isn't it pretty to think so?

overdue book review(s)

2011-08-11T15:06:00.000-07:00

You may or may not have noticed that things have been awfully quiet around here at isn't it pretty to think so? Chalk it up to a series of 3am nights churning out a labor of love (...that may have come out wrong). At any rate! I've been reading about as much as ever, just terribly lax with posting reviews. So let's play a round of catch-up, shall we?

No, David!

David Shannon

My boyfriend's mom gave him this for his birthday, so of course I gave it a read. The concept is pretty self-explanatory after a glance at the cover: David does something he's not supposed to; David's mom says, "No!" It's a cute little book with some good laughs to be had, but the best part is the art. Shannon's illustrations have a definite whimsy, but of a sort not typically found in children's books (at least in my experience). And the colors are absolutely fantastic. Highly recommended for anyone with children (your inner child counts).

Ender's Shadow

Orson Scott Card

I'd heard that this was as good as, if not better than, Ender's Game, which I thoroughly enjoyed, so needless to say I was a tad skeptical. Happily, this didn't disappoint. Rather than Ender Wiggin, this book focuses on Bean, and aside from the opening section (if this were a comic, it'd be Bean's origin story), the rest of the plot is more or less identical to its predecessor. Yet in this second telling, we see all the events from the Battle School and Command School through the lens of Bean's perception, which is fascinating. Can't say that I find Bean to be anywhere near as likable as Wiggin, but there's a pretty satisfying character arc, so that's a bonus. I also really enjoyed the fact that this book investigated the role of religion in Card's imagined society (or any wartime society, really). Throw in some Lord of the Flies overtones, and it's hard to go wrong here.

Pride & Prejudice & Zombies

Seth Grahame-Smith (Jane Austen with the assist)

Unlike the vast majority of die-hard bookworms I seem to know, I am not an Austen fan. In fact, the professor of my undergrad survey on 1800s literature would probably be mortified to know that I've never read her. But Hollywood seems to love her, and every time I've caught part of a filmic adaptation featuring the leading lady who just happened to be in particular vogue when they started production, I received one message loud and clear: There is no appeal in Austen's plots for me. Throw in zombies and ninjas, on the other hand... now we're talking. I've gotta say, I think I prefer Little Women & Werewolves, but this was nearly as good. Great fun, excellent summer reading material. Supposedly a movie is forthcoming. Finally, a Jane Austen(esque) picture I'd actually have a desire to see on the big screen!

Lady Gaga: Just Dance

Helia Phoenix

In the interest of full disclosure, let me say that I know the author personally, and she is an absolutely amazing writer. That being said, I didn't get much out of the book. This could be due to the fact that I'm used to reading Phoenix's fiction, and nonfiction (particularly biography) is an entirely different animal. So my expectations were naturally unrealistic, and that felt dissatisfying. To be fair: That's wholly to do with me, not at all the quality of writing. There's some interesting information in here, it's certainly well researched, and the color photography is a nice touch. But it felt to me like a pretty one-sided representation, and while I enjoy Lady Gaga's music, I just don't find her particularly interesting (and after reading this book, I fear I find her regrettably pretentious). If, on the other hand, you're fascinated by Lady Gaga, I think you're bound to enjoy it.

Full Dark, No Stars

Stephen King

Let us be perfectly clear: I love Stephen King. I fell in love with him from the moment I finished reading the copies of Needful Things and The Dead Zone that Jill Conder was kind enough to let me borrow back in our prime playground days, and my unabashed adoration has continued to grow ever since. My high school math teacher, Mrs. Schroers, would turn her nose up every time I had another of his paperbacks in my possession, forever referring to him as "junk food for the brain." But you know, all these people read books intended for people at least half their age (some of which are well written, so no offense to JK Rowling, others (*cough*cough*Twilight*cough*) certainly aren't), or Tom Clancy or John Grisham, or (shudder) Dan Brown, or sappy crappy romance trash, but I swear, none of those readers get even one ounce the grief that King fans seem to suffer on a regular basis.

Aaaaaaaaaaaanywho, I enjoyed this book, as I more or less was guaranteed to since SK is just the man. It's not his best, but by no means his worst (and even his worst always seems to be worth reading). Of the four stories contained, I think "Big Driver" was the best. Absolutely flawless in execution. "A Good Marriage" strikes quite a few chords, and "Fair Extension" had a strong Needless Things/Thinner vibe to it, both of which are books I really enjoyed, so that worked. "1922" was easily the bitch of the bunch, but if you can make it through, it's smooth sailing.

...I'm still about four reviews behind to date, so keep an eye out for more. 'Til then, happy reading!

shameless self promotion

2011-08-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

It's a long time overdue, but my baby Leonard has finally made his debut! After much thought and consideration, the working title stayed, and Leonard & the Telescopic Trachea is officially in print.

If you'd like to support my ~~self-delusions of grandeur~~ fledgling career as a bona fide author, please feel free to buy a copy! My more frugal friends should consider entering this giveaway (cos who among us doesn't love free stuff?)

Endless gratitude to the incomparable Imin Yeh, without whom Leonard's story would never have been properly brought to life. Hugs & kisses for-evah!!!

Time to start work on the next project. ... Hint: It involves dinosaurs and this guy. Stay tuned!

player 2 has joined the game

2011-07-06T21:39:00.000-07:00

Extra Lives: Why Video Games Matter

Tom Bissell

Full disclosure: I am not—nor have I ever been—a gamer. That being said, I have friends in the industry, so despite the fact that I do not own a console of any kind, video games are incredibly close to my heart. And Tom Bissell delivers the goods.

From the get-go, he lets it be known that his book will focus squarely on AAA titles with a narrative bent. Meanwhile, my favorite video games of all time are (not necessarily in order) Tetris, Duck Hunt, and Dr. Mario—all of which have at best the most minor suggestion of story.

That I found the book absolutely fascinating speaks volumes to its relevance in the fields of critical theory, gaming, and pop culture. If you like story (books, films, theatre, the age-old oral tradition, any/all of the above), video games, visual and aural forms of art (whether high or low), then chances are Bissell will strike a chord with you.

The book's final chapter—which delves into the author's battle with coke addiction in the heart of Sin City—goes a little too confessional for my tastes (particularly in light of the fact that this is meant to be a work of criticism), but then again, it's a chapter about the Grand Theft Auto franchise, so really, it's decidedly apropos.

I typically reserve 5 stars for books that, upon finishing, I can confidently say that I wouldn't change a thing about them if given the chance. Though this book gets 5 stars handily, I did have one teeny, tiny gripe: In the Appendix, the author—while discussing whether or not comedy is the next great untapped video game genre—asks his interview subject if he's a fan of Monty Python, he is, and neither one of them makes any reference to 7th Level's Monty Python & the Quest for the Holy Grail. But throw in a Stephanie Meyer/Ibsen joke, and all is forgiven.

I'll definitely be seeking out works by Bissell in the future.

death by legume

2011-06-30T16:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome back, dear readers (all three of you)! Don't let the lack of recent posts fool you: I've been reading up a storm, just haven't had additional downtime to blog about it. So now, I diligently set fingertips to keyboard to fill you in on the latest books to take their leave of my "to-read" shelf.

Mr. Peanut
Adam Ross

Every so often, a novel comes along that's a complete game changer, surpassing your expectations and taking you to places you'd never have dreamed of (or had at least forgotten existed), and as you turn the final page of the story to find blank space and the back cover on the other side, all you can do is release a breathless, blissful "wow."

This is one of those novels.

Deftly weaving fact and fiction, Ross puts on an elegant display of the infamous (and exhaustively researched) Sam Sheppard murder case infused with his own insightful conjecture beautifully mirroring the marital strife of two fictional couples in the narrative. Pull the old "novel within a novel" out of Ross's bag of authorial tricks, and you're left with a metafictional masterpiece.

If thoughts of unreliable narrators, the theme of illusion v. reality, and/or metafiction turn you on, I think you're in for a treat. If, on the other hand, that previous sentence made you want to cry/scream/vomit/hide under the covers whilst sucking your thumb... it's probably not the book for you.

Life
Keith Richards

Listened to this on audiobook actually, and all the narrators did an excellent job (although I'd recommend listening at 2x speed for the most part (even 3x at the end)). Some really interesting stuff in here for any music fan: the backstory of how Keith and Jagger first met, the Rolling Stones' various influences, the progression from tiny clubs in the U.K. to the playing support on the first U.S. tour to headlining to super stardom and beyond. Plus you get to hear Richards' first-hand account of his gradual descent into/out of/into/&c heroin addiction, and he even addresses some of the larger-than-life myths surrounding him.

My favorite parts are probably those that deal with the relationship between KR and MJ, the interspersed first-hand accounts of the myriad characters the Stones have encountered along the way, and especially the glimpses behind the scenes of the band's songwriting and recording process. Kudos to Keith for being honest about his history as a parent as well.

Go the Fuck to Sleep
Adam Mansbach

Another audiobook, narrated by Samuel L. Jackson. If you haven't heard of this by now, you more likely than not live under a rock as it's been all over the Faceyspaces and YouTubez. Anywho, the long and the short of it: six minutes of sheer bliss.

I have no offspring to speak of, but something tells me that this hits the nail on the head of what it must mean to live the life of a parent. I laughed so hard I almost cried, my misgivings about the potentiality of my future reproduction were once again solidified, and I laughed a little mischievously as I thought of all my friends with children, you poor bastards.

Personally, I would let my child read this book once they hit an age where they could recognize the truth of it and actually get the joke. So seven or eight probably. But possibly younger if they were precocious enough.

And that's why I probably shouldn't be allowed to have kids.

Uncle Shelby's ABZ Book: A Primer for Adults Only
Shel Silverstein

I actually read this for the first time in December when my boyfriend and I coincidentally got each other matching copies for xmas (love you, baby). But I had fallen woefully behind in my Goodreads 2011 Reading Challenge, so I reread it. Because I'm not above cheating sometimes. So sue me.

In case you can't tell from the subtitle, the beauty of the book is that it's a children's book for adults (or an adults' book for children (either way, it's hilariously inappropriate humor)). If you're familiar with Shel Silverstein's Dr. Demento/Playboy stuff, then you already know what's in store. If not, but you're a fan of Silverstein and Roald Dahl (especially his darker stuff), then you really can't go wrong with this.

I would most likely let my child read this at six, possibly five.

See above.

Bossypants
Tina Fey

Another audiobook (my commute feels productive again!), thanks to which I finally realized that, just like me, Tina Fey has a slight lisp. I feel newly bonded to her, like kindred spirits, and I am reminded that one of my very best friends has at times referred to me as her Liz Lemon (as we are both smart, funny, and utterly hapless).

I expected to enjoy this book, but I ended up getting a lot more out of it than I thought I would. I hadn't realized that Fey's quite the feminist, and while I don't self-identify as such, a lot of what she has to say resonates in a way I can appreciate. Far from simply a strong female voice or an entertaining woman's perspective, hers is a strong voice. Period.

If I had a daughter, I would encourage her to read it in the hopes that she might find a role model of her own gender early on. If I had a son, I'd encourage him to read it so that he might empathize with women in seemingly male-dominated professions, as well as working mothers. Plus, it's really funny, and my kids will enjoy reading, dammit, or I shall disown them.

See above.

Also, the stuff about the 2008 election is pretty fantastic.

Gigi & Jacques' Adventures in Paris
Maureen Edgecomb

The art... meh. The story... the same. My ever-supportive mom picked this up for me while on vacation one year because she knew I was working on a children's book for a pregnant friend of mine, and she wanted to encourage this new creative outlet. It's sat on my to-read shelf ever since, and I finally decided to plow through it (again, I was behind on my Goodreads 2011 Reading Challenge, and kids' books are by and large super quick reads (you say "cheating," I say "playing smart")). I wish I could say I liked the book, but I just didn't.

I must, however, give credit where credit's due: The book has educational merit. As you've probably inferred from the title and cover art, the book takes place in Paris, and as such, it features a smattering of French. If you want to encourage polyglot tendencies in small children, this book could be a good way to go about it, but you'll have to catch them young. I doubt this would fly for anyone beyond kindergarten, first grade tops.

Burn This Book
edited by Toni Morrison

There are some interesting essays in this collection about the power of words, writing and politics, author as witness, the role of art and literature in society... nothing particularly earth-shattering, but some thought provoking stuff nonetheless. I also got some good book recommendations out of it, things a contributor might reference that I'd never heard of before that sound remarkably interesting, and some great points about censorship and banned books.

Akbar & Jeff's Guide to Life
Matt Groening

I was first introduced to Akbar & Jeff in 1996 by my high school drama teacher. Along with School Is Hell, Life Is Hell, and Work Is Hell, Akbar & Jeff's Guide to Life provides us with a glimpse of Matt Groening's genius in the pre-Simpsons days. In fact, some of the characters are clearly the nascent versions of America's favorite yellow family. And as a bonus, the fez-wearing, Ziggyesque pair are homosexual partners. Sold!

