Have a GLORIOUSLY Happy Birthday, Kay!

In fact, I hope your whole birthWEEK is fabulous!

Especially since I'm (technically) late in posting this.

But my absent-mindedness doesn't mean I love you any less!

It actually (somehow) means that I love you all the more!

Many, many blessings to you! Blessings galore.

My Old Man

So Rachel, I know you just got this book last weekend... but I figured I'd do a preemptive post to get some conversation going around here. I need to know what you people think about this one. Heidi, we all know how much you love sex and swears which is why you recommended this book to us, right? Or was it because the main character's name is Rachel and you thought OUR Rachel might like it? Or that she might be horrified and delighted all at the same time?

Whatever your feelings may be, say something. Or tell me a story. I'm bored!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HEIDI!

I hope your birthday is a wonderful one :)

I'm on a Roll. But Not a Kaiser.

Lately I've had some pretty good luck with books. I've read a whole slew of amazing books all in a row, which doesn't really happen very often. I'm not going to review or discuss these books at this time, but I'm going to throw these out there for any of you who have or want to read these books and would like to blab about them.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

Angela's Ashes: A Memoir by Frank McCourt

My Old Man by Amy Sohn

I'm technically not done with Angela's Ashes or My Old Man but I'm loving both of them. Heidi, I think you need to be my official book recommender because everything you've recommended, I've loved. I know you've got your hesitations about recommending books that are super close to your heart, but I NEED them! I'm just dying to know what other gems you have hidden inside your sleeves (or chest cavity).

p.s. Everytime I see the "Death at a Funeral" movie preview I think, "I really need to watch that movie. But not THAT version because it sucks."

The Whole World's Broke; Ain't Worth Fixing

Human beings. Such a promising, heartbreaking species--so much potential, and yet, so much shittiness! Annoying one minute, delightful the next. Relationships on an individual level just reveal the larger truth--opening your soul fully and getting betrayed when you least expect it. Admiring a person of great ideals who turns out to have slovenly personal relationships (my dad says a lot of hippie movers-and-shakers were sadly, of this stripe, like so many Committed to Great Ideas People)... Or, hey, better yet! How about having a parent who's a molester? I think that combines the whole, loving/hurtful paradox efficiently.

But--no, knowing truly good people is the worst. You grow a false optimism. You get fooled into thinking the heartbreak can be delayed indefinitely. That maybe there's hope.

I've thought it over long and hard--considered this thing, people, as individuals and as a collective, for years on end--and I hate it, but, I've come to a decision. It's not going to work out. There's a lot of potential and we've come really far. Not so much enslaving and genociding and such. But in the end we destroy everything and hurt everyone. Not everywhere, all the time, but... it's enough.

It's time to call the bluff. There's no use pretending this is somehow going to turn out well. Trying leaves you crying. Hoping gets you a bashed-in heart.

So.

It's time to start all over, make a new beginning.

I'm hoping there's a mothership, and I'm hoping it comes for us soon.

Otherwise...

Kool Aid, anyone?

Anniversary Awareness

In the spirit of celebrating and aware-ing ourselves of joyful awesomenesses, I want to announce: Paul and I just celebrated the anniversary of our first date. On March 17th. (St. Patty's Day.) The FIFTEENTH anniversary of our first date! (We will have achieved nine years of wedded bliss this coming August. But, come on! FIFTEEN! Such a cool, huge number! In three years I'll have spent HALF MY LIFE with the man! I mean, the dude. The truly kind, empathetic, hilarious dude. Who's getting hotter with every year and every receded hair, have I mentioned?)

Here's a photo (!!!!!!) of the free-form apple-pear turnover (recipe courtesy of Julia Child) I made him:

Hmm. Well, it's not as pretty as Kay's pix but I didn't have time to plate it before the photographer (Paul) went to bed. Still, you can tell, my offering was oozing with love.

There's no photo for this, but, Paul woke up early and bought me yellow and purple mums and gave me a funny-man CD (featuring the comedic stylings of the sadly dead Mitch Hedburg).

We're in love! 3(17)x15= 765 mega cubic watts of love!

Time for some fun! Let's talk about Death!

.. at a FUNERAL, that is! I'm talking about the immensely amusing movie, Death at a Funeral (2007). DO see it. DON'T SEE THE REMAKE. It sucks. I can tell just by the preview. (Although, there is one cool thing about the crappy remake--it's black people appropriating something white people did.)



