Triplanetary

My latest science fiction read, Triplanetary by E. E. "Doc" Smith (1948), was given to me from the duplicates pile of the lovely choo. E. E. Smith was a chemical engineer who started writing science fiction in the 1920s and pioneered the space opera genre of sci-fi.

Triplanetary is the first book in the Lensman series, and (from what I can read on the Internets) was kind of a prequel to the rest of the books in the series that was fashioned together from earlier writings by Smith. The bulk of the book is the serialized novella "Triplanetary," printed in Amazing Stories in 1934 [and which you can read here thanks to Project Gutenberg -- and even if you don't read it all, scroll down through the text to see the Amazing Stories covers and illustrations that accompanied the serial. Nice.]

This book begins with two ultra-long lived, all-powerful alien races. One (the good guys) has the goal of encouraging Civilization and democracy and attaining peace in the universe. The other (the bad guys) want to rule all the planets in the universe with an iron fist. The good guys find out about the bad guys, but they are more powerful so they hide their own existence. The bad guys carry on with their plan, while in the background the good guys encourage the growth of democratically enlightened and technologically sophisticated societies on Earth and nearby planets. The good guys have foreseen that to save the universe, they will eventually have to mate with a highly-evolved form of human, uniting the strengths of the two races and ensuring the destruction of the bad guys.

The problem is, the bad guys keep noticing the nascent societies and infiltrating them with bad-guy-spies that end up destroying all the good guys' work. We are led through Atlantis (good guy society) and its destruction (by the bad guys); Rome (good guy society) and its fall (by the bad guys -- Nero was a spy, don't you know); World War I (instigated by bad guys) and World War II (also bad guys). Finally, about halfway through the book we end up in future (from that point on, the text is basically that of the 1934 serial by the same name). There our space opera really begins, with a valiant hero, his brave but womanly love interest, and lots of cool space ships, physics, aliens, and guns.

I won't get into all the details here, except for one: on a distant and unknown planet a highly developed aquatic race called the Nevians have managed to harness the atomic power of iron and make it do amazing things. The problem is, they have hardly any iron on their planet. So they make an insanely cool spaceship to go out into the universe and find some. Eventually they run into Earth and start sucking all the iron out of Pittsburgh with their special ray. This ray shoots into the city and immediately vaporizes and takes any iron in all the buildings, machines, earth, and people. That's right, if this ray hits you, all the iron in your blood is removed. Your blood turns white and you die instantly. Now that is a cool ray.

I really enjoyed this book -- Smith has an entertaining writing style, with nice action sequences, and fun science stuff. His weak point is romance, but there isn't too much of that to get in the way of the fun. I plan to continue on with the lovely Lensman series.

[Back cover here.]

Carmelized Onion, Canadian Bacon and Fried Egg Sandwiches

Go make this sandwich right now:

1. Thinly slice one yellow onion
2. Heat two teaspoons of canola oil in a non-stick frying pan
3. Toss in your onions, along with 1/2 a teaspoon of sugar, 1/4 teaspoon of salt, 1/4 teaspoon of pepper and 1/2 teaspoon of tarragon vinegar (if you have it, otherwise I'm sure another kind of vinegar would be fine)
4. Cook those onions over medium-high for about 8 minutes, stirring frequently, until they are golden and smell delicious and carmelized
5. Remove the onions from the pan and set them aside
6. Put two pieces of Canadian bacon in the pan and cook for about one minute on each side
7. Take that bacon out of the pan
8. Wipe the pan clean with a paper towel, spray on a little cooking spray, and break two eggs into the pan.
9. Cook the eggs over medium-low heat for about two minutes on each side, or longer if you don't like runny yolks
10. Toast some good hearty white bread, put one egg, one slice of bacon, and a ton of onions into the sandwich.

Eat it!

I want to eat these for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of my life. Also for dessert.

[Oh, and pictured above is actually a fried egg jellyfish, not something you should put on a sandwich. I considered that he might make the post less appetizing, but I couldn't resist him when I did an image search for "fried egg." Isn't he neat?]

Nothing but Blue Skies

I think I was in a bad mood when I read Nothing but Blue Skies by Thomas McGuane (1992). Well, actually I know I was, but I think I might have taken my mood out on this book. I really like 92 in the Shade, the movie McGuane wrote and directed, based on his novel of the same name. And I also liked his screenplay for Rancho Deluxe. Sadly, Nothing but Blue Skies just didn't do it for me.

This book tells the story of Frank Copenhaver, a successful Montana businessman whose wife has just left him for another man. Frank does not take this well, and slides down an emotional slope that leads him into frantic and unpredictable sex with his wife's best friend, too much drinking, bar fights, arrests, neglecting of the business interests, loss of money, and lots and lots of fly fishing. This book has some very funny comic scenes, and I think if the tone of the book had played more towards absurdist comedy, I would have liked it better. As it is, the comedy is cut with more serious contemplations of Frank's life, particularly the (I think) rather tired yearning for his young hippy days and Big Chill-like questioning of his current rich-guy status (Where did our ideals and fun-times go? Why am I so old and rich now?).

Other books have done the middle-aged man crisis of identity better than this, and while I would gladly read more McGuane (maybe some 70s stuff), I can't wholeheartedly recommend this one.

[I can, however, recommend the author photo from the book jacket. Nice.]

[In addition, did you know McGuane was married to Margot Kidder for one year (and they had a child together), and then married Jimmy Buffet's sister?]

Of Walking in Ice

Of walking in ice : Munich -Paris, 11/23 to 12/14, 1974 is the diary Werner Herzog kept as he walked from Munich to Paris in 1974 as a sort of self-created pilgrimage to save the life of his seriously ill friend, writer and film critic Lotte Eisner. It was published in German in 1978, and then translated and published in English in 1980.

If you have ever heard Herzog speak, or listened to one of his DVD commentaries, it is impossible to read this book and not have his dead-pan German accent echoing through your head. This has the effect of making many passages seem a little more funny than they were probably intended to be, but that isn't a bad thing. I read this documentation of Herzog's tough journey through the wintery German and French countryside during our recent never-ending spell of rain, and since it pretty much never stops raining on him through the entire journey (seriously, in the three weeks there are maybe two hours where he isn't freezing, soaked, and depressed by the grayness of nature and the suspicion of the people), I kind of felt like I was right there with Herzog on his journey.

And apparently it worked, because Eisner didn't die for another nine years...

[Back cover here.]

Julienned

What do you get when you take the produce above, chop away at it for an hour or so (together with some green onions and a buttload of cilantro, sadly unphotographed) and then mix it up with a combination of lime juice, fish sauce, sambal oelek, sugar and water? Something like this. It is a Thai flavored cole slaw mega veggie explosion that I took to a friend's fourth of July bbq, and I think it turned out reasonably well, although since the chopping intensity to eating enjoyment ratio wasn't quite to my liking, I probably won't be making it again. Unless I get an awesome new knife that I want to put to the test.