Who the Hell Is Pansy O'Hara?: The Fascinating Stories Behind 50 of the World's Best-Loved Books
Jenny Bond & Chris Sheedy

I was really excited to read this book, as nonfiction books about books are one of my new favorite obsessions. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a letdown. It's a good, entertaining enough book, I just had unfairly high expectations for it. A lot of the anecdotes are stories I'm familiar with from high school and/or college (Frankenstein, Charles Dickens' father in debtor's prison, &c), so there just wasn't enough new information for me to take much away from it. Still, makes for some fun light reading.

Ender's Game
Orson Scott Card

I'm not a big consumer of genre fiction, so it's rare that I delve into sci-fi, but I'm so glad that I did this week to meet Ender Wiggin. It'd be hard for me to talk about the book at length without giving some of the goods away, so I won't. Suffice it to say, the book does just about everything a well-crafted sci-fi story ought to do: Envisions futuristic (yet ultimately realized) technology a few decades early (read: iPad!!), paints a realistic picture of a thoroughly alien world, calls upon the reader's imagination to help create the fabric of this alternate reality, and then uses this supposedly "other" landscape to provide astute and biting commentary on contemporary society. A unique take on standard coming-of-age fare with occasional homoerotic and incestuous leanings. Interesting to say the very least.

used // in well-loved condition

2011-06-07T20:09:00.000-07:00

The Late American Novel: Writers on the Future of Books
edited by Jeff Martin & C. Max Magee

A new month, a new review. This was an impulse buy off the "employee recommendations" display at my local Barnes & Noble while killing time before seeing "Thor" in 3D. One look at the cover art, and I couldn't very well not buy it. Throw in the fact that I've been kicking around the idea of doing my thesis on reading as tactile experience and the fetishization of print, and it's fairly obvious that this particular book was tailor-made for me.

Happily, it did not disappoint.

The common consensus appears to be that the bulk of the book is dedicated to a bunch of bibliophiles waxing David Foster Wallace-esque about their love of the book as an object/art form. Ain't gonna lie: That's more or less true. But so what? The fact of the matter is that the book as an object and/or art form is more than worthy of exaltation and all the praise one can manage to heap upon it. And with David Foster Wallace gone, why shouldn't other writers at least attempt to carry that torch? But while The Late American Novel certainly appeals to my fellow bibliophiles, the earliest of early adopters and the most elite of technocrats could undoubtedly take something worthwhile away from this easily digestible, well-under-200-page read.

While I was initially skeptical upon reading the first paragraph of the introduction, in which Martin and Magee appear to completely miss the mark with respect to the infamous F. Scott Fitzgerald quote, "There are no second acts in American lives," tying it into the notion of a cultural comeback rather than the three-act structure of American drama, it was an interpretative mistake that was easy enough to forgive since everything else was pithy, spot-on, and exceptionally well-written.

I could quote passage after passage of the book in an attempt to entice you, but I'd hate to give too much away. The essays range from vibrant enthusiasm and an embracing of technological advances and the wealth of new possibilities they bring to the downright luddite in nature, and all make valid enough points. There's even something to appeal to those with a post-modern/post-po-mo/meta bent.

That childhood favorite of anyone raised in the 1980s, Choose Your Own Adventure, plays fairly heavily, so that ought to be an incentive to pick up a copy right there.

Perhaps my favorite essay of the lot is "The Crying of Page 45." First things first, a solid Pynchon reference means I'm pretty much sold straight out of the gate. But then there are diagrams, illustrations, tongue-in-cheek humor, references to the near-forgotten art of textual illumination, old school Mac pop-ups ... it's a thing of beauty, really.

...and I just added ~45 books to my "to-read" list thanks to this book, so that should tell you something.

i'm cool. i have tattoos.

2011-05-26T23:10:00.000-07:00

A Heap of Broken Thoughts
Sean Pearson

Just shy of two years ago, one of my best and oldest friends informed me that he was looking at self-publishing a collection of short stories, poetry, and miscellaneous odds and ends that he'd written throughout the years and asked if I'd write some copy to put on the back cover. Never one to shy away from a challenge, I happily accepted. But although I'd read most of the book's contents, I hadn't actually read the book itself.

Which, as you might imagine, made things a little complicated.

Nevertheless, having known the guy since I was five (maybe even a little before that), I figured I was in as good of a position as anyone to do the job, so I gave it a shot:

Since the dawn of time, man has pondered the ineffable. What is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything? Where does the one sock go when half the pair disappears in the dryer? When is the right time to tell your lover that yes, those pants do make your ass look big? Who was it that first dreamed up the hotdog/bun conspiracy... and for the love of god, why?!??

And how did we get started on this conversation in the first place?

Does Mr. Pearson's book contain the answers to the aforementioned questions? Most assuredly not. But what it does hold, dear reader, is far better. Through a selection of brief—yet brilliant—strings of syllables, sentences, and the occasional well-placed conjunction, the wisdom of one man's unique and at times terrifying vision will be revealed.

Do I personally know what mysteries lie in wait for your hungry eyes to devour? As of this writing, no. No, I do not. I do know that it will at some point or another involve Mondays, but on that subject I will say no more. I'd hate to spoil the surprise (and it's a good one (trust me on this, I know (really))).

So join me, precious, intrepid, reckless, and/or inebriated reader, on this most exquisite of literary journeys.

And you. Yes, you, the timid sober person holding this book betwixt thumb and forefinger, shaking your head at my words which undoubtedly make little to no sense. It's time for you (yes, you; we've been over this!) to man up and turn that cover... for glory awaits you on the other side.

Well... glory, and of course these words again. Which I give you full permission to ignore.

I'm Lisa Brown, and I approve this book endorsement.

Today, I finally got my shit together and finished reading the collection, A Heap of Broken Thoughts. What follows is my honest (albeit probably biased) review.

From the introduction, in which the book addresses the reader directly, you know you're in for a treat. The collection is separated into three parts: Stories, Poems, and Frust (which, according to Urban Dictionary, is the small line of dust/debris that collects during sweeping and refuses to be swept into the dustpan (so, in other words, it's the miscellany that Pearson didn't feel was properly categorized as story or poem)). Among the hidden gems contained within Frust are a song entitled "Jesus Was a Samurai" ("Danger / Danger / Danger / In the manager"), a statement from the Living Carefree Dangerously Institute ("Reaching the Youth of Tomorrow, Tomorrow"), Fortune of Mondays! ("Putting beer if the waffle iron will only cause confusion later on. Optimism is like leaving shampoo in your hair, when you bring it to work, people can smell it and don't forget it."), and a series of instructions to be carried out upon the author's death.

Frust may be my favorite part of the book.

But then there's "A Story," where a stapler plays the unlikely role of protagonist, "Chikkens," in which a little girl communes with dead animals while an elderly farmer loses his mind and quaffs poultry blood from a flask, "The Roommate," co-authored with David Jaloza in which sloth and contempt meet murder and mermaids, and ever so much more. Plus poetry with lines such as "I should've gone barefoot / a classical vintner / in my cushiony field," "A tiresome life of work and worry we spend, / preoccupied with the life next-door, / needlessly striving for a better future. / How dare we waste what life we have?", "If I were a dinosaur / and lived in your pantry / please do not step on my tail" — how can you really expect to pick a favorite?

Maybe this review is going to leave you more in the dark than anything, and maybe that's as it should be. This really is a book that needs to be experienced first-hand to be understood and appreciated. All I know is, I'm damned happy to have a copy on my shelf.

In closing, I think I'll let the author speak for himself:

Art created for the self finds its existence teetering on the scale of the artist's own self-confidence in the work, a scale which can push it forward into the public's eye or obscure the art into relative non-existence. ... So to this end, put out anything you've created that you find beautiful or compelling. You are bound to touch at least one individual.

Well, Seaneo: Mission accomplished.

so many books, vol. 2

2011-05-24T13:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I threw down some book recommendations. Today, you get the rest! So sit back, relax, and try to steer clear of your plastic, cos nearly all of these are worth owning.

Of Mice and Men
John Steinbeck

One-hundred pages and change of absolute brilliance. There are very few books that I would characterize as essentially flawless, but this is one of them. The fact that Steinbeck is able to draw such vividly realized characters and fully develop timeless themes with just the right amount of symbolism thrown into the mix in so few pages is a testament to his literary genius. Anyone who loves a well crafted story would be doing themselves a favor by picking this one up.

Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust
Nathanael West

My executive editor at the magazine I worked at in Washington, D.C., recommended that I read Miss Lonelyhearts a while ago, but I was actually a bigger fan of The Day of the Locust. Both stories ring true, as if they had been written during the current recession rather than circa 1933. The plight of Miss Lonelyhearts—a man with a bizarre brand of savior complex—is a tragicomical train wreck from which you just can't look away, although each and every character (save for his column's anonymous, faceless readers) is intensely unlikeable. That being said: The typos and egregious misspellings that plague the letters to Miss Lonelyhearts made me want to take my trusty red pen and stab myself in both eyes. No offense to Mr. West, as the grammatical and spelling errors (not to mention largely absent punctuation) are clearly intentional. It's just my cross to bear as an editor.

Although the protagonist of Locust isn't 100 percent sympathetic as far as characters go, he and the rest of the cast of characters are largely relatable—and none are without their flaws. The result is a startlingly honest portrait of California as America's ill-conceived "promised land," moved forward by glimpses into the lives of individual players who are at once unique/fully realized and archetypal. Mostly, it's a commentary on the nature of violence and humanity's attraction to it. Mob as living organism, yadda yadda yadda. Clocking in at just 185 pages for both novels combined (novellas, really, but why split hairs), it's definitely worth the day or two you'll spend burning through its pages.

Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages
Ammon Shea

The next best thing to owning a copy of the OED that you can read yourself, Reading the OED has an easily digestible, letter-by-letter breakdown of little-known, oftentimes fun/hilarious/possibly disturbing words that you probably had no idea actually existed. Not as great of a read as The Professor and the Madman, but recommendable nonetheless.

The Dissident
Nell Freudenberger

As a Californian living and working in China at the time I read this, a book about a Chinese artist living and working in California on a sort of cultural exchange seemed fitting. It's certainly not a fast-paced page turner by any stretch of the imagination, but it's an interesting story with dynamic characters that will successfully hold your interest despite its slow pace. I figured out the "twist" ending really early on, but it was still fun to find out how the author intended the reader to get there over time.

Madeleine Is Sleeping
Sarah Shun-lien Bynum

From the gypsy who isn't really a gypsy to the female alto who only wishes to play male heroes, from the title character to the difference between the waking world and dreaming, nothing in this book is as clear-cut as it might at first appear. From cover to cover, the story is drenched in a syrup of surrealism that is sure to delight while at the same time keep you guessing. Not your average narrative. Highly recommended for fans of Salvador Dali or the films of Michel Gondry.

Ballad of the Whiskey Robber: A True Story of Bank Heists, Ice Hockey, Transylvanian Pelt Smuggling, Moonlighting Detectives, and Broken Hearts
Julian Rubinstein

Stellar reporting, a well-crafted narrative with a cutthroat pace and pitch perfect flow, larger than life characters, coincidences and ironies that are simply too hilarious to be believed—and yet it's all true. This is the sort of nonfiction that appeals to those of us who traditionally gravitate toward novels. And the ways in which the author grounds his subject in a geopolitical context are organic to the story and may even prove edifying for readers who are perhaps less-than-well-informed about the fall of communism and America's influence (whether financial or otherwise) in eastern Europe.

Shanghai: The Rise and Fall of a Decadent City
Stella Dong

A quick, easy read. History that reads like a trashy novel. Smart, sexy smut. Unlike most books that cover the period of Chinese history from the first Opium War to the successful rise of the CCP and PLA, this book tells the story through a lens pointed squarely at Shanghai. Definitely a refreshing and specific perspective.

Water for Elephants
Sara Gruen

As far as books about the circus and sideshows go, this book lacks the same shock value as Geek Love, but it more than makes up for it with pitch-perfect prose, extensively researched details, realism that's second to none, and a plot and pace that will have you turning the page as often as possible. 4/5 instead of a solid 5 only because I'm not 100 percent sold on the ending.

I Curse the River of Time
Per Petterson, translated by Charlotte Barslund

Finished this book July 11, 2010 (thanks, Indiespensible!), and it was time well spent. While the dust jacket makes reference to the fact that the book deals with communism circa 1989, the real meat of this story (for me, anyway) was the investigation of a 37-year-old man's relationship with his mother and, to a lesser extent, father. There's no coincidence that Petterson makes reference to the fall of the Berlin Wall, as it represents the cathartic release the narrator longs to find. But does he ever find it? You've got to read it to find out.

Lost on Planet China: The Strange and True Story of One Man's Attempt to Understand the World's Most Mystifying Nation, or How He Became Comfortable Eating Live Squid
J. Maarten Troost

From the introduction, in which Troost proclaimed that "there [would] be no fucking sunsets" in his book, I was hooked. An exceedingly well-written, insightful, and humorous account of what it means to be a Laowai in a nation 1.5 billion strong.