LOOK! I posted a picture! And got Paul only moderately grumpy, trying to help me figure out how to do it. (He says, I'm the one that got moderately snipey.) Also, he's the reason I saw this in the first place. Yay, Paul!

Spoiler Alert

Before I get to my main thoughts on The Sex Lives of Cannibals, I have to say--Kay, if you're high maintenance, I'm super high maintenance. Crap food, and a hospital where people go to die! Eek! I don't think I'd even want to vacation there, much less live there.

Although, is it a vacationable location? p. 65: "Clean water was impossible to find... There were still palm trees on Betio, which provided coconuts and toddy, but there wasn't any shrubs left for firewood, which is a poor emitter of heat anyway. Everyone had worms. Every child had hepatitis A. Tuberculosis was rampant. There were lepers..."

THERE WERE LEPERS!

One resident's reason for moving away? "Too many people on Tarawa. And the smell is beginning to bother me." (The author is in complete accord with this assessment: "It was true. Where he lived, the fetid stench of sizzling shit at low tide was breathtakingly foul.")

The fetid STENCH! of SIZZLING! SHIT!

Diapers--USED diapers--bobbing by in the tide while one is going for a nice, refreshing swim... Shudder. Well, you get the idea. But, the ending topped it all, for me. On the final page, the author HIMSELF dangles his OWN CHILD over the sea so HE CAN POOP IN IT!

WHAT! (And, his wife laughs, "He's our little island boy.")

ACK! I couldn't believe it. He ENDS the book with aw-shucks laughter about shitting in the ocean? If you can't beat 'em, join em? The spoiler alert from my title isn't a warning about giving the ending away, it's a warning about... well, gosh. SPOILING everything! With our SHIT!

I found this tale of life in the remote Pacific quite amusing, at points... And intriguing. Such a profoundly different lifestyle. But, ultimately, I found it disgusting and discouraging and disheartening. They say, that in many ways, islands are microcosms for what's happening on a larger scale all around our planet. Luckily, much of the developed world has better sewage systems... Although we also dispose of much worse things than shit. Like, well, you know. Things that don't decompose. Poison. Nuclear waste. So. Fun times.

But I also noticed, in my dismay and discouragement and disgust, that I was resorting to blaming the island people, in order to relieve my discomfort... By which I mean, I vaguely thought, Oh, those PEOPLE suck. They should know better. Those problems are just a result of their being stupid, and wrong. They should get organized! They should fix things! Mere poverty, mere culture shouldn't stand in their way! They DESERVE their hellhole.

Because I strive to think clearly and respond compassionately in all things.

Of course, the decisions the islanders collectively make do affect the island, and their lives--but that's not what I was thinking. I was thinking, Why aren't they more like us, with our insanely overflowing wealth and plentiful resources and industrialized lifestyles, where we effectively HIDE our gross, disgusting messes and chilling destruction?

Paul says, my description of this book reminds him of the experience of listening to NPR for several hours straight.

Hideho! Good cheer! Time for a good dose of denial. Let's think about something else.

Catching Up

Um, yeah. So--remember Goat Song? That was a cool book. LOTS of details about goats. And cheese. I forgot to tell you, Kay--that cheese-making process DOES sound way hard.

Anyway, I actually took a few notes on my reactions! Which I promptly stuck in a wordfile and abandoned. I've retrieved them for your delight and edification. Or, perhaps, momentary bemusement.

So, here's my random comments on assorted caprine topics: (Caprine=goat-related! of or pertaining to goats. You know, like canine, feline, ursine! I figured it out! Me and google did. Also, the latin for goat is oatga. No, that's pig latin, you idiot. Previous two sentences from WikiAnswers. Anywho...)

*pasteurized milk... Who knew that we lose out on some many super antibodies and stuff from pasteurization? I got all het up about it, then talked to Paul and his opinion was that there was something to be said for not dying from milk consumption. Hmm. Yes, I think there IS something to be said for that. Something good.

*animal suffering, illness... I hated that the poor girl goat got so sick. That would be stressful for me, too, Kay. And I hated thinking about the baby boy goats getting killed, and just... factory-farm animal life, in general. (The goat-sung goats seemed to have a very happy life, it was more just thinking about animal husbandry in general. I seem to recall that it came up.)

*I vaguely remember reading something idyllic about the experience of wandering about with goats... The author goes herding the goats into the woods; bringing a book, but setting it aside to “read” the wind, the trees… being in moment... It seemed blissfully boring. (Being busy rushes time along; the dull life slows things down. I should give up tv and only do really boring things. Then my life would feel as if it were lasting forever. Or, just get hurt alot. Boy does pain make time slow down!)