Stanley Elkin's Greatest Hits

My latest read was Stanley Elkin's Greatest Hits (1980) by -- you guessed it -- Stanley Elkin. This is one of Dr. M's books, and he has been telling me that I should read it, as I would really really like it. Darn it if that Dr. M isn't right some of the time.

This is a collection of novellas, stories, and parts of novels taken from Elkin's other books. It has made me want to read everything by Elkin I can get my hands on. I find it very hard to summarize something that I really like, particularly when it is made out of so many discrete pieces, but lets just say that Elkin plays with language, is both funny and sad, has fun with the ways words fit together, and can draw up some very real and memorable characters. Plus one section ends with about 30 pages of a guy having sex with a bear, and it is honestly a very moving and appropriate way to end the story. No joke.

What's Lame:

Getting ready to drive to a park for a Sunday afternoon walk and discovering that your back two tires are totally flat. Then waiting for two hours for a tow truck and noticing that one of the front tires is half-flat too. Then having the mechanic tell you that someone apparently pierced your tires with an ice pick. Then having to pay for three new tires.

Enemies? Random vandalism? Karmic vengeance? The jury is still out...

Mini-SB Update

Watching Brewster McCloud last night reaffirmed the SB status of young Bud Cort that started when I first saw Harold and Maude back in high school. He is seriously adorable. And surprisingly sexy. I looked around for a still of his chin-ups in underwear scene from Brewster McCloud with no luck. If anyone finds it, let me know, because that is some hot stuff. Yowza.

Tik-Tok of Oz

And now, dear readers, it is time to review the ninth book in the Oz series: Tik-Tok of Oz (1914). In this book, Queen Ann Soforth, the ruler of Oogaboo, a very small and out of the way corner of Oz, decides to conquer the entire country so that she can rule over more people. First she gathers together an army of 17 of the 18 men in her kingdom (one refuses to go). All the men are officers except for the courageous and ambitious Jo Files, who volunteers to be the private. In civilian-life, Files is a farmer who grows a particularly intriguing crop:

Jo Files had twelve trees which bore steel files of various sorts; but also he had nine book-trees, on which grew a choice selection of story-books. In case you have never seen books growing upon trees, I will explain that those in Jo Files' orchard were enclosed in broad green husks which, when fully ripe, turned to a deep red color. Then the books were picked and husked and were ready to read. If they were picked too soon, the stories were found to be confused and uninteresting and the spelling bad. However, if allowed to ripen perfectly, the stories were fine reading and the spelling and grammar excellent.

Files freely gave his books to all who wanted them, but the people of Oogaboo cared little for books and so he had to read most of them himself, before they spoiled. For, as you probably know, as soon as the books were read the words disappeared and the leaves withered and faded--which is the worst fault of all books which grow upon trees.

The army heads out to conquer Oz, but quickly gets lost due to Glinda's benevolent interference. It doesn't take much time, though, before they run into the second group of voyagers in this story, led by Betsy Bobbins. Betsy is clearly our Dorothy stand-in: she is from Oklahoma, she got in a ship wreck and washed up near Oz, and along with her came her mule, Hank. Hank and Betsy soon run into the Shaggy Man, who is looking to rescue his brother from the Nome King (his brother was a miner in Colorado, who was captured by the King). To round things off, the group plucks a Rose Princess from a royalty tree tended by a bunch of rose-people. The rose-people, however, refuse to be ruled by a woman and so the Rose Princess comes with the gang to find The Shaggy Man's brother. Next they run into Tik-Tok, who was thrown into the bottom of a well by the Nome King, and after they wind him up and dust him off, he is ready to help. Plus Polychrome shows up too (remember her? The rainbow's daughter?).

The two groups meet up and decide to work together to defeat the Nome King and rescue the brother. Things are going rather well until the Nome King magically leads their path right into The Hollow Tube that slides them through the center of the Earth and out the other side into the kingdom of (get this): Tititi-Hoochoo. That's right: Tititi-Hoochoo. T-H is the ruler of a kingdom of fairies -- everyone in the kingdom is royalty except him, and since he is The Private Citizen, he gets to be in charge. T-H has already warned the Nome King that if he sends anything else through The Hollow Tube, he will regret it. With the help of a dragon named Quox, the Nome King gets his comeuppance, the brother is saved, and with the by now familiar deus ex machina of Dorothy, Ozma and their magic mirror, everyone comes to the Emerald City to have a final chapter of reunion.

Best of all, at the end of the book we find out why Toto never talks, even though all the other animals that come into Oz start talking right away:

"Do all the animals in Oz talk as we do?

"Almost all," answered Dorothy.... "but I've a little fuzzy black dog, named Toto, who has been with me in Oz a long time, and he's never said a single word but 'Bow-wow!'"

"Do you know why?" asked Ozma.

"Why, he's a Kansas dog; so I s'pose he's different from these fairy animals," replied Dorothy.

"...The same spell has affected Toto, I assure you; but he's a wise little dog and while he knows everything that is said to him he prefers not to talk."

"Goodness me!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I never s'pected Toto was fooling me all this time." Then she drew a small silver whistle from her pocket and blew a shrill note upon it. A moment later there was a sound of scurrying foot-steps, and a shaggy black dog came running up the path

Dorothy knelt down before him and shaking her finger just above his nose she said:

"Toto, haven't I always been good to you?"

Toto looked up at her with his bright black eyes and wagged his tail.

"Bow-wow!" he said, and Betsy knew at once that meant yes, as well as Dorothy and Ozma knew it, for there was no mistaking the tone of Toto's voice.

"That's a dog answer," said Dorothy. "How would you like it, Toto, if I said nothing to you but 'bow-wow'?"

Toto's tail was wagging furiously now, but otherwise he was silent.

"Really, Dorothy," said Betsy, "he can talk with his bark and his tail just as well as we can. Don't you understand such dog language?"

"Of course I do," replied Dorothy. "But Toto's got to be more sociable. See here, sir!" she continued, addressing the dog, "I've just learned, for the first time, that you can say words--if you want to. Don't you want to, Toto?"

"Woof!" said Toto, and that meant no.

"Not just one word, Toto, to prove you're as any other animal in Oz?"

"Woof!"

"Just one word, Toto--and then you may run away."

He looked at her steadily a moment.

"All right. Here I go!" he said, and darted away as swift as an arrow.

And, as always, you can read the whole thing here.

Gettin' All Spry on Grolsch

Did you know that the fifth volume of Man Why You Even Got To Do A Thing, the zine by everyone's favorite depressed cat Roast Beef (from Achewood), is available for your purchase and reading pleasure? Well it is. And I just read it. And it was awesome. So buy a copy, or if you are nice you can come over and read mine.