Modern China (A Brief Insight)
Rana Mitter

A thought-provoking perspective on China and its evolving relationship to modernity from the Qing dynasty to the present day. Some of the chapters contain redundant information, but I can understand and appreciate the author's attempt to drill down more complex and important points. Plus, at just about 200 pages, it's a very quick read—light, accessible, and informative.

Salad Days
Charles Romalotti

I haven't read this since college, but it was fun enough. If memory serves, I picked it up at a punk rock show. If you're under 20 and listen to 1980s punk, it's not a must-read (but an enjoyable one). If you're over 21, it's probably a little juvenile but could be an ok trip down memory lane.

Little Women and Werewolves
Porter Grand (Louisa May Alcott with the assist)

As someone who typically doesn't enjoy literature written prior to World War I, the addition of werewolves to Little Women makes it infinitely more readable! That being said, I think I was even more disappointed in how Jo and Laurie/Teddy's relationship plays out than I was when I read the original...

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
Aimee Bender

Aimee Bender is a master at the tightrope walk that is her readers' suspension of disbelief. There are plot elements that are utterly fantastical, but the relationships are so true to life and the situations so fully realized, you're able to buy into the world of the story hook, line, and sinker. The narration is well crafted, the dialogue believable, with plenty of quotable passages. Maybe not as "fun" as The Girl in the Flammable Skirt, but I'd dare say it's a stronger effort overall. Great book.

Because I Am a Girl
Tim Butcher, Irvine Welsh, Joanne Harris, Xiaolu Guo, Deborah Moggach, Kathy Lette, and Marie Phillips

I came across this book as part of my ongoing quest to read everything that Irvine Welsh has ever written. Although much of the factual information contained in the book was old news for me (female genital mutilation, sexual abuse, HIV/AIDS exposure, second-class citizenship, &c, &c), the intimate perspective derived from retellings of what are essentially first-person accounts was a refreshing change of pace. Definitely a valuable read for anyone interested in learning more about the struggles of women in developing nations.

Among the Thugs
Bill Buford

Nonfiction that reads like fiction, not so much by virtue of the writing style as by the fact that some of the stories beggar belief. Solid and compelling reporting.

The Pop Gun War
Farel Dalrymple

Good, but not great. The art is easily the best part about it. The story is ok: interesting, kind of surrealist, but not exactly cohesive.

The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary
Simon Winchester

If the title doesn't pique your interest, nothing I could say about it possibly could. A must-read for anyone with an obsession with the written word. Someday, I will own a copy of the OED, but until then, The Professor and the Madman is a pretty satisfying glimpse into that world I so desperately covet. Maximum stars.

Let the Great World Spin
Colum McCann

National Book Award winners are always pretty solid, and this one most definitely does not disappoint. Funny, tragic, circuitous, and clever. What more could you ask for in a book? McCann takes a larger-than-life event from the real world and crafts a series of intertwined narratives around it. The result is complex, thought-provoking, endearing, and a little heartbreaking. If you have an interest in New York, cities in general, or the interconnectedness of people, this is a book you should pick up immediately.

It
Stephen King

Classic King, and Dark Tower fans will find a little something extra. Sadly, the movie (well, TV miniseries, technically) pales in comparison, but that's not much of a surprise.

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex
Mary Roach

Not nearly as good as Stiff, but I personally found it more enjoyable than Spook. Any fan of Mary Roach is sure to eat it up.

The Third Policeman
Flann O'Brien

Lots of laughs, some interesting thoughts on the nature of life, death, and eternity. Plus, the ending is absolutely flawless. I wouldn't say Flann O'Brien is of the same caliber as Samuel Beckett, but he certainly appeals to a similar reader. Definitely worth picking up a copy.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto
Chuck Klosterman

I love, laugh, and agree with Chuck Klosterman about as often as I disagree with and/or feel marginalized by him, which is to say roughly 50 percent of the time. Nevertheless, it's certainly enlightening to meet a Republican hipster (if only in print), and he knows his way around a sentence. Also, his understanding of print journalism is right on. Read this. And if you don't get it, come find me.

Please.

P.S. I primarily feel marginalized by him because he fails to grasp that much of the Gen-X experience is equalled shared and embraced by Gen-Y.

23 titles today, 12 yesterday, and that's not even scratching the surface. Stay tuned for new reviews on a fairly steady and regular basis!

so many books...

2011-05-23T23:32:00.000-07:00

For a while now, I've been posting brief reviews of books here and there on other sites thanks to Powell's Daily Dose and its lure of free books, but I've recently been inspired by my amazing pal Audrey and her work over at Bibliosaurus Text to post reviews here. After all, what good is it being a bibliophile if you can't share the love? And besides, my reading habit is about to kick into overdrive with the start of a new school year, so this might be a good excuse to get back into the swing of putting my thoughts on paper/screen.

I decided to kick things off archive-style by catching this space up to speed with my Goodreads and Powell's reviews, so if you're in need of a book recommendation or two (or few), read on:

Gay L.A.: A History of Sexual Outlaws, Power Politics, and Lipstick Lesbians
Lillian Faderman and Stuart Timmons

Absolutely fascinating. Having grown up within commuting distance of San Francisco, I'd never really given much thought to the importance of Los Angeles on LGBT history and culture, so the book was as much informative as entertaining for me. Exhaustively researched and very well written. A refreshing take on the struggle(s) for civil rights.

Sin City vol. 1: The Hard Goodbye
Frank Miller

A lot of the art really isn't my style, but the moments that stand out are pretty spectacular. The writing, on the other hand, is more or less spot on from start to finish. Hard-boiled/pulp/noir at just about its finest. Miller has a great ear for dialogue and writes a mean interior monologue to boot.

The Death of Superman
Dan Jurgens

Never been a Superman fan, but much like "For All Seasons," this shows Supes in a better (read: far more interesting) light. Just as the Bay of Pigs fiasco served to improve JFK's approval ratings, the Man of Steel becomes infinitely more attractive as a character when we see him as fallible. What better way to do that than to underline his mortality by killing him off? Lovely.

Batman: A Death in the Family
Jim Starlin, Jim Aparo, and Mike DeCarlo

Simply amazing. References to Iran-Contra, strong emphasis on the relationship between Batman and the Joker, great meta foreward, interesting afterward about how the readers—not DC—killed off Robin... it more or less exemplifies everything there is to love about comics. Minus one star, because it's by no means my favorite art in the world, but the story and overall writing merit a solid 5.

The Partly Cloudy Patriot
Sarah Vowell

Part anecdotal American history, part autobiographical sketch comedy, Partly Cloudy is certain to please Chuck Klosterman/John Stewart/Stephen Colbert/David Sedaris/Augusten Burroughs fans alike. Definitely has more to offer nerds of a more pop cultural bent than your average history buff, but a quick, fun read for all.

The Skin That We Speak: Thoughts on Language and Culture in the Classroom
Edited by Lisa Delipt and Joanne Kilgur Dowdy

It's not often that I say, "This book changed my life," but this one did—insofar as it changed the way I think about the various forms of English spoken on either side of the Pond, which is more than a mildly important part of my world. It formalized and validated some things I had sort of intuited about certain dialects and speech patterns, and it shed valuable light onto the crucial role language plays in the learning process, regardless of subject matter. Some of the essays are a little dated, some of the rhetoric is a bit much, but overall, I can't recommend it highly enough.

One of Our Thursdays Is Missing (Thursday Next No. 6)
Jasper Fforde

Much as anyone who's read Fforde would expect, there are some great jokes for bookworms, grammar enthusiasts, and general nerds alike. By no means the best entry in the Thursday Next series, but definitely a fun, worthwhile read.

Atlas Shrugged
Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand is a great writer, particularly adept at plotting and characterization. That being said, Atlas Shrugged could have used a more forceful editor, as much of the copy is redundant and takes away from the story and overall narrative impact. Rand appears to underestimate her readers' intelligence and takes far too heavy a hand to get her point across... not to mention the holes in her philosophy and rhetoric which she chooses to ignore (or, perhaps worse, simply doesn't see).

Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace... One School at a Time
Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin

Kind of silly that Greg Mortenson is credited as co-author, considering he's actually a source. But the publisher probably figured that would sell more copies. Other than that: Interesting book, a little too sentimental for my tastes at times, but features a nice Jon Krakauer cameo. Worth a read, but definitely not a "must" by any means. Deals with 9/11 towards the end, gives you an on-the-ground perspective from Pakistan, as well as some insights into Afghanistan once the "War on Terror" relocated to Iraq.

Under the Banner of Heaven
Jon Krakauer

You know a book is good when random strangers approach you in Shanghai to strike up a conversation about it. Equally skilled as a balanced reporter and engaging storyteller, Krakauer consistently delivers informed, insightful, and thought-provoking books that resonate long after you've reached the back cover. As much a story about specific violent episodes in the history of both mainstream and fundamentalist Mormonism (from pre-Civil War to the murders perpetrated by two of the Lafferty brothers) as it is about the nature of faith, organized religion, and extremism, Under the Banner of Heaven provides a glimpse into part of the modern American story largely missing from our textbooks.

Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster
Jon Krakauer

While I rated this one 4 out of 5 stars, (which is damned high for me, if you didn't already know), it doesn't appear that I actually wrote a review of it. It's a simultaneously powerful and painful read, but well worth the effort. But be prepared to cry or at the very least get pretty seriously choked up.

Eating the Dinosaur
Chuck Klosterman

I'm a sucker for Chuck Klosertman's writing style and wit, so it's no surprise that I dig this book. What was a bit of a surprise is that I prefer the majority of these essays to those found in Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. From the Unabomber to "In Utero," to a deconstruction of the very strange moment in pop music history that is Chris Gaines, this si a fun, quick read for anyone who takes their lower culture a little seriously (but loves a good laugh in the process).

...12 books and counting, but I think I'll call it a night. Until next time, fellow bookworms!

Image courtesy For Books' Sake.

and they called it mandroid love...

2010-07-28T23:53:00.000-07:00

So remember when I said the guys over at Star Wars v. Star Trek were going to let me edit their blog? It turns out I'm allowed to write there, too! Check it out!

Image courtesy Botropolis.

slow boat to china

2010-07-26T22:21:00.000-07:00

my chinese consulate friend // san francisco

...and by "boat," I mean "very long flight(s)," but you get the idea.

At any rate, it's an announcement fairly long coming, and many (if not most (or maybe all)) of you are already aware of the news, but just to make it official: I'm moving to China for a year. Specifically, Shanghai. So yeah. Color me stoked.

The change was a sorely needed one, not least because of the fact that I was languishing in cubicle hell (not to mention that I've been back on the left coast for just about 18 months, which is sort of my geographic expiration date). Yet the fortuitous opportunity proves unequivocally that whoever first coined the phrase "It isn't what you know; it's who you know" sure as shit wasn't just whistling Dixie, and my sincere and eternal gratitude is due to AKAD Korea for making the proverbial stars align in my personal zodiac. Kenneth, it's on like Donkey Kong.

California, you know my heart belongs to you and only you... but 1.5 billion people can't be wrong. Just let me go see what all the fuss is about, and I'll come back with tons of photos and curios to share. Promise.

T-minus 22 days and counting...

But in the meantime:

...so the post lives up to its name.

i quit this bitch!

2010-07-11T21:11:00.000-07:00

I wrote this back in the days when we were all firmly entrenched in the Space, but once again, the words are relevant. So here it is, slightly altered for accuracy's sake:

Saints be praised — I have begun the process of shaking off my shackles of cubicle oppression. BE GONE, vile headset; thou hath no power over me! The time of my rebirth is now. A new day is dawning, and I rise to greet it with open arms and a brilliant smile. The gods may feast in bacchean ecstasy on nectar and ambrosia, but I shall soon taste the sweet fruits of victory and emancipation.

I have given my three weeks' notice...

Rock.

And now, some musical entertainment:

So apropos.

waiting for godot banjo

2010-06-02T23:06:00.000-07:00

Counting down the days...

so a starfleet officer walks into the cantina on mos eisley...

2010-05-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

No I won't. More's the pity... but I digress. Time for another shameless plug on behalf of my star-studded* parade of brilliant friends. I've once again offered my pro bono copyediting services,** this time for the fanboys—pardon me, fanmen—behind the helm of Star Wars vs. Star Trek. If you're into discussing the practical applications of futuristic sci-fi technologies, debating the relative merits of humanoid artificial intelligence compared to its more mechy counterparts, ogling scantily clad women of the green and/or chained variety, pyrotechnic explosions that do or do not (there is no try) resemble what could actually occur in the vacuum of space... or if you're just in the mood for some occasionally foul-mouthed and/or low-brow but always sufficiently geeky humor... then this is clearly the best blog you're not reading.*** So I suggest you rectify that situation.

MTFBWY // LL&P

Image borrowed from /film.

* Aforementioned stardom may be purely hypothetical and/or reserved for a future date as yet TBD.

