of American blackness. And baby, they are beautiful.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-81462444675500789342009-01-09T10:02:00.000-08:002009-01-09T10:04:06.922-08:00The Best Thing That has Ever Happened to Me<object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vAF2Fi6JNyA&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vAF2Fi6JNyA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />Linda Blair <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> Dean Wormer? My life has been empty up until this point.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-9914153279960218322008-12-21T10:40:00.000-08:002008-12-21T10:49:16.954-08:00Book 6: Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World, Vicki Myron with Bret Witter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1n2zZI09z7sTNnHDhqKCEmEGanJIifPaSInjPU3hicWEBff4zC4Utiv4RbCA3B9x_diDdS6VhX6I5AkovGaX8I4USq1Vhxgqf461MWWKoF952QC2DzaUn0zA7a5RoFlF9vSUzPqa6R78q/s1600-h/SparkleSleeping.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1n2zZI09z7sTNnHDhqKCEmEGanJIifPaSInjPU3hicWEBff4zC4Utiv4RbCA3B9x_diDdS6VhX6I5AkovGaX8I4USq1Vhxgqf461MWWKoF952QC2DzaUn0zA7a5RoFlF9vSUzPqa6R78q/s320/SparkleSleeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282317292189927138" /></a><br /><br /><br />I am unembarrassed to admit that I read, and cherish, the website <a href="http://www.cuteoverload.com">“Cute Overload”</a>. I breeze by “<a href="http://www.icanhascheezburger.com">I Can Has Cheezburger</a>”, “<a href="http://catsinsinks.com/">Cats in Sinks</a>”, “<a href="http://www.mycathatesyou.com/">My Cat Hates You</a>” and various other sites full of adorable animals every few days. I cry at stories about heroic, lost or abused animals and barely made it through a recent visit to the Atlanta Humane Society. I am a sucker for cats, and therefore a sucker for books about cats.<br /><br />I’m also a library employee. I went to what is generally known as “library school”, and although I am not a librarian (I’m an archivist, damn it!), I do work in a library and my field shares the philosophy and code of public service that is at the core of librarianship. For these reasons, it seemed that Vicki Myron’s current bestseller, <span style="font-style:italic;">Dewey</span>, was made for a reader like me. Unfortunately, the sweetness of Dewey’s story is almost completely obliterated by Myron’s style and clumsy philosophizing.<br /><br />Vicki Myron was head of the Spencer (Iowa) Public Library for 25 years. She is the kind of women who values family, public service and has a deep and abiding love for the town of Spencer and the state of Iowa. One cold December morning, the coldest of the year, Myron and another library employee found a tiny orange kitten shoved in the library book drop. The kitten was almost frozen, with frostbite on each paw, and Myron, with the help of her staff, nursed the kitten back to help. They named him Dewey Readmore Books and he became the country’s most famous library cats.<br /><br />Myron’s book is primarily a chronicle of Dewey’s life, focusing on his mannerisms and habits and the ways in which they pleased library staff, patrons and visitors from all over the world. Dewey was clearly a special cat, in that he was extremely good with people, particularly children. I felt myself close to tears at the story of Dewey’s rescue, and only a monster wouldn’t be touched by the story of Crystal, a nonverbal girl without the ability to move her limbs or head, who would squeal with delight when Dewey would jump up on her wheelchair for a puppeted petting and then willingly sleep zipped inside her jacket.<br /><br />Despite these stories, I was annoyed by Myron’s narration. The book is as much about the town of Spencer as it is a bout Dewey; Iowa was in economic crisis when Dewey was found, and his slowly growing fame not only brought the town together, but helped increase tourism to a severely depressed area. However, Myron is ill-equipped for any deep analysis and incapable of seeing beyond the borders of Iowa to the hard times that hit all over the country in the 1980s (my own father lost his contracting business when construction went bad in Texas). Her tone is frequently defensive; Myron seems to think that the rest of the country does nothing but mock Iowa and Middle American values as we swill out martinis and enjoy the unearned good life.<br /><br />The third big story in the book is Myron’s own biography. We learn about her hardscrabble childhood, disastrous marriage, poor relationship with her daughter, and many, many illnesses, including her own breast cancer and cancer in members of her immediate family. At many times these episodes seem like filler; at others they are opportunities to tell other Dewey stories, but they are always also object lessons about the strength and upstanding morality of Iowans.<br /><br />In addition, Myron has a severe case of “Precious Moments” disease when it comes to her own relationship with Dewey. As much time as Dewey would spend with patrons, other library staff, and even her own daughter, Myron is convinced that he really only loved and communicated with her. Last October I lost my own precious kitty to lung cancer. That’s her photo at the top of this post. Her name was Sparkle and I was devastated by the loss.