blips

Gah, I am way behind on my reviews. Way, way behind. I'm about 6 books behind. But here's my excuse: I'm sick as a dog and have barely been able to get out of bed. I've spent the day reading another Outlander book and playing Zelda. That's how I roll.

Anyway, I'll try to write the Outlander review tomorrow. Then I have to do Me Talk Pretty One Day, Dragonfly in Amber, Voyager and High Fidelity, which I should finish tonight.

Still no word on the visa thing. Cripes. At this rate I'm gonna be married in September. Which I sort of always wanted, specially because Texas finally gets some sane weather around that time. So you know, maybe it's for the best. That's what I'll keep telling myself to keep from going crazy.

And as an extra: a million hugs to my dear Jeremy, who's going through a rough patch right now. There's nothing I can do except to tell you I'm here, and hang in there. And send virtual hugs.

Figgy's Airing of the Grievances: TWOP's Jacob Part 2

How much I hate TWOP's Jacob: Part II.

So, remember when a while ago when I posted an angry rant against that most ridiculous of Television Without Pity's recappers?

Here's a refresher:

http://figgylicious.blogspot.com/2009/03/figgys-list-of-grievances-today-twops.html

This is part 2.

*****

The other day I decided to take a trip to TWOP to check out the recaps on American Idol. It makes me sad, but after years of being a huge fan, I've largely come to dislike TWOP recently. It started slowly, sometime after the site was bought out by Bravo and the big changes started coming around. Any loyal reader will know what I'm talking about. The changes are enormous, and pretty horrible. They're now covering every single show on television. All of them. Sitcoms. I remember when TWOP had the strict policy of not covering sitcoms--why would you?

They added movie recaps. Ridiculous and stupid photo galleries. useless video content. Their most talented writers deserted. Everything that was good about TWOP-- the community, the writing, the simplicity of it (it's a site for TV recaps and discussions! That's IT!) is gone.

But they kept Jacob.

Oy vey. The guy's just been getting worse. I think his mind has finally becoming unhinged.

How do I know?

The recap for the American Idol finale.

Now, I didn't watch this season's AI. I'm glad I didn't. But as a pop-culture freak, I had to know who won, and apparently the finale was full of craziness and I thought maybe I'd see what TWOP had to say about.

Big. Mistake.

I just wanted to read the ending. I don't even know why. So what's the logical thing to do? Jump to the end of the recap, right? Oh, no, dear readers. Not with Jacob.

I jumped to the last page and this is what I see as a first paragraph:

I just know that something brings us here. To the TV, to the hearth, together, in future ways and in normal ways. It wouldn't matter what they were fighting for, because it has to be something we all love equally, and that's music. It's dreams.

.......................what?

I went cold. I couldn't even finish reading that paragraph. Or the next three. In fact, there is not a SINGLE mention of American Idol or the finale (which, remember, is what THIS RECAP IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT) in the last THREE PAGES of the recap. Not one! It's just...Jacob's Last Will And Testament. Or something horrible like that. It's the ridiculous, painful ramblings of someone who seems to believe that this is the Jacob Hour. And it is just unbelievably fucking laughable.

He rambles on for three and a half pages about how he got the job at TWOP (oh how we all rue the day). Then it just gets progressively more nonsensical, descending into a veritable word vomit that belongs to a pretentious freshman at a writing seminar. You can hear the groans and see the eye rolls of his classmates as he keeps rambling on, sure that he's the Next Huge Thing And Oh My GOD I am So Good At Writing. Everyone wants to kill him.

I wanted to be dropped into a world that cared, really cared, and didn't mind talking about it, or telling me how it works

I will GLADLY drop you. Hard.

Thank you for telling me this show, and what it means: how much it says about our country, every year, and why it's worth fighting for, and yelling for, and crying for. How important it is, how we must keep fighting just to know it, ourselves and our country.

*facepalm*

It's American Idol, you gigantic freak. It's not a UN Peace Resolution. Get some perspective.

Thank you for reminding me that's all that's really required. Only connect. Just say it. The worst thing you're thinking, say it. Tell somebody. It's what fixes us as people, and it's what fixes us as a country.

Believe me, this wouldn't make any more sense if I told you the context. I have no idea what he's going on about. Apparently American Idol is the answer to every evil in the world. All I know is that it's some of the most laughably bad writing I have ever read in my life. And I know Stephenie Meyers.

And thank you for fighting with me, and showing me the areas of my own blindness, which I'm still learning. This show has affected my politics, and more importantly my religion, more than any one thing. I don't want to talk about that, because it's super weird, but you know, I think, what I mean by that. It's more important to reach across the static and pull something back. You are your territory.

Jeebus. They pay you for this? Really? I mean, listen guy, the internet is full of people who think they're fantastic writers, and some of them are, but most of them are just crap. But they don't get paid for it, or post it in one of the most popular websites on the internet. They have the decency to keep their literary monstrosities in their poorly designed LJ pages with little dancing gif bananas, and nobody ever looks at them. They don't vomit it forth for bewildered American Idol fans to read through. But you do. And you should be ashamed.

And the cherry on top of this Fail Sundae:

Thanks for assuming I have a point. This job, like any transformative experience, has been learning in public. You've been beyond patient, beyond kind.

....REALLY?

Does anyone? Alright, I'm sure Jacob has a lot of fans, but I know that a lot of people are tired of his schtick. And really, do fans of these shows and TWOP have any other choice but to wade through his recaps? They're not patting your head and letting you keep your job, Jacob--they have no other choice. From what I hear, he beats down every dissenter in the forums, arbitrarily striking down anyone who dares say anything against him. So, no, Jacob. Only a very impressionable twit would think you have a point.

