I saw this over at Canuck Librarian.

Asteroid named after ‘Hitchhiker’ humorist

In related news, have you seen the cast of the Hitchhiker's movie? La la la... Sam Rockwell is playing Zaphod--for those of you who don't know the SR formula,

Sam Rockwell X 2 = blissful swoon.

People really do believe junk like this.

So, I hadn't even bothered to post about the SpongeBob thing because I thought it was so silly. Don't these people remember how stupid Falwell looked when he denounced Tinky Winky?

Yesterday, I heard a kid tell a bunch of other kids that if you watch SpongeBob, you're more likely to "end up gay". Sigh.

Running with Scissors -- Augusten Burroughs

To everyone who recommended this book to me:

THANK YOU!!

I loved it. I marked so many pages (with bookmarks, I hate dog-eared pages) that I finally had to stop because I ran out of scrap paper. I read so many passages out loud to Josh that he went to work the next day talking about the book I was reading--not the book he himself was reading. I laughed so hard and so often that I had to put the book down at points. I LOVED IT.

Tracy, what was it that the people in the book group objected to? Was it the sex? Because, damn it, there was only about 6 pages of it. Out of 304! Granted, it was graphic, sketchy, and disturbing, but come on! Or were they upset about something else?

For the uninitiated, Running with Scissors is Augusten Burroughs' memoir of his childhood. Things start out semi-normally, with his parents on the verge of divorce:

My father's face grew red as he added a splash of tonic water to his glass. "Deirdre, will you settle down. You're hysterical, just hysterical." Because he was a professor, he was in the habit of repeating himself.

She stood up from the sofa and walked slowly across the white shag carpeting, as if finding her mark on a soundstage. "I'm hysterical?" she asked in a smooth, low voice. "You think this is hysterical?" She laughed theatrically, throwing her head back. "Oh, you poor bastard. You lousy excuse for a man." She stood next to him, leaning her back against the teak bookcase. "You're so repressed you mistake creative passion for hysterics. And don't you see? This is how you're killing me." She closed her eyes and made her Edith Piaf face.

You may notice that his mother is a tad dramatic. Well, don't get the idea that the father lacks drama--a few pages later, he chases her around the house and tries to brain her with a fondue pot. Shortly thereafter, they split up and Augusten's mother decides that she can't handle the strain of raising him--so she gives him to her psychiatrist. Keep in mind that this is a man who believes that he's receiving messages from God through his own poop.

What about Hope; would she ever get married? "See all that corn? Hope's going to marry a farmer."

The house is filthy, filled with the psychiatrist's many children, his aptly-named grandson Poo and quite a few of his patients--former and current.

This is completely unrelated, but one of my favorite passages was about smoking:

Smoking had become my favorite thing in the world to do. It was like having instant comfort, no matter where or when. No wonder my parents smoked, I thought. The part of me that used to polish my jewelry for hours and comb my hair until my scalp was deeply scratched was now lighting cigarettes every other minute and then carefully stomping them out. It turned out I had always been a smoker. I just hadn't had any cigarettes.

LOVED LOVED LOVED it. More than David Sederis. Much more, actually. So, again, thanks for the recommendation!

Educating Esme: diary of a teacher's first year -- Esme Raji Codell

November 3

Assembly today. National anthem. Oh, no, I thought. Will they...?

"...land of the free and the home of the brave!: A small group of voices enthusiastically added the postscript. "Play ball!"

Mr. Turner stepped up to the mike. "All right, who did that!" Nobody peeped.

They had no homework today, as a reward for showing good judgment when it counted most.

Apparently, Miss Pointy in Sahara Special is not a fictional creation. She IS Esme Raji Codell. The book was a riot--I laughed out loud on a pretty consistent basis, and kept interrupting Josh's reading to read him parts, which is always a sure sign of greatness in a book.

It chronicles her first year teaching--a fifth grade class in Chicago. She deals with a horrible principal, very little funding, a major lack of enthusiasm on the part of many of the volunteers and other teachers, abused kids, a book thief, as well as the regular teacher stuff. Add to all of this the on-going war with the principal about whether or not she's allowed to have the kids call her Madame Esme:

"The ACLU?" His eyebrows draw up fearfully. "Is that the teacher's union? You didn't call the teacher's union, did you?"