*bonding with the goats... sweet.

*peeing on the coyote scat to send a “message” to the coyote!... AWESOME. And so male, don't you think?

Here's my favoritest excerpt, quoted in full from:

Goat Song by Brad Kessler
P.130

JULY 29

“Last night I woke to wind, a coolness in the house as if a stranger were moving through the halls. I heard him in the trees and in the garden; and suddenly the earth seemed lovely again and a new breeze sang through the screens. [Wife] Dona slept, but [dog] Lola got up and went to the window and we stood together smelling wind and earth as if a great lever shifted somewhere in the universe. Stars spun overhead; and later back in bed I laid on an extra quilt against the cold and I could hear the goats across the lawn in the barn. Were they sniffing the new air as well? Did they sense that stranger too, moving in the cool of the garden—or was I the only one to feel him there?
In the morning on the milk stand I felt that cool against my back again, a breeze like someone’s breath; and I felt a sudden indescribable joy. Hannah was on the stand. Lizzie watching. She leaned her head over the gate and sniffed my ear. Sometimes you make your own momentary paradise—it never lasts too long.”

Final thought: how is it that there was so much more sex in this book, than the one with SEX IN THE TITLE?

Only 4 Months 'Til My Birthday!

Just sayin'...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RACHEL!!!

High Maintenance

While reading The Sex Lives of Cannibals, I couldn't help but continuously wonder whether I would take to the rustic island life like Troost & his wife or if I would be more like the disenchanted woman from the agency whom they replaced. I'm a bit divided on the issue. On one hand I like to think that I don't necessarily need all the modern conveniences and luxuries such as television and air conditioning but then I have my limits.

There are a couple things I can think of that would seriously affect my opinion of island life. The food issue would be huge for me. The thought of only getting the most derelict ant laden preservative filled crap that no other country in the world would take is almost unthinkable to me. Especially because there is absolutely nothing available to try and doctor it up (i.e. fresh veggies, seasonings). The thought of eating rotting cans of Spam everyday just turns my stomach. Although the thought of eating regular Spam doesn't sound too great either. Maybe this would all be tolerable if it was possible to grow a garden, but even that isn't possible. How are these people still alive?

The other thing that would really make me think twice about living there is the sanitation conditions. Or lack thereof. Not having some sort of sewage and/or waste disposal system would be terrible. The smell alone would be bad enough, but having to watch people defecate in the ocean and/or not having a private place available for your own personal needs is nightmarish to me. Even some kind of port-a-potty system would be better than what those people have. Yuck. I can't even imagine.

I guess my point is, I don't think I have what it takes to live on a real desert island. Not if I had a choice in the matter. I would rather spend a year camping in the wilderness than on that island. And I'm sure I'd still have enough stories and experiences to write a book about it later on. It's a good thing there are people that can do that kind of thing because I'm definitely not one of them. Count me out!

Two Words

POO STICKS

That is all.

I Hate This Guy Already

It was hard for me to make it past the first chapter or two of this book. You know why? Because Troost is talking the whole time about he's this slackery guy that doesn't know what to do with his life and thinks writing would be fun, but doesn't put any effort into it. So he decides to up and leave all his responsibilities behind and go somewhere crazy hoping it'll spark some genius.

So why, you ask, do I hate this guy already? Because dammit he sounds exactly like me. No direction, no real solid plan, just an idea of some career that "might be fun." Which wouldn't bother me so much except for the fact that I'm holding this guy's book in my hand. I already know he's accomplished his goal and it makes me angry because he sounds like such a shlub. Like somehow this guy sat on his ass for a few years and managed to come up with a decent book and get it published without even trying. Ok, he probably tried a little bit, but I hate it when people make success look like it came so easy. Jerks.

But, in case you're wondering, I did make it past the first couple chapters. And it does get better. And I guess he pays his dues a little bit just in the fact that he lived on that God-forsaken island. You win this time, Troost. But I'm watching you.

The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific

So, we're starting a new book. This one didn't get any "hell nos" so we'll just go with it. Hopefully it doesn't suck. With a title like that, it better be good. So, without further ado, here's your new book. Go get it.

p.s. In case you're wondering, I was able to find this at the library, so it can't be too risqué. Damn.

The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific by J. Maarten Troost