And I'm just wondering why. Why does he do that? Just because you have a huge audience and a tall podium doesn't mean you can do anything you want with it. You have a job. That you get paid for. Just fucking do it and keep your personal crap away from it.

And...why does this make me so angry? It really shouldn't. But the thing is that I loved TWOP, and it honestly hurts to see where it's gone. And Jacob is everything that is wrong about TWOP and the internet in general*. It's just bad, and I'm sick of it. And I am against talentless hacks infecting the world with their crap. I take it personally. I shouldn't, because eventually things get so bad that you want to destroy the world. But I can't help it. And if I have to fight these people one at a time, then Jacob is a good place to start.

I'm coming for you next, Stephenie Meyers. Ask Dan Brown. Dude cried for three days straight. He's such a wuss.

One last question: was he fired? or did he quit? Or what? Because otherwise there's no reason to hijack a recap for your own wanking purposes. That's just rude.

*This massive generalization courtesy of the Jacob School of Writing.

***EDIT**
In case you're wondering, this is the recap I'm quoting:

http://www.televisionwithoutpity.com/show/american_idol/finale_results.php?page=1

See how far along you can get. I managed two paragraphs. The really GOOD stuff starts on page 17.

Book #35: "The House of Spirits" by Isabel Allende

Here's the thought that kept popping into my head as I read The House of Spirits:

I used to love this book.

I must have read it at least 15 times during my teenage years, when I was going through my hardcore romantic phase. My moody teen period, if you will. It was everything I wanted in a book; romantic, dramatic, fun to read, and the characters were always saying beautifully poetic things to each other. It was perfect.

Not so much anymore. Not at all. And that makes me kind of sad.

House of Spirits is the first novel by Isabel Allende, a Chilean writer who quickly became the best known female novelist in Latin America. It's a book heavily (and I mean heavily) influenced by the works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, set in a world that's half fantasy-half real. It's essentially the story of three women from different generations and their relationship with the patriarch of the family, Esteban Trueba. The history of Chile (though the country is never specifically named) plays along in the background.

Esteban is an angry man. He's always angry. He yells, he fights, he alianates everyone around him. He's built his fortune from the ground up, but is never happy; mostly because his family is a bunch of weirdos. I really can't blame him for being so angry. Clara, his wife, is a clairvoyant who spends her time living in her little bubble of a world where she talks to spirits and makes things move with her mind. They have three children: twin boys and a girl. One of the boys is crazy and takes after his mother, the other one is an intellectual weirdo. The daughter, Blanca, falls in love with a poor boy who works for her father. When she's about 5. She spends her life pining after the boy, living in her own little bubble of a world and fighting with he father. She and her lover have a daughter, Alba, who thankfully doesn't live in a bubble. She and Esteban are the only truly interesting characters in the book.

So the book is about this bizarre family and the bizarre things they do. Every now and then the real world intrudes and shakes things up a bit before everyone goes back to their assigned places. It's only when the real world comes in to their lives that the book turns interesting. When earthquakes, pests or wars come in at least we're spared from the perfection of Clara or the utter boredom of Blanca's life. The book is fun when it's written from the point of view of Esteban, who is the only character who is fully fleshed out and three dimensional. Alba's story is definitely interesting, but unfortunately it comes too late in the book to save it. The rest of the book is a collection of too-quirky, too-cutesy stories that get badly repetitive and just make the characters annoying.

It's a disappointment, really. Allende is a good writer, with a good rhythm to her prose (I can only imagine that this doesn't translate too well into English) and some great insight into Latin American culture. She's imaginative, but I can't help but feel that I've read it all before. There are some things that are shamelessly ripped right out of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and some of the characters she loves so much are just plain annoying. I can see how I was charmed by it when I first read it, but havinig epanded by literary world since then, I have to admit that this book lost its luster for me. It bored me easily, the characters and situations were irritating, and I came close to giving up on it a few times. There are some nice things about it, but for the most part it's just sort of unremarkable.

Book #34: "Walking the Bible" by Bruce Feiler

I can think of a lot to say about this book. The problem is that I don't know if I can articulate any of it well enough to be readable, let alone understandable. This is a book so rich and layered that to try and condense it all into a review is just impossible to me. In fact, it's been so damn hard to review for me that I've put off writing this for about four weeks. So excuse me if I don't do the book justice. You should just read it yourself.

Bruce Feiler is an American journalist who took up a massive journey through the Middle East with the intention of following the first five books of the Bible. In a trip that took him through Turkey, Israel, the Sinai desert, Egypt, back again through the desert through Jordan and ended up in Israel, Feiler followed the footsteps of the patriarchs of the Bible. With the assistance of an Israeli archaeologist and guide, he drew from years of research and the Bible itself to visit the sites where the patriarchs might lived or passed through. It's an astounding journey, full of fascinating stories and rich in history, religion and politics. Everywhere he goes Feiler meets people from all faiths and nationalities, and to each he asks the question "What does the Bible mean to you?". They all have answers, and it's truly inspiring to read how all of these locations mean something to the people who live there.

Feiler starts out as somewhat of a skeptic; he believes in God but knows that the Bible is flawed, but he's not looking to either confirm or deny what's written in it. What he wants to do is explore these locations, and, by being in them, perhaps experience something of what the patriarchs and the people in Israel went through on their journey. He tries to keep himself detached, but he can't help but feel moved as he journeys through the desert or be inspired when he stands atop of Mount Sinai. It's truly a life-changing journey, and it makes for an emotional read.

