I've just finished Now is the Hour by Tom Spanbauer. I bought it at Powell's Books because it was on the sale rack for a measly $7.98. And with 459 pages divided by $7.98, that's only .0173856 cents per page....a steal. Considering that the new one I just started was $11.20 (20% off at Target) with 279 pages....which comes out to .0404332 per page.....a rip off. Plus, the book from Target is crap.
Now is the Hour was about a Catholic family who lived 12 miles outside of Pocatello, Idaho, during the 1960s. Farm family, hay growers, smokers, drinkers. Father who was removed emotionally from the family. Their land and fields butted up against the Indian reservation (yes sir, that's what they used to be called). It's about this kid coming of age. Girls, Mexicans, rosary beads, dogs, pickup trucks, growing fond of an Indian man, naughty thoughts, church, smoking dope, discovering life for himself in spite of his screwed up conservative church family. And especially good because Pocatello is in the heart of Mormon country, not Catholic country. The kid itches to get out of dodge and head to the big city, San Francisco! I really saw myself in a bit of the book -- being from Idaho and all. I especially related to the quote from page 44:
"Niggers are like Mexicans and Indians, Dad said, only worse, a lot worse. They aint' got no morals, and the like to get drunk too, real drunk."
I'm afraid that sentiment is still rampant today. If not verbally, definitely within the buried places in the hearts. I really enjoyed this book by Spanbauer.
So I picked up a new book at Target the other day.....Men and Dogs by Katie Crouch. It had a picture of a nice doggie on the front of it. And the story line led me to believe that it was some story about a pooch and a family, a man, and the guy disappears....and I guess I thought that the dog helped out in some way that was going to make me cry and love dogs any more than I already do. Alas, I was disillusioned. Quite so. This story is crap so far. Objectively, I'm only about 20% of the way into it. But I haven't read one single interesting thing yet to hold my interest. It feels like high school, or maybe early college, years. Girls, silly story line, simple sentences and phrases. You know when the big word of the day is "Crestfallen" that you're in trouble. If you're looking for depth, or lessons, or such don't bother with this one. Remember, I haven't finished it yet so perhaps I shouldn't be passing judgment quite yet. But I'm not even sure that I'm going to finish this. B-o-r-i-n-g. Here's a lovely paragraph from page 76:
"She's always envious when she enters the houses of gay men. Perhaps it's the unbridled self-indulgence; the gleeful spending of tens of thousands on oversize Jacuzzi tubs flat-screen televisions, teak decks fitted with wet bars. Or maybe it's the total lack of concern as to future developments. Gone is the half-decorated room held back from its full potential because it may -- listen for the quiver of hope -- "one day" be a nursery; absent is the basement converted-to-in-law-apartment because a nanny or night nurse might have to move in. Nor does one tend to see taste clashes so often compromising shared heterosexual homes. No mountain bikes leaning on chintz Pottery Barn sofas, no framed photos of golf courses hanging above beds draped with floral sheets."
Predictable, isn't it? Perhaps sort of funny, or even some truth to it....but predictable, nonetheless.
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Monday, April 11, 2011
Friday, February 04, 2011
If You Have But One Life to Lead, Why Not Live It As a Blond?
Tell me, are you a blond? Brunette? Are there intrinsic, appointed qualities, behaviors behind one's coloring? How about what a blond would wear? Or how they smell? Or what their bellybuttons look like. I'm at the tail end of My Lives by Edmund White when I came to page 294 and his expose on being blond:
"....Everyone in America liked blonds and wanted to be one. 'If you have but one life to lead, why not live it as a blond?' was a Clairol ad of the day. Blonde women were sexy and dumb; blond men were intelligent and masterful. Blonds had downy hair on their arms, a shock of cotton candy under each arm, skin that was poreless and smooth as old percale and rubbery with youth, cool feet and warm chests, beards that came in late and heads that went bald early. Even their balding was patrician. Blonds were rare, pure; their necks and foreheads burned and their arms became amber brown under a dust of gold shavings. They looked good in pink or pale green linen, faded blue denim, their tanned feet sockless and sinewy in old, high polished loafers. Blond men were tenors. They had no smell or only the smell of cold lake water. They inspired love, not lust. Their best look was classic, not contemporary. They looked good in camel's hair overcoats, blue blazers, frayed but expensive old Oxford shirts, machine-washed sneakers, an inherited gold signet ring. They should never wear Speedo's, just baggy old swimsuits. Their bellybuttons, optimally, were outies as neat as a child's ear. Their lips should be slightly chapped, sore and pink and unkissable. They should dance badly, self-consciously and seldom. Their bodies should look better in clothes than out of them. During long periods they should not follow the conversation. They are idols and should accept it. An idol doesn't converse...."
Wow. I had no idea. But then again, I'm not blond.
"....Everyone in America liked blonds and wanted to be one. 'If you have but one life to lead, why not live it as a blond?' was a Clairol ad of the day. Blonde women were sexy and dumb; blond men were intelligent and masterful. Blonds had downy hair on their arms, a shock of cotton candy under each arm, skin that was poreless and smooth as old percale and rubbery with youth, cool feet and warm chests, beards that came in late and heads that went bald early. Even their balding was patrician. Blonds were rare, pure; their necks and foreheads burned and their arms became amber brown under a dust of gold shavings. They looked good in pink or pale green linen, faded blue denim, their tanned feet sockless and sinewy in old, high polished loafers. Blond men were tenors. They had no smell or only the smell of cold lake water. They inspired love, not lust. Their best look was classic, not contemporary. They looked good in camel's hair overcoats, blue blazers, frayed but expensive old Oxford shirts, machine-washed sneakers, an inherited gold signet ring. They should never wear Speedo's, just baggy old swimsuits. Their bellybuttons, optimally, were outies as neat as a child's ear. Their lips should be slightly chapped, sore and pink and unkissable. They should dance badly, self-consciously and seldom. Their bodies should look better in clothes than out of them. During long periods they should not follow the conversation. They are idols and should accept it. An idol doesn't converse...."