** Making the internet safe for scrutinizing eyes everywhere, one corrected typo at a time.

*** Unless you're already reading it. In which case, keep up the good work! Also, did I happen to mention that our friends over @WarsVsTrek (now, with more social media!) are fans of endnotes?**** Bonus!

**** Even if they mistakenly refer to them as footnotes... but I've cut them some slack, since it's on screen as opposed to print.

leonard, revisited

2010-04-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

Big, beautiful developments are in the works, courtesy of a woman who more than knows her way around a Sharpie and a block of wood, bringing us one step closer to putting Leonard the giraffe's story into print. And there was much rejoicing!

...or there would be, were it not for a currently significant roadblock: I have to pick a title first.

Shoot.

Dark horses currently in the running...

1. Leonard & the Telescopic Trachea
Pros: Nice alliteration, it's fun to say, and the phrase "telescopic trachea" does appear within the body of the story.
Cons: Kind of/awfully wordy...

2. A Solitary Giraffe in Santa Cruz
Pros: It establishes both the setting and the fact that the protagonist is the only one of his kind within that particular setting in one swift blow.
Cons: Meh... pretty boring, right? And actually one word longer than the first option...

3. Laugh With the Giraffe, Not at Him
Pros: Little bit of a rhyme, so Seussian bonus points. Also nods at the story's moral, I guess.
Cons: Again, bit of a moutful. And still six words...

4. Mammalian Misfits
Pros: As pretty much any art director in the world of magazine publishing can tell you, heds should be two words, three tops, if at all possible. The same holds true for books. And it's still alliterative.
Cons: "Mammalian" isn't very sexy, and it's awfully close to "mammary" (stupid Latin roots)... although that's pretty much neither here nor there for the sandbox set.

...that's all I've got, at least for now.

Anyone care to cast a ballot? Vote early, vote often!

this is what they pay me for...

2010-04-28T17:23:00.000-07:00

You know the sort of thing where one person starts a story and then a group of people take turns adding to it, picking up the narrative ball where the last person left off? Sort of like Click... aaaaaaanywho. A coworker just forwarded a story kicked off by another of our coworkers, and added to be at least one other (if not more) in the interim, which starts off talking about a poor schmuck wasting away in cubicle land a la "Office Space," then shifts point of view to his boss, Amy, who thinks bitterly to herself that her male subordinate wouldn't have lasted nearly as long were it not for his conventional good looks because, in the world of depilatory creams, some man candy often helps to close the sale.

Needless to say, this got my mind stuck on unwanted body hair (and yes, I freely admit to having first googled "depilatory" to figure out just what sort of cosmetic product the story was dealing with)... so I ran with it:

Ironic, then, that Amy often found herself longing for the days when a tasteful amount of cleavage coupled with a mildly distracting hemline was the perfect one-two knockout punch in the world of corporate ladder climbing. Not that the good ol' boys didn't continue to show their appreciation for feminine wiles in the form of scarcely concealed lascivious glances by the water cooler and the occasional upwardly mobile promotion—for that was true as it ever was. But as gravity took its toll, cellulite began to congregate en masse at Amy's midsection, and her nipples inched ever farther from the bright and shiny quarters of youth to the fragile, wind-beaten sand dollars of middle age, the fact simply had to be faced that her own sexual currency was no longer in active circulation.

And to make matters worse, that cold, heartless bitch genetics had finally reared its Gorgonesque head: When Amy looked in the mirror this morning, fine lines, wrinkles, and her mother's menopausal moustache stared back. Time to invest in the company product, evidently...

Earning that paycheck in spades this week.

Image borrowed from Mirror.co.uk.

medieval times // more than just dinner + a show

2010-04-20T14:59:00.000-07:00

In case you were unaware, renowned historian* Dr. David B. Jaloza, Esq.,** also posts things on the interwebs here, although it should be noted that he does so far more eloquently and informatively than I could ever hope to do. That being said, I've offered my pro bono services as a copy editor, and he has accepted, so as I read through his back catalog of posts, I encourage you to do the same.

Hop to it!

Image borrowed from Loyola University, Chicago, Department of English.

*and by "renowned," I mean "by me" as opposed to "by society."

**Dr. David B. Jaloza, Esq., is neither a doctor, gentleman of noble birth, civil servant, government official, nor practitioner of law.

piss-pots & poets

2010-02-24T23:34:00.000-08:00

Just finished reading The Ends of Our Tethers by Alasdair Gray—enormous thanks to Joanne [aka my newly-minted Kimberry] for introducing me to another voice that cuts to the quick as only Scots seem able to do. It's a great read for anyone who enjoys short stories, especially if you have an eye/ear for the at least mildly experimental variety, but the book recommendation is really neither here nor there. After all, that's what Goodreads is for, is it not?

So back to the matter at hand:
One of the stories in question, "Aiblins," hit close to home in an unexpected way. The narrator, a creative-writing-professor-turned-professional-poet, retells his encounters with a brilliant [or disturbed [or brilliantly disturbed]] kid who may or may not have had raw talent in spades, and who may or may not have knowingly or otherwise lifted some of his best lines from the masters whose work colors our collective unconscious. Blah blah blah-bitty blah blah. All of which made me feel sheepishly, dizzyingly, deliciously self-conscious.

I may be many things, but a poet is most definitely not one of them. However, a guilty pleasure of mine has long been writing pretty atrocious poetry when the mood strikes. I mean really cloyingly awful. [side note: far, far too many adverbs in this post. wonder what that's all about...]

At any rate, for better or worse, I've decided to share! But be warned: None of it is any good. But it's not meant to be, so that's all part of the fun [at least, that's how it goes in my head].

Be further warned: I favor haiku as a format because... well... because I'm a math geek from way back, and I like numbers, odd numbers, prime numbers, patterns, repetition, and palindromes—and haiku satisfies all of those quirky needs.

So here we are...

your taste on my tongue // after an absence of years // i blink & it's gone

bear bites, puncture wounds // snarls & bared teeth; fur flies // o'er ragged toy scraps

inhale—sharp & tight // chest pains sink into his gut // sniffle—blink—exhale

my stilted haikus // allow me to speak when you // still can't hear the words

...and there we go. [a] I told you it was rubbish, so phone someone who cares. [b] Yes, I used the contraction "o'er" to fudge the syllable count. If it was good enough for the Bard, it's good enough for us. [c] There's more where these came from, but sharing would require me scouring my room, and I'm far too lazy for that right now. And besides, I refer you back to [a].

Ba-zing!

leonard and the telescopic trachea

2009-10-16T21:08:00.000-07:00

Needless to say, the title is a work in progress. But I think I'm happy with how the story turned out, and it's not like it's a baby [just written for one], so who cares if I don't name it right away? Anyway, it's my first stab ever at a children's book.* Anthropomorphic animals teach us all a valuable lesson... or something.

Tucked away in the Santa Cruz mountains, far from the stretches of asphalt that wind their way down to the Pacific Ocean, there sits an enchanted forest untouched by human hands.

Within this mystical place, unseen save for in your imagination, there are animals much like those you might find at your local zoo. There are lions and tigers, polar bears and penguins, alligators and elephants...

... and one, lonely giraffe.

You might expect that this solitary giraffe had some sort of cute alliterative name, such as Geoffrey or Gerald or George. Maybe even Jonathan. I expected as much myself when I first heard the story. But no. This particular giraffe was called Leonard.

Unfortunately, as the only one of his kind in the forest, poor Leonard didn't know where he belonged.

He had always pretended that the zebras were his family, because they bore a vague resemblance to himself and ate from the same trees. They never spoke to him directly, but Leonard was happy to imagine the conversations they might have — if they could just get over that chronic case of laryngitis.

But one day, the zebras began to raise an almighty ruckus, and Leonard was forced to admit that they hadn't all been suffering from a debilitating lost voice after all.

"Heavens above!" screeched Zelda, as her siblings Zora, Zeke, and the rest gathered around. "The elongated freak has eaten all the leaves!"

A collective gasp rose up from the herd, and Leonard — as shocked and appalled as the rest of them at the idea that a leaf thief was on the loose — began swinging his neck right and left, looking for the culprit. But in doing so, he quickly saw that the leaves weren't gone at all.

"It seems you're quite mistaken, Zelda," he chirped with a helpful smile. "The lower branches may be bare, but there are plenty of leaves up here to—"

"Monster!" she interrupted. "He's eaten all but the leaves out of our reach so that he might feast while he watches us starve!"

Leonard shook his head and sighed. The explanation was simple enough: The zebras — who were many — had eaten all the leaves within reach, while Leonard — who was one — still had an abundance to spare. But Zelda was clearly in no great hurry to listen to reason, so rather than argue, the generous giraffe pruned a great number of leaf-laden boughs and rested them on the ground within easy reach of the hot-headed zebras before going on his merry way.

Not to be discouraged, he then tried to befriend a tribe of turtles, but they were having none of it.

"All that neck, and it isn't even retractable?" scoffed Terrance, who was clearly the turtles' leader. "What a waste."

He began laughing uproariously, as if this were the funniest evolutionary joke since the three-toed sloth, and all the other turtles joined in as Leonard slunk off.

If you've ever seen a giraffe with its head hung low, then you know what a strangely beautiful sight it is to behold. Thus it was that Leonard came upon a group of monkeys, swinging through the trees as if lighter than air. One, somewhat larger than the rest who chose to travel on foot, stopped to face the newcomer. Leonard needn't have looked up to make eye contact so, burdened as he was by a heavy heart, he didn't.

The primate, sensing that things were not well, furrowed her brow. "Say, friend, what's your name?" she asked quietly.

"Leonard," said Leonard.

"Pleased to meet you. The name's Aggie."

She put out a hand and waited. Wanting to trust her but unsure if he should, Leonard held out his hoof, which she shook with enthusiasm. "Yeah!" she said. "Put 'er there, pal."

Leonard allowed himself a smile. "Aggie... That's a fairly unusual name for a monkey," he ventured.

"Well, strictly speaking, I'm an ape," she explained. "But it was awfully lonely on my own, and the monkeys are a spectacular crew. Tad strange at times, but great fun. You simply must try—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Leonard interjected, his head spinning. "You're the only ape in the forest?"

"I don't see any other apes around here. Do you?"

Looking around, he had to admit that, no, he didn't.

Aggie's smile widened. "So there you have it. If even you can't see any, they must not be out there. In fact, I'll bet you can see all sorts of things the rest of us can't, with that neck of yours!"

If Leonard had been an ostrich, he would have buried his head in the sand. But things being what they are, and him being a giraffe, he hid his face with his hoof instead.

"What's the matter?" Aggie asked, with not an inconsiderable amount of concern in her voice. "Did I say something wrong?"

"It's this neck," Leonard moaned. "No one else has anything like it, and I just don't fit in anywhere."

"Is that all?" Aggie laughed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Leonard sniffed and came cautiously out from behind his hoof. "Isn't it, though?"

"Of course not," answered Aggie decisively. "Why should you want to fit in anyway when the world can just as easily fit itself around you?"

The ape's logic made a dizzying sort of sense, but Leonard wasn't fully convinced. "So if I wanted to join the monkeys in their game, that would be alright?"

Aggie shook her head. "Doubtful at best. Their favorite is Hide and Seek, and with your telescopic trachea, you'd have quite the unfair advantage. But they don't like me to play either, since I can't move around nearly as fast as they can with those tails."

"But that's terrible!" Leonard cried, about to once again abandon all hope.

"Actually, it's quite the reverse," Aggie returned. "From here on the ground, I make the perfect referee — something they always needed but never had a volunteer for. What you see as a disadvantage is precisely what allowed us to become friends in the first place."

Cautiously optimistic, Leonard wiped away a tear. "Well... what about me?"

Struck with a sudden idea, Aggie leapt up like a shot. "Wait right here!"

With that, she was off. And Leonard — as per usual — found himself alone.

* * *

Several hours had passed, and the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, when Aggie finally returned — but she wasn't alone. Following close behind were the monkeys, turtles, and zebras, but also the lion pride, a congregation of alligators, a murder of crows, a waddle of penguins, and a bear or two for good measure.

Leonard blinked repeatedly in disbelief, and Aggie took him aside as the monkeys started building a campfire.

"What in the world..."

"The way I see it," Aggie said, anticipating his question, "your neck lets you see things the rest of us can only dream about. So... I thought maybe they'd like to hear about it firsthand."

She was right, of course. Who wouldn't love to hear about the rush of the roller coasters, the sunbathing sea lions beneath the pier, the spray and foam from the crashing waves, corndogs, cotton candy, and ice cream cones piled seven scoops high, surfers gliding across the water, or the lights of the Boardwalk at night so bright the stars seem dim by comparison?

As Leonard told stories of all this and more, his new friends traded tales of their own: adventures in the forest, discoveries both small and large, departed loved ones, treasured memories, their hopes and dreams as well as insecurities and regrets.

And Leonard loved each and every one.

Maybe, he thought, as Aggie shot him a knowing wink, we're not so different after all.

Yeah... might have to nix that last line. Faulkner would approve [of the cutting, not the line].