Charlie's Back in Town

Nothing pleases me more than when I buy a book based solely on its cover, and the writing and story end up being really great. That was exactly what happened with the awesomely covered Charlie's Back in Town by Jacqueline Park (1975).

I admittedly only looked for a couple of minutes, but I'm having a heck of a time finding out anything about the author. There aren't that many great female crime writers out there, and I think that Park is one of them. But the only other book I can find that she might have written is the 1997 novel The secret book of Grazia dei Rossi. There is an actress named Jacqueline Park who had a bunch of small mostly TV roles in the 1950s, is that her? Charlie's Back in Town was nominated for the 1976 Edgar Award Best Paperback Original Mystery Novel, so it seems like she should have written some more crime novels. My guess is that Jacqueline Park is a pseudonym, but I wish I know what other names he/she wrote under... I will have to devote more time on the Internets to this issue.

So, the book: Our hero, John Mace, is the only law officer in a small town in Canada that is just outside of Toronto (he is actually the elected reeve, which must be a Canadian thing because I had never heard the term before). [As an aside, the town in the book is called Easton, but you wouldn't know that from the back cover, which calls the town Weston.] The Toronto airport is in his jurisdiction, and a murder in the parking garage draws him into a convoluted and mysterious group of people. The dead guy is Charlie Sellers, a local shady big-shot who made tons of money in the stock market, lost it all (and the money of a bunch of other people) and skipped town. He remade his fortune in Houston and is back settling old debts and paying back those who screwed him over in the past. Charlie is a pretty sleazy dude, and just about everyone who has ever come in contact with him has a good reason for wanting him dead. This includes: his brother, his brother's fiance (who used to be Charlie's lover), his ex-parter, his ex-partner's wife (who also used to be Charlie's lover), and a whole series of gangster underlings and bosses.

But who really did it? And is John Mace, an ex-military guy prone to ennui and self-doubt, really the best man to solve the crime? Should he cede control of the case to the big-city cops? And what about all these other bodies that keep turning up?

Park does a nice job of balancing Mace's psychology and personality with the mystery and police procedural aspects of the book. The characters are well-written and the story is intriguing. Plus I didn't figure out who did it until it was revealed at the end. A very satisfying book.

Restrained

This baby table-cage both intrigues and repels me.

Questioning the Universe

My latest dip into my overflowing bookshelves came up with a spot of non-fiction: Are Universes Thicker Than Blackberries: Discourses on Gödel, Magic Hexagrams, Little Red Riding Hood, and Other Mathematical and Psuedoscience Topics by Martin Gardner (2003). It really is about all those things. And probably fifty more.

I first heard of Martin Gardner when I worked for the math archives. He comes from a philosophy background, but is well known for his writing on recreational mathematics. He has written about a billion books, some of which (like this one) contain reprints of his columns. Gardner is a great popular journalist, with broad interests and a whole swath of venues in which to air his (sometimes contentious) opinions on everything from quantum physics, to religion, to literature. He is entertainingly contrary on certain topics, and particularly fun to read when he attacks such pseudoscientific disciples as primal scream therapy, distant healing, and therapeutic touch.

The science articles in this book are fascinating, particularly "Multiverses and Blackberries" and "Can Time go Backward?" The mathematics articles are also interesting, although a lot of the details were a little bit beyond my personal interest in mathematics (I like the ideas, but not the numbers). The religion section is great. The Literature section introduced me to Gardner's work in the land of Oz (Kristy gift hint: get me this book). And the Moonshine section was the best of all.

It is hard to encapsulate what a book that covers some of the major aspects of human knowledge is about. And that is why this book is fun to read.

Snacktackular

What do you get when you combine Flava-puff, Jeff Foxworthy beef jerky, and Clamato Energia energy drink? A party, my friends. A funny-flava party. And in case you were wondering, all of these items taste pretty good. Especially after several drinks.

[In addition, I made this dip which was not funny. Instead, it was just super tasty: soften some Neufchâtel cheese in the microwave for 20 seconds or so, stir in 2-3 cloves of minced garlic, spread that stuff in a pie plate, then put two chopped tomatoes, a bunch of chopped green onions, and some shredded cheese on top. Put the whole deal in the fridge for at least 3 hours, and then serve it with crackers and chips. Yum.]

Graphic Shit

I swear that a bird shit on my windshield the other day in the exact shape of the animated Paul McCartney in The Yellow Submarine. It was kind of like his head with a really long neck (where the shit dripped down) and no body.

But it rained on my car before I could take a picture.

Would I lie about something like this? Dr. M can back me up. It was uncanny.

Slaughterhouse Five

There are no telegrams on Tralfamadore. But you're right: each clump of symbols is a brief, urgent message -- describing a situation, a scene. We Tralfamordians read them all at once, not one after the other. There isn't any particular relationship between all the messages, except that the author has chosen them carefully, so that, when seen all at once, they produce an image of life that is beautiful and surprising and deep. There is no beginning, no middle, no end, no suspense, no moral, no causes, no effects. What we love in our books are the depths of many marvelous moments seen all at one time.

That's right, folks. The latest selection for our nicely growing book club is Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut (1969). This was the first of Vonnegut's books that I ever read, and that was back in junior high. All I remembered about it was something about WWII and that I liked it. Well, my memories of the book were totally on target, although there is a little more going on than just something about WWII.

In this book, Billy Pilgrim becomes unstuck in time. He floats around between his service in the war, his time as a German prisoner of war, the firebombing of Dresden, his marriage, his work as an optometrist, his abduction by aliens, his speaking career, and his death. Not necessarily in that order. Although he started jumping around in time much earlier, it wasn't until he met up with the Tralfamordians (see above, where they describe their literature) that he learned of their different perspective on time, which made his jumping around make a lot more sense.

In a strange coincidence, I've just been reading some articles on quantum physics and the notion of time that pretty much say the exact same thing as the Tralfamordians. Maybe they are onto something?

I won't say too much more, since the bookclub hasn't met yet, but if it's been awhile since you've read this book as well, you should pick it up again.

Does having nothing to say make me cool, or lame?

For some reason this week I am totally busy, and yet have nothing to report thus far. I have read some books, but I just got home from the grocery store and I've still got a batch of pineapple chicken salad to whip up before going to see a movie at the Paramount, so no time to write anything of substance now. Maybe tomorrow?

Until then, you could check out some of the stuff I've written on booktruck if you have finished the rest of the internet and need something to occupy your time.