<br /><br />Like Myron, I felt like my relationship with my cats was special, and I wallowed in guilt that I had not noticed (or understood) the early signs of her illness. I completely understand how much an animal can mean to a human and I empathize with Myron, but Myron’s convictions are off-putting. When an elderly Dewey makes his last trip to the vet (it’s not a spoiler; you know from the introduction that this moment will come), she is hurt that Dewey would keep his sickness a secret from her. This is just the most egregious example of Myron attributing human-like qualities to Dewey. It makes her less of a professional relating a history and more of a stereotypical crazy cat-lady librarian. It hurts a story that is both touching and inspirational, set in a time and place that is ripe for more serious analysis.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-62980217326479561392008-12-19T05:50:00.000-08:002008-12-19T05:53:36.487-08:00New Favorite BlogThis past weekend I attended a white elephant party at my friend Julie's house (Yes! I finally have more than four friends in Atlanta!) and she introduced me to the blog <a href="http://trashheaven.blogspot.com/">Trash Heaven</a>. Sweet Minty Jesus, take me home! There's nothing in the world I love more than to read someone hating/celebrating on the white trash of this world. Head on over and support the love/hate.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-19791999724027140632008-12-16T17:22:00.000-08:002008-12-16T17:24:10.379-08:00Book 5: Homecoming<span style="font-style:italic;">Homecoming</span>, from German writer Bernard Schlink, is a treasure. It’s hard to describe how it made me feel. The only way I can explain is that about halfway through book I realized that I did not know the narrator’s name (it’s only given once, but it’s on the back of the book), and I did not care. <br /><br />The novel is the story of Peter Debauer; he is the narrator. It begins with his idyllic summers with his paternal grandparents in Switzerland. Peter has no father to speak of, as he died in the war and no one, not his mother or grandparents, are very forthcoming with details. Peter’s father is not an enormous presence in the first half of the book. He is mentioned, but not a key to the events of Peter’s life. Suddenly Peter’s father becomes an absent character and it becomes clear that the novel is a son’s search, both metaphorical and then physical, for his lost father.<br /><br />Schlink’s prose is practically intoxicating. He describes the minutiae of life, an apple eaten, a book read, an affair begin and ended, in simple, touching terms. Even without remembering his name, I felt like I knew Peter, and I was frequently devastated by the bare emotion on the page. There is a great deal of honesty about the human condition in this novel. For example, when he is left by a lover, Peter describes how well he handles the break up, and how he parlayed it into other affairs, good humor, and sympathy from friends. An then, suddenly:<br /><br />“No, that’s not what happened. I wish it had; I wish I had been so ironic, removed, in charge. Instead I was childish.”<br /><br />What follows is a chapter listing Peter’s faults as he deals with heartbreak. He is cruel, dull, lazy and hateful. He treats women terribly and becomes a user of them. His friends finally pull him aside and intervene, which he ignores. Like all of us, he is childish and spiteful until ready to be human again. Schlink’s description of this state is striking. He knows us, he knows me, because he knows himself and bares it in his work.<br /><br />The novel feels, for a long time, like it nothing but the story of a man’s like. He grows up, goes to school and finds a job, falls in and out of love and fights with his mother. But the book quietly becomes a mystery as well. As a child, in those summers with his grandparents, Peter was given reams and reams of paper from a series of novels edited by his grandparents, “Novels for Your Reading Pleasure and Entertainment.” His grandparents gave him the bound galleys because paper was scare in Germany after World War II. They warned him, and not in a mysterious way, to never read the novels printed on one side, that there were better things for him to be reading. Peter always obeyed until out of sheer boredom, he began the story of a soldier coming home from the war. He is enchanted by the story and disappointed when he realizes that he has already torn out the ending for a school paper.<br /><br />Years later, Peter rediscovers the story when unwrapping items from storage. He becomes engrossed all over again, and now, with a college education, recognizes the soldier’s story as a retelling of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Odyssey</span>, but still has no ending or even the author’s name. Over many years, Peter returns and abandons the mystery of the story, which becomes the mystery of his lost father and own birth.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Homecoming</span> is also the story of modern Germany. Peter was born during World War II, and his story extends over decades. He flies to Berlin the week the wall is falling and the book ends soon after September 11th. The character of his country changes slowly as he ages and is so artfully rendered that the landscape of his home town, and the Switzerland of his youth, are as equally characters, if not more so, than people. It is a novel of “fathers and sons”, as the book jacket proclaims, but it is also a novel of modern Germany.