Next step: Convincing the immeasurably talented Imin Yeh to illustrate. Wish me luck!

* Note: Before anyone says anything, yes, I purposefully used words that are outside of the vocabulary of my target audience. Because (a) I would like this to be the sort of book parents/teachers read to the kids, and (b) how else do you expect their vocabularies to grow? No pandering to the lowest common denominator here, I don't care how young they are.

cruelty to stuffed animals

2009-10-11T23:04:00.000-07:00

I'm having entirely too much fun... but you know what's even more fun??

Sleep!

no, really...

2009-10-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

...the dog totally ate my homework.

i've got the setlist, you pop the popcorn

2009-10-11T20:37:00.000-07:00

Welcome to October, home to your favorite holiday and mine! This year's festivities promise to be even more fun-filled and fan-fucking-tastic than most... but more on that later. For now, let's return to my most recent post, when I dangled the promise of mixed-media mix tapes in front of you.

Here, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls... is your first installment.

In honor of that holiest of pagan holy days [oxymoronic overtones most definitely intended], I present you with my own personal Halloween Hit List, aka the perfect movie playlist to get you through All Hallows Eve. I recommend that these films be enjoyed from the floor or the couch — blanket optional, but the lights should be off for sure. Pumpkin carving completes the experience, as does the baking of pumpkin seeds.

Beer helps, too.

Oh! In case you were wondering, the titles listed below come in no particular order. And candles contained within fresh jack-o-lanterns are acceptable. But otherwise, lights out!

5. the nightmare before christmas

...'nuff said.

Seriously though, it's the perfect way to kick the holiday off right for a plethora of obvious reasons. Plus, it lends itself to rapturous repeated viewings straight on through to xmas; what more could you ask for? Bonus: The DVD bonus features, obviously. Personally, I can take or leave Frankenweenie, but if you've yet to give Vincent a go, I strongly recommend that you do. If for no other reason, it's Halloween, and you owe Vincent Price that much.

4. edward scissorhands

Again: Tim Burton, Vincent Price. Pretty sure that says it all, so we'll leave it at that.

3. the lost boys

Vampires, Santa Cruz, Coreys Feldman & Haim... If the mere mention of this movie doesn't make your heart skip a beat, I'm sorry, but I just can't help you. In fact, you should probably go.

No, seriously. Beat it.

We'll wait...

...

...are they gone yet?

Good. Moving on.

2. halloween

Really, I'd probably spring for the Rob Zombie remake left to my own devices, but for all intents and purposes, it amounts to the same regardless. As long as it's got that dissonant trochiac meter music, you're in good hands.

1. it's the great pumpkin, charlie brown

The quintessential holiday classic. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. And bonus points for a new twist on the classic football gag, involving that scariest of ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties... contract law!

And there we have it: my Halloween Top 5! If there's enough of a public outcry [and by "public," I mean the three or four people actually reading], maybe I'll do a supplement closer to the Big Day. And if I forgot any of your favorites*, feel free to comment or drop me a line to let me know [and give me some canon fodder for round 2].

Cheers!

* NOTE: No zombie-related films were considered in this ranking of Halloween favorites. To be clear, these are more appropriately viewed at Easter. Stay tuned for Spring... and brains!

if you're thinking of reading this post...

2009-09-29T18:50:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about High Fidelity recently... which isn't saying much, given that it's more likely than not a statistical impossibility to pinpoint a time when I haven't been thinking a lot about High Fidelity for one reason or another. But I digress.

At present, the reason I keep coming back to my favorite lines/scenes from the book/movie centers on the Hornbyian wisdom that "it's not what you're like, but what you like" that really matters in the grand scheme of things. That, and of course, the hipster slash otherwise pop-culture-obsessed proclivity to desert island lists, brings us to today's post: the announcement of several such multimedia mix tapes to come.

The clip above bears heavily in the relevance department, I assure you. Just don't have time to get into it at the moment because, as I do so very often these days, I once again have a train to catch.

Tune in... tomorrow? Maybe? Why not.

Same bat time, same bat channel...

blah...

2009-08-12T20:50:00.000-07:00

...is pretty much all I have to say on the subject at the moment.

Q: What subject?

A: Who cares?

Which brings us back to: Blah...

Just finished putting the "free" in "freelance," writing some stuff for 944 on the pro bono tip. And I really need to go and brainstorm for my next project... which I had goddamned-well better finish. Because I never really finish anything I start. Plague of my generation, or is it just me? Probably a little from column A, a great deal more from column B, but I digress...

...which is part of the problem. Ha.

Alright, enough of this inanity. It's not nearly entertaining enough to stick around for more. But before I go, a Top 5 list of randomness swirling inside my skull at the moment, because (a) lists are fun and (b) how else am I supposed to get it out of my head and back into the void where it belongs?

5. Comments on YouTube make me rageful.

4. Coming up with a story featuring an anthropomorphic giraffe is not as easy as you might at first suppose.

3. John Huntington is a pretty great phone conversationalist. Will I be swinging by his shop and/or giving him a ring on his cell the next time I'm in Vegas?

2. Does a bear shit in the woods?

1. If procrastination were an Olympic event, I would so own you, rest-of-the-world.

don quixote, eat your heart out

2009-08-05T22:58:00.000-07:00

forever fighting windmills...

...sorry. Things had gotten altogether too "texty" around here. Chalk it up to more of me and my apparently infinite amount of slackage.

This break to the visual monotony, brought to you by Telegraph Avenue.

Ladies & gentlemen of la mancha, g'night!

you win this round, pearson...

2009-08-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the persistence of one man (you may or may not know him by the name Juan Canadilla, but that's another story for another day), I'm posting again. It's one of two assignments I've completed for my online fiction class, but I'm too lazy to post both at the moment... not to mention tired. I've spent the better part of my post-9-to-5 day battling writer's block to beat a freelance PR project into submission... hopefully successfully, but there's no knowing that until tomorrow. And now I'm rambling (inarticulately at that), but I really just couldn't care less. So.

Yeah.

The assignment: Write 5 opening lines for the same story. The idea being that each should be a totally unique line, not just a variation or minor alteration of its predecessor.

The result:

I see him standing there: wishing someone would walk in, call his bluff and, in so doing, force his hand.

The day I left California was the beginning of the end. [alternatively :: Things started to go wrong the day I left California; even after I came back, they just kept getting worse.]

My dad's favorite book was by Hemingway; I find this fitting — for several reasons, actually.

As she watched me read the handwritten notes, the woman in the coroner's office started to tear up and I worried she and my sister might both start to cry — leaving mine the only dry eyes left in the room.

You know, I'm really not sure which is worse: the mental anguish that I imagine must go hand-in-hand with the inability to comprehend a suicide, or the special brand of horror reserved for those of us who know both (a) exactly why they did it and (b) that, if we were in their shoes, we'd have done exactly the same thing.

The verdict: I dunno, you tell me?

the bold & the biographical

2009-07-15T22:22:00.005-07:00

No matter how old I get, I don't think I'll ever get over the rush of excitement that accompanies the first day of school!

Well, ok... so I'm not technically matriculating anywhere, but my 10-week online fiction workshop started today, & I. Am. STOKED!!

First assignment: Submit a bio, 500 words or less. Given that we're immersed in a virtual classroom, it's a logical exercise to foster a sense of community (blah blah educational buzzword blah).
As part of my resolve to post to the blog with more regularity, I've decided to regurgitate said "about me" blurb here.
Q: Why?

A: Um... why not?

So, without further ado...

“About Me,” in 500 words or less, huh? Alright, I’ll give it a shot.

Me: Pronoun. The objective case of I. Postal abbreviation of Maine. Um, let’s see, what else…? Oh! Ridiculously awful iteration of the Windows operating system. I mean, really. Just terrifically, astoundingly bad. Bill Gates epic FAIL.

And then there’s the “me” called Lisa. That version is a newly minted 27-year old, a native Californian, a freelance writer and magazine editor, a compulsive hoarder of books, the loudest shy person you’re likely to meet, a rabid San Jose Sharks fan, a former lifeguard and swim instructor, a graduate of UC Berkeley, a girl who moved to Washington, D.C., with her dog and only those possessions she could fit in her car, only to move back about 18 months later (to a different part of the Golden State from which she had departed, but her real point of origin nonetheless)…

I dunno. I’m not big on talking about myself (doesn’t everyone say that?), unless it’s in response to a direct question (and even then, it really depends on the question (and probably the person asking it)). As you’ve probably guessed, I’m a fan of ellipses and parentheses (especially when nested (see previous sentence (and now this sentence, too, hehe))). But for articles, I’m all about the emdash. Fiction, it’s probably a 50-50 split, just depends on the mood, I guess.

Random anecdote: I once stole a promotional poster for Irvine Welsh’s then-new novel Porno off the wall of a bar and asked him to sign it after a reading… and then I stole his pen. I may or may not have mild kleptomaniacal tendencies. Jury’s still out on that one.

...ta-da?

fast forward :: future flights

2009-07-07T21:08:00.003-07:00

Like any red-blooded American, I'm a sucker for a sale. And Southwest played me like a cheap, cheap fiddle...

$145 for a roundtrip flight to Denver, Colo.? Sign me up!

So, in honor of my impending trip to the 303, I present you with some 3OH!3:

day 5 :: trends, trials, & tribulations

2009-03-05T15:38:00.003-08:00

After discussing the rise of social media and the downfall of traditional print advertising methods with Tom Doucette, Lindy and I hit the road for Gilbert, Ariz., and an appointment with Trend Homes.

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What I saw when I first stepped through the building's main entrance at first glance seemed merely indicative of the fact that it was lunch time...

However, after speaking with some folks at the company, it appeared in retrospect to be more a sign of the times.

In fact, as vice president of operations Darin Hughes explained, Trend went from approximately 230-plus employees at the company's pre-August 2006 peak to just 11—not counting sales representatives at its communities—today.

Following a reorganization under Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection, Trend Homes emerged as a new entity through the sale of its assets to Phoenix, Ariz.-based private equity firm Najafi Cos. At the time, Steve LaTerra of Land Advisors Organizations told Big Builder that Trend was "probably one of the best capitalized builders" in its local market.

But today, the situation is far from rosy—thanks in no small part to the FDIC takeover of at least one of the builder's creditors. Trend was told that it was fortunate in that it received a payout within a roughly 40-day timeframe, as this is pretty rapid movement through the bureaucratic red tape of FDIC operations.

However, just before the takeover, the bank had informed Trend that the payment would be made within one or two business days. Forty days may be fairly rapid movement by the FDIC's watch, but it's a far cry from a day or two.

Thanks to the difficulty of accessing operating capital, Trend found itself unable to make some payments to its trades. By maintaining an open and honest line of communication, the builder has succeeded in preserving positive working relationships.

On the home building side, it's all about taking things one day at a time. However, vice president of marketing and merchandising Sabrina Porter points out that the company has taken a proactive tack with respect to its dealings with Realtors and addressing the foreclosure crisis head-on. Using an FHA loan program, Trend is able to offer pre-move-in remodeling services on foreclosure properties, upgrading flooring, addressing vandalism (such as concrete having been poured into a home's plumbing), etc., which the buyer can finance through up to $35,000 above the sales price of the home.

It's a great program to get buyers into affordable properties while home building operations remain unsustainable. Whether or not it will be enough to get the company through the remainder of the housing downturn, only time will tell.

In the meantime, I'll keep my fingers crossed.

day 4 :: beyond billboards

2009-03-05T13:21:00.009-08:00

Sunday marked the beginning of a new month and our last day of travel through Texas, which, as I once saw a bumper sticker proclaim, happens to be bigger than France.

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The day's trip took us through what I affectionately refer to as the Fauxld West...

...incredibly close to the U.S.-Mexico border...

...and through my very first border control outpost. Of course, being the paranoid person that I am, I grew incredibly nervous upon seeing the sign "All vehicles must stop," worrying that I'd get nailed for not having licensed my dog. Happily, they waved all of the cars through.

Score one for truly insignificant ways of sticking it to the man.

We stopped for the night in Tucson, Ariz., seeing as that's where my Monday morning appointment was scheduled, and met with a view from our hotel room of a true sign of the times in the modern advertising age:

A sight both emblematic of that aforementioned commentary brewing upstairs and a good portion of the following day's conversation with Tom Doucette of the eponymous Doucette Communities.

If I had a dollar for every vacant and/or decrepit billboard I passed during my cross-country drive, I probably could've paid cash for all my hotel stays along the way. Which got me to thinking: The age of billboard advertising seems to be slowly going the way of the buffalo.

Or not-so-slowly.

The fact of the matter is, there are three things that merit a billboard advertisement: Food, fuel, and lodgings—located just off the side of the road beside which said billboard is strategically placed, enabling those on the open road to easily seek out the necessities of travel.

The exception that proves the rule? Notable roadside attractions, those that justify an unscheduled detour on one's journey.

A new-home community simply doesn't fit the bill. Period.