A lot of people that reviewed the book at Amazon seem to think that she's really conceited, too hard on her co-workers, etc. She didn't strike me like that at all, she seemed more frustrated than anything--and if you can't vent in your diary, where can you vent?

Snowmen.

A guy who posts at Somethingawful.com created some of the Calvin and Hobbes snow art. Way cool. (There are lots more pictures at the site--you need to scroll down to see them).  

Meet Me in St. Louis

A warning to anyone who hasn't been unfortunate enough to rent this movie.

It's the WORST MOVIE EVER!!

I swear. There's that horribly annoying St. Louis song that they sing 3 billion times, NO plot, some wretched children (The kind that try really, really hard to be cute. Yuck.), and Judy Garland looks like a MAN. A MAN!!

Oh, wait. There was a plot. They just introduced it about 15/16ths of the way through the movie.

Finally. Someone on the side of sanity weighs in.

Two Pleasant Valley parents are challenging the decision to restrict the use of a book with a gay character in the district’s elementary schools, saying the decision violates constitutional protections for teachers and students, the process was not as open as it should have been, and the board violated its own policies.

The Starlite Drive-In -- Marjorie Reynolds

This book has one of the best first paragraphs that I've read in a long time:

I wasn't there when they dug up the bones at the old drive-in theater, but I heard about them within the hour. In a small town, word travels like heat lightening across a parched summer sky. Irma Schmidt phoned Aunt Bliss and delivered the news with such volume that her voice carried across the kitchen to where I was sitting.

This book reminded me of Lone Star. Without the incest. It was hot (Indiana summer, not Texas) and it started with old bones being discovered, then switched to flashback. Okay, other than that it wasn't really similar. Although I could picture Chris Cooper in a movie version.

Callie Anne lives at the Starlite Drive-In with her parents. Her dad runs the place and her mom hasn't left the house in five years. Then a drifter named Charlie Memphis comes to town.

The weird thing about the book was that even though it's marketed as a YA book, and it's about a YA... it didn't really feel like a YA book. Maybe because the story is told by Callie Anne when she's grown up, in her mid 40s?

Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

I'm so immature. But c'mon. It's really, really funny.

Police in Germany are hunting pranksters who have been sticking miniature US flags into piles of dog poo in public parks.

Trying not to hyperventilate.

Not succeeding.

Chris Crutcher. New Book. May 2005.

HOORAY!!

I need to go and find a paper bag to breathe in.

Problem.

I have a backlog of ten books to post about. Crap. I need to get the internet at home. But first, I need to make my computer work.

A proud moment.

We're reading The Blue Sword in one of my book groups right now, and one of the girls is totally in love with Corlath.

Aw yeah.

Let Me Go -- Helga Schneider

I don't read non-fiction very often, but someone recommended this one to me, and I'm glad that I read it. Well, as glad as you can be about reading a Holocaust memoir.

When Helga Schneider was four years old, her mother abandoned the family to join the SS, specifially to be a guard at Auschwitz-Birkenau and Ravensbruck. She only saw her two more times. The first visit (thirty years later) didn't go well, to put it very mildly:

"Hold your hands open," you said. I'll never forget that. You had pulled me by one arm, as though to tell me a secret, into the bedroom of the little apartment in the suburb of Mariahilf; and you had opened a little box: It's a standard gesture, one that usually heralds a present of some kind.

"Hold your hands open." And then you filled them with rings, bracelets, cuff links, pendants, brooches, a watch, and a handful of necklaces, large and small. For a moment I looked uncomprehendingly at all that gold. They I understood, and it was as though my hands were on fire. I pulled my palms apart, and the jewelry clattered onto the floor. You stared at me, puzzled.

Another thirty years later, they met for the last time. Her mother was 87 years old, dying, and unrepentant. About everything. There are moments that it seems like she might almost be putting on a show for Helga, but overall, no. She was unrepentant.