Little Wizard Stories of Oz

When L. Frank Baum restarted his Oz series in 1913, after attempting to end it for good in 1910, he published both The Patchwork Girl of Oz and a series of short stories featuring the Oz characters. These short stories were originally published as individual books for young children, but were later collected (in 1914) into a single volume titled Little Wizard Stories of Oz.

The stories are set up much like fables, with morals at the end, and each involves two of the now very familiar Oz characters. The Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger teach us that "it's better to be a coward than to do wrong," and "it's better to go hungry... than to be cruel to a little child." The Wizard of Oz teaches Dorothy that "it is really dangerous for a little girl to wander alone in a fairy country." After the Nome King accidentally breaks Tik Tok in a fit of rage, he realizes: "When I am angry I always do something that I am sorry for afterward. So I have firmly resolved never to get angry again." Ozma and the Little Wizard (who is the Wizard of Oz) don't really learn anything, but they teach some mean Imps a lesson by changing them into various things until they learn to behave. After Jack Pumpkinhead falls off the Sawhorse, he learns to take better care of his head. And the Scarecrow and the Tinman learn not to stand up in boats and not to trust crows.

Some of these life lessons are probably more applicable to the average child than others, but they are all pretty fun to read. Plus the whole thing will take about 15 minutes, as it is a super shorty.

As always, you can read them for yourself here or, if you are hip to the new audio technology, you can download the audio files and listen to them on your Ipod or compubot or what-have-you. [And that librivox.org site is pretty cool if you poke around in it -- I am more of a reader than a book-on-tape listener, but if you like to listen to books in your car or on your Ipod, then check that site out.] Isn't technology nice?

The Glass Key

I'm mixing up the science fiction with a taste of my other favorite genre, the crime novel. I recently read The Glass Key by the always awesome Dashiell Hammett (1931) [and isn't this the best cover ever? It is the 1972 Vintage Books edition and it rocks]. Hammett is one of my favorite crime writers, and rumor has it that this was Hammett's favorite of his own works.

The main character in The Glass Key is Ned Beaumont. He isn't a detective or a cop, he is a gambler who happens to be best friends with Paul Madvig, a mobster turned politician who is working to get "his" senator and the rest of his party elected to office so that he can run the town through the system instead of around it. Just because Ned isn't a detective doesn't mean he isn't involved in solving any mysteries, however. The senator's son is mysteriously murdered, and everyone in town thinks Paul did it because the guy was making time with his underage daughter. But Paul doesn't want anyone to think he did it because he is angling for the senator's sexy daughter. Ned just wants to get the money his bookie (who mysteriously left town all of a sudden the night of the murder) owes him. So who really killed the senator's son? Why does Ned get beat up so much? Can Ned and Paul's seriously strong friendship (Ned's main character traits are few words and ultra-loyalty) handle all the accusations, love triangles, and double-crossing that takes place in this book?

Read it and find out. Seriously. You will love this book. I'll even loan my copy to you if you ask.

Do it!

Is it the End of Secret Boyfriend Wednesday?

Dear readers, we have traveled together on a crazy whirlwind of a secret boyfriend wednesday ride. One year ago tomorrow I posted my first weekly SB: the lovely Tim from the British office. I still stand by Martin Freeman and all the rest of my 50 posted SBs (50! I had no idea there were so many). I'm not out of SBs, but from now on the revelations will be less predictable. All good things must come to an end, my friends, and weekly secret boyfriends are no exception.

So, to end it where we began it, in a strangely circular fashion, I give you Jim from the American Office (who I always call Tim, since the British version is burned into my brain). Cheers to you, John Krasinski, and congratulations on being the 50th, and final SB Wednesday honoree.

Craft Lessons, Now with Extra Links!

Haven't you always wanted to make a potato stamp? I know we used them back when I was in preschool, although I'm pretty sure the teachers cut out the designs for us. I could have used a teacher to help me with my design on the potato stamps we made this weekend, but I think my tiny triangle turned out okay (although not nearly as cool as Josh's gross skull stamp). It all started when my sister came up with a craft plan to create some homemade wrapping paper for a wedding gift. If anyone can convince four drunken adults to make some potato stamps, it is Jill.

Now for a tutorial!

Potato Stamps the Jill-bot way:
1. Cut the potato in half
2. Trim sides for clear stamping
3. Trace out your design with something pokey
4. Cut out that negative space
5. Put your potatoes stamp side down on a paper towel to dry out
6. Paint some concentrated watercolor on your stamp
7. Stamp it! (Oddly not pictured)
8. Repeat
9. View your marvelous work
10. Wrap a present with it

Full potato stamp documentation here.

Oh Ya-Ya

Okay, it's true. I just read Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells (1996). I know I bought this book (it certainly wasn't Dr. M's), but I have no idea when or why or why I still have it. I didn't really have an urge to read it, but it was in my collection, so when it came up on my randomly generated book list, I decided to go for it.

Honestly, I liked it better than I thought it would. At least most of it. This tells the story of Sidda, a theater director living in New York City with her gorgeous, perfect (and very one-dimensional like all the men in this book) fiance. She gives an unintentionally revealing interview about her childhood to a reporter for the New York Times, who runs a piece blasting Sidda's mother, Vivi, for being a bad, drunk, child-beating mother. This really pisses Vivi off, and she cuts off all contact with her daughter. Sidda responds by calling off her wedding and going to an isolated cabin in Washington State to be alone and think things out. While trying to make amends, Sidda writes Vivi and asks for her help with a new play she is directing. Vivi has a group of three close girlfriends (the Ya-Yas) who have been inseparable since they were little kids. Sidda asks to learn more about them and their friendship as research to give her play more life. After consultation with the Ya-Yas, Vivi sends Sidda a giant scrapbook documenting their friendship over the years.

Most of the book is told through Sidda flipping through the scrapbook, reading letters, and finding photos and ephemera, and then thinking back to what she can remember her mother or the other Ya-Yas saying about a certain event. Then we flip to Vivi's memory and get the full story. Back and forth. I liked this bit -- Vivi's life as a young, wealthy woman in the South and the adventures of she and her sassy girlfriends are entertaining and fun to read, and I like stories told through letters. We also get some of Sidda's life -- parts of which are interesting, but most of which are boring interior monologues wondering if she knows how to love anyone, if she can forgive her mother, if she deserves happiness, and why she doesn't have any Ya-Yas. Of course she does have friends, they just happen to be a gay costume designer and a alterna-girl playwright. Not southern belles who like to drink and cuss and wear nice dresses like her mother's friends.

Would I like this book better if I had some Ya-Yas? Possibly. But I've always just had one or two super close girlfriends, and those friends change every ten years or so. And really, most of my friends are boys. I'm still friends with my oldest best friend (Hi L.!), but not in a Ya-Ya kind of way. To do that, I think you'd have to never leave where you grew up, never expand from the comfort of your childhood, and never really fall in love with your husband. Because none of the ladies in this book seem to think of their husbands as anything more than a guy to get money from, a nuisance, or a child (or in the case of Sidda, a sex-machine -- and the sex is really not very interesting to read about).