Wow. I had no idea. But then again, I'm not blond.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The Art of Racing in the Rain
A driver must have faith. In his talent, his judgment, the judgment of those around him, physics. A driver must have faith in his crew, his car, his tires, his brakes, himself.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed.
As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car. To lift is equally bad, taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done?
The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgments. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstance has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track. Oh! The folly!
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by overcorrecting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in.
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. Yes, he is at a disadvantage. But he is still racing. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed.
As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car. To lift is equally bad, taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done?
The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgments. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstance has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track. Oh! The folly!
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by overcorrecting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in.
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. Yes, he is at a disadvantage. But he is still racing. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash.
From The Art of Racing in the Rain, a novel by Garth Stein.
I've just finished this novel. The first four chapters had me hooked. Easily. The book is written from the point of Enzo, the family dog. Any pet lover will find himself locked into pet feelings, emotions, and behaviors. The tie, the bond, the connection, between a human being and a pet is powerful. But then the book takes a few bends and twists that left me less than interested. Stein is a great author -- capable of delving into theories, patterns and thoughts that only pet owners will understand. But parts of the book felt sort of high-schoolish and immature compared with the first few amazingly deep chapters. I liked parts of this book so much that I'd like to recommend it. But much of it left me feeling like I was reading a simple sort of creative writing piece in school. Nonetheless, for anyone struggling in their life, or for pet owners, or for those facing trials or troubles, you'll be able to capture more than a few ideas on how to right yourself, center yourself......on what's worthwhile in this life and what is not. And that, my friends, is exactly what I needed in this time of my life. A bit of centering, correction, help.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Rules of the Road
From the From the 1853 New England Economical Housekeeper and Family Receipt Book:
397. A Good Rule.
Whenever you enter an apartment occupied by another individual, if the door is closed before you enter, close it after you. If, on the contrary, it stands invitingly open, let it remain so.
399. Jefferson's Two Rules.
Two rules of Jefferson are very applicable to the times: "Never spend your money before you get it;" and "Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap."
397. A Good Rule.
Whenever you enter an apartment occupied by another individual, if the door is closed before you enter, close it after you. If, on the contrary, it stands invitingly open, let it remain so.
399. Jefferson's Two Rules.
Two rules of Jefferson are very applicable to the times: "Never spend your money before you get it;" and "Never buy what you do not want because it is cheap."
Saturday, October 25, 2008
I Can't Decide
Maybe you can help me. I simply can't decide which of these books I want to read first. They are all in my parent's bookshelf -- situated alarmingly close to my right elbow this week as I blog from their den. I hope they don't rub off on me.
Anybody want to join me for a book review club this week? Come on over!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name
News from small-town Alaska. Heather Lende has done a beautiful job of summing up the ins and outs of living in Haines, Alaska. Cut off from many modern technological advances, Lende paints an incredible picture as we venture with her on the wooded trails, across the water, and up the side of mountains in search for how she fits into this environment. The mother of five children, she also writes for the local newspaper. She has made me tear up a couple of times as she describes learning how to exist in this modern world -- tucked in between the Tlingit Indians and the conveniences of 2007. She will take you on journeys from hunting sheep, writing obituaries, and fishing ships sinking to church potlucks, love of her family, and coexisting with those who believe differently than she does. It made me feel good inside to know that there are those such as Lende that blend in seamlessly to our society and, yet, play such an important role in their homes, towns, and neighborhoods. She'll renew your, perhaps waning, faith in bringing two opposing sides together and what it feels like to stand up for something you believe in...even in small-town America. Her spirit and writing seems fresh and alive -- just exactly what we need to rejuvenate us with an afternoon cup of hot tea. You'll be glad you took the time to check this one out.
*** "A life spent working and living in a small town with people I may disagree with has taught me a lot about humility and forgiveness. And when to keep my mouth shut. Some lessons have been more painful than others, but my days and my life are richer because of them."
*** "We cried because we were happy, and because people we loved were happy, and because we were all happy in love together. Only adults weep with joy. Children don't. They haven't learned how rare moments of true happiness are."
Thursday, October 19, 2006
What I'm Reading.....
An excellent collection of short stories from a variety of authors on all kinds of crazy subjects. They all take place in the beautiful Czech Republic. After our trip there last November, it was of some interest to me....and even more so after reading. The authors have an amazing way of dragging the inquisitive reader right into the middle of all kinds of situations that the average tourist would never experience. It's collections like these that invite readers who just aren't satisfied with superficial visits to a city or country right into the hearts and souls of people and customs. It's my first introduction to the Travelers' Tales series but it won't be the last.
The Clinton book has taken me about a year to weed through and I'm still not completely finished. I'm definitely enjoying it, but it's not a book that travels well....it's almost a thousand pages and in hardback. So it stays at home and only gets read when I have time. Filled with lots of names, dates, places, people's names.......which I really am into. I have especially enjoyed Clinton's freshness, aliveness, and positive spirit and energy.......could totally dig having some of that in today's world. Interesting to see where we're at today (or where we're NOT, as the case may be) compared with just a few years ago. Haven't hit the steamy Lewinsky part yet......
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