It's a little book, easily read in one sitting, but I had to put it down and walk away from it a few times. I read it a few days ago, but it's stayed with me--parts of it keep coming back to me. Rough, emotional, raw. But worth it.

Bucking the Sarge -- Christopher Paul Curtis

Here it comes. Sparky was about to say something about the only thing the thief had left in my wallet.

I'm not ashamed, I'm not trying to hide anything, it was a condom. To be real, it was the oldest condom on the face of the earth. It'd been in my wallet so many years that I'd had to give it a name--I called it Chauncey. Chauncey and that wallet had spent so much time together that it wouldn've been a crime to separate them, not that there was any chance of that happening anytime soon. They're been together so long that Chauncey had wore a circle right in the leather, and a circle ain't nothing but a great big zero, which was just about my chances of ever busting Chauncey loose and using him.

Very different for his previous books, in that the setting is modern-day Flint--and that it is most definitely a YA novel. The major similarity? It was as good as his first two books. Easily.

My study of philosophy has taught me that there really are certain advantages to having the coldhearted, moneygrubbing, beastly sadist who runs your life be blessed with a good vocabulary and a real active imagination.

The Sarge is the biggest slum lord/loan shark in Flint. Her schemes would put Dr. Evil to shame. Luther T. Farrell, 15-year-old future philosopher, is her only son. He's been working for her, living in and running a group home for older men, since he was thirteen. All he really wants is to get out. And to win the school science fair for the third year in a row. To do that, he needs to beat the secret love of his life, Shayla "Queen of the Damned" Patrick, who just happens to be the local undertaker's daughter.

Luther's best friend, Sparky, doesn't get it. He thinks that Luther has it made, since he has credit cards, money, and an illegal legal driver's license. Sparky hade decided that his only way out of Flint is to team up with local lawyer Dontay Gaddy (1-800-SUE-EM-ALL) and get some quick money. Sparky's attempts at getting injured create some of the funniest scenes in the book.

A cry for help.

Someone has donated money to our library to specifically get recent (within the last 5 or so years, I'd say) YA books dealing with alcohalism and physical/verbal abuse. Fiction and non-fiction. Our YA librarian asked me to get a list together. Any ideas?

An apology to David Boreanaz

I can admit when I've been wrong.

I'm sorry that I ever bad-mouthed Angel. I always thought that he was too tortured and annoying.

Watching the series on DVD has changed my mind. Specifically, actually, this line (which I don't have exactly right, but you get the gist of it):

Well, over the last hundred years, I really perfected my brooding skills.

That did it for me. He's hilarious. In my (new) official opinion, Angel is great.

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green -- Joshua Braff

Zach Braff's brother wrote a book.

I'm still ten good minutes away from blessing the challah and I decide to play a game I call "the Unthinkable." If I were to life the bread as I utter the blessing and hurl it in a tight spiral at the refrigerator. If I were to ram ny nose into the braided loaf or sit on it or have it drop from my butt like an enormous turd. If I put it in my mouth and thrashed my head back and forth like a Doberman, leaving nibbled bits of challah bread in our soup bowls and the creases of our laps. Or if I molded it into a big braided schlong and bumped it repeatedly against Asher's forehead.

Family life, New Jersey, the 70s. This was an extremely funny, realistic, smart book. It just felt real. Abram Green, the father, is self-centered, cruel, and obsessive about his need for people to love him--not a winning combination, but a really well-written character.

What more can I say? I've had a really, really long day. I'm exhausted.

It was a super book.

This is so depressing.

"Troops from the US-led force in Iraq have caused widespread damage and severe contamination to the remains of the ancient city of Babylon, according to a damning report released today by the British Museum."

Amelia Peabody would be pissed.

Newbery and Caldecott winners.