As you might expect, everything works out in the end. And the ending is satisfying and not overly sappy. This book was okay, but just not the sort of thing I usually like to read. If she could have cut out some of the moralizing and nauseatingly metaphoric interludes, the book would have been even better.

[Also, I'm having some houseguests through the weekend, so posting will dry up for a few days while I have a luxurious in-town vacation.]

SB Wednesday has no failure to communicate

Paul Newman, welcome to Secret Boyfriend Wednesday. How on earth could we leave you out? Not only are you smoking hot, but you also make a mean line of food products (which are awesome -- if I have a choice between something Paul Newman made and something else, I go with Paul every time), and you donate all your profits to charity!





In addition, you have aged quite well.















Although I will never get tired of young Paul. Nice work, PN -- welcome to the SB pantheon!

Cuisinart-y

I swear I didn't start out to document the strangeness in the world of Cuisinart advertising, but somehow I have. Here is another case in point. Part of what is weird in all these ads (and there are a lot of weird elements to choose from) is that everyone is looking somewhere very deliberately, but almost no one is looking at the person that is looking at them. In addition, no one is talking. I don't know about you, but in my family, someone is always talking. Let's break this one down (click to make it bigger):

1. Woman A is looking at Woman H, and Woman H is looking in the direction of Woman A, but their eyes don't seem to be meeting.
2. Man B is looking at Woman A, and getting no love.
3. Kid C might be looking at Dude G, but it seems more likely that he is looking at something out of the frame.
4. Woman D is looking at kid C.
5. Girl E is looking at Old Man F, but he is looking at Woman D, who is not looking at him.
6. Dude G is either looking at Woman A or Man B. Either way, neither of them are looking at him.

Who thought these ads were a good idea? They make me feel like I'm looking at robots pretending to be humans, and don't really make me feel like Cuisinarting anything at all.

The Patchwork Girl of Oz

As we saw at the end of The Emerald City of Oz, L. Frank Baum attempted to end the Oz series through a final chapter where he receives a letter from Dorothy saying goodbye forever as Oz has been magically cut off from the rest of the world in order to protect it from outsiders. However, Baum ran into financial difficulty, and decided to revive the Oz series three years later with The Patchwork Girl of Oz (1913).

And how did he hear this story from Dorothy, after all contact had been so abruptly cut off? Why, through the wonder of science, of course!

The children who had learned to look for the books about Oz and who loved the stories about the gay and happy people inhabiting that favored country, were as sorry as their Historian that there would be no more books of Oz stories. They wrote many letters asking if the Historian did not know of some adventures to write about that had happened before the Land of Oz was shut out from all the rest of the world. But he did not know of any. Finally one of the children inquired why we couldn't hear from Princess Dorothy by wireless telegraph, which would enable her to communicate to the Historian whatever happened in the far-off Land of Oz without his seeing her, or even knowing just where Oz is.

That seemed a good idea; so the Historian rigged up a high tower in his back yard, and took lessons in wireless telegraphy until he understood it, and then began to call "Princess Dorothy of Oz" by sending messages into the air.

Now, it wasn't likely that Dorothy would be looking for wireless messages or would heed the call; but one thing the Historian was sure of, and that was that the powerful Sorceress, Glinda, would know what he was doing and that he desired to communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a big book in which is recorded every event that takes place anywhere in the world, just the moment that it happens, and so of course the book would tell her about the wireless message.

And that was the way Dorothy heard that the Historian wanted to speak with her, and there was a Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how to telegraph a wireless reply. The result was that the Historian begged so hard to be told the latest news of Oz, so that he could write it down for the children to read, that Dorothy asked permission of Ozma and Ozma graciously consented.

So via telegraph, we learn about the story of Ojo and Unc Nunkie -- two Munchkins who live by themselves in an isolated forest. The only problem is, they have run out of food. They decide to leave their home and travel to the Emerald City where they can start a new life and have enough to eat. On their way, they stop by the house of Dr. Pipt, a magician who also lives in the woods with his wife. This is the same magician that invented the Powder of Life that brought Jack Pumpkinhead, the Saw Horse, and the Gump to life in The Marvelous Land of Oz. Even though he is forbidden to practice magic, Dr. Pipt has been working for six years to make some more Powder of Life in order to bring a human-sized patchwork doll that his wife made to life so that it can be their servant and do all the housework.

Just before the powder is ready, Dr. Pipt's wife, Margolotte, picks out the right combination of brains to suit her servant (a bunch of Obedience, some Amiability, a little Truth, and a dash of Cleverness --she wants her to have enough brains to be a good servant, but not so many that she gets any ideas of not obeying her mistress). Ojo thinks that the Patchwork Girl ought to be given as many brains as anyone else, so when Margolotte is helping her husband, he adds in some more of everything, plus Judgment, Courage, Ingenuity, Learning, Poesy and Self-Reliance.

Sadly just as the now very precocious Patchwork Girl is brought to life, a vial of Liquid of Petrification falls on Unc Nunkie and Margolotte and turns them into stone. The magician can make a potion to heal them, but to do it, Ojo will need to go on a journey and collect a six-leaved clover found only in the Emerald City, three hairs from the tip of a Woozy's tail, a gill of water from a dark well, a drop of oil from a live man's body, and the left wing of a yellow butterfly. He takes the Patchwork Girl and a rather stuck-up glass cat that the magician had brought to life earlier and heads out on his journey.

The group meets up with The Shaggy Man, who introduces them to the Scarecrow (who immediately falls head over heels for the Patchwork Girl), the Tin Man, Dorothy, and the rest of the gang. Many adventures are had, and although they aren't able to get all the ingredients for the potion (the Tin Man won't let anybody harm the yellow butterflies that are found only in his kingdom because his heart is too big to see any living thing harmed in any way), everything works out fine in the end.

This is one of the Oz books that was made into a movie produced by Baum in 1914, and if IMDB is to be believed, it is one of the most faithful adaptations.

[And as always, you can read the whole thing online here.]

What is Awesome

When the rain (mostly) holds off the whole time you are sitting outside for a happy hour, and then starts up just when you are getting ready for bed. Thanks rain. I like to sleep to you, but I don't like you to fall into my drink.

SB Revelations

In honor of the American Idol finale, and because I'm having to dig deep to find unrevealed secret boyfriends, I'm going to own up to a kind of ridiculous SB of mine: Simon Cowell. It's true. He wasn't at first, but something about watching him every week has really grown on me. I like that he almost always wears a tight black shirt. I like that he doesn't smile much, but when he does it's cute. And he is generally pretty spot on with his comments -- really the only honest-ish person on the show.