It's also a very long, slow read, but in this case it's not a bad thing. I found myself reading only a chapter at a time, then putting it down and mulling over what I had just read. Every new location leads to a detailed description of the history of the place, how it fits into the Bible, the people who live in it, and what the author learned while he was there. To put it simply, it's just interesting to read. It doesn't matter whether you've ever read the Bible or whether you believe in God or not, this book will let you understand the history of these countries, and what shaped them into what they are today. Feiler is a great storyteller, and this is really a wonderful book, very accessible and not at all preachy or sunk in theology. It's so varied and layered that I think anyone could find something interesting about it, and I definitely learned a lot.

And it left me with a pretty strong desire to visit these places one day. Though I don't think I'd like to ride on a camel.

The sky is falling! the sky is falling!

Raise your hand if you had the weirdest, most exhausting weekend of your life

*feebly waves hand*

Everything started out just spiffy Saturday morning. I slept til 11, it was sunny and wonderful and life felt good.

I think something was just making sure that I was in a good mood before kicking me in the crotch.

I gave the dogs a bath. I was feelin' good. And then it starts to rain.

Now, it's June, and this is Honduras, which means the rainy season (or as we know it here: "winter") has started. And holy crap, did it start off with a bang. I think something like 2 feet of water poured out of the sky in the space of two hours--a truly ungodly amount of rain and wind that pounded the city and nearly brought down the mountain on our house.

See, my backyard runs straight into the mountain behind us. Our back wall is a 30-foot cliff with a 90 degree incline that usually keeps the house full of white dust that gets everywhere and piles up if not cleaned every couple of days. And of course when it rains, we get a lot of mud and water and other debris falling from the mountain. Usually the canal we have running from the back of the house, down the side and out into the street handles the amount of water pretty well, but every time it rains a fair amount of mud gets deposited into the bottom of the canal. You'd think that a conscientious houseowner would clean the canal after every rain, thereby ensuring that it wouldn't overflow and dump all the water into the back yard.

So of course, my family being the least conscientious houseowners in the universe, that canal hasn't been cleaned in about 5 years. I think the last time someone bothered to clean they gave up after removing a few inches of sand. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And it happened last night.

There were waterfalls, people. Three gorgeous (but terrifying) falls of water coming down the mountain and falling straight into the canal--which, choked as it was with the accumulated mud of 5 years, decided to throw its hands up in the air and dump five billion gallons of water into the back yard. Holy god. I have never seen that much mud.

So the night passed with unceasing rain as my mom and I had to deflood the back rooms (we have an attachment with a guest room and a laundry room outside), trying to move the dogs into the only clean part of the laundry room, and digging up some of the sand out of the canal so the water could flow more easily. In the rain. In the cold, cold rain. At one point the downpour was so furious that the canal that ran down the side of the house OVERFLOODED and poured the water into the front yard, which was already soaked with water as it couldn't escape down the two tiny drainage holes dug into the front wall of the house. So I had to go out there and wash a ton of water down into the garage, creating a mini-waterfall that I'm sure would've been fun to watch if it hadn't been so scary.

Meanwhile, the sheer amount of water that fell on the house caused about 15 leaks to appear in the ceiling--a ceiling that withstood a hurricane not ten years ago. New leaks everywhere; a giant puddle growing in the ceiling of my room. When we had finally cleared up the water from the canal I (exhausted and wet through) had to get up on a small ladder and hammer a nail through the ceiling, pull it out again and create a little hole for the water to come out of the roof instead of pooling inside it and killing the lamp. It worked, but my room is full of pails of water.

The rain finally stopped at around midnight, but not before the power went out for about an hour. There is nothing freakier than hearing waterfalls pouring down not thirty feet away from your window, in complete darkness. Finally the power came back, the rain stopped and we went to sleep, completely exhausted.

This morning, the yard was a disaster. The grass was covered in an inch of whitish mud and the front yard had sprouted a small lake. The garage was choked with dead leaves and more mud. There was mud everywhere. EVERYWHERE. While thanking the powers that be that none of it had come into the house, we set to work on a massive cleanup job. My two brothers, my sister, my mom and I armed ourselves with shovels, sticks, buckets and whatever else we could find and removed a ridiculous amount of mud out of the yards and into the garage. We had the groundskeeper from my grandfather's country house (country house makes it sound way fancier than it is, believe me) help us dig out the FOOT of mud from the mountain side of the canal. There was literally a FOOT of mud in there. We all helped carry buckets of sand, and if you have never carried a bucket full of sand down the entire length of a house, down the stairs, through the garage and out into the street, then you have no idea when I tell you that it was one of the most exhausting things I've ever had to do. I consider myself relatively strong for my size and height (and *ahem* laziness) but I had to call it quits about two hours in. My legs were shaking and I couldn't really close my hands.

Oh, and I also fell most painfully on my (thankfully well-cushioned) ass. It was pretty hilarious, actually. My brother had opened the garage door to take some of the sand out, and my dog Oreo saw this as a prime opportunity to SET HIMSELF FREE and run out of the house. He tried, but I rushed over to stop him and close the door. It was then that my foot hit a slick patch of mud and I flipped over, landing on my left thigh and getting mud all down my left side. As I fell the little garden shovel I was holding in my hand FLIPPED out of my hand, flew six fit into the air, did a couple of turns and fell about two inches in front of Oreo's face.

