Archive for the ‘this is where I talk about books’ Category


July 23, 2014
I am reading Hitchhiking with Larry David.
It’s dreadful.
Synopsis: This guy breaks up with his girlfriend of 2 years (big deal) and runs to Martha’s Vineyard where his elderly parents have a summer house – (he tries to say it’s a lousy cabin but is anything on MV lousy?). He’s middle aged and once owned an entertainment marketing company or something and made a heap of money but gave it up for happiness. He hitchhikes all over Martha’s Vineyard wasting time going out for coffee and pizza and gets picked up by Larry David as well as other rich/famous people. He connects with one homeless woman to show he’s just a regular guy. He also gets picked up by a woman with a little girl who is going to see her pony and she shakes his hand solemnly and says something exceptional that amazes him.
 He easily falls into conversation with all of these folks and they in turn get philosophical and Dr. Phil-ish about love and happiness and it goes nowhere. The conversations are contrived, pointless and boring. I don’t care about his ex. I don’t care about the bird that shit on him. I don’t care about the moment he had with a horse.
Pretty, pretty, pretty bad.

Donkey wisdom

September 28, 2012


The new girl started. The old girl is gone. The oldest girl remains.

I miss the old girl.

Now instead of rolling my eyes at her or making sarcastic comments in the copy room, I am reduced to dashing off scathing emails about what the new girl is doing with her boss/husband. Or what the new girl isn’t doing. Or the way the new girl sighs loudly when she finishes a phone conversation. It’s like a backwards break-up.

And my venom is all very dull, and misdirected and immature. I know it is but I can’t help myself. I feel compelled to complain out of a sense of loyalty to the old girl who got a lousy deal.  Did I say boss/husband? Oh that’s right. The old girl’s boss laid her off and hired his wife.  The silver lining in this cloud is that he’s not my boss. But still.

“We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

“Can’t all what?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose.

“Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”

We’ve been here before

February 2, 2010

Wanted: library tutor. Must understand the complexities of my literary tastes and moods. Must remember books I’ve read before or tried to read before. Must be patient, kind and intelligent. 

Yesterday I checked out a promising looking book with cypress trees on the cover and Italy in the title. I read every memoir that’s written about Italy. I’ve read so many I don’t remember the titles anymore. A Valley in Italy, A Small Place in Italy, Four Seasons in Rome, Under the Tuscan Son, Pasquale’s Nose, A House in Sicily, If You Dream of Italy Read This Book, Another Book About Italy.

So after work I sat down with my book with cypress trees on the cover and Italy in the title and started reading. It sounded very familiar. Annoyingly familiar. I’d read this babble before. I’d started it and didn’t like it and didn’t finish it. 

I opened my next promising book that had Amazon in the title and a photo of a capybara inside. As I’d paged through the book in the library I had a vague sense of deja vu. I studied the photos, but I didn’t think they looked familiar. I thought I’d remember a book with something as odd as a capybara photo. I turned to the introduction and saw that someone in the book was named Darcy. Since the title contained the words The True Story of Five Men and their Desperate Battle for Survival, I assumed Darcy was a man. Darcy. Mr. Darcy. Kismet. I love you.

I started reading the book and it sounded very familiar. Annoyingly familiar. I’d read this babble before. I’d started it and didn’t like it and didn’t finish it. Maybe it gets better once he gets lost in the Amazon but there was something about the way the dialogue was written that turned me off.

I am now 0 for 2 and getting a little peevish. How is it that I chose the same books in a building with thousands of books to choose from?  Was it my attraction to cypress trees, capybaras and characters named Darcy? Was I flustered by the man who had asked me where the “index” was, mistaking  my insouciance for the mannerisms of an informed library patron?  

Very well, on to the third promising book, a book about the pirate adventures of Capt. Morgan. It has a lot of  blurbs with exciting words.  I often choose books with blurbs like “wickedly entertaining” and “reeking of authentic blood and thunder.” Some of the books don’t  live up to their blurbs. I don’t think I’ve borrowed it or read it, but I can’t be sure. 

I’m not certain. I’m not positive. I don’t remember. I couldn’t say. I love 3 word sentences that convey how little I know. 

I don’t always know what I’ve read or tried to read or grown tired of reading. I don’t always remember where I’ve heard or seen something.  I cultivate an air of ambiguity to disguise the gaps in my memory. Where’s the index? I need an “index”  for my head.

Apple guys would you get on this please? An app for me that: 1)organizes things I’ve read and stores useful information I’ve heard or read but haven’t retained 2) does the things my brain is supposed to do but is feeling too rusty to bother with  3) prioritizes what to remember and what to forget 4) requires no purchase, installation or updates.