Newbery Winner:

Kira-Kira -- Cynthia Kadohata

Newbery Honor:

Al Capone Does My Shirts -- Gennifer Choldenko

The Voice that Challenged a Nation: Marian Anderson and the Struggle for Equal Rights -- Russell Freedman

Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy -- Gary D. Schmidt

Caldecott Winner:

Kitten's First Full Moon -- Kevin Henkes

Caldecott Honor:

The Red Book -- Barbara Lehman

Coming on Home Soon -- Jacqueline Woodson

Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale -- Mo Willems

Hooray for Knuffle Bunny!

So behind...

I have a big pile of books to post about. I tried to type some up this weekend, but I watched Buffy instead.

Bad Leila. Bad.

So Yesterday -- Scott Westerfeld

Okay. I loved this one. Again, granted that I really have a thing about the anti-consumerism books, but this one was great--and the narrator manages to tell the story without using any brand-names. (Well, almost none).

According to the book, there is a pyramid of cool. Here it is, top to bottom:

Innovators: "When you meet them, most Innovators don't look that cool, not in the sense of fashionable, anyway. There's always something off about them. Like they're uncomfortable with the world. Most Innovators are actually Logo Exiles, trying to get by with the twelve pieces of clothing that are never in or out of style.

Except, like Jen's laces, there's always one thing that stands out on an Innovator. Something new."

Trendsetters: "The Trendsetter's goal is to be the second person in the world to catch the greatest disease. They watch carefully for Innovators, always ready to jump on board. But more importantly, other people watch them. Unlike the Innovators, they are cool, so when they pick up an innovation, it becomes cool. A Trendsetter's most important job is gatekeeper, the filter that separates out real Innovators from those crazy people wearing garbage bags."

Early Adopters: "Adopters always have the latest phone, the latest music player plugged into their ear, and they're the guys who download the trailer a year before the movie comes out. (As they grow older, Early Adopters' closets fill up with dinosaur media: Betamax videos, laser discs, eight-track tapes.) They test and tweak the trend, softening the edges. And one vital difference from Trendsetters: Early Adopters saw their stuff in a magazine first, not on the street."

Consumers: "The people who have to see a product on TV, placed in two movies, fifteen magazine ads, and on a giant rack in the mall before saying, "Hey, that's pretty cool."

At which point it's not."

Laggards: "Proud in their mullets and feathered-back hair, they resist all change, or at least change since they got out of high school. And once every ten years they suffer the uncomfortable realization that their brown leather jackets with big lapels have become, briefly, cool.

But they bravely tuck in their Kiss T-shirts and soldier on."

Not only is there all of the above wonderful-ness, there is a kidnapping, a huge conspiracy, lots of action, a romance, and some really interesting and informative digressions, including the answer to this question: What actually was the deal with that Pokemon episode that gave people seizures?

Unfortunately, I only know two other people who have read (or attempted to read) this one. One liked it until the end, which she said was "too crazy", and the other couldn't finish it. So am I crazy for loving this book as much as I do? C'mon. Help me out.

Vegan Virgin Valentine -- Carolyn Mackler

This book didn't live up to its name. Or its cover.

Part of my irritation with it probably was due to the vegan thing. But not completely--she actually wasn't one of the annoying, super-self-righteous vegans. Well, mostly. Her reason for doing the vegan thing was much more about her taking control of her life--basically, the author could have easily made her anorexic, but chose to go for the less tortured approach. Which is good, I guess.

I just didn't find the main character all that sympathetic. Especially at first. She just seemed like someone that I'd want to slap. I was reminded of Catalyst a bit, (which I also didn't like very much) but only because of the over-achiever thing. Maybe I'm just not into over-achiever angst books. "Oh, my life is so hard, I just got accepted early-admissions to Yale. Waaaaaaaaa."

And I didn't find the romance realistic. The nuts-and-bolts of it worked, but I don't think that he'd actually go for her. She was too neurotic. Although, she did act differently at work, so maybe he liked that side of her. I don't know. I still don't buy it.

The major problem, really, was that it was the same exact book as so many others. It's just the one that you'd give to a vegan girl that wanted a fluffy book. (As if!)

The DVD jackpot continues.