<br /><br />As mundane as many of the events seem, the ending of the novel is kind of a puzzle. Peter travels to New York as a visitor at Columbia. There he is drawn further into the story, specifically through <span style="font-style:italic;">The Odyssey</span> and its murky morality. He is also subjected to a strange psychological experiment; it’s enough out of character with the rest of the book to have made me question Schlink’s decision to include it, but the tone of the story never changes. Schlink powers through this strangeness (and trust me, I’m dieing to give it away), but ultimately it is rewarding. Peter not only perseveres, but he breaks with the past, finishing his own ambivalent odyssey.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-78155384066965787922008-12-16T16:37:00.000-08:002008-12-16T16:39:13.355-08:00Book 4: The Reavers<span style="font-style:italic;">The Reavers</span> is the final novel of writer George MacDonald Fraser, who passed earlier this year. Never heard of him? Well, you should. In hi s lifetime he authored fifteen fantastic Flashman novels; all following the adventures of scoundrel Sir Henry Paget Flashman via false “memoirs”. Fraser’s style is always humorous and somewhat scholarly, with a fine and funny editorial voice. <span style="font-style:italic;">The Reavers</span> is not a Flashman novel, but a comic adventure in the vein of Shakespeare, set in 1590s England.<br /><br />The comparison to Shakespeare is due to the many plot contrivances that constantly reunite heroes and heroines with each other and their enemies. Think “Much Ado About Nothing” and “Twelfth Night”. Does anyone really believe that Benedict and Beatrice would talk themselves into loving each other just from overhearing some false gossip? And no one notice that Viola isn’t really a boy? Of course not. It’s the craftsmanship, the poetry and above all else, the humor that keeps it interesting.<br /><br />Each chapter is separated by a narrator’s voice, one that is strong throughout, but also an easy example for the tone of the novel.<br /><br />“Well, it’s been quite a night…highway robbery, swordplay, various raids (including one you haven’t heard about yet); hens; cats, a fortune in jewelry carried off; Bangtail deceased, Beauty robbed and beglamoured, our leading man in deep schtuck (but at least he’s fed and redolent of after-shave). What else? Ah, yes, dastardly Spanish rogues a-plotting to o’erthrow our green and pleasant land. A tangled skein, gossips, but fret not, it’s all under control…we hope.”<br /><br />That’s quite a bit of the plot in a nutshell. There are two heroes, Archie Noble and Bonny Gilderoy, an English and a Scottish spy, and two ladies, the haughty and beautiful Lady Godiva, and her cute and lusty friend, Kylie. They uncover and must stop a Spanish plot (perpetrated by, among others, a monk with a Deep South accent, his pygmy companion, and a saucy sorceress known as La Infamosa), all while seducing each other, leading rebellions, falling in love, and enlisting a gang of football hooligans to save the futures of England and the Scottish crown.<br /><br />The events are all preposterous and tongue in cheek; mentions of Paul Newman, Arnold Schwarzeneger, Jell-O, LSD, and football jerseys worn by highwaymen serve as constant, and not unwelcome, reminders that they are meant to be. When a monk wishes for an “anachronistic Polaroid”, it’s hard not laugh. Despite the good humor, the story does come a bit unglued toward the end; it’s as if Fraser decided to wrap it up as ridiculously as possible. However, the ludicrous ending in no way takes away from the overall story. Like Shakespeare, humor is Fraser’s saving grace. Who can really care about the plot when we’re having so much fun?Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-44242913284496366542008-12-12T12:55:00.000-08:002008-12-12T12:57:01.701-08:00The WrestlerI have been really remiss in not posting the official trailer for <span style="font-style:italic;">The Wrestler</span>; it has been out for a couple of weeks. And God damn, is it a stomach punch. Since Mickey Rourke was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor this week, I thought I'd finally post it.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/61-GFxjTyV0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/61-GFxjTyV0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-740502627100121242008-12-03T06:54:00.000-08:002008-12-03T06:58:46.728-08:00Twilight, My AssMy truck broke down, so I am using it as an excuse to take the day off. That gives me a great opportunity to troll that series of tubes that makes life worth living. On it, I found <a href="http://www.cracked.com/blog/8-things-i-know-about-vampires-based-on-the-lost-boys/">a great Cracked article</a> about what today's vampires can learn from <span style="font-style:italic;">The Lost Boys</span>. It came with a clip of the world's most awesome saxophone solo:<br /><br /><div><object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://i.dmdentertainment.com/DMVideoPlayer/player.swf" id="player" height="397" width="480" ><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><param name="movie" value="http://i.dmdentertainment.com/DMVideoPlayer/player.swf" /><param name="wmode" value="transparent" /><param name="flashVars" value="v=2.0.1&demand_autoplay=0&source=http%3A//cdn-i.dmdentertainment.com/funpages/cms_content/16839/1.flv&demand_content_id=16839&skin=http%3A//i.dmdentertainment.com/DMVideoPlayer/playerskin.swf&height=37" /></object></div><br /><br />Yeah! Where can I get a pair of those pants!