A brain-map-app to help me find things. I’ve  already written the slogan for it – Tap into my brain.

Like a watermelon falling off the back of a truck

June 29, 2009

I’m fairly trembling with energy.

My tiny chihuahua-sized cold isn’t stopping me.  

The weekend before I got my chihuahua sized cold, I had no energy. I languished by the TV watching the Food Network all weekend. “Such amazing people. They cook. Why does my face feel like it’s melting off?” 

This week I am my own HGTV/Food Network star.

Lots of scrubbing, sometimes with my newly acquired Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. I like bald men.

Lots of pile making. Weeding. Whittling.  Stacking. Straightening. Storing.

New piles in new locations.

Making omelets and chicken and biscuits. Baking cakes with rosewater flavoring. Copying recipes. Grinding coffee beans.

Would this [ugly] $10 metal shelf  be tolerable if I painted it  pink and hung it in the bathroom? No, it would actually be cute. Note how tight the screws are. This shelf is sturdy. You can put things on it.

Planning projects…and I could do this and this and this. I just need more tools.

Putting dvds in alphabetical order. Rearranging Dave Matthews Band cds so they are in order of release date. (I realize this borders on abnormal but I’m just going with it.)

Closing files at work. They’re not even my files , but just look at all the room I’ve made. Praise please. 

Pulling weeds. Sharpening pencils. No task too small.

I like being like this. This making chaos out of order and order out of chaos.

Finishing books and closing them shut with a satisfying snap.

Maybe I’m Just Tired

April 5, 2009

(My heavy head is full of debris  -As Tall As Lions)

Like my sick kitty, the wisdom teeth, the car mirror, locking the keys  in the car, getting my hand stuck in the shredding bin, and people who don’t help their kids.

(I know we’re all souls just trying to connect with someone – As Tall As Lions)

Dan Nigro played in bare feet and said his father owns a paper company like Dunder Mifflin, and my sick kitty is brave and full of purrs even when she’s unwell, and it’s National Poetry Month, and she made me an ATAL shirt and he gave me a Liguus fasciatus shell.

(You’re lost in your mind -As Tall As Lions)

Is anything going to happen in Agnes Grey or is she just going to go on and on about being a governess and will I ever figure out what’s going on in Little Dorit or will I just continue to watch because of Matthew MacFayden, will she get better or will she just keep losing weight, is she in pain, how much better looking can Jack get and when will Des be on again, do people really get what’s coming to them (is it wrong of me to hope they do) and what’s the plural of amaryllis?

(I stay awake thinking this life is lonely – As Tall As Lions)

Maybe that’s why I just want to sit and work on eggs, bent over the table, listening to music, getting a stiff neck. Lost.

How green is my valley

March 5, 2009

Tom Friedman,  the Pulitzer prize winning New York Times columnist, spoke at a charitable foundation luncheon I attended this week.

I like nonprofit events involving valet parking,  nicely dressed people, fancy carpeting, a  chandelier bedecked banquet room and colorful food. It’s incongruous, which is a fun word to use and spell.

In a lovely display of synchronicity the lights went out for a few moments, just as Friedman started talking about energy supply and demand. Everyone chuckled appreciatively while I thought about how different it would be to attend a picnic style fundraiser/lecture in a state park. Everyone could bring their own lunch and recycle their own trash and the audience could enjoy being cradled by the very Mother Nature they’re clamoring to save.

I filed my Great Thought away under G for Great, while Friedman continued with his “the earth is Hot, Flat and Crowded presentation,” which is also the title of his most recent book. The earth is hot because of climate change and it’s flat because smaller, poorer countries are getting the same technologies as the U.S. so the playing field is being leveled and it’s crowded because it’s crowded.

Friedman says there is a huge opportunity for the US to lead the way in establishing innovative energy technologies and we can gain respect and make money doing it.  Viva the e-volution!

But wait. Friedman pointed out people get hurt in revolutions. So it’s not going to be easy or painless. As in a bunch of people might need to trade in their big SUV’s, jet skis and ATV’s  for a pony and convince China to do the same. It’s do or die time. And we need to stop using the word green because green needs to be the norm not the exception. Blah, blah. Change your leaders not your lightbulbs. Blah, blah, blah. And we have enough time starting now, which is a quote he borrowed from some upbeat, optimistic but dead university professor.

Another engaging, sobering, repetitive, not entirely helpful argument by someone who lives in a house the size of a small town and has probably never carried a recycling bin to the curb or composted his coffee grounds.

Love the message – just not convinced that the messenger isn’t just trying to be one of the relevant, cool kids.