50 Books

January's top 10 most expensive sales on AbeBooks

2011-02-10T11:57:00.000-08:00

Signed copies of the Harry Potter books outsold first editions by Faulkner, Trollope, and Teddy Roosevelt.

Right now, Faulkner is rolling over in his grave, cursing his decision to go the idiot manchild route instead of the wizard route.

Perfect Evidence of My Imperfect Memory

2010-04-29T22:50:00.000-07:00

Well, I was planning to write about the books I've read so that I can finally update that sad little "Books in 2010" list in the sidebar, but wouldn't you know it? I didn't plan well and forgot to bring my stack of recent reads out of the bedroom. And now poor old Rusty is asleep and I don't have the heart to clomp around gathering them.

So in lieu of my penetrating and always-fascinating insights into the modern novel, I thought I'd follow up on an idea that was twigged by my last post, where I talked about my shitty memory. As proof of this fact, I thought it would be fun (well, fun for me; you're on your own) to go through the archives and see how many books I flat-out cannot remember reading. Prepare to be amazed.

From 2005
Dear god. Apparently I read Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul 2. Wow. I may reel from this for days. Apparently it made me weepy. Apparently I have a heart of stone because I remember none of this.

Sadly, I also don't remember reading Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer. Blasphemy! But let's be honest with each other here: as awesome as she is, we all know Kingsolver doesn't always hit 'em out of the park. I'm not going to be too tough on myself.

From 2006
And I read... a Candace Bushnell novel? Really? I mean, I'm the only person who has the passwords and stuff to post here, and I'm reading a post about Lipstick Jungle right here, so I guess I read it. Huh. I would feel shame, but I'm too busy being confused.

Did you know Margaret Atwood wrote a collection of vignettes called Moral Disorder? You did? Because I didn't. Or at least, I thought I didn't until I realized that I read them four years ago. Go figger.

From 2007
And then there's the collection of Eudora Welty's early short stories, A Curtain of Green. I'm sorry, Eudora. You may belch like a champion, but you still deserve better than me.

And we all know how 2008 and 2009 went.

So there you have it. Perfect evidence of my imperfect memory. As if I needed to be humbled further.

50 Books Reprise

2010-02-28T23:41:00.000-08:00

Well, that was one of the worst new year's resolutions ever. I can't believe there was a time when I used to update this site every day. Holy crap.

So I was looking at the growing stack of completed books beside my bed and realized that every single one of them is a re-read. And I realized that, not only do I seem to be unwittingly reading only books I've read before, but I have no desire to read something new. What's the deal with this?

I'm not concerned about it or anything, mind you. In fact, I'm kind of embracing it. I've always been a re-reader. Up until a few years ago, I had always assumed that anyone who reads a lot – and who values good books – must also re-tread a lot of bookish ground. I was surprised to learn that, in fact, I'm the oddity.

I re-read for a lot of reasons. The fact that I have a terrible memory is a big one. I have to read a book at least twice for the ending to stick, and I can be just as shocked by sudden plot twists the third time around as I was the first and second. (Note: This also happens to me in real life.)

Comfort is another big reason. Like most of you (I'm guessing), there are times when I read prescriptively. I'm blue, so I need some P.G. Wodehouse. I'm blah, so I need some Tolkien. Etcetera. The older I get, the better I am at assessing my mental state and writing out a little literary Rx for what ails me. This is an unanticipated benefit of aging, and one that I'm grateful for. Hopefully it will prevent me from ever stumbling again as catastrophically as I did during The Already Horrible November During Which I Read The Death of Ivan Ilych and Got Even More Depressed. (My man Rusty remembers this as The Month I Found Doppelganger Hiding Under the Bed and Had to Poke Her Out With a Broom.)

But comfort and addled brains aside, I love re-reading books because they serve as benchmarks for me. I remember that I first read Pride and Prejudice when I was seventeen, the same age as Elizabeth Bennett. She seemed impossibly alien to me then. I've read Pride and Prejudice, oh, about ten or so times since then, and the older I get, the more I understand Elizabeth. And dear god, now that I have kids, I'm even starting to get Mrs. Bennett. Help me.

The Pride and Prejudice I read twenty-three years ago is a completely different novel from the one I read last year. I can't imagine what it will become in the decades ahead. This is terribly exciting to me.