Last night, we went to the big city (Portland) to get my comics. We'd also planned to hit Best Buy and buy the second season of Buffy, but on a whim, we swung by Bull Moose first. What do ya know? They not only had the second season of Buffy, but they also had the fifth (and last, sniff) season of Babylon 5. Since they were both used, we got two for the price of one. Hooray!!

Now I just have to get over my urge to watch TV all day long. Other wise, I won't win the Chrissy vs. Leila Read-Off. Sigh. Life can be so hard.

PS. In regards to the reading thing, I will say that it isn't the reading part that is difficult--it's the writing part that's really slowing me down. Damn.

In other news...

I think that I am officially a grown-up.

I was at work a few nights ago when I realized that I had been walking around with my fly down for a good half-hour.

And it didn't even faze me.

A few years ago, I would have agonized for hours... WHO saw me? WHAT did they say about me later? WHY didn't they TELL me?? OH MY GOD, THE HORROR!! Etc.

But not the grown-up Leila. I just zipped it back up, noting my polka-dotted underwear, giggled self-deprecatingly, and went about my business.

Al Capone Does My Shirts -- Gennifer Choldenko

Today I moved to a twelve-acre rock covered with cement, topped with bird turd and surrounded by water. Alcatraz sits smack in the middle of the bay--so close to the city of San Francisco, I can hear them call the score on a baseball game on Marina Green. Okay, not that close. But still.

I'm not the only kid who lives here. There's my sister, Natalie, except she doesn't count. And there are twenty-three other kids who live on the island because their dads work as guards or cooks or doctors or electricians for the prison like my dad does. Plus there are a ton of murderers, rapists, hit men, con men, stickup men, embezzlers, connivers, burglars, kidnappers, and maybe even an innocent man or two, though I doubt it.

I'll read anything about Alcatraz or Al Capone. That isn't to say that I've read much about either. But after this book, I'm hooked. The author included a bibliography, so I'm going to see what I can dig up.

Basically, if you liked the first two books by Christopher Paul Curtis, I think you'll like this one--the subject matter and characters are totally different, but it's really well-written humorous historical fiction that incorporates actual events (like when Al Capone's mother comes to visit him and her corset sets off the metal detectors) with great characters. So it's similar in that way.

GC did a great job with Moose's sister Natalie--she's autistic, but autism hadn't been identified in 1935. So the family is on the verge of institutionalizing her (after trying everything from prayer circles to voodoo) which was a very common practice at that time.

The only thing that didn't do it for me was Moose attraction for the warden's daughter. She's hot, sure. But she still totally sucks. Okay, yeah, she helps him out once. But she still has her own agenda. Oh, and the warden is kind of a stinker, too. They might grow on me if I re-read the book. Maybe. But I doubt it.

Sahara Special -- Esme Raji Codell

This book can speak for itself:

"Maybe we should ask Sahara what she wants," Peaches suggested, with her usual sad-happy smile.

"Is this Christmas? Are you the Special Needs Santa Claus? Ask Sahara what she wants!" Mom twisted in her seat and made a noise between a cough and a laugh. "Look, I don't have time for this. I know she's capable of fifth-grade work. She reads at home. She reads plenty. I think she writes, too," she said accusingly. I didn't look at her. She whirled around in her chair and growled at me, "Sahara, tell them you like to write."

She was telling it true. I read at home, and write, too, but whenever I write, I make sure I'm by myself and then, when I'm done writing, I rip it out of my notebook. I hide it in a binder behind section 940 in the public library, where all the books about Somewhere Else are located. This very paper, for instance, will someday be an archaeological find. Someday, someone will reach behind section 940 and find the dusty works of me, Sahara Jones, Secret Writer, and that person's life will be made more exciting, just by reading my Heart-Wrenching Life Story and Amazing Adventures.

I don't think that we have Educating Esme: Diary of a Teacher's First Year, but now I HAVE to ILL it.

Obviously, I need to read this book.

A few citizens in the district, including some parents with no children in district schools, wanted "Rainbow Boys" by Alex Sanchez removed from Owen-Withee Junior and Senior High School.