Of course, arguably, a well designed billboard might catch the eye of a prospective home buyer on the commute to or from work... but you'd be hard pressed to convince me that same prospect would go out of his or her way to drive straight over to the community. No, if you're lucky, they'd hop on the computer either at home or the office and google said community to do some online research and determine if it was worth a visit on the weekend.

And call me crazy, but chances are, if they get that far and decide to make the trip to the community, they probably would have made the same decision in the course of their online research with or without the billboard.

Tom Doucette largely agreed, drawing a parallel to newspaper advertising—something of which he steers clear. And for good reason. Print media is in the midst of a recession to rival that of housing, and many local and regional papers have ceased publication altogether. More and more, consumers look to the web to get their daily dose of news coverage. You'd be better off with a sleek and fast-loading banner ad on a relevant community site—or at least an ad in a consumer lifestyle and/or dwelling publication.

Instead of relying on traditional advertising avenues, Doucette Communities has embraced the digital age, jumping on the Facebook and Twitter bandwagon, thanks in part to the help of California-based Focus 360.

To those builders who remain skeptical of such social media platforms, I offer the following words (whether of wisdom or sophomoric folly, I'll let you be the judge):

Will the use of Facebook, Twitter, and other social media as a marketing platform stand the test of time? Your guess is as good as mine. But in the meantime, they're here, and efficacy aside, they're free.

I'm not going to assert that social media interaction will directly contribute to sales. However, by embracing these trends, you stand to develop new relationships with prospects you might otherwise not have reached—and it's those relationships that can potentially equate to future sales, not to mention referrals.

On the other hand, by resisting change, you're effectively turning your back on what could be an incredible opportunity.

If you don't learn to communicate and interact on the platforms favored by tomorrow's buyer, someone else will. And in this market, is that a chance you can really afford to take?

day 3 :: deck the halls with perverted calls

2009-03-05T13:08:00.003-08:00

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For the third day of our trip, Lindy and I set out from Monroe, La., with the ambitious goal of seeing just how much of Texas we could cross in a single day.

Turns out they're right: One shouldn't mess with Texas.

Unfortunately, my plans for the Dallas/Fort Worth area fell through, so there was no need to make a stop in the metro. Instead, we landed in Big Spring... where I was greeted by a phone call to my hotel room and a strange man on the other end of the line asking if I wanted to party.

Interestingly enough, this was only the second most disturbing event of the day. First place goes to the large armless Santa Claus that sat abandoned in a clearing off the highway.

Regrettably, I was unable to snap a photo of said St. Nick. But I assure you, it was quite a sight to behold.

day 2 :: when it rains...

2009-02-27T18:33:00.003-08:00

...yeah. The photo doesn't nearly do it justice. Let's just put it this way: Have you ever hydroplaned while towing a trailer?

I can now say that I have. And it was a decidedly unpleasant experience.

So given the four hours of non-stop torrential downpouring complete with lightning and 20 mph winds gusting to 40 mph, not many opportunities to take photos presented themselves today.

And given that my appointment in the ATL fell through, not much of anything to report either. Which is sort of fine by me, because Monday promises to more than make up for it.

Today's route:

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I've gotta say, Georgia and Alabama had far more topography than I had expected. And then a new view of the mighty Mississippi...

Now we're back at the hotel, me at the keyboard, and Lindy cuddled up on the pillows.

There's also some commentary brewing in my head with respect to the intersection of the home building and advertising industries... but I'm too tired to get into it tonight. But here's a preview: It involves the ~~death~~ evolution of the billboard and the rise of social media and viral marketing.

Tune in tomorrow—same bat time, same bat channel...

day 1 :: dog is my co-pilot

2009-02-26T18:57:00.006-08:00

Well, today was the big day. Up and at 'em at 5 a.m., and out on the open road by 6. Lindy and I waved goodbye to the District...

...and set out on the first leg of our journey.

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First, just a short hop, skip, and jump over the Potomac into NoVa, followed by the more time consuming trek to Richmond.

Gotta love the ingenuity of Big Tobacco.

Eventually, we crossed the state line...

And made our way to Raleigh, N.C., to visit the Ohmann brothers.

First and foremost, I have to thank them for their hospitality and making not just myself, but my furry companion feel right at home. It was also refreshing to get St. Lawrence Homes president Bob Ohmann's perspective on the housing downturn. As it turns out, Bob and I happen to agree that home building has gone beyond a recession and past the brink of depression.

But it's a cyclical industry. Eventually, things will turn around. Just how the face of housing may have changed once recovery is reached is anyone's guess, but it seems highly probable that the landscape will be altered—and I'd bet hard money that it will happen on a submarket by submarket basis.

In the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill metro, for example, it seems that smaller, local builders will come out of the downturn ahead in the market share department. Bob Ohmann noted that many larger production home builders have already exited the market in the face of slumping sales.

Seven years Bob's junior, Rich serves as company vice president. It was fairly coincidental that the two wound up at the same company—they had previously worked for separate home building enterprises—but the arrangement seems to work well. Although they share the singular ability of siblings to know just which buttons to push, any workplace disagreement is nothing that a night at home to cool off or a phone call from mom can't smooth over.

The passion and joviality shared by the Ohmanns makes it all that more depressing to discuss the company's Chapter 11 bankruptcy filing. In fact, Bob commented that 2008 marked the first and only year to date that St. Lawrence has failed to turn a profit—a somewhat distressing blemish on an otherwise remarkable record.

Of course, in light of market circumstances coast to coast, the very fact that St. Lawrence remained profitable in 2007 when so many of its peers failed to do so is a victory in and of itself.

One of my key takeaways was an affirmation of the fact that "bank" truly seems to be a significant 4-letter word. Not only in terms of deals falling through due to an inability on the part of the home buyer to obtain financing, the banks have become the villain due to their refusal to mark assets to market.

On the topic of net operating loss (NOL) carry-back refunds applied to taxes paid in a prior, profitable year, Bob pointed out that it's simply not an option for a smaller, privately held builder, as the banks push for personal guarantees on all loans.

Of recent bulk land sales on the part of the nation's large, publicly traded home builders where parcels were moved at a sizable loss in order to tap NOL cash, "They got their bailout," Bob said. "And you can quote me on that."

I could go on and on about my day with the Ohmanns, but it's getting late. And besides, tomorrow is another day. Another day, another blog, right?

After saying our goodbyes, Lindy and I piled back into the car...

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And now, I bid you goodnight from the heart of the ATL.

Sleep well, get up well.

on the eve of the adventure...

2009-02-25T13:51:00.004-08:00

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Behold, the roadmap to my roadtrip!

Well, the gist of it, at any rate.

Just waiting for some pals to arrive and help me load the U-Haul trailer (I plan to reward them with dinner and drinks), then it's off to watch Wall*E at Casa de Lewis, and then bedtime so I can hit the road at about 5 a.m. tomorrow.

I just hope this nasty headcold has discipated by then...

recession proof

2009-02-14T09:13:00.012-08:00

Get it? :)

It's officially official: I've been laid off (although I volunteered to be (long story)). Friday 20 February is my last day, and then preparations for my long-awaited reverse roadtrip kick into high gear (yeah, it's only been about 18 months, but that's a long time for me to live anywhere, let alone on the wrong coast).

You didn't think that all that talk about a newly unemployed 20-something was hypothetical, did you?

Estimated departure is scheduled for Thursday, 26 February. First stop: Raleigh, N.C.—but that's another story for another post.

In the meantime, I'm trying to suck as much life out of my remaining time in the District as possible. No time like the present...

Last night, I got to enjoy dinner & drinks at Matchbox with my hands-down-favorite married couple in the world, the inimitable Tony & Audrey...

...followed by more drinks & conversation at Stoney's, where an inebriated man listing sloppily to the side of his barstool informed us all that I am, in fact, a lesbian and refused to believe otherwise.

No wonder I don't seem to have any luck with boys. Who knew?

Tonight, I get to hang out with the ever-so-bad-ass Katie, Rick, & Rick's lady at The Legwarmers show.

Jealous yet? You should be.

A farewell night out at Lucky Bar (it seemed only appropriate since I scheduled it on the first of three Friday the 13ths in 2009) with the coworkers, followed by a weekend in Jersey City & NYC with Joanne, Ethan, & Jarmin, then scrambling to get everything packed and ready to go and mapping out any as-yet-undetermined legs of the trip.

Could there be a better way to say sayonara to the East Coast?

I think not.

housing hypotheticals

2009-02-05T07:47:00.005-08:00

Just wrote a new blog post for work and thought at least the first half was worth sharing here.

This seems like it should hardly come as a shock, but newsflash! from Seeking Alpha: Home prices have increased more rapidly than rents, it's significantly cheaper to rent than to buy (not even taking into account the costs of taxes and insurance (albeit also not factoring in that mortgage interest is tax deductible, I'll give you that)). Conclusion: Financially, there is no motivation to buy a home aside from price appreciation. Thus, in a market where homes are depreciating in value (i.e. the current one (in fact, the Wall Street Journal reports that price declines accelerated in 4Q2008)), it is illogical to buy a home.

Now, I know what at least some of you are thinking: People should buy houses because they want a home, not a piggy bank. And you know what? I agree. However, in an environment where unemployment is seeing a rapid uptick with no real end in sight? Sorry, but that argument just fails to cut the mustard anymore.

As a 20-something renter in today's economy, if I get laid off, I can give my 30 days notice, move in with my grandma in sunny California (she always says I don't visit often enough), and live rent free without doing any damage whatsoever to my credit while I search for a new job. Not too shabby.

As a homeowner in the same situation? Well, I can put my house on the market and/or try to rent it out...

Guess how that story ends.

Long story short, with unemployment a very real threat, the prospect of homeownership grows increasingly analogous with that of foreclosures and/or bankruptcy and a seriously crippled FICO score. Until the job market stabilizes, home sales—new, existing, foreclosure, doesn't matter—will remain anemic at best. That is, unless mental illness is far more prevalent in the U.S. than I've given it credit for, which is entirely possible.

back in action, take 2

2009-01-28T19:56:00.021-08:00

Well, I started the recent impromptu California trip post, I guess I might as well finish it, right?

So from SFO, where I was picked up by my sister, mom, and grandma, we went to P.F. Chang's in Pleasanton—across the street from where I used to work, incidentally—at which point I attempted to teach my mom and hers how to use chopsticks...

This endeavor would ultimately fail. No great surprise there.

Following lunch, my grandma set out for Fremont, while the latter two generations of Dunnet/White(Brown) women made the trek over the Altamont and into Tracy, aka home of the Dry Bean Festival.

From there followed a week chock full of ups and downs the likes of which I've rarely if ever seen. Random highlight: I now know that the local funeral home looks suspiciously like a McMansion spliced with a veterinary office—both of which are hopelessly trapped in the early 1980s, wood paneling and all.

Oh, and the Alameda County coroner's office?

It smells funny.

I also ran some errands with the best big sis in the world...

Bonus: Got to see my first California sunset in a long, long time....

I also got to hang out with tons of family members, some of whom I'd seen at least fairly recently, others whom I hadn't seen in years.

Got to play a round of what is quite possibly the greatest board game of all time...

But like all good and bad things, this, too, had to come to an end. So I said goodbye to one of my favorite pups in the world...

After some delicious hot chocolate with Vanessa, grabbed some dinner with my mom and sis at my favorite restaurant, hands down...

Said goodbye to my hometown once again....

With a quick wave to my favorite church to drive past (why, I have no idea)...

Some biplane-curiousity en route to my gate at SFO...

A ridiculous amount of this (thank you, flight delay):

Quick layover in Boston...

And a short hop, skip, and jump of a flight to DC....

Where I soon found that snow & Converse do not mix.

Then hopped the Metro over the semi-frozen Potomac...

Spent several hours at work, and then eventually, finally, thankfully was reunited with the love of my life:

The Bard said it best: All's well that ends well.

back in action

2009-01-26T18:13:00.006-08:00

It's weird to think that this was the start to my inaugural weekend: Cocktails at Halo, complete with red, white, and blue ambient lighting. Good friends, good drinks, followed by good food, followed by math jokes on chalkboards (integral of e to the power of x, anyone?)...

Sadly, the fun-filled weekend was destined to be short lived.

Actually, what I found while taking out trash pre-night-out-on-the-town should have clued me in to what was to eventually follow:

Yeah... Not a pretty picture by any stretch of the imagination. I only hope the little guy had expired before the gate closed (if that doesn't make sense, don't ask... trust me, you'll be better off).

At any rate, my fun night out on the town was on the happier side of a punctuating phone call I'd rather not go in to at the moment. Suffice it to say, that call led to a last-minute flight reservation, a 5 a.m. trek to the Dupont Circle Metro station...

...some quality reading time spent at a practically deserted gate...

...a window seat...

...which was awesome. The screaming baby sitting directly behind me? Not so much...

...some fantastic astronautically inspired artwork throughout SFO...

...complete with some bitching robots (I'm a sucker for robots (they're the new pirates, you know))...