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-40166443726744785242008-11-24T15:13:00.000-08:002008-11-24T15:18:42.272-08:00Book 3: The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas AdamsThis book is delightful.<br /><br />No really, that’s about it. What else can I say for a thirty-year-old cult classic? I had never read this novel but, like you, I had heard about it for years from myriad Adams groupies. I did go to see the recent film version, starring Mos Def, among others, on a date with one of those groupies and I loved the film. He complained that the jokes were stale because he knew them all. I found it funny and refreshing, and Alan Rickman is the Voice of God, so what was the problem again?<br /><br />After finishing the novel I claimed that it was a comedy novel masquerading as sci-fi, then realized that I said that only to excuse myself for liking the book. You see, I’ve always had an aversion to all things science fiction. Anything with stars in it, whether it is wars or trek, leaves me in a cold shudder. I find the story lines, acting, dialogue, and direction, everything appalling. George Lucas has no place here.<br /><br />Then I realized that I was full of shit. It started when I thought, “I hate sci-fi. Except for <i>Futurama</i>.” But I excused that because, you know, <i>Futurama</i> is a brilliant comedy, just with space and robots and aliens. Not really sci-fi. The I caught myself thinking, “I hate sci-fi, except for <i>Futurama</i>. Oh, and <i>Firefly</i>.” It didn’t take long for me to discover that my “I hate sci-fi, except…” list was a mile long. In addition to those wonderful shows, I love <i>Flash Gordon</i>, <i>Blade Runner</i> and <i>Red Dwarf</i>. I even have very fond memories of the Ken Barry/Sandy Duncan vehicle <i>The Cat from Outer Space</i>.<br /><br />I’m even a fantasy nerd! I own all of <i>Buffy</i> and <i>Angel</i> on DVD, I collect the comics and <i>Labyrinth</i> is sitting on my DVD player right now! None of us are innocent. I may sneer at fans of Hans Solo, Captain Kirk, and Frodo, but I’d watch anything that Joss Whedon told me to.<br /><br />It did not surprise me to learn that Adams wrote for Monty Python in the 1970s. I grew up watching <i>Flying Circus</i> and the related movies, which my parents supported. I think that Python, more than any other comedy show, is the glue that binds disparate groups of nerds together. Their kind of humor, topical and absurd, childish and mean-spirited, but always intelligent, is a proto-type for people like Whedon bringing humor to the genres of sci-fi and fantasy. I will never love <i>Star Trek</i>, because it isn’t thought provoking or funny to make up for the shoddy production and poor acting. But I will accept that, in some cases, I do like science fiction.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"></span>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-19766336754973661512008-11-23T09:19:00.000-08:002008-11-23T13:49:21.031-08:00Book 2: Boys Will Be Boys: The Glory Days and Party Nights of the Dallas Cowboys DynastyYee-haw y’all! Remember the drama of Aikman, Irvin, Smith and Prime Time? Well strap yourselves in because Jeff Pearlman has pulled together every heart-wrenching story of hard knocks, pathetic losses, glorious plays and unbelievably scandalous behavior to deliver the thrilling, and often hilarious, story of the Dallas Cowboys dynasty of the 1990s.<br /><br />Pearlman knows his audience well enough to start off with a bang. Did you know that at training camp in 1995 Michael Irvin stabbed a teammate in the neck with a pair of scissor? Over his place in the line to get his haircut? There is no more perfect metaphor for the downhill slide of the once mighty Cowboys who, by 1995, were showing the effects of three Super Bowl wins in four years, as well as all of the hard partying that accompanied it.<br /><br />In 1989 the Dallas Cowboys were a dismal, but well-respected franchise. Dismal because of the team’s mediocre talent, respected because of Coach Tom Landry, who, despite many losses, was well loved for both his record and his hard-working Christian ethics. The face of the franchise was changed forever when the team was bought by devilish Arkansas oilman Jerry Jones, who immediately fired Landry and replaced him with University of Miami coach Jimmy Johnson, who was known less for his hard work and more for his helmet hair and the unabashed thuggery of his players.<br /><br />Johnson and Jones represented a completely new way of football, one that allowed for players to party as hard on the field as they played on. And no disrespect to Landry, but Johnson was a new kind of coach, one who did not care about the race of his players. In an era where college coaches recruited black men, just not too many of them, Johnson was only interested in talent, no matter the package. He was also a brilliant drafter/trader of players. In some of his first acts as head coach, he drafted Troy Aikman and traded the legendary Herschel Walker for a bushel of veteran journeymen and high draft picks. Despite a losing first season (1-15!), Johnson built a team on the shoulders of future Hall of Famer's quarterback Troy Aikman, running back Emmitt Smith and receiver Michael Irvin.