I think that finally persuaded him to abort his escape plans. Luckily, I was laughing too hard and nobody saw me, so the only hurt thing was my dignity and my left thigh. And my left boob. And my left forearm, which looks like it was scratched by an angry squirrel.

So anyway, my brothers finished removing all the earth, then had to pack it into heavy canvas bags, throw it into a borrowed pick-up truck and had dump it into a landfill that's about 10 minutes away from my house. I took a shower and made everyone lunch, and the work was finally done at about 3pm. It was insane.

So, after two Advils and a lot of downtime, I can finally move enough to type this entry and make some well-deserved brownies for everybody. I am still very achy, and I can only imagine that tomorrow my body's going to feel like it was trampled by a herd of rabid little black-and-white terriers.

I took some photos of the amount of earth that we had to move, but those will have to wait til tomorrow.

I have to say, though, that as crazy and scary as last night was, I'm of course thankful that our house didn't get flooded and we only suffered from a lot of mud getting dumped in our yard. And that it feels pretty good to have done all that physical labor. It was actually pretty fun to be digging and cleaning, and despite all the aches it feels good to know that I CAN get off my ass and do some work when I have to. Ooh, yeah, look at me, I'm totally butch now *flexes*.

So that was my weekend. Envy me, people who sat around drinking and having FUN. I'm gonna go eat me some brownies.

When Godtopus closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.

Woo!

Let it never be said that life doesn't have a sense of humor. It waits until you're as down as you can be and then goes BAM! PSYCH! and throws something good at you. Really makes me want to beat it up.

So, in case you don't already know (I wonder how many non-Pajibans read this, maybe like 2 people) I got a gig doing the Eloquent Eloquence column on my favorite website, Pajiba every week. For the uninitiated, it's basically a countdown to the best comments of the week. I have to read through something like 15 posts a day, pick the best comments, write a short intro and wait to be slaughtered by what can be the meanest bunch of commenters on the internet. I know because I've done it. The slaughtering, I mean. Done it a lot.

Anyway, it's a sweet gig and I'm psyched. At least it was this first week. I think I'll wait until I have to sort through one of those 300+ comment threads that nearly broke Prisco, who had the job before I did. But hey, I have absolutely nothing to do all day, and I already spend most of it reading Pajiba comments ANYWAY, so it's sweet that I'm getting something out of it.

So I'm very excited. The first column goes up sometime today, so be sure to check it out!

A Sunday (but actually Monday or maybe Tuesday) Hot Post:

on my 5 Freebies. Because, let's face it, I love looking at these dudes and so will you. Because I have impeccable taste.

Not a whole lot of commentary with this, just a long and beautiful spam of photographs of one of the most perfect human beings on the planet (and one you've probably never heard about):

Reynaldo Gianecchini.

I've gone on about him before, but in a few words he's a brazilian soap opera star slash model slash theather actor slash minor god. I think I might go to Brazil. I'm sure my fiance won't mind.

So, enjoy!

**Oh, and in case you don't notice as you scroll down he'll be wearing progressively fewer clothes. Because that is how I roll.***



this smile makes rainbows happen





woo! wet shirt!

An angry, whiny post that you should feel free to ignore.

Oh, I feel awful today. Just completely in hide-under-the-covers-and-ignore-the-world-everyone-fuck-off mode. Everything is pissing me off, I want to talk to no one at all, and just...I'm even mad at myself for being so whiny. But there you go.

And of course, today is my sister's birthday, which just means the house is even more full of people than it normally is. People who (God forbid!) want to keep talking to me and asking me to do things. The nerve! Listen, I know I sound ridiculous and awful, but today is just a stabby day. Everything is agaisnt me today. It's either hormones or the heat or the lack of sleep or all three, but jeebus, I want to stab someone today. It's days like these when I wish I lived in a little hut in the middle of nowhere and didn't have to deal with people.

Ah, well. Life in general is just one big pile of suck right now. For the most part, I've been alright with where I am at the moment. The waiting, the spending days waiting to hear anything, the nothingness. Things could be worse. But lately, it's just been eating away at me. It's been 6 months--the most time one is supposed to wait for an application approval. And another week ended without hearing a damned thing. I've been pretty good at waiting but how much fucking longer? There are honestly days when I just feel like I'm going to burst from the impatience, from the frustration of having my life on hold and not being able to plan anything in the future. It's the worst part of everything--not being able to plan for a damned thing. People all around me are making life changes, getting to universities, moving places--getting married. Heh. And really, I swear I'm alright with everything and I stick to my mantra of 'things will happen when they'll happen' but...for fuck's sake, some days that just won't stick. Some days (like today) it's too much.

Great, now I'm trying to keep myself from crying out of sheer fucking frustration. It's practically JUNE for fuck's sake! I quit my job because I didn't expect to still be here in JUNE. It's Graham's birthday next week and I was so sure--HA--six months ago that I'd be with him for his next birthday but? nope. Haha! not yet for you! You win another week of being completely fucking miserable!

Christ, listen to me. I need to stop before it gets much worse. Do you see why today isn't a good day for me to be around people? I should just get into a corner with a sheet over my head with a sign that says "I AM NOT AVAILABLE TODAY".

Just. Argh. I didn't mean for this to be a whinefest of a journal but fuck it- I need it today. And I feel slightly better now.

So I'm going to go take one hell of a long shower and wish for everyone to go away somewhere for a couple of hours. I can't deal. Not today.

And maybe later I'll post some photos of hot men. That's always good therapy.