I also love the smirk.








And the whole fake-rude bit. I don't know why, he just appeals to me. I'm kind of embarrassed about this. Does anyone else think he's cute?

[The one thing I do hate is the fake/scripty animosity between him and Ryan Seacrest. Can't those dudes just give it a rest? I like that Simon always seems sort of irritated by having to do it. Ryan Seacrest is the anti-SB.]

Make it

I was thinking about drawing a little comic to illustrate my review of Making comics : storytelling secrets of comics, manga and graphic novels (2006) by Scott McCloud, but it turns out that I have very little ability or patience for drawing, I'm too lazy, and I didn't even try. Sorry, guys. Maybe I'll surprise you by whipping up some awesome doodles at a later date.

It says a lot for McCloud's book, however, that it made me think (pretty seriously even) that I could, and should, try making a comic of my own. This is the third book in McCloud's series exploring the world of comics (I still need to read Reinventing Comics, anyone have it?), and in this volume he gets down to where the pencil meets the paper and describes the actual procedures that go into turning your comics ideas into reality. Since I'm not a comics artist myself, I'm not sure how important and/or valid McCloud's advice is, but as a comics reader, I found it to be really interesting and engaging. Plus I just love the idea of a non-fiction book in comic format.

If you are interested, check out Scott McClouds Making Comics webpage, including his online Chapter Five and a Half -- an online, comic format chapter about online comics.

And a gazillion thanks to the lovely Joolie for loaning me this. I'll get it back to you as super soon as possible.

Old Pictures

My sister has been scanning in some old slides and prints from my grand- parent's house, and she burned a bunch of them to CD for me. I haven't gone through everything, but so far there are some awesome shots of my grandmother (who we called Bemor) and her sisters in the 1920s. They made all their own clothes and there are some very fashionable get-ups here. Just a few up for now, but I'll try to add more later.

[Addendum -- more have been added.]

Utods

I recently read The Dark Light-Years by Brian Aldiss (1964). We all know I have a tendency to buy science fiction books that are worn-out looking and old with awesome covers. This cover is pretty great (and I'd heard of Brian Aldiss before), but it wasn't enough to push me to buy the book.To get to that point, I had to turn the book over and peruse the back cover. Utods, huh? Those sound pretty interesting... Wallow in filth? Why, I love to read about that. Let's just keep looking down to the Author Photo:

Yes. Yes, this book must be read.

In this book, the world of the Utods and the world of the Humans intersect. The Utods are an ancient race who live in a distant galaxy -- they have a highly developed biological system that coincides with the rotation of their planet between three distinct suns. Their social, cultural, and religious beliefs all center on the process (and product) of defecation (no joke), which they see as a gift that symbolizes the ultimate cycle of life where bodies enter the carrion stage and feed the trees on the planet, becoming once again part of the universe. So, the Utods basically sit around in wallows of dirt and shit all day.

They are also giant and kind of hippo-like with six retractable arms and two heads, one that talks and one that shits. They are peaceful, but went through a period of revolution in their culture many generations ago where a sect of Utods shunned defecation for cleanliness, invented all kinds of spaceships and things, but eventually died out in a big war between themselves. The remaining Utods kept the technological knowledge and use it to travel to and colonize other hospitable planets.

The humans run across a pod of Utods in their temporary wallow on a planet they are both exploring. When the Utods say something to the humans (their language sounds like high pitched squeaks and screams and comes from all their orafices), they shoot all but two of the group. A scientist on board on the ship makes them capture the remaining Utods for study instead of shooting them. But are they intelligent?

All the shit really makes it hard for the humans to see the Utods as anything less than animals. All the cleanliness makes it really hard for the Utods to see the humans as an intelligent, thinking race. Both groups are at a standstill and while they have a lot of philosophical discussions about what "intelligent life" really is, neither race really makes a breakthrough.

That is until a human is left on the Utod planet to spend a year understanding the race and learning their language, or teaching them English. This is a good assignment for a young explorer who wants to get away from Earth for awhile, but what happens when he is forgotten in the fallout from a planetary war and left with the Utods for 40 years? What can the humans learn from the Utods, and what can the Utods learn from the humans?

I liked this book -- its got a nice sense of humor, and a good mix of philosophy and action. Plus the little details about everyday life on future earth are fun (although sometimes a little dated and goofy).

[P.S. This copy is the original 1964 Signet Books printing, just in case you are geeky like me and think that's cool.]

American Idol Geek Out

Why!?!

I expected this to be a Melinda vs. Jordin shootout, with Jordin winning. I don't mind Blake, and I still think Jordin will win, but Melinda is the best!

Can you believe I'm thirty? I can't.

I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen

John Cusack has been a secret boyfriend of mine for about forever. He has done some pretty dumb movies, and he isn't great in everything, but just look at the great movies that he is great in, including: Say Anything, The Grifters, Being John Malkovich, and High Fidelity. They are so great that they permanently implant him in my brain as the perfect smart, funny, totally flawed, but ultimately good guy.

Plus the pretty good movies that he is great in like Grosse Pointe Blank, Bullets Over Broadway, and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil aren't so bad.




In addition, he's just so darn cute.







And obviously, there's this:

Otherwise

The lovely Choo recently dropped off a bookcrossing.com copy of Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great (1972). I've always wanted to come across a bookcrossing book and I've wanted to reread all the Judy Blume books as an adult, so this really killed two birds with one stone.

I remember liking this book when I was a kid, but I think I only read it one time (as opposed to Are You There God, It's Me Margaret and the semi-smutty Forever which I read about a million times.) As an adult, this didn't really hold up. The story features Sheila, the younger of two sisters, during the family's summer in a vacation home. Sheila is a know-it-all who never likes to admit that she is scared or doesn't know how to do something. This gets her into some uncomfortable positions when she is caught in a lie, but there is never a big come-uppence where she learns a big lesson about being herself. Of course, she does learn to chill out a bit and not lie so much, but gradually, and just sort of. I had a tendency to sympathize with the older sister, since I'm an oldest myself, and since Sheila is kind of a brat. Still, I'm glad I got to re-read this....

And here is the bookcrossing page for this copy -- keep your eye out at local bus stops and maybe you can be the next reader!

Purdy

Dr. M is a wonderful man. He unexpectedly brought me home a bouquet of lilies with the beer I expected him to bring home last night. Now all I can do is take pictures of them and tell my husband he is great. More pictures here.

Life is not a series of gig lamps

I recently read Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925). I love the modernists, and especially Virginia Woolf, but somehow I had gotten through 30 years of my life without reading this book. I'm not sure why. Now I want to go back and re-read all her other books. Modernism is for me!