<br /><br />It’s clear that Johnson and Jones were well aware of the Cowboys off the field antics with drugs, alcohol, strippers and prostitutes. Jones’ own love of booze and whores frequently saw him partying as hard, and often with the same women, as his players. Johnson, despite a love for drinking, only cared about winning. As long as players were on time, alert, and practiced hard, he didn’t care what they did at night. Michael Irvin was widely praised for being able to drink and fuck all night, but still be the first and last person at practice and in the weight room. Johnson was a tyrant of a coach, but the kind of tyrant who could mold players into champions. Under his tutelage the Cowboys won two consecutive Super Bowls, in 1991 and 1992.<br /><br />The bizarre antics of the Cowboys did not just stop at cocaine and hookers. Defensive back Charles Haley, already crazy when he played with the 49ers, went insane in Dallas. He was known for masturbating in the locker room and in team meetings, saying things to his teammates like, “You know you want to suck it.” Now stop. Go back and read that sentence again. <br /><br />Haley was not the only Cowboy with a legendary member and sexual appetite. Team members frequented the finest strip clubs in Dallas, but one they became notorious around the city, they started their own house of ill repute, known as the White House, in a quiet Dallas suburb. Within the White House Cowboy players could bring strippers, prostitutes and groupies for an orgy of sex, drugs and booze. Michael Irvin was well known for orchestrating sexual scenarios, by instructing women, in ones, twos, and threes, on what to do to specific teammates. Irvin and another player, Erik Williams were both later arrested for sexual assault (Irvin’s second arrest; after his first, for drug possession, he came to court in a floor-length mink coat). They were not convicted.<br /><br />Do not think that the sum of the Cowboys was scandal. Much of Pearlman’s book in dedicated to their amazing play on the field. Non-football fans should not be afraid; Pearlman writes about games with great passion and in language that laymen can follow. If you do not watch football, you will still understand what happened in the game for the Cowboys to win, or lose. <br /><br />For each of the players highlighted, and there are far more than just the stars of the team, we learn about their childhood, high school and college career, and what brought the to football and the Cowboys. Each story is simple and short, but it turns each player into a full human being, and not just a coke-snorting millionaire caricature. Pearlman also shares a lot of feel-good stories of the players’ charity, and not to just the standard groups of sick kids, but to other Cowboys staff and players. A standout story is that of cornerback Larry Brown. Days after his son Kristopher was born premature, doctors discovered that the infants brain had dissolved. The Browns chose to pull the plug, and in desperation of what to do and how to act, Brown took a private jet to play with his team that Sunday. On arrival, he found his teammates on the filed with “KB” stickers on their helmets. Brown played that day and the Cowboys won, dedicating the rest of their season to his son.<br /><br />Brown’s story is incredibly touching, as he, a workmanlike player but no star, went on to become a Cowboy hero and MVP of their final Super Bowl win in 1995. After Super Bowl XXVIII, Jerry Jones was fed up with Coach Jimmy Johnson taking what he felt should be shared credit for the Cowboys’ back to back wins, and fired him. He replaced Johnson with Barry Switzer, former coach of the University of Oklahoma Sooners, who had been forced to resign in disgrace.<br /><br />Switzer was both a wonderful and terrible fit for the Cowboys. His relaxed “we’re all friends here” attitude was a relief to a team that had suffered under Johnson’s tyranny, but Switzer had a lot less coaching acumen. On top of that, he loved wine, women and song as much as his players and boss. It was in the Switzer era that the White House opened, that players started getting arrested (for assault, for DUIs, for drugs), and that egos went unchecked. Coach Switzer didn’t care if players were late to practice or slept through meetings. He supported Jones’ hiring of Deion “Prime Time” Sanders, a man so talented that he could afford to be lazy in practice, which set a bad example for the younger members of the team.<br /><br />Most importantly, Switzer could not form a positive relationship with Aikman. Aikman felt that Switzer was a fool and a patsy for Jones, and that many team losses were his fault (all true). Switzer also made the grave mistake of punishing Aikman for accusations of racism by an assistant coach (whose pump had been primed by Sanders), which split the locker room in half. On one side were Aikman and his best friend and team brother, Michael Irvin, as well as all of the veteran players who followed them, on the other were Sanders and the younger players who admired his skill and flashy ways. It was a schism that the team did not recover from.<br /><br />In Switzer’s first season the Cowboys made the playoffs, but did not advance past the first round. In his second year, the Cowboys made the Super Bowl. For this Super Bowl the Cowboys invented the “Port-A-Skank” concept, by hiring limos to bring favorite prostitutes from Dallas to Tempe, Arizona, so as not to fall prey to local, untrustworthy women. Super Bowl XXX is also noteworthy for the poor play of the Cowboys in the face of the Pittsburgh Steelers, as well as being the first big game the team had played in front of an audience that was not primarily Dallas backers, The tide had turned against “America’s Team” and they one mainly due to mistakes made by the Steelers, as well as several important interceptions by cornerback Larry Brown.