Book #33: 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' by DH Lawrence

I've been on a bit of a classics kick lately. I have a good collection on my bookshelf, old favorites that I read every now and then when I feel like taking a break from modern literature. It always takes some effort, to be completely honest. Most of these are long, ponderous and sometimes just hard to get through. But I like that every time I pick one of them up my understanding of them gets a little bit better. I like to think of it as my English getting better. Or maybe I just have a very bad memory.

Anyway. "Lady Chatterley's Lover" has always been a favorite of mine for two reasons: DH Lawrence's commentary on modern life, and the naughty bits. And that's not just me being a dirty minded person with a secret love for a well-written sex scene (ok, just about any sex scene is fun to read, you know it's true). In this book, the two go hand in hand. It's essentially a story about two people who feel completely disconnected from the world finding each other and finally feeling connected to something. Through lots and lots of sex.

Yeah, yeah, I'm being all flippant about it, but really, if you want an in-depth analysis of Lawrence's criticism of the modern world, then you should probably join a book club or a literature class. All I want to do is enjoy a good book. And all its dirtyness.

The plot: It's post-World War I England. One of those miserable little mining towns where everything is bleak and sad. Constance Chatterley is married to Clifford Chatterly, a crippled war veteran who is the owner of a large estate near the miserable little mining town. She is miserable and lonely, the only people she knows are Clifford's intellectual buddies who are all about philosophy, talking a lot, and being generally empty of anything exciting. Eventually, Connie starts an affair with her husband's gamekeeper, a solitary man who lives in a conveniently secluded hut in the woods. They're both sick of the modern world and find that the only way to be happy is to be connected with people. Mentally and physically.

And that's basically it. It sounds pretty simple, but the truth is that Lawrence is an author who is clearly sad and angry at the state of the world around him, and he's making a case for connecting with people and just giving in to basic human emotions. He's saying the modern, industrial world is turning people ugly, mean, spiritless, and he wants that to change. Connie, though a little too passive-aggresive sometimes, is a good character who serves to illustrate a woman's sexuality and just wanting to break out of boredom and routine.

It probably won't work for everyone, though. I like that Lawrence is so passionate about everything he writes, but this makes for some very lengthy passages of people talking to each other and being all 'woe, the modern world!'. The book doesn't really pick up until about halfway through, when Connie first takes up with the gamekeeper. Then it gets good, with the plot really kicking in--coincidentally (!) just as Connie finally starts to live again. And oh, yeah, when the sex scenes start. This book was banned for decades in the UK, and I can certainly see why. It's very graphic, but it's not just your generic bodice-ripper. There's a point to everything he's writing and the sex scenes do turn very steamy sometimes. It's great.

So to me, it's a really great classic all the way through. It's thoughtful and sometimes depressing (and what true classic isn't depressing?), a great illustration of the post-war world, and I like that so much of it holds true today. Though that's kind of depressing at the same time.

And I'm left wondering what DH Lawrence would've thought of the sexual revolution of the 60s. He would've loved it, I think.

Book #32: "Sense and Sensibility" by Jane Austen

Oh, how I love Jane Austen. She's my literary comfort food--my vanilla ice cream, my peanut butter sandwich, my grilled cheese. I've read every book of hers (except for Mansfield Park because, ugh, Fanny)at least twice . The cover on my copy of Persuasion (my favorite) is so worn out you can barely read the writing on it. There's something so wonderfully satisfying about Austen's writing; the smirking sense of humor, the scathing social commentary, and of course, the always-hopeful romance with the happy ending. She's a genius and a die-hard romantic, and I imagine she'd be awesome to just sit down and have a drink with as we bitch about the world.

Sense and Sensibility is essentially about two sisters, Marianne and Elinor Dashwood and their adventures in love and society. Elinor, the eldest, is practical and level-headed. Marianne is the opposite; sentimental and impulsive. When their father dies, the girls (along with their mother and younger sister) are forced to step down from the high-society life they had and settle at a much smaller house and situation in the country. There they embark on the usual Austen adventures--love, heartbreak, outrageous coincidences and near-misses, mistaken assumptions, societal clashes, snobbishness, revealing letters, etc, etc, etc. In other words, all the things that make Austen so damn enjoyable. Her characters live in a small universe where everyone knows each other and everyone's ultimate goal is to marry or get someone else married. You would think it gets repetitive and boring, but the opposite is true, because Austen always makes it seem fresh and exciting, and it's hard not to get caught up in the small disasters and victories that happen to the characters.

Sense and Sensibility was Austen's first published novel, and as such, it doesn't feel as perfect as some of her later works. Everything is there but, I think, a little immature. Sometimes the action gets a little bogged down, and the humor isn't as hilariously wry and bitchy as it is in some of the other books. But that's nitpicking. Her characters, as usual, are either completely likable or detestable, and you find yourself rooting for (or against them) and hoping that everything turns out alright--even though you know that of course it will.

What else can I say about a book and an author that's been picked over and analyzed by just about everyone who's ever taken a survey course on English Literature? Not much, really. I know there are flaws in the book, and some people just hate Austen, but I don't really care. I love her. I love this book. If for no other reason than I'm an incurable romantic and I think I want Elinor to be my older sister. And that Colonel Brandon (and to some extent that damned Willoughby) are completely dreamy. I'll always turn into a 15 year old when I read an Austen book, and I don't mind that at all. I hope I never get so old and cynical that I can't enjoy Jane Austen.

*****

Another reason why I love this book: it spawned my favorite movie of all time. I've seen it more times than I can count, and I have an undying love for everyone involved in it. Even Hugh Grant.

