I wanted to write about last weekend before this weekend but I’ve been busy and haven’t had a chance.

I saw another hockey game in the flesh. Last Saturday, a friend who was unable to use his tickets offered them to me. Predators vs. Blackhawks. The seats were four rows off the ice right behind the defend twice goal. That’s a way different perspective than I’ve gotten before. The whole experience was greatly unlike my last experience at a game. For starters, it was packed. The game I saw before Christmas was pretty sparsely populated. Also, I didn’t hear all the “you suck” cheers which leads me to conclude a couple of things. (continue reading…)

I haven’t been reading a single book in any concentrated way for the past week or more. But I have been bringing An Anthropologist on Mars to work with me. Yesterday as I slogged through a lot of medical history in the first story, I wondered if perhaps this was an illustration of that case where I’m not reading much because I’m not that interested in the book I’ve chosen. So this morning, I looked over my shelves of unread books and wondered “What do I feel like reading?” Fiction? Short stories or a novel? Autobiography? History? And I realized: actually I’d like to read about weird medical cases. So I brought Anthropologist again. (continue reading…)

Mentos! They taste like third grade!

[This was a long blog entry, unpublished as a formal review.]

I finished Ayn Rand’s Anthem over the weekend. (continue reading…)

Oh, hello, I got tagged by Christina on the Page 123 Book Meme. The rules are these:

1) Find the nearest book
2) Open to page 123
3) Type lines 6-8 of said book
4) Tag three others

Well, won’t this be eye-opening and possibly kinda anti-climatic. As I am at work, the nearest book to me is the one I brought to read over lunch, Anthem by Ayn Rand. The edition I have is my father’s copy (or possibly my mother’s since I just noticed a stamp on the inside back cover that reads “American Association of University Women”). Regardless, it’s hella old. I don’t find a publication date in it but it’s got to be from the 1960s.

That said, my edition only runs 123 pages and 6 lines. Therefore the rules of this meme will catch only the last word of the novel:

EGO.

Tag, you’re it: Karol, Retro, Dredge (I know there’s some health policy hilarity coming from Adrienne).

I was entertained briefly by this game: Street Fighter: Rosie vs. Trump. The real problem is right at the beginning when it asks you which one you want to play as. That’s a real difficult choice. I don’t vicariously want to be either of those people. Neither do I want one to win over the other. It might work better to play as a a viewer who gets to beat the hell out of Rosie and Donald. And then everyone else on the View. Except Elisabeth Hasselbeck. What a dish. Maybe it would be better to play as Elisabeth beating the hell out of the others. Star Jones could be the Boss at the end of the level.

I brought 60 Stories to work with me. I tried to read any of it over lunch. After running into half a dozen stories that I just couldn’t get into, I’ve decided to stop bringing it to work. I hate having a book with me that I don’t want to read. I did read one story today that I liked called “Game” but it wasn’t enough to keep me transporting the book back and forth from home. I read another of Barthleme’s stories yesterday called “Me and Miss Mandible” which was pretty awesome. And it contained what is now one of my favorite lines in all of literature:

Miss Mandible is in many ways, notably about the bust, a very tasty piece.

I read quite a bit more of Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and Seymour an Introduction over the past few days and, you know, I’m not loving Seymour an Introduction. It seems to be an exercise in writing not in storytelling. And that’s a drag to me, man.

I may just put the book down. Like everyone, I hate leaving a book unfinished but I know that unfinished books prevent me from reading other, more enjoyable books so sometimes you just have to walk away. I’m pretty close to doing that.

Last night, I sat down and read all of Identity Crisis and loved it. Good story. Great art. Retropolitan recommended it in this post and he was right.

“Bowel movements,” the young man with the sand-colored hair said forthrightly. He said this to the table of men and women in suits. Nice-looking suits without milk stains on them from this morning’s bowl of Fruit Loops. They were nice-looking people whose hair was properly groomed and not at all truculent. His own hair stuck out from his head like straw. It projected straight across his large-framed glasses in a single direction, one whoosh to the right, like threshed stalks of wheat. His own suit was rumpled and quite possibly consisted of differently colored slacks and jacket. (continue reading…)

I picked up Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and Seymour an Introduction by Salinger a couple of days ago and pretty quickly read the first novella. I began Seymour over lunch. Bit weird so far. The narrator’s voice is so manic right from the start. In the stories of Salinger’s that I’ve read before, the narrator (unreliable though he may be) is usually pretty sober. Hopefully, I’ll finish up Seymour over the weekend.