In the introduction to my copy of the book, the editor quotes from Woolf's essay "Modern Fiction" (1919):

Examine for a moment an ordinary mind on an ordinary day. The mind receives a myriad impressions -- trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpest of steel. From all sides they come, an incessant shower of innumerable atoms, and as they fall, as they shape themselves into the life of Monday or Tuesday, the accent falls differently from of old; the moment of importance came not here but there, so that, if a writer were a free man and not a slave, if he could write what he chose, not what he must, if he could base his work upon feeling and not upon conviction, there would be no plot, no comedy, no tragedy, no love interest or catastrophe in the accepted style, and perhaps not a single button sewn on as the Bond Street tailors would have it... Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged, life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.

That really gets at the heart of what Woolf is doing with Mrs. Dalloway. In this book, we follow the title character through one day of her life as she prepares for and hosts a party at her house. While not really stream of consciousness, the narrative is very loose and free (sometimes almost poetic) and follows the thoughts of Mrs. Dalloway and the people with whom she interacts. We easily transfer from one person to another and then back again, learning about their present and their past, and their relationships with one another. The end result is a truly engrossing and descriptive book of a life, as told through the lens of one day of it. One thing that I love is when giant things are crammed into tiny artistic containers, and the restraints of setting a book in one day really appeal to me.

Has any one read The Hours? I kind of want to now and (eventually) also see the movie. I've heard better things about the book than the movie, but both sound interesting.

Success!

With my camera at least. SB Wednesday will have to be delayed as I am spending my night playing with the settings and the new software, and watching American Idol. I am a very complicated woman.

Check out the initial alcohol-fueled results here.

The Emerald City of Oz

In the sixth book of the Oz series, The Emerald City of Oz (1910), we find Dorothy, Aunt Em, and Uncle Henry in hard times. It seems that the tornado that blew the house away in the first Oz book combined with several poor growing seasons have left Uncle Henry in debt to the bank, and they are about to foreclose. Dorothy's aunt and uncle ponder their future and guess that Dorothy too will have to go to work in the city if they are to survive.

Dorothy has been telling her aunt and uncle all about her visits to Oz, and they mostly think she is just being fanciful. When she brings up the fact that Ozma looks for Dorothy in her magic mirror every day at four, and if Dorothy makes a certain sign with her hands she is transported to Oz, her guardians decide to humor her and let her go off to live in Oz if she wants to. Dorothy does just that, but after a consultation with Ozma, she has Aunt Em and Uncle Henry transported to Oz as well so they can all live happily ever after and not have to worry about the bank or the farm or dusty old Kansas.

And who wouldn't want to live in Oz:

Altogether there were more than half a million people in the Land of Oz--although some of them, as you will soon learn, were not made of flesh and blood as we are--and every inhabitant of that favored country was happy and prosperous.

No disease of any sort was ever known among the Ozites, and so no one ever died unless he met with an accident that prevented him from living. This happened very seldom, indeed. There were no poor people in the Land of Oz, because there was no such thing as money, and all property of every sort belonged to the Ruler. The people were her children, and she cared for them. Each person was given freely by his neighbors whatever he required for his use, which is as much as any one may reasonably desire. Some tilled the lands and raised great crops of grain, which was divided equally among the entire population, so that all had enough. There were many tailors and dressmakers and shoemakers and the like, who made things that any who desired them might wear. Likewise there were jewelers who made ornaments for the person, which pleased and beautified the people, and these ornaments also were free to those who asked for them. Each man and woman, no matter what he or she produced for the good of the community, was supplied by the neighbors with food and clothing and a house and furniture and ornaments and games. If by chance the supply ever ran short, more was taken from the great storehouses of the Ruler, which were afterward filled up again when there was more of any article than the people needed.

Every one worked half the time and played half the time, and the people enjoyed the work as much as they did the play, because it is good to be occupied and to have something to do. There were no cruel overseers set to watch them, and no one to rebuke them or to find fault with them. So each one was proud to do all he could for his friends and neighbors, and was glad when they would accept the things he produced.

You will know by what I have here told you, that the Land of Oz was a remarkable country. I do not suppose such an arrangement would be practical with us, but Dorothy assures me that it works finely with the Oz people.

Sounds pretty utopic, right?

Unfortunately for Dorothy, Ozma, and the rest of the citizens of Oz, the Nome King (remember him from Ozma of Oz?) is still really mad that Ozma took his magic belt. He comes up with a scheme to tunnel under the deadly desert with his army to attack the Emerald City, enslave the Ozites, and get his belt back. To assist in his project, he forms an alliance with three other nasty evil groups who also want to plunder Oz and get rid of happy people. One of these groups are the totally awesome Whimsies:

These Whimsies were curious people who lived in a retired country of their own. They had large, strong bodies, but heads so small that they were no bigger than door-knobs. Of course, such tiny heads could not contain any great amount of brains, and the Whimsies were so ashamed of their personal appearance and lack of commonsense that they wore big heads made of pasteboard, which they fastened over their own little heads. On these pasteboard heads they sewed sheep's wool for hair, and the wool was colored many tints--pink, green and lavender being the favorite colors. The faces of these false heads were painted in many ridiculous ways, according to the whims of the owners, and these big, burly creatures looked so whimsical and absurd in their queer masks that they were called "Whimsies." They foolishly imagined that no one would suspect the little heads that were inside the imitation ones, not knowing that it is folly to try to appear otherwise than as nature has made us.

The two parallel stories of Dorothy and her friends showing her aunt and uncle around Oz and meeting interesting characters, and the Nome King and his evil allies tunneling under the desert to attack Oz don't really intersect until the very end of the book, when Ozma comes up with a marvelous scheme to stop the baddies and save her kingdom without fighting one bit. After getting everything back to normal, Ozma casts a spell over Oz so that no one else will ever be able to find it, thus preserving their happy kingdom for all time.

Baum sneaks in a surprising last chapter which I'm sure caused panic in his young followers:

The writer of these Oz stories has received a little note from Princess Dorothy of Oz which, for a time, has made him feel rather disconcerted. The note was written on a broad, white feather from a stork's wing, and it said:

"YOU WILL NEVER HEAR ANYTHING MORE ABOUT OZ, BECAUSE WE ARE NOW CUT OFF FOREVER FROM ALL THE REST OF THE WORLD. BUT TOTO AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU AND ALL THE OTHER CHILDREN WHO LOVE US.

"DOROTHY GALE."

This seemed to me too bad, at first, for Oz is a very interesting fairyland. Still, we have no right to feel grieved, for we have had enough of the history of the Land of Oz to fill six story books, and from its quaint people and their strange adventures we have been able to learn many useful and amusing things.

So good luck to little Dorothy and her companions. May they live long in their invisible country and be very happy!