Book #31: "Black Hawk Down" by Mark Bowden

On October 3 1993, in the devasted city of Mogadishu, Somalia, a group of American armed forces (Rangers and Delta troops)carried out what was supposed to be a one-hour mission to capture a couple of high-profile militia leaders. But they were met with resistance that went far and beyond what they had expected to find, and in time one of their Black Hawk helicopters is shot down. It crashes a few blocks away from the perimeter of the mission and the ground forces (the Rangers, the delta teams and an extraction group with humvees and trucks) were sent to rescue the fallen crew. Chaos ensues.

From then, it turned into a bloody, relentless, 12-hour battle for survival as the troops attempt to leave the city.

Mark Bowden was the first person to attempt to write a complete account of what was then one of the bloodiest battles for American troops since the Vietnam War. He not only interviewed as many soldiers who were present at the battle as he could, but he also recorded the testimony of Somalis who survived the conflict. In addition to the interviews, Bowden had access to videos taken from the air as well as maps and radio recordings of the battle. With all this material, Bowden was able to recreate the battle in incredible detail, as a testament to the brave soldiers who fought and gave their lives to protect one another.

This is a harrowing book. Bowden places the reader right in the middle of what was an exhausting, shockingly violent battle that devolved into absolute chaos. While presenting the action from the point of view of the largely confused, terrified soldiers, he also does an admirable job of letting the reader know exactly what is going on: where troops are located, what the commanders were seeing, what was happening on the other side. It gets very confusing at times, but with the help of detailed maps and by simple reminders of who the players are Bowden keeps the story from being chaotic.

It's an incredible story. The battle was a furious one, fought over a few blocks for a handful of hours. The soldiers are constantly shocked at the ferocity of their attackers, but Bowden is careful to not make either side the victim or the enemy--the soldiers need to save themselves and their friends, the Somalians are trying to destroy the people they see as their aggressors. Somalia was (and still is) sunk into a bloody civil war that no one quite understood, and American forces were sent to help with peacekeeping efforts. They quickly found themselves doing a lot more than that--for better or for worse.

But Bowden, as he makes it clear in his conclusion, isn't aiming for a critique or an espousal of US Foreign Policy, or who is to blame for the battle. He doesn't take sides. What he wanted in writing the book was to make a record of the fierce courage of the soldiers who fought in the battle, to not let it be forgotten as so many people had after it had happened. I had no idea that this had taken place until I saw the movie a few years ago. It's easy to forget, in the midst of CNN reports of battles and wars, that there are real people fighting them, and that's what Bowden does so remarkably. The soldiers whose stories he tells were terrified, mostly young men who nevertheless went full-on into the battle to help their comrades. It wasn't about who was right or wrong, or who was to blame for what happened, but just about standing up and helping their companions.

I don't presume to know anything about this subject, and this book was definitely a learning experience. It's brutal, violent and honest, as real an account as we can get of what it's like being in a battle from the point of view of the people who fought in it. It's an amazing book, it's impact made stronger by the simple fact that it all really happened.

***

Extra bit:

The movie is also pretty good. Probably the most brutal war movie I've ever seen, and it left me feeling completely exhausted. I really felt like I had been holding my breath through the whole thing. It does a great job of showing the battle and by focusing on only a few characters (amusingly enough, most of the American soldiers are played by non-Americans...go figure) it helps keep things from being too chaotic. I also felt it lost something by taking out the parts of the book told by Somalians, but I can see why it was done. It's a good movie, but very loud and violent, so definitely not for everyone.

Book #30: 'The Amber Spyglass' by Phillip Pullman

So it ends. Pullman's monumental trilogy comes to a breathless, exhausting, and sometimes underwhelming conclusion with The Amber Spyglass. I'm still a little bit shaken, to be honest.

The first book, The Golden Compass, set up players and locations. Lyra Belacqua sets out to rescue her friend Roger from the evil plans of the Oblation Board--aka The Church. At the end, Lyra discovers that hers is just one of many worlds, and the next book starts up with Lyra entering one of them. In The Subtle Knife, Lyra meets Will Parry, a young boy from our world who wants to find his missing father. With the help of the titular object, they travel through different worlds trying to fulfill the missions they have set for themselves. The Amber Spyglass deals, in essence, with the conclusion to the children's quests. On top of that, the children have to escape capture by one of two opposing forces that are trying to find them, as it is prophesied that the children have vital roles to play in deciding the fate of the worlds. And so, the forces of "good", led by Lord Asriel (Lyra's father and his armies) and their enemies (the Church, and over them the forces of God, or "The Authority") engage in an epic battle for control of the universe while they try to find the children.

Lyra and Will, of course, have their own plans. Lyra, finally growing up and maturing (Pullman skillfully changes Lyra's way of speaking) still needs to fulfill her promise to Roger, and Will still needs to speak to his father. With these simple goals in mind, and while doing everything they can to resolve them, Lyra and Will find themselves in the middle of the great battle, fighting in it without quite knowing they're doing it. All they know is that they must keep their promises and do the right thing.

It's hard (and very unfair) to condense the plot so much, but anything else would take away the surprise and awe that come with that Pullman does in this book. The final book is massive, packed with exciting plot twists and fantastic battles, escapes, near-misses, everything you could ask for in an epic. And then some.