I think any book truly worth reading once is worth reading again and again. So I've decided that this year, barring any encounters with brand-new books I must read, will be the year that I try to re-read fifty of the best books I can remember (ha!) reading over the past decades. Exciting!

Coming up next: The Hobbit.

Corn Dodger? But I Hardly Even Know Her.

2010-01-19T20:52:00.000-08:00

Hey ho, if you love the Little House series and you love food, then you should check out The Little House Cookbook: Frontier Foods from Laura Ingalls Wilder's Classic Stories.

What's that? You've never heard of this awesome book? Well then, it's a good thing I wrote a review of it right over here.

Why I Am Smarter Than the Average Doctor, Thanks to Children's Literature

2010-01-18T23:17:00.000-08:00

Question:
What do the following children's books have in common?

All-of-a-Kind Family by Sydney Taylor
The Little House novels by Laura Ingalls Wilder
The Moffats by Eleanor Estes
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

Answer:

They were all written at least sixty years ago.
They all contain characters who came down with that dreaded Victorian malady: scarlet fever.
They were the reason why I, having read them all, correctly diagnosed Sam with scarlet fever last week. The doctors were skeptical, but in the end a throat swab doesn't lie.

Now, in all fairness to modern doctors, it's not like scarlet fever gets a lot of airplay these days. Most of us have moved on to trendier, contemporary ailments like ebola, hanta, and flus both avian and swine-ish. But not over here at Chez 50 Books. Staunch traditionalists and hardcore nerds, we're firmly dedicated to reviving the classics. Last year, it was impetigo. Next year, we're thinking maybe the vapours? Or perhaps a wandering uterus? It's still up for debate. It's not too late to cast your vote!

So yeah, I don't hold a grudge against the doctors... though I have every right to, because they may not think I noticed it, but I was VERY aware of the "Uh-Oh, Crazy Mom Alert" looks and barely veiled eyerolling, even over the phone.

The good news: We caught the illness early, gave it a serious penicillin smackdown, and by watching Will vigilantly, were able to catch it even earlier with him, before he got all rashed up.

The bad news: No velveteen rabbits got a chance to become real.

In Which I Attempt to Catch Up on Two Years of Reading. (Can It Be Done?)

2010-01-14T13:22:00.000-08:00

So I looked over at my sidebar to figure out where I left off my annual book count, and realized I haven't updated the bloody thing since December 2007. 2007! I've lost two years! I thought I'd only lost one, but two! And dude, I can barely remember my own kids' birthdays or what I had for dinner last night.* I can't remember what I read two years ago.

Lest we all expire from suspense, I can assure you that I did reach 50 books in '07. I just can't recall what those last few stragglers were. I hope they were good. As for 2008 and 2009, I can make a few deductions based on cross-referencing the messy stacks on my nightstand against my documented reads:

A lot of Bill Bryson's books. I love Bill Bryson. He makes me laugh. Reading half of his bibliography was part of my campaign to stave off a rotten case of November blahs. It was a marked contrast to what I read during the previous November, The Death of Ivan Ilych. Please, please promise me you will never do this, because -- and I say this without hyperbole -- that was the worst month of my life. If you must read Ivan Ilych (and I'm not saying you shouldn't, because it's great), wait till July, or at least May.

Oh, and speaking of Bryson, I finally read A Brief History of Nearly Everything and loved it. I can't wait for the sequel!

I finally read In Cold Blood, after stalling for, what... two years? It was chilling, but it was also really interesting. And it didn't scare the beheebus out of me the way I had dreaded.

I can't not read everything by Nick Hornby. Sometimes I'm kind of disappointed (A Long Way Down, How to Be Good), and sometimes I'm happy (High Fidelity, About a Boy), but read them all I must. I was a little worried about Hornby's recent novel, Slam, because I tend to prefer his earlier books, but Slam was wonderful, insightful, and totally heartwarming in a classic Nick Hornby kind of way. The main character is the most lovable character, next to Marcus from About a Boy, that Hornby has ever written.

Also from the "Finally Read" files: Freakonomics, which was fun and interesting, though I was kind of choked to find out later that a lot of Levitt's findings have since been debunked. Thanks for nothing, Levitt.