<br /><br />After Super Bowl XXX the team was in a downward spiral. Jones finally faced the truth, that his old friend and new drinking buddy Switzer was simply not equipped to run a team. It was widely discussed with the amount of talent on the Cowboys, anyone could have coached them to a Super Bowl win. Switzer resigned (he and Johnson are now both professional sports analysts), and was replaced by an even more incompetent coach, Chan Gailey. Stars Aikman and Irvin were forced to retire by injuries. Jones, convinced he was a drafting genius, continued to overpay for underperformers. The dynasty was done.<br /><br />Pearlman’s book is largely compiled from interviews with over 100 former Cowboys players, including Michael Irvin, and coaches, including Johnson and Switzer, and even owner Jerry Jones. Unfortunately, he does not cite his interviews, but does include citations for hundreds of articles and other media. His writing style is relaxed enough to keep the book moving at a quick pace, but there is no analysis present. Pearlman does not deal in great metaphors, he tells a story. <br /><br />Occasionally, Pearlman’s easygoing style is a little disconcerting. In our post-Sports Guy world of sports writing, Pearlman falls prey to the desire to have a conversation with his readers, rather than reporting to them. For example, on Michael Irvin, “Did he love sleeping with two, three, four, five (yes five) women at a time in precisely choreographed orgies? Yes.” Parenthetical asides like that one are sprinkled liberally throughout the book, and although they do create an atmosphere of camaraderie and amazement with the author, they also serve to force the reader out of the narrative in a very annoying way.<br /><br />What really stands out about Pearlman’s writing is his humor. It is clear that he is a fan of his subjects (particularly Aikman), but that does not stop him from being critical about his subjects, on and off the field. When they are bad, he punishes them, but he does so with such overall good humor that the book does not feel like a grudge or polemic. With chapter titles like “Nut-Huggers”, “Anal Probe” and “Super Bowl XXX (aka: Attack of the Skanks)”, it is impossible not to laugh along with Pearlman. Luckily, as with those bad, bad Cowboys, there is a lot of heart here too. Enough heart to be a saving grace.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-33782632750498014932008-11-19T09:34:00.000-08:002008-11-19T09:44:11.207-08:00The End of the AffairOh my God! Is it real? Can this be happening?<br /><br />Many of you may have heard stories about my newish upstairs neighbors and their <span style="font-style:italic;">epic</span> fights. Fight topics include:<br /><br />1. His laziness<br />2. His "ugly ass baby" with "that bitch"<br />3. His pot smoking<br />4. How the stuff they fight about is stupid. Really, they fight about their fights.<br /><br />Today (I'm home sick and the fighting has interrupted my essential daytime sleeping every morning) there was a big blowout about how he lives with her, but loves another woman. Yeah, that seems like a pretty important problem right there. Anyway, she told him to call up Tyrone and not to come back, 'cause he ain't her boyfriend no more! Is it real? Will there really be no more fighting?<br /><br />Hmm. It seems now that he's been kicked, she's on the phone with every one of her friends, yelling about the break up. I'm not safe yet...<br /><br />In other, blog post related news, I recently watched both versions of "The End of the Affair", based on the Graham Greene novel of the same title. Despite the newer film having semi-nude Ralph Fiennes in some decently raunchy sex scenes, I vote for the older version. It's far more melodramatic, but it's more linear, which works well for those of us with short attention spans, and it stars the God of All that is Holy and Good, Van Johnson. Praise his name.<br /><br />(Apparently VJ is still alive in a nursing home somewhere being crotchety and making all of the staff hate him. Can this be verified?)<br /><br />In other non-blog post related news, I got a second job! A friend of my boss owns a pet-sitting company, so starting next week I'm going to get payed to play with other people's cats and dogs. Considering I love animals and need all of the money that I can get, I consider that a pretty sweet deal.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-21834818986905448242008-11-18T13:46:00.000-08:002008-11-23T13:48:50.590-08:00Book 1: Blonde Faith100 Books in One Year: <span style="font-style:italic;">Blonde Faith</span>, by Walter Mosley.<br /><br />In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I already adore Walter Mosley. I am predisposed to love any of his novels, especially the Easy Rawlins novels. It should be no surprise that I give high marks to the newest Rawlins mystery, <span style="font-style:italic;">Blonde Faith</span>. <br /><br />For those unfamiliar with Mosley, he has written 11 Easy Rawlins mysteries, beginning with <span style="font-style:italic;">Devil in a Blue Dress</span> in 1990. Describing one of these books in and of itself would be an injustice; they are truly a series and the character of Easy, as well as the city of Los Angeles, and the United States itself, grow throughout the books.