There are some weaknesses, though. I found this to be the most uneven of the three books, and sometimes things get a little too confusing to be completely enjoyable. It takes some work to untangle everything that's happening and being said. And Pullman has been working on so many plots and characters that it's perhaps inevitable that some of them come to rather lackluster conclusions. I felt that some of the big themes that he had been expanding on weren't satisfactorily concluded, and I was left feeling a little bit shortchanged with regards to some of the big mysteries. The introduction of the mulefa, for example, seems completely unnecessary, and I found myself bored to distraction by the scenes dealing with them. There are a few other speed bumps like this, and it's sometimes just irritating to have an exciting battle scene interrupted by a long, misplaced stretch of non-action.

To top it all off, Pullman goes all out with his criticism of religion in this book. It didn't really bother me at all (and I'm not pro or anti religion), but it can get a little heavy-handed at times, with Pullman pushing his point again and again.I found it interesting, but it might turn some people off the trilogy entirely. But as I said in my other reviews, Pullman isn't just screaming anti-religion nonsense; everything he writes fits into the story and has a purpose beyond scandalizing people. He's criticizing dogmatism and fanatics, not just poking at the religious with no larger point in sight.

But these are minor complaints, really. The book is a fitting end to the trilogy, making the whole thing the best fantasy series I've read since Lord of the Rings. Don't dismiss it because it's labeled a 'children's book', as it's the furthest thing from a simple kiddie book imaginable- I actually think adults would enjoy the subtlety of Pullman's prose and themes more than younger readers would. It has everything you could possibly want out of a series, and it's the kind of thing that is appealing to just about every audience (except the freakishly religious, I guess). If you loved Lord of the Rings, if you loved Harry Potter (which really is kiddie literature), this is the perfect combination of both. It's a sophisticated, intelligent series and just ridiculously fun to read. I am in awe at what Pullman has done, and I know I'll definitely be reading this again sometime soon.

***

That's the review, but I still have some questions I want to discuss with people who have read the book. I'll be posting a set of questions in a couple of days, I think. Stay tuned.

The Sunday Hot Post: X-Men Edition

There's been a lot of Wolverine: X-Men Origins talk lately. The marketing has been insane, and it starts the big Summer Movie Season.

Ever since it premiered on Friday, however, most of the talk has revolved over how much the movie sucks.

Of course it sucks. Did anyone, from the moment the idea of a spin-off after the weakest of the X-Men movie was floated around, think that it would not suck? Come on. You knew, and I knew, and everyone knew that it was going to be a brainless, fun blockbuster with lots of explosions and good-looking people.

And I want to see this. It makes no sense. It's doubtless a horrible movie, and giving it money will only encourage Hollywood to keep making atrocities and ruining our childhood memories. I shouldn't watch it. You shouldn't watch it. No one should watch it.

I'll still watch it. And if none of my excuses are valid (mindless fun, good time, crap blowing up everywhere ), then I'll just point out the most basic reason why I want to watch this.

The beefcake. Pure and simple. Sometimes one just wants to see some hot men taking off their shirts, getting sweaty and bloody amidst an orgy of CGI explosions and superpowers.

And I refuse to feel guilty about it. So, here they are. The X-Men. If you're wondering why it made so much money, this could be an explanation.


1. Hugh Jackman (Wolverine)

Here's the thing about me and Hugh Jackman. I suffer from what I call the Viggo/Aragorn Syndrome. The idea is this: When he is clean and neatly shaven, I don't find the actor attractive. At all. I am completely indifferent. There is something there, but no sparks.

And then they show up in a movie all sweaty and hairy and ACTION HERO and it's BAM. There goes my indifference. He's a completely new man. And oh boy, he is hot. Examples of this are Viggo Mortensen (nothing. But as Aragorn? YOW.) and this man. Hugh Jackman.

Eeeh. He's...alright I guess.

Oh. Oh my. Yes. Yes, please.

Yow. Oh...my.

*blink*

Sorry I was gone for a while. OK moving on.

2. Liev Schrieber (Sabertooth)

Though not really known for his hotness (outside the fighouse, of course), this guy is a ridiculously good looking specimen. And a fantastic actor to boot. He's serious, intense, and he's made some pretty good movies. And oh man, he's hot.

Alright. It's a hot-off.

I make vests look hot.

He's shirtless. And feeding a baby. It's ridiculous. You're welcome.

3. Taylor Kitsch (Gambit)

I don't really know that much about him. Other than he's shirtless a lot. Hmm...maybe I don't really need to know anything else.

Dang. He sure is purdy. That smile makes rainbows happen.

All-American Hot Dude.

mmm. brooding.

4. Ryan Reynolds (Deadpool)

I'll say this right at the start: I'm not a big RR fan. He strikes me as something of a douchy frat boy. And I'm not really into frat-boy types.

But damn if the guy isn't built like a greek deity. And he makes it almost impossible not to like him. I hate him a little for not letting me hate him completely. Damn him and his shirtlessness.

I can't believe I watched this movie. But can you blame me?

Ngh.

Dammit. Stop looking at me like that. DAMMIT. Stop being so cute. ARGH.

5. Dominic Monaghan

I remember when I first heard of this guy. It was way back before Fellowship of the Ring came out, and every woman around was going insane over the cast. I guiltily admit that I fixated on Dominic Monaghan more than was strictly necessary. But really, he was Merry, my favorite character, and he was just freakin' adorable. And then he went on Lost and I hated him a little but he's still adorable. I hear he doesn't do much in X-Men, but any excuse is good when doing these things.

Confession: I kind of have a thing for big ears. A big thing.

Lost=beach=shirtless=YES

*****

Ta-daa!