"A whole bunch of people went to the School Board to ask them to remove it, and they wouldn't remove it," said Holly Strickland of Owen, who home-schooled her kids and who said she hasn't read the book - only reviews of it. "To us, it's a homosexual recruiting tool. We're going to try and bring it up again. We're going to try and reason it out of there on the vulgarity issue."

A "homosexual recruiting tool"??? What does that even mean?? Are they building a secret army?

Mediator 6: Twilight -- Meg Cabot

First off, if you haven't already started reading these books, DO! They're like Buffy, except that Suze deals with ghosts instead of vampires. She's pretty fashion-obsessed, so she gets really, really mad if the ghost (or living person) she happens to be fighting with messes up her Jimmy Choos.

So the Princess Diaries books have become the lamest of the lame. Big deal. Mag Cabot still has it. Twilight was AWESOME. Awesome awesome awesome. A.W.E.S.O.M.E. Kickass. Rock on.

Four words: Mediators can time travel.

I'm a little worried that this might be it, though. The next book in the series (if there is one) will be make-or-break. I'm actually not all that hopeful--this will probably, sadly, be the last good one. Oh well. I just ordered the first five books in the series, so I can just re-read these six to my heart's content.

(And yes, I know that I already own most of them, but a) they're all still packed up, and b) I wanted the ones with the new covers).

I continue to love Christmas money.

We finally bought the first season of Buffy last night. (And then proceeded to watch four episodes in a row. At this rate, we'll have to buy the second season on Thursday--or suffer Buffy-withdrawal. Nobody wants that).

Also, we are the proud owners of the Napoleon Dynamite DVD. SWEET!

Finally, I broke down and bought Mediator 6: Twilight. (I guess that 'broke down' isn't really an accurate description, considering that my eagerness to get the book into my clutches, I practically knocked the shelf over). I read it this morning, before work--I'll post about it later today. (Want a hint? IT RULED).

Lois Lowry's The Giver is being challenged in Missouri.

"This book is negative," said Cerise Ivey, one of five parents who have fought the book's inclusion on student reading lists since the fall of 2003. "I read it. I don't see the academic value in it. Everything presented to the kids should be positive or historical, not negative."

Yeah, because god forbid that we prepare them for life or anything. Sheesh.

This lady is a BIG BABY.

Living in fear of bookstore 'tude

What? Does she not realize that EVERYONE, in EVERY KIND of work where you have to deal with the public, makes fun of customers? Lady, it ain't personal. It's about US staying sane.

Indigo's Star -- Hilary McKay

You know how in some books, the characters explain things purely for the audience? If the author is a good one, it isn't as obvious, but they still usually do it. One of my favorite things about HM's books is that she doesn't do that. If two characters are talking, they won't go over things that are already understood between them, even if it will make it easier on the reader. When people in her books have conversations, they have REAL conversations like REAL people.

The dust jacket describes Indigo's Star as being a companion to Saffy's Angel. While it isn't necessary to read them both, but they're definitely better together. And as far as I'm concerned, the more that I get to read about the Casson family, the better.

Indigo has just gotten over mono and has to go back to school--after a semester away. He's dreading it, due to the gang that has made it their personal business to make his life miserable. But there's a new kid at school, an American named Tom, who quickly becomes friends with Indigo--as well as the new tormentee.

Although Indigo is the main character, it was Rose that stole every scene she was in--for anyone who has read The Exiles (and sequels), she's a LOT like Phoebe (including a large mural on the kitchen wall that serves in the same capacity as Phoebe's zoos). She's just had to get glasses, and due to being upset about it & pouting, she refused to pick them out. So her father did:

"Come over here," said Caddy to Rose, and steered her across the room. "Put them on again! There! Look!"

Rose looked and found she could see a very plain child watching her through a small bright window that had suddenly appeared in the kitchen wall.

"See," said Caddy. I told you they looked cool!"

Then Rose's mind did a somersault, like a slow loop-the-loop in the sky, and the child in the window resolved itself into her own face reflected in the kitchen mirror.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, outraged. "Horrible, horrible Daddy!"