...and that's all I really feel like getting in to at the moment. Maybe I'll talk about it more later on. Then again, maybe I won't.

Not like it really matters either way.

hasta la vista, hiatus

2009-01-26T17:50:00.004-08:00

I'll take "Things 2009 Is Not" for $800, Alex...

Chalk it up to the broken mirror. Chalk it up to bad karma. Chalk it up to coincidence. Chalk it up to nothing at all.

Thus far, 2009 is turning out to be a shitty year in my world. But, like the song goes, "We've only just begun..." Right?

Then again, maybe I'm just supposed to be following the lunar calendar?

Gung hei fat choi, everybody.

fallen soldier, revisited

2009-01-26T17:43:00.004-08:00

When first we met, our once proud street sign, which had raised high the roof beam of parking regulations for carpenters, Zone 2 District residents, and visitors alike, lay limp and ineffectual beside a small pile of busted brick—disrupted earth in the wake of a rude de-rooting of natural flora.

And now, joined by his disgarded xmas tree brethren. Scrap metal and firewood that will never realize their innate potential.

Triple sadness.

behold what obama hath wrought

2009-01-12T19:07:00.009-08:00

It begins...

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for DC state rights, DC congressional representation, the DC quarter... and all things DC, really. I love this city. It's my home away from home.

Literally.

And I'm all for Obama and just as excited as the next guy. As far as I'm concerned, Jan. 20 can't get here quickly enough! It's the day I've spent the last 8 years waiting for.

But lately, things seem to be getting more than a little out of hand.

Could it be the $7,000 inaugural apartment rentals on craigslist? Or Pepsi's painfully transparent "Yes You Can" ads?

Nope. That's just capitalism at work. Greed, Opportunism, and Co-Opting = The American Way, right?

Is it the weekend gossip buzz surrounding our Commander in Chief-to-be and Mayor Adrian Fenty hitting up Ben's Chili Bowl on U Street?

Nah, that's just bad ass. Especially since the man paid for his hot dog (yes, DC residents, I'm well aware that it's called a half-smoke, or whatever, but a hot dog is a hot dog is a hot dog (except when it's a Polish sausage)).

The fact that all bridges connecting DC to Arlington will be shut down for vehicular traffic, and residential parking for much of the District is assured to be a 4-day horrorfest?

Well, yes, that undeniably sucks. But it's bureaucracy at its best (or evil worst (you say tomato...)), and therefore not at all surprising.

How about the Ikea mock Oval Office being set up in Union Station?

Hmm... not that strange, all things considered, but when you factor in the mock motorcade complete with furniture strapped to a limo and some Suburbans? Yeah, we're definitely getting warmer...

Oh, and on top of that, Inauguration Day is on Twitter and Facebook?!??

Yes. Most definitely out of hand.

arguing semantics

2009-01-11T15:26:00.003-08:00

Ever notice that the only difference between "machismo" and "masochism" is an extra S?

Just throwing it out there...

on your knees

2009-01-11T15:06:00.005-08:00

See the stick figure sticker on the door handle? I keep finding this guy everywhere. I first noticed him on the Thomas Circle street sign, back in September 2007:

Never really gave it much thought, other than the fact that it reminds me of some of the album art from OK Computer, so I like it.

But recently, it keeps popping up. Like out in front of the 7-11.

Radiohead resemblance aside, I don't get it.

What are you trying to tell me, stick figure man?

obey old school

2009-01-11T13:42:00.003-08:00

It'd been an awfully long time since I'd seen an o.g. "Andre the Giant Has a Posse," and not one of the everybody-and-their-mother knock offs that have followed in its wake. While I'm more of a fan of Fairey's mixed media work, it's nice to remember his roots—especially now that he's got his Esquire cover.

As for Mad Decent, you can check it out here and here. Diplo's worth a listen. Besides, you have to love a fellow dinosaur lover.

fallen soldier

2009-01-11T13:41:00.003-08:00

Sadness.

sea kittens & chips!

2009-01-11T11:00:00.011-08:00

If there were even a shadow of doubt regarding the complete and utter lack of sanity at PETA headquarters, it's been completely obliterated with two simple—and staggeringly idiotic—words:

Sea kittens.

Yes, the latest brainchild to promote the ethical treatment of animals (worthy cause) is to alter the global lexicon and rename fish (baffling and pointless action)... to sea kittens (dumbest combination of words this side of the latest Bushism).

There's even an online children's book. Nevermind the fact that its Columbinesque contents could potentially traumatize your average kindergarten student (although personally I'm a fan of injecting a healthy dose of gritty realism into the standard K-12 fare), the most ridiculous thing about it is that I imagine it would prove infintely more effective if all the instances of the phrase "sea kitten" were replaced with the word "fish." Because we know what fish are. We get it. And that's a far easier place from which to start trying to instill feelings of empathy than someone's ill-advised PR stunt.

Besides the complete hassle of updating the world's dictionaries, we'd have to contend with the absurdist struggle of trying to wrap the minds of children around the idea that a sea kitten is not, in fact, a kitten of the sea (which is a fairly complex concept, when you think about it (learning the difference between cats and dogs and cats and catfish and that the existence of catfish does not necessitate the existence of dogfish is difficult enough)).

And what would be done about One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish?!?!??

So upon reading the most asinine news story of 2009 to date, I set out for dinner in its honor...

Sea kittens & chips. Mmm... Delicious.

But you know what would have made it even more delicious?

Some fancy ketchup, of course.

Seriously though. PETA is trying to take down Dr. Seuss. They must be stopped.

like eating glass

2009-01-02T13:06:00.005-08:00

Another story start that eventually got scrapped...

Blink once if you can hear me.

No?

Nothing?

Okay then.

I don't know how it ended up this way. Maybe I had put you up on a pedestal that was too far out of reach without the thick layer of drool connecting cheek to pillow, dragging you back down to the muck and mire that is my level.

Or maybe you just need to be unconscious for me to get a word in edgewise.

Regardless of the cause, here we are: only able to communicate in one-sided conversations after the Ambien with a gin and tonic chaser kicks in.

It's almost comforting in a twisted sort of way. Maybe because, with your eyes closed, I can pretend that they could open and look at me the way they used to.

But we both know that's a lie.

If self delusion could be packaged and sold, it'd put heroin out of business by Tuesday.

There was a time—how long ago, I don't really remember—when I honestly thought we'd go the distance. Although maybe that's what this is: a protracted limp to the end of the line.

And of course, it's entirely possible that I brought this on myself. All those "I love you"s I heard might just have been "like"s if only I'd bothered to clean the sappy Cusackian romactic bullshit out of my ears and listen properly.

We all hear what we want to hear...

Why can't things just be clear-cut for once? I mean, why can't I just dust off the scientific method and diagnose our malady and its underlying root cause?

Symptom A: My voice makes you cringe when it used to make your breath catch in your throat. Not always, but it happens. Kind of a knee jerk startled-down-a-dark-alley gut reaction that you think I don't notice, but I do.

Symptom B: You stopped laughing at my jokes and started looking at me as if I were a troublesome child. Or just an idiot.

Symptom C: Whereas once my indecision was an obstacle we both struggled to maneuver around, now it's practically a blessing since every suggestion or bold assertion I make gets shot down without a second thought.

Symptom D: I'm baring my soul in between your snores.

Back in my college days, I convinced myself that all the love songs flooding the airwaves past and present were proof that romance was real. If they wrote it, they must have felt it at some point, right?

Wrong. Because for every song about passion and bliss, there's another about heart ache and anguish—a hormonal ebb and flow that's got zero to do with legitimate human connection.

Of course, that's all bullshit really. Cynic that I am, you know as well as I do that I'm still a hopeless romantic. Like an existential tragicomedy—I believe in true love, but I don't buy into the idea that it'll ever be reciprocated.

Not for me, at least.

Probably should've seen this coming. Can you give your heart to another for keeps before having tried, only to have it ripped out, pissed on, and left for dead? How can you grasp what it is to be in love before your heart's been broken?

"I'll always be there for you. I'll never hurt you."

How could I have been so naive to think that a love defined by hyperbole could last?

I dunno if it's any good. Probably not, but this is:

the king is dead, long live the king

2008-12-31T13:38:00.002-08:00

Almost that time again, when most of us clink our champagne glasses (pass) to toast the passing of midnight. Can't say I'm sorry to turn the page on another calendar year. There are a lot of great things that happened over the past 366 days (hooray for leap years!), and I wouldn't trade any of it—particularly the new friends I've met and old friends I've reconnected with. All things to be thankful for.

But so's a fresh start.

Sayonara, 2008.

from dc to disney

2008-12-30T20:56:00.005-08:00

I'm sure you're well aware, but Benjamin Franklin is the only non-U.S. President to grace our currency... and they decided to slap his face on the $100 bill. That makes my heart smile.

So does this:

Oh, Disney, how far you've fallen...

Ah well, at least we've got Pixar!

P.S. If you or someone else in your life happen to be a Benjamin Franklin fan, you must click here now. I mean it. That's an order, soldier.

obey omnipresence

2008-12-27T06:31:00.012-08:00

I think one of my favorite things about living in DC is the fact that Shepard Fairey's stuff is everywhere, sometimes tucked away on the back of a street sign on a cheap black & white sticker a la Kinkos, sometimes plastered as an urban alley mural, but always there just waiting for someone to stop and take notice.

Don't ask me what's up with the "Art Rat" squirrel in Mickey Mouse ears... Gotta love a mixed metaphor.

And it's not as if I didn't notice his stuff in the other places I've lived—the East Bay is more than a little fond of its Obey Giant stickers—but the comparative volume here is somewhat overwhelming. Kind of like how Berkeley is the only place I've found Trystero muted post-horn tags. I'm sure you can find them in just about every city if you look hard enough, but strongly doubt the frequency is really comparable.

Just finished reading Born Standing Up by Steve Martin yesterday, so this one jumped out at me. It was interesting to hear about the transition from the Summer of Love to the 1970s. Given the atrocities and horror of our first national conflict for the television age, combined with the ~~failure~~ death of Flower Power, is it any wonder that hippies gave way to the "Me" Decade?

But it's nice to see the imagery being appropriated for today's "unwinnable war(s)."

Speaking of appropriate...

After being inundated with depressing headline after depressing headline for so long it feels like the sky was always falling, this got a good laugh out of me—albeit a bittersweet one, but hey, these days I'll take what I can get. And the irony is oh-so-delicious ("no cents," read "sense").

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I hope to one day meet Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson...

...so's I can kick him in the crotch.

seven-year sonuvabitch

2008-12-24T21:47:00.005-08:00

If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Or so the saying goes...

Truth be told, 2008 has had some significant road bumps. Which isn't to say that 2007 was without its own snafus. 2006, definite ups and downs. 2005? Kind of a nightmare.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, and I wouldn't expect anyone to feel sorry for me either. And for all the bad times, there have been plenty of good times to more than make up for it. But regardless, my bad times in recent years have been... um... beyond par, so to speak.

However! Upon discussing recent trends in current events with the lovely Miss Joanne, I remembered the fact that I broke a mirror at work, circa 2002. Which would mean my proverbial 7 years of bad luck should be just about up. However, this morning...

Here we go again...

Good thing I'm not superstitious?

'twas the night before xmas...

2008-12-24T19:15:00.012-08:00

Looks like someone decided to spread some holiday cheer.

Can't exactly say much of it rubbed off on me, but it did put a smile on my face.

Some more seasonal merriment...

A window display at a greenhouse / shop about a block and a half from my place.

Ye Old Post Office.

Complete with some pre-inaugural preparations.

The view from Pennsylvania Avenue.

The National Menorah.

For the Pagans in the crowd.

And everyone's favorite reindeer with my favorite misfit toy.

Happy Christmakwanzikah, kids!

hep to the jive

2008-12-22T18:32:00.006-08:00

If you have the chance to check out Eric Lewis, I strongly suggest that you do.

DCist tipped me off to the fact that he was playing at HR-57, so I talked to my fellow California transplant Sean, and we decided to check it out.

First things first, the joint takes its name from House Resolution 57, passed in 1987, which established jazz as a valuable American artform. Legislation worth remembering, who knew?

Second: Jazz Club + BYOB = Too Hip For Words.

And completing the trifecta, it's all about the atmosphere. Exposed brick, cozy candlelit tables tucked away in darkened corners, it's got a speakeasy vibe that's unlike any venue I've ever seen. Love it.

As if that weren't enough to make a night of it, the music... totally mind-blowing. The first set started with an improvisational interpretation of "Clocks" by Coldplay—a song I've never liked, and yet, by some auditory miracle, suddenly I found myself falling in love.

And that was just the beginning.

From there, things got progressively more intense, from the violinist soloing so furiously he snapped the catgut of his bow to Lewis banging out notes on the piano's strings. You couldn't ask for a more electric, high-energy performance. I easily call it one of my favorite East Coast moments.