<br /><br />For instance, in Devil, Easy is an unemployed machine worker in 1950s small town of Los Angeles; he and his friends are “Negro” or “colored” and Easy is on his best behavior around the white men who draw him into a mystery beyond his control. By the time of Blonde Faith, the post-Watts 1960s, Easy is a licensed PI, who calls himself “black” and demands “Mr.” And “sir” from the white folks who continue to disrespect his skin color. Los Angeles has finally become a city, with distinctive sections dividing black and Hispanic, and fewer and fewer avocado trees holding back the concrete.<br /><br />Like the other Rawlins books, Easy is set on the case of a colorfully named friend, Christmas Black, who has disappeared, leaving his daughter, Easter Dawn Black, in Easy’s care. Christmas is a Vietnam veteran, a war that Mosley carefully contrasts with Easy’s service in World War II, and a killer. He disappearance is entwined with the disappearance of a thief named Pericles Tarr and both of them are, of course, linked to Easy’s missing best friend, Raymond “Mouse” Alexander, easily the finest character in Mosley’s universe. <br /><br />As it is in the best of Mosley’s books, the action is tied up with a beautiful woman, Faith Laneer, an ex-nun and missionary who had the bad luck to marry a drug dealer and go to Christmas Black for help. While on the case, Easy is also trying to deal with the dissolution of his adopted family. His son Jesus (the little boy he saved in Devil) has moved out and had a baby, his daughter Feather is almost a woman, and Easy is still pining for Bonnie, the lover he sent away to save Feather’s life. All these plot developments have come from previous novels, and <span style="font-style:italic;">Blonde Faith</span> is nothing if not the portrait of a man on the edge, a man who has lost everything and doesn’t really care that happens to him. The novel’s final scene is maddening; it is a completely ambiguous as to Easy’s fate. It is the kind of moment that made me want to drive straight to LA and shake the shit out of Mosley.<br /><br />Again, for the uninitiated, Mosley’s books are a love letter to the city of Los Angeles. Mosley’s work is valuable in and of itself, but it has special value for bringing attention to a side of LA not seen in other noir or LA books that focus on the wealthy and glamorous. Mosley’s LA is all about tarpaper speakeasies and shotgun houses and backwoods witches and folk that still know each other from the Fifth Ward back in Houston. Black Los Angeles is still a small town, even in the 1960s, and Easy and Mouse are stars of the community, one for doing good and one for being very, very bad. <br /><br />In addition to the city of Los Angeles, blackness is also a major theme. Easy constantly thinks about and notices the negotiations he makes with other black and white people. There is a steady commentary on race in America throughout all of Mosley’s work, and it only strengthens the drama and expands on Easy’s character. By Blonde Faith, Easy has a few white men that he calls friends, but that does not stop him from considering their race at all times, and noting the ways in which they have to help him get through ordinary situations, like dealing with a security guard that doesn’t think a black man belongs in his building.<br /><br />Sexuality is as important as blackness in Mosley’s novels. Women never seem to be just pretty, but beautiful, and even those that are plain are so full of sexual energy that they practically sizzle on the page. The titular Faith Laneer is as gorgeous as a movie star, and Easy begins a relationship with a young girl, Tourmaline, who turns heads and almost makes him forget his lost love. Even men in Mosley’s novels are either handsome or sexy, and he ahs a gift for physical description that I find missing in many other novelists. His sex scenes are tense and realistic without being graphic. For a gay man, Mosley seems to truly understand women, and incorporates personality and important character notes into physical description. To wit,<br /><br />“Most beauty fades upon closer examination. Coarse features, unnoticed awkwardness, false teeth, scars, alcoholism, or just plain dumb; there is an abundance of possible flaws that we might miss on first sight. These blemishes are what we come to love in time. We are drawn to the illusion and stay for the reality that makes up the woman. But Faith did not suffer under the light of earnest scrutiny. Her skin and eyes, the way she moved even under the weight of her fears, were just so…flawless.”<br /><br />Bam. Read them all friends, read them all.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-32769155740397382982008-11-12T15:47:00.000-08:002008-11-12T15:57:00.084-08:00PrepSo it turns out that I'm an uppity little joiner. I decided to take part (if the big guys will let me) in the <a href="http://gospelaccordingtoprisco.wordpress.com/choose-your-weapon-the-combatants/">Cannonball Read</a>. It's a quest to read 100 books in a year, and I'm a little late, as it started in September.<br /><br />I've been journaling the books that I read for years, and I do contribute reviews to both <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/">GoodReads</a> and <a href="http://www.librarything.com/">LibraryThing</a>, so I'm not sure why I didn't get involved in this earlier. I do love a challenge.