I know I went on a Murial Spark bender at one point, though I can't track down all the titles now. It doesn't matter, though, because you don't need specific recommendations for Spark. She's pretty prolific, so just grab every one of her novels that you find at the used bookstore and read them all.

I also went on separate Jane Austen and Carol Shields benders. How do I know this with such certainty? Because I do this every year.

I re-read the entire Little House series. I had planned just to read Little House in the Big Woods, mostly because I love the chapter about the sugaring-off party, but wouldn't you know it? I got sucked right into the Ingallses' lives. And let me tell you what: it sure put my petty little problems into perspective. Because you know what's worse than realizing you have a few competing work deadlines? Painstakingly building your house by hand in hostile territory, then being told by the government that you've built it two miles from the wrong side of a boundary and having to move out and leave it behind.

I read Miriam Toews' latest novel, The Flying Troutmans. It was okay, as her novels tend to be, but I guess I'm waiting for another A Complicated Kindness. You can do it, Miriam! I believe in you!

Oh, god, I just remembered that I read The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro. I say this with authority: this novel is the reason why the phrase "WTF?" was invented. Though the problem may have been me. Once upon a time, I think I used to be smarter.

Er, I know there are more books than these (many more! Insomnia is my friend!), but I'm kind of drawing a blank. I'll let you know if I remember anything good.

Next up... writing about the books I've read so far in 2010: The Year I Resolve to Be Better.

*After much struggle, I did remember what I had for dinner last night. But it took an alarmingly long time.

By Way of Catching Up

2010-01-12T15:23:00.000-08:00

If you've been wondering (and it's okay of you haven't been; my ego can take it), here's what I was up to in '09:

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

And now we're caught up with me! What the heck is new with you?

Well, Here I Am

2010-01-11T00:50:00.000-08:00

And where are you? Still out there? Still visiting blogs? Or has everyone moved on to Facebook now? (I won't say Twitter because where I'm from, them's fightin' words.)

So it's been a while. I've been back here from time to time over the past several months, mostly to prune spam from the comments. (What the hell is it with comment spam, anyway? Can someone explain to me the point of the godforsaken stuff? On second thought, don't.) But now it's a new year... five years, actually, from the time when I first started up this here little site as a project to keep me sane as first-time motherhood approached. (Did it work? HAHAHAHAHAhahahaha... um, ha.)

There's a lot to catch up on, but it's late. I'm tired. Are you tired, too? I thought you might be. So let's make a date to talk soon. Very soon. About books!

The Books in 2009

2010-01-01T15:11:00.000-08:00

See The Books in 2008.

Just So's You Know What I'm Up to These Days

2009-03-25T23:35:00.000-07:00

I'm still blogging, just doing it over here. And editing the rest of the site, too.

Preschooler Refrain, or: Why Bedtime Takes So Long at Our House

2009-03-06T23:37:00.000-08:00

"I think I'll go out to Alberta. Weather's good there in the fall. Got some friends that I could go to working for."

What friends? What kind of work?

"Still I wish you'd change your mind, if I asked you one more time"

I would totally change my mind.

"But we've been through that a hundred times or more."

We've been through that a hundred and ONE times.

"Four strong winds that blow lonely"

[tearfully] Why are the winds lonely?

"Seven seas that run high"

What are the seven seas? What does "run high" mean?

"All those things that don't change, come what may"

Why don't those things change?

"But our good times, they are gone"

Where did they go?

"And I'm bound for moving on. I'll look for you if I'm ever back this way."

I would look for you and I would find you.

The Books in 2008

2009-01-01T15:08:00.000-08:00

Er, nothing to report here, I'm afraid. Books were read, but having a second kid knocked the wind out of my blogging sails. Given the choice between reading books and writing books, I went with reading. You understand.

Happy Whatevermas!

2008-12-28T22:32:00.001-08:00

Is it possible to delurk from your own site? If so, hi! This is me, delurking to wish you and yours a belated happy whatevermas. I come bearing pictures! Specifically, pictures of what's turned me into a skulking, shadowy, and (dare I dream?) somewhat menacing presence at 50 Books HQ:

Wee Will is not quite so wee, having recently passed the nine-month mark and long passed the 20-lb mark. He's added standing and raspberry-blowing to his list of accomplishments. Frankly, I'm impressed that he's found time to master these skills, what with all the energy he's been devoting to practicing for the Olympic Speed-Teething Team.