Definitely worth more than the price of admission.

rearview mirrors

2008-12-21T10:51:00.007-08:00

Steven asked for an example of how to handle flashbacks in a story, and since the Word doc I had in mind is saved on my dinosaur of a Dell that no longer boots up and I had to retype the thing anyway, I figured I might as well post it here.

So here goes:

Gray eyes slit through aviator glasses, staring down the sun. Top gun, fucking Maverick. Feeling the need, the need for speed. More so now than ever.

There had been a car, hadn't there? Twenty-five-hundred RPMs, downshifting to fourth to pass on the left of a two-lane highway, manicured nails tuning the radio dial, mariachis drifting through static

french-tip manicure. her favorite

Needle slanting, laying left. Coasting to the dusty shoulder, a chugging halt. Blood red bullseye as the needle buries itself below the E. Seems familiar, somehow... busted radiator hose

red. blood red lips or lipstick?

Could've been. Running on empty, moving, movies, the needle, volcanic steam, falling needles, the E, must be...

Reeling left, scanning the horizon for the cherry red Mustang he knows he'll find shimmering in the heat baking off the asphalt in the distance, not so distant, he can't have walked too far...

Nothing there but sand and a misfired synapse, blurred and fogged memory of a Sean Penn film.

He's been walking the desert so long he's forgotten anything else. He has his suspicions that there was something more once, the pins and needles of recollection, smell of rust and salt that's not quite carried by the breeze but is present nonetheless. A faint echo on the edges of perception, like the skipping track of an album whose notes and words you can't recall.

Fuck it. He's here now, has always been here. At least there's quiet. At least he's alone...

red rusted. iron.

Only he's not alone, not really. Like the eye of some prehistoric omen, the sun blazes overhead, an unceasing beacon. Muting the world, tinting reality, the aviator glasses aren't enough to block out his shadow. Its held his trail doggedly from the beginning...

Whenever the fuck that was.

rat in a cheeseless maze

Turning his back to his tracks and the shadow, he scans the horizon, searching for... what? Pavement, tire tread, signs of civilization, gas pump

mariachi music, tin warbling voice of the stereo

billboard, fucking something. There should be some goddamned thing, a sign...

Not that he honestly believes that. Small doses of comfort through larger tales of fiction, and the doses are getting smaller all the time. Not that that's any different from the way things were before.

Is it?

Distracted hand loosens the knot in his necktie as the eyes behind the shades drink in the expanse of sand, panoramic thirst.

A shadow passes over his face; he looks up to watch a bird circle past the sun. Hawk, maybe? Too soon to tell. Darkened wingspan flapping dustward...

Touchdown.

Not a hawk then. Not even a falcon

french manicure finger tips trailing down his thigh

Blood faced buzzard. No, something not quite right about that either. Frames from a Disney movie or National Geographic. Something about a prison

topped-off gas tank, flamenco guitar as petroleum splatters.
metronomic dripping keeping time

and keys... jangling keys on a metal ring. Doors slamming shut—

Turkey vulture.

well-thumbed pages of a Norton Anthology,
perfumed pout and Maybelline stains.
"quoth the raven"

Aww, fuck it.

The sun passes behind a pack of cumulo nimbi

they used to laugh together when she mispronounced "meteorology,"
but when had that been? and where (who?) the fuck is she now?

as he meets the stare of the vulture. His gray eyes burn inside its hollow black ones, staring at his own mirrored stare. Looking down, he notes that the vulture casts no shadow.

Neither does he.

Numbed fingers rub the crusted sand from swollen eyelids. Whether from sleep or the ground, he's unable to tell anymore. Not that it matters now.

Props himself up on an uncertain elbow, shifting his freight to rest on his ass he feels

her hand on his skin. groping, a caress, lingering...
skin meeting skin, his skin, not mine

a lump under the right cheek. Pulls from his pocket a weather-beaten wallet, the cracked brown of aging black leather. Windburn eyes watch as his fingers flip open the wrinkled flap, pull out a California driver's license, so there must have been a car. Or a road.

Or, at the very least, there must have been California.

Unless...

unbuttoned fly. 501s draped over the chair back.

male. 5'10". Hair: Brown. Eyes: Blue.

But his eyes are gray behind his Maverick shades. Mom and dad, their eyes were blue, but not mine. Some people called it hazel, but that's not right. It was the color of lack, it was no pigment, it was

she liked the fact that they changed to match her outfits

gray.

How much longer are you gonna leave me here? I've been out in the desert for... days? years? It's fucking hot, throw me a bone, man. Give me a gun, a knife, fucking something. A tool.

Help me end it.

god helps those who

Fuck you.

He's on his own.

Probably not exactly what he has in mind, but it's the best I could do on short notice.

musical chairs

2008-12-20T16:26:00.004-08:00

I love this song, but I love it ever so much more now...

Seriously, though. What's with this David the Gnome shit?!?? Enough already, it's creeping me out...

But I'd take evil lawn dwellers and zombies any day over this:

Bear candles engulfed in flames, creepy animatronic puppies, teeth and matches? And don't get me started on the chicken.

So very much is wrong with that. And yet it's so very, very right.

shopping is a feeling

2008-12-18T21:03:00.003-08:00

Ask David Bryne if you don't get it.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to process Obama's inaugural opening prayer pick. And I'm failing to do so. Which is fine by me, because it's not something I want to move past.

Because it's wrong.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, go google it and educate yourself.

So much for a "brand new bright Obama day," ugh, so disappointing...

Here's some of what I plan to have blaring at full volume in my headphones to drown out the opening prayer on inauguration day:

"You don't have the balls to be a queer."

Amen, Ben Weasel. Amen.

this is not a house

2008-12-17T19:27:00.006-08:00

Nor is it what Lichtenstein means to me. But that's neither here nor there.

It's strange how we can carry around mental postcards of people we've never known, stranger still how it's impossible to envision them in any other scene. Or fashion. Or skin.

I'm physically incapable of picturing William S. Burroughs as anything other than a withered old raisin of a brilliant junkie who shot his woman dead. Just can't buy the young man pre-William Tell version. Allen Ginsberg exists only as words on a page and a disembodied voice as Jack Kerouac howls drunkenly in the background.

Samuel Beckett is a portrait hung above my favorite table in a pseudo-Irish pub in Berkeley. And the sound of isolating laughter in a darkened London theatre off Picadilly Circus.

David Foster Wallace is his black & white author's photo at the back of Infinite Jest... which I guess is better than the memory of a man whose light was extinguished at the end of a rope.

And Sylvia Plath? Not the broken woman with her head in the oven, not to me. Just quick, clean, cold:

Dirty girl. Thumb stump.

Anyway. Watch "Beat." Good movie.

if i wanted to write about myself in the third person, i would have developed a god complex.

2008-12-16T19:30:00.009-08:00

So, I'm incredibly fortunate that my friend Melinda is the editor of an awesome luxury lifestyle/dwelling consumer magazine, Las Vegas Home + Design, and wonder of wonders, she actually lets me freelance for her.

However! The caveat is that sometimes she wants to also run my "quirky bio" on her contributors page.

Which means I have to write about myself.

Which = Not So Awesome.

And the upcoming issue is one of those times. So I took a stab at it...

As often as she daydreams about a return to the West Coast, Lisa Brown has recently determined that she made her way to the nation's capital for a reason: Namely, to be present for the inauguration of Barack Obama. It's the first moment of history in her lifetime of which she's found herself genuinely ecstatic to be a part. And if you happen to find yourself in the District Jan. 19, keep an eye out for her celebrating Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in style, sipping a beverage of the alcoholic variety on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

The verdict?

Rejected. Color me surprised.*

Take 2:

When she's not juggling editorial deadlines, which is next-door to never, Lisa Brown spends her time capturing random snapshots with her trusty camera and explaining obscure novels to strangers. Her steadfast companion and partner in crime is a chocolate lab / border collie mix named Lindy (tip o' the hat to Charles Lindbergh and his eponymous variation of swing dance). Unfortunately, the canine in question is somewhat agoraphobic,** which makes morning and evening walks something of a production.

Still waiting to see if that one cuts the mustard...

*If you do not immediately notice the sarcasm that is literally dripping off that sentence, you do not know me. At all.

**No lie. True story.

"kill your darlings"

2008-12-15T18:03:00.006-08:00

Humidity meets humility...

East Coast weather is not my friend.

In other news, something random I started working on. Not sure if I'll add to it or leave well enough alone, but Faulkner would probably have a field day...

Given the choice between staying where I am another moment longer, dealing with the unfathomably uncomfortable departure that no doubt awaits my attempt to escape, or suicide, I've gotta say that shuffling off this mortal coil seems by far the most palatable option at this particular juncture. Unfortunately, I've yet to get my bearings in this godforsaken shrine to Pottery Barn and have had absolutely zero luck in locating any potentially lethal means of dispatching myself—blunt objects, sharp edges, poisonous substances, bathtubs in close proximity to a precariously balanced electrical appliance, all suspiciously MIA—so lingering seems to be the simplest option at this stage of the game.

Path of least resistance...

"Hiya, toots!"

Even if I didn't recognize her voice sight unseen, I'd still know her without looking by the telltale Donald Duck line. I turn to face her, and without missing a beat, she leans in for a kiss. I'm not sure whether to be angry with her for crossing the proverbial line in the sand that is our strictly platonic code of conduct, or pissed at myself for going weak in the knees and closing my eyes.

Fucking schmuck...

I'm at a total loss as she pulls away, breaking out in a beaming smile, but I scramble to salvage the situation. "Eh, having a good time, Dolores?"

She punches me in the shoulder, which doesn't exactly catch me off guard—although I wasn't expecting to get hit quite that hard. "I hate it when you call me that!"

I shrug and resist the urge to rub the spot on my arm that's starting to throb a bit. "Don't see why. If it's good enough for Eddie Valiant—"

"—it should be good enough for me," she finishes my line while rolling her eyes and biting her lower lip. It's a verbal routine we both know forwards and backwards, a move out of our own personal playbook.

But I've never really been a fan of non-contact sports, if you catch my drift.

"Look, Dee—"

"—Thank you!" she cuts in with over-exaggerated relief that I've used her self-appointed nickname.

"Think I might split," I continue. "This just... It isn't my scene, you know?"

"Aww," she pouts. She knows I'm a sucker for that. "But you just got here..."

"Um, I've been here a few hours, actually."

She does a double-take so comical, Chuck Jones would be proud. "Have you??"

I nod in the affirmative.

"Why am I just seeing you now, then?" she demands, to which I choose to reply only with what I hope is a suitably non-committal shrug.

Cool as a cucumber...

Or so I thought. She's standing with her hands on her hips, giving me that look. You know the one. Right eyebrow raised just so above the left, mouth poised somewhere between a smirk and a frown, forehead wrinkled in what could be concentration or consternation?

That look.

I swear, she practices in the mirror when she's home alone. No one should be this good at a look, particularly when the look in question is systematically engineered to give the unshakable suspicion that the person giving it is staring into depths of your soul you hadn't even suspected might exist before.

We both know I'll cave eventually—she always gets the best of me in situations like this, and she bloody well knows it, too—so I decide to cut my losses and just throw in the towel without a struggle. Gotta pick your battles, am I right? "Just kinda been laying low, I guess," I admit. "Playing the proverbial wallflower and all that."

"You're such a goober, man," she snorts, killing her beer.

So much for an easy, relatively painless escape. I glance at my wrist, "Wow, would you look at the time," hoping she's tipsy enough not to notice—

"Dude, you don't wear a watch."

Once again, I've underestimated her day-to-day obsessive-compulsive attention to detail. "Touche," I acknowledge. "But I still really ought to go."

By now, she's made her way to the refrigerator. "Geez, you're such a killjoy," she manages to mutter over the clinking of bottles.

"I just don't fit in with this crowd," I try to explain.

But she's not buying it. Looking me dead in the eye, she cracks open a can of PBR and says, "You fit in with me."

She's got me there.

But it's a matter of principle. Or pride. Or bullshit pseudo-machismo. Who knows?

It's a moot point, anyhow. The fact of the matter is, I made a decision, and I'm sticking to my guns. "I'll see you when I see you," I say, trying to sound as upbeat as I can muster.

I linger with my hand on the doorknob, waiting for Dolores' trademark, "Not if I see you first."

But no such luck. She's already left to rejoin the party.

And I head home, alone.

Meh. I dunno.

As a bonus, some holiday spirit:

Because I can.

big up, lil' buddha

2008-12-14T15:28:00.002-08:00

Yeah, I don't know either.

'tis the season

2008-12-14T15:19:00.009-08:00

It's 10 days 'til X-Mas Eve, and DC's decked the proverbial halls in twinkling lights and pine trees. Blissfully, I think I've only heard holiday music a grand total of 3 times thus far... which is pretty remarkable, considering the onslaught typically begins about the day after Halloween.

However, this...

Not ok.

He scares me...

my iPod's trying to tell me something...

2008-12-13T13:04:00.003-08:00

This is what I get for leaving the damn thing on random.

First, "Another Saturday Night" by Sam Cooke, followed by this:

Sweet Jeebus... what a way to start the weekend.