This is a far cry from what Baum wrote in the preface to this book, and I'm guessing he had a change of heart since there are nine more Oz books yet to come. Perhaps those paychecks were too big to give up, because Baum has seemed to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder about continuing the Oz story since about the third book, and yet he continues to write...

[And now you should probably just read the whole thing here.]

"Authorities say they were whacked by the mob"

Doesn't this story seem a little insensitive? I'm not saying this isn't an interesting way to die, or that their scheme was fool-proof, but should journalists really use the word "whacked" when a couple was actually murdered? This isn't an episode of The Sopranos, it's CNN.

Oh, those wacky gangsters. What kind of hijinks will they get into next?

One Millon for Sperm, Three Thousand for Bedspread

Oh, Vincent Gallo, I love you so. And this page is filling me with glee. If I had $50,000, we would be spending the day together. But not to have sex or anything, I've got Dr. M for that. Just to hang out and also to stare into your eyes.

I'm a little shocked that someone bought your St. Anthony medallion from your first communion for $1000. Was that maybe your mom?

SB Wednesday Drew First Blood

In a similar fashion to the Kurt Russell/eye-patch SB phenomenon, the cast of Young Guns (and, naturally, Young Guns II) have also earned a mysterious place in SB history. Individually, I have nothing against Emilio, Charlie, Kiefer, and Lou. They are all attractive enough, but they just don't have that SB touch. But, put them together as a gang of gun fighting bad guys with hearts of gold in the old west, and they are magic. I haven't seen either of these movies since maybe 1991, but I'm betting that the SB status will hold up even if the films fall a little flat. I can't say why throwing this rag tag bunch of actors together in the wild west makes them exponentially cuter, but it does, and I don't like to overly question the SB magic.

And now I think you should probably watch the Blaze of Glory video, since the song is surely in your head:

Cuckoo

Don't look too closely, or you will be hypnotized by the amazing cover of John Wyndham's The Midwich Cuckoos (1957) [the equally mesmerising back cover is available here].

In this book we have a quiet English village called Midwich. One night something descends over the town that puts everyone in it -- and every person who crosses over an invisible line surrounding the town -- to sleep. Odd, right? This lasts for about a day and then everyone wakes up. People try to put the "Dayout" behind them, although certain government types noticed that a strange large object landed near Midwich during the Dayout and are keeping tabs on the whole place just to see if anything develops.

After a bit, all the women of childbearing age in the village realize that they are simultaneously pregnant. Not such a big deal for the married ladies, but rather hard to explain for the spinsters, virgins, and wives whose husbands are off in the service. When the babies come out, they all look remarkably similar, and all have strange glowing eyes. They are dubbed The Children, and are grudgingly accepted into the village. Until they start using their mental powers to make people do their bidding!

As one of the philosophical leaders of the village puts it: "The important thing about the cuckoo is not how the egg got into the nest, nor why that nest was chosen; the real matter for concern comes after it has been hatched; what, in fact, it will attempt to do next. And that, whatever it may be, will be motivated by its instinct for survival, an instinct characterized chiefly by utter ruthlessness."

The odd thing about The Midwich Cuckoos is that it seems like a science fiction/horror type book, but it reads more like a philosophical novel exploring evolution, political science, human nature, and the English way of doing things. And that isn't a criticism -- I really enjoyed this book. It has a very satisfying ending and a nice pacing that never balances the philosophical with the mysterious.

However, I imagine that the film versions of the story (including The Bloodening, The Simpson's parody version of the film) focus a bit more on the freaky-scariness of The Children and a bit less on how stiff those English upper-lips can be. And now, for your enjoyment, the trailer for the 1960 movie The Village of the Damned, based on The Midwich Cuckoos. (In addition, John Carpenter remade this in 1995 and I can't wait to watch both versions.)

MM

Why, it's Margarita Monday!

[I'm sorry, but our traditional monday margaritas (only $3! All night!) are all I can think about, so that's all you get. I think I'm going to have twelve.]

Understanding Comics

Last week I finally got around to reading Understanding Comics (1993) by Scott McCloud. This is one of those books that has been in the back of my mind as something I would like to read for years, and yet I never did. Now that I have, I'm really interested to check out McCloud's other books.

In Understanding Comics, McCloud uses the comic form as a vehicle for explaining a sometimes rather technical and philosophical view of what makes a comic a comic, how reading comics is different from watching a movie or reading a book, and how comics work in general. There is a wikipedia entry on this book that quotes McCloud's arguments extensively and gives the flavor of the thesis of the book (although the author of the page seems to run out of steam about halfway through, and accurately acknowledges that the arguments read much better in McCloud's comic form).

For me, one of the most interesting parts of this book was McCloud's Big Triangle -- a graphical exploration of the continuum between cartoon and realism and abstraction. It is an intriguing way of categorizing and comparing different comic artists without passing judgment on their artistic or narrative styles.

Finally, reading this book really made me want to check out some of McCloud's fictional comic art. I happened to come across a link on BoingBoing to the first two parts of his online comic The Right Number, which is presented in a compelling Flash style that really takes advantage of the online comic format without taking away from the still nature of graphic novels (this isn't an animation, after all). I hope part three is released soon...

Crap

Now my camera can only take pictures that look like this (which is admittedly cool, but I'd like a little more veracity in the majority of my shots), or pictures that just look like black. I'm going to say it is pretty much toast.

Anyone know of any great digital cameras that aren't too expensive? I need one where I can just set the settings and they will work for most things, since I can never remember how to change them or when I would want to. It would also be nice to have one with some kind of shaky hand blur control and that can deal with low light, no-flash situations. I've got no ideas on this sort of thing...

Demo mode off!

Take a few minutes to soak in the beauty and knowledge from this and other exciting line drawings from electronics manuals that I recently weeded out of our extensive collection. I believe they will help us all learn a little something about safety, the demo mode, and graphical communication.

This post's inspiration comes from the lovely Krotpong's collection of safety decals on heavy equipment. How I love seeing those poor little stick men getting poked, rotated, and squished.

SB Wednesday: Goofy Edition

I love tall, I love red hair, I love funny, so it goes without saying that Conan O'Brien is a secret boyfriend extraordinare. Of course, being that he is a comedian, it is rather hard to find any pictures of him online where he actually looks as sexy as he often looks on TV. Instead he mostly looks a little goofy. Cute, but goofy. Not sexy. Maybe its just that the sexiness evaporates in a still and only the funny is left behind?



Although pictures with guitars usually enhance the SBness of all my SBs, this one doesn't really capture that same flavor. I couldn't find a picture of Conan with a tattoo, but we can only imagine that it would end up being more humorous than sexifying.







That's alright, Conan, maybe your secret SB power is a subtle kind of SB fever that grows after multiple exposures. That and the red hair.