<br /><br />Another reason that I'm getting involved is my own hubris. I <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> to show off, and I keep getting annoyed reading other people's reviews on <a href="http://www.pajiba.com">Pajiba</a>. I keep thinking "I could do that" and "I read two books this week"! I'm so damn uppity...<br /><br />I leave for Austin in the morning and trivia starts in an hour, so my first review won't come up until I get back. It'll be of Walter Mosley's <span style="font-style:italic;">Blonde Faith</span>, which I knocked out while on vacation this week, as I was deciding to join the challenge. I solonly swear that I will not cheat.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-73883930482154155202008-11-11T18:11:00.000-08:002008-11-11T18:26:43.157-08:00Let the Dead Bury the DeadIt's no secret that I am in <span style="font-style:italic;">love</span> with Keith Olbermann. He's handsome, he knows a lot about sports, and he feeds my fetish for men in their 40s who wear a suit and tie everyday. It's also no secret that I generally watch him with the sound off; he's just too smug, even for me. And for those of you who have heard me preach on one of a million subjects, then you know how self-righteous I can get.<br /><br />Occasionally his is amazing. His defense of <span style="font-style:italic;">Arrested Development</span> a few years ago was masterful, and his recent and passionate woodsheading of Proposition 8 is worth it as well. Listen:<br /><br /><iframe height="339" width="425" src="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22425001/vp/#" frameborder="0" scrolling="no"></iframe><br /><br />I'm not a big defender of straight marriage, despite coming from parents who are still together after more than 30 years, so I have no problem with extending those legal rights to gay folks as well. I could care less who wants to get married and I feel like it doesn't affect me in any way at all. But it does, doesn't it? I may wake up someday and want to get married, for love or for legal protection, and feel more passionately about the institution than I do now. <br /><br />Do I care about the rights of gay and lesbian friends of mine (or people I don't know) who want to get married? Of course. We should all be able to make the same mistakes in the eyes of the law. Marriage is not sacred in this country; it's a legal institution. I saw this video posted on both Quizlaw and the FourFour (links to the side), so there are some legal minded people, and some gay minded people, respectively, who were touched by Olbermann's latest rant. It's a very fine piece.<br /><br />In other Olbermann news, I've been happy to see that he's appearing on <span style="font-style:italic;">Sunday Night Football</span> this season and that he was a part of MSNBC's election night coverage. I watched the live feed on their site for the big night because it was a lot better than some of the other cable news feeds, and I was happy to see that Keith's smugnedd was kept in check by the rest of the team. Chris Matthews, however, could not keep the shit-eating grin off of his face. It didn't bother me, of course, because I'm a flag-burning Commie who was happy to see Obama win. Now if he would just lean a little more to the left...Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4649854946522888853.post-84715731448751180892008-11-05T06:04:00.000-08:002008-11-05T10:52:11.604-08:00Animal FactoryThe current issue of Entertainment Weekly has a <a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20236933,00.html">profile</a> of Mickey Rourke and his performance in the upcoming film <span style="font-style:italic;">The Wrestler</span>. I've really got to get it together to see this film as soon as it hits Atlanta. I even know where I am going to go: Midtown Art Cinema, where I can drink Red Stripe and put garlic cheese powder on my popcorn. I know it sounds gross, but salty flavored powders have always been a downfall of mine. Garlic salt is very popular at Casa de Courtney.<br /><br />To the point! This article is a little bit fluffy (Rourke's arrest for spousal abuse doesn't report the whole "he shot his wife in the shoulder" thing), but the bones are good. And unlike some of the more recent work on Rourke that I have read, it mentions his return to doing good work in the early years of this century. My favorite that the article lists is Steve Buscemi's <span style="font-style:italic;">Animal Factory</span>, in which Rourke plays an over the top prison diva sharing a cell with leading man Edward Furlong. He's only in a few scenes, but, like always, he steals them. This was Buscemi's directorial debut and it is sold. It also stars Willem Dafoe, who is actually not the creepiest part of this movie. That award goes to prison rapist Tom Arnold. Yep, that Tom Arnold.<br /><br />Mickey really has been putting out some good work in the last 15 years, it has just been in incredibly small roles in small films. (<span style="font-style:italic;">Buffalo 66</span> anyone?) Sure, he has still been guilty of some direct to DVD movies, but enough younger filmmakers who remember him from the 1980s have been casting him in small, juicy roles to keep him honest. Thank God he's gotten a second chance. Maybe America will finally understand my obsession.<br /><br />Thanks to Ted for the article!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087401759441707541noreply@blogger.com0