I rest my case.

And as a parting blow, here's a completely gratuitious photo of Hugh Jackman. Shirtless. In a towel. Sweaty. With a golf club.



You are welcome.

I hope this drove away some of the end-of-the-week blues.

Have a great week!

Book #29: 'The Subtle Knife' by Phillip Pullman

The Subtle Knife picks up right where The Golden Compass left off. Lyra Belacqua has followed her father, Lord Asriel, to a different world through a doorway he opened at the end of the last book. Determined to find out more about the nature of Dust (the mysterious particles the Church is trying to destroy every knowledge of), Lyra unwittingly finds herself in the middle of hugely pivotal events that could determine the fate of mankind. She meets Will Parry, a boy who, like her, has found his way into a world different from his own a quest to find his father. Led by the alethiometer (the truth-telling device that only she can read), Lyra decides to help Will, as their two quests seem to be related.

That's just the bare-bones description of the plot. There is so much more going on that it's almost impossible to summarize coherently without giving too much away. Pullman is working with five or six interweaving stories, all part of an overarching plot whose scope is nothing short of astounding. It's a mystery that gets slowly unraveled in a perfectly paced and completely engrossing manner; it never feels forced or plodding. Pullman knows exactly what he is doing, allowing the characters and the reader to discover things at the same time so that each new twist is emotional and powerful. The moment when he reveals the truth about Lyra and Lord Asriel, when we discover what Pullman is trying to do, is just mind-blowing. Unless you come to the book with some prior knowledge, nothing can really prepare you for what's revealed in this book and what this true genius of an author has done. I don't want to reveal anything, but I'll just say that if you were shocked by The Golden Compass, it's nothing to what you'll find in the rest of this series. Nothing. No wonder Pullman is so controversial.

The Subtle Knife works perfectly as a middle-of-the-series episode. It resolves or extends the stories of the characters from the first book and sets up what should be a spectacular ending. We're introduced to only a handful of new characters, and these are just as well developed as the ones we're familiar with (who, in turn are further fleshed out). Will, who at first comes off as arrogant and unlikable (to be honest I hated him a little in the first few chapters), is the perfect companion for Lyra. Their relationship is treated with a respect you don't often see when authors deal with children. Pullman clearly has a lot of faith and love for these characters, and in turn so does the reader.

Having already read a good deal of the third book, I can tell you that so far the series remains as strong as ever. It becomes darker with the second book, as more complex themes are worked in, so very young readers might miss out on some things. But Pullman gives his audience a lot of credit, never dumbing things down but trusting in their intelligence. It's an amazing work, a series unlike anything you've read before--fantasy, adventure, religion, love, friendship, war. It has everything. And it just keeps getting better and better.

Book #28 (5K #5): "The Golden Compass" by Phillip Pullman

This is what teens should be reading. Harry Potter is cute and fun, but ultimately too childish. Take Twilight and burn it, or use it as a doorstop. It's worthless. Let's get young people to read His Dark Materials, and let them find out what really great fantasy literature is all about.

His Dark Materials is a trilogy of books that take place in a number of worlds parallel to our own. In one of these worlds (the main setting for The Golden Compass, each human is accompanied by a daemon, basically a representation of their souls in the form of an animal. Children's daemons are constantly changing to fit their moods. Once they reach adulthood, however, the daemons settle into a permanent shape that reflects what the people are inside. It's a completely alien concept at first, but Pullman does a fantastic job of explaining the link between humans and daemons, and some of the book's most moving moments come when that relationship comes into danger.

This world is ruled by an all powerful organization called The Magisterium, a stand-in for the Catholic Church. Pullman doesn't shy away from the comparisons and his criticism of the Church. In fact, the entire plot is driven by the Magisterium's desire to suppress what they call heretical plots that would essentially strip it of its power. The Oblation Board, part of the Magisterium, is conducting some sort of secret experiment in the Northern areas of the world, and the bulk of the book is spent with the characters trying to find out what it is.

Into this complicated and dark plot comes Lyra Belacqua, the main character of the book. She's a young girl who, largely by accident, is thrown into a mystery that involves the kidnapping of children, some of them her friends. Lyra is an interesting and complex character, not your usual children's book heroine. She's stubborn and arrogant, a natural leader and an expert liar, which saves her from a lot of trouble. Sometimes she's even a little unlikable, but I think it helps to see that this isn't a perfect little girl. She's abrasive, but that helps her survive situations that others wouldn't.

So Lyra, curious and determined, is taken along on some pretty scary adventures as she works to solve the mystery of the disappearing children. Pullman creates a dark, dangerous world full of monsters and magical creatures; the armored bears in particular have to be some of the most amazing things I've ever read about..

The book ends in a cliffhanger after a series of nonstop battles and confrontations--it was pretty damn hard to put down the book at any moment. It's fast-paced and exciting, sometimes downright creepy and disturbing. It's not a book for really young children, but I think anyone over the age of 16 would enjoy it. The Church criticism would perhaps be lost to a young audience, but it's another way for adults to enjoy the book. Pullman is obviously going for controversy here, and some people might be turned off by his constant cries of 'the church is evil! the church is evil!'. However, I think it would be unfair to dismiss such a talented and imaginative writer just because he's critical and controversial; it's too good and too rich a story. It's a great book, really, and I'm starting on the next one (The Subtle Knife) just as soon as I post this.

***

Done with another 5K Challenge! The best of the five? I'd have to say this one and "Teacher Man". Two very, very different books, but both from two wonderful writers. Everyone should read them