Of course, all of the other Cassons make appearences--there's a priceless moment when Saffy and Sarah defend Indy at school--Sarah threatens to run the bullies down with her wheelchair--Caddy continues to date everyone under the sun--and, through Rose and her hilarious letters to her father, we get more information about their parents' relationship.

I love Hilary McKay! Love love love her! She is so great! Every single time I read one of her books, I'm happy for a week afterwards! I can't stop using exlamation points!

Okay, cheerleading session over. Read these books.

Bones and Silence -- Reginald Hill

I still don't know how I lived with Collomia for as long as I did without reading any of the Reginald Hill mysteries. As I read it, I kicked myself for waiting until now--but now that I've had a little more time to reflect, I'm happy that I still have 20 of them left.

I realize that this book is pretty late in the Dalziel and Pascoe series, but it was the earliest one that I happened to have at home (pub. date 1990--the series started in 1970), so I read it anyway. Phew. If they're all like this one, it really is a wonderful set of books. (Not that I ever doubted you, Collomia).

It was just a joy to read:

The tenant of Badger Farm turned out to be as stingy with words as he was with fuel till Dalziel's threat of RSPCA and Environmental Health inspectors touched a lingual nerve. Then he recalled noting Bluebell's arrival some four weeks earlier. He kept a close eye on it for a while, suspicious that it should remain so long in such an unattractive mooring. But once assured that its sole occupants were a man and a woman with no kids, no dogs, and no desire to trespass on his land and bother him for milk, eggs, or fresh water, he'd lost interest. He was a man of no curiousity and less sympathy. He remarked that he'd spotted the man wading around in the canal a couple of times with what he assumed was a fishing rod. "Though what the stupid sod was looking to catch, God alone knows. There've been no fish in that cut since the First War."

"You likely pointed this out" said Dalziel.

"Nay! Let folk find out their own errors, that's my way."

It seemed a not unattractive philosophy, so Dalziel did not tell the farmer that he'd set the RSPCA and Environmental Health people on to him anyway.

Reginald Hill isn't one of the annoying authors that re-introduces everybody at the beginning of every book--it took a little while to catch up, but I eventually had everyone straight. I did, however, go ahead and order the first book in the series, A Clubbable Woman, over Alibris--it seems to be out of print, in the States, at least. It will be a lot of fun to read them all in order--if I can handle the waiting. I hate waiting.

Oops.

So I hit a couple of used bookstores (used book stores? Stores where they sell used books) this morning, looking for copies of Smith for one of my reading groups. First of all, Smith unfortunately seems to be tragically difficult to locate--what is wrong with people? Why do they not realize that it's one of the BEST BOOKS EVER?

Yeah. So. Anyway. Even though I didn't find any copies of the book that I actually needed, I walked away with a much lighter wallet.

Ballet Shoes, by Noel Stretfeild

Theater Shoes, by Noel Streatfeild

Swallows and Amazons, by Arthur Ransome

Chancy and the Grand Rascal, by Sid Fleischman

All the King's Men, by Robert Penn Warren

The Sign of the Chrysanthemum, by Katherine Paterson

The Dead Secret, by Wilkie Collins

A Passage to India, by E. M. Forster

Jade Green: a ghost story, by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

The Wreckers, by Iain Lawrence

The Ogre Downstairs, by Diana Wynne Jones

Finn Family Moomintroll, by Tove Jansson

Last Term at Malory Towers, by Enid Blyton

In the Fifth at Malory Towers, by Enid Blyton

Five have Plenty of Fun, by Enid Blyton

Shabanu: Daughter of the Wind, by Suzanne Fisher Staples

The Starlite Drive-In, by Marjorie Reynolds

An Acceptable Time, by Madeline L'Engle

The Drackenburg Adventure, by Lloyd Alexander

The Cuckoo Tree, by Joan Aiken

I suspect that I already own some of them, but whatever. So I have a problem. Big deal. They're books, not crack. Right?

PS. Just so everyone is still clear on this: I DO NOT like Enid Blyton. I just buy her books to torment her fans.

My grandparents and my uncle make the paper. Cool.

Ship's bell comes 'home' from its World War II service

Retired commander's son buys historic memento on eBay.

Hmmmm... the 50 Book Challenge

So there are a bunch of bloggers at LiveJournal that have joined up for the 50bookchallenge. The point is to try to read (and write about) at least 50 books over the course of the year.

While I don't think it'll be too difficult for me personally, it should be interesting to actually keep a running tally of how many books I read in a year...

The Laughing Corpse -- Laurell K. Hamilton

A book has to be pretty darned entertaining for me to read in a moving car. So far, Laurell K. Hamilton has a pretty good track record with me--two for two.

Chrissy was worried that I'd freak out about the rather graphic child-murders. Nope. Those parts didn't bother me much. (Okay, I admit that it was horribly disgusting when Anita and Merlioni have the gross-out contest at the crime scene). Usually, though, it's the little things that really get me--like when Anita shoves her thumb into a bad guy's eyeball and pops it! GROSS. I had to put the book down for a few minutes after that one. Just thinking about it gives me the willies.

But, as I've probably said before, what I like the most about the series is the politics:

Vampirism had only been legal for two years in the United States of America. We were still the only country where it was legal. Don't ask me; I didn't vote for it. There was even a movement to give the vamps the vote. Taxation without representation and all that.

Two years ago if a vampire bothered someone I just went out and staked the son of a bitch. Now I had to get a court order of execution. Without it, I was up on murder charges, if I was caught. I longed for the good ol' days.

(Note the 'if I was caught'--that's a perfect example of the Anita Blake attitude).

For people who don't know the series at all, not only is Anita Blake a vampire hunter; she's also an animator. (An animator raises the dead--apparently, as a child, before she learned how to control it, zombified roadkill followed her around a lot). Of course, as an animator, Anita has a special interest in the dead--so she takes issue with the fact that it's perfectly legal for people to raise zombies and use them as slaves. (Chrissy, I will admit that I did find the idea of raising zombies to be sex-slaves to necrophiliacs rather disturbing).

All of this is leaving out the whole Jean-Claude Master-of-the-City thing, but I haven't hit any raunchy sex scenes involving him (yet), so I'll let that one go. For now.

So I saw bits and pieces of Final Destination 2.

It could have been so good--I loved the big set-ups, and then the Mousetrap-like sequences where all of the conicidences came together and kicked the crap out of someone. But it all fell apart when one of the kids was in the hospital and all of the equipment started moving by itself--no more coincidences, Death just got all Freddy Krueger on their asses. Which was really, really lame. What happened? Did the producers only pay the writers for a certain amount of script pages? It was like reading one of the John Bellairs books that Brad Strickland finished--you turn the page, and all of a sudden, you're somehow reading a completely different book, even though it's about the same characters and has the same basic plot.

I gave up on the movie at that point, but Josh said it got even worse after that.

Here Today - Ann M. Martin

I still think it's weird that Ann M. Martin has started writing good books.

Apparently, A Corner of the Universe was not a fluke. Her newest book, Here Today, is great.

In 1963, Ellie's mother, Doris Day Dingman, was crowned the Bosetti Beauty at Mr. Bosetti's supermarket. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, and the Dingmans began to fall apart. Most of this happened in the second part of the year--a year that had gotten off to a pretty good start, considering they were the Dingmans.

I will admit to especially liking historical fiction that's set in the 20th century. But regardless of that slight lack of objectivity, this was a super book.

The Dingmans live in the town of Spectacle (Ellie calls the residents the Spectaculars), down a cul-de-sac called Witch Tree Lane. The kids that live on the street are all close friends, and they're all outcasts at school--Holly Major doesn't know who her dad is, and her mom has never been married; the Lauchaires are from Belgium, speak French, and are always a mess; the Levins are Jewish bohemians; Miss Nelson and Miss Woods have lived together for years and are not related. The Dingmans? Well, how easy do you think it would be to have that last name? Or a mother that has re-named herself Doris Day, is an aspiring actress, and who will do ANYTHING to become one?

Awesome.