And Sam is officially in big brother mode. Also: Big Brother mode. I finally get where Orwell got that particular turn of phrase. Is it wrong that we've nicknamed our own child Sammy the Rat? For whatever it's worth, we don't say it to his face.

They're sweet and funny and ever-so-cute, but they're also CRAZY. As I said to a friend who is contemplating having another baby: "If you find yourself with a bit of free time on your hands from time to time, I highly recommend a second child."

But enough about me. What about you?

No, Really... He Likes Books

2008-09-09T21:46:00.000-07:00

Hola! Things are still nutty around here. The leaves are turning red (well, brown, but work with me). Toddlers are turning into preschoolers. Infants are turning into babies.

Specifically, infants are turning into loud, loud, let-me-just-say-that-again LOUD babies. To wit:

We do feel lucky to have such a jolly baby this time around, unlike his grouchasaurus older brother. It's just kind of funny that Will's happiness makes him sound exactly like Archie Bunker.

Now, Where Was I?

2008-08-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

As you may have guessed (if, in fact, there still is a "you" out there after my long silence), I've been taking a little break from this site. Being a mom to two kids -- no matter how awesome said kids are -- kind of kicked my ass for a while. And I got the Apartment Therapy gig, which is great fun, but takes up the little free time I have. And I just signed on to start work on another site this fall, for a tremendously cool and inspiring show that'll be on the Food Network in the spring. And I finally cleaned my closet.

But I'll be back, I swear. I'm still tracking my reading, such as it is. (Bad news: Unless you count kids' books, I'm not going to hit 50 books this year, for the first time since I started this site.)

I've missed you guys (again with the hypothetical "you"). Stick around, okay?

Best Resignation Letter Ever

2008-06-19T14:38:00.000-07:00

Stewart Butterfield, cofounder of Flickr, has resigned from the company, signifying a parting of ways with Flickr's new owner, Yahoo. And his McSweeney's-esque exit letter is one of the best things I've read in ages.

It begins:

Dear Brad,

As you know, tin is in my blood. For generations my family has worked with this most useful of metals. When I joined Yahoo! back in '21, it was a sheet-tin concern of great momentum, growth, and innovation. I knew it was the place for me.

Over the decades, as the company grew and expanded, first into dyes and punches, into copper, corrugated steel, synthesized rubber, piping, milling equipment, engines, instruments, weaponry, and so on, I still felt at home, because tin was at the core of the business.

After the war, as we continued to branch out into electronics, all manner of aeronautical frames, hulls and bodies, computing and tabulating machines, precision controls, and later, farther afield -- real estate, brewing, consumer finance, grain processing, lighting and salty snacks -- I took it in stride, for there was still a place for me...

It gets even better. Go here to read the rest.

Good for you, Mr. Butterfield. That's the kind of soul-satisfying "burn the bridges" epistolary action you only see from multi-millionaires. Or from Rusty.

We All Live in a Capital I

2008-05-30T10:54:00.000-07:00

If you pay attention, you can see the exact moment when Sam starts phoning in his performance.

Cattle Calling

2008-05-29T12:37:00.000-07:00

Hey all! I'm trying out for a blogger position at Ohdeedoh, Apartment Therapy's site for kids (well, probably more for their parents, but you know). I've been a huge fan of AT for years, so, as you can imagine, I'm thrilled and honoured to have made it to the shortlist. My first audition post is up today. Head on over and see if you can guess which one it is.

Latest Report from the "Context is Everything" Department

2008-05-29T11:10:00.000-07:00

To be honest, I'm not even sure context would help with some of these:

"How many winds are there in Vancouver?"
"My orange blood protects my red blood from being burned by the sun."
"A long time ago, before dump trucks were invented, front-end loaders dumped their loads into monster trucks."
"I'm sitting on the step and watching the fairies."
"'I don't like the look of that guy!' That's what octopuses and squids and jellyfishes say when they see a shark."
"Airplanes are sometimes made of plastic and sometimes made of toilet paper."
"I love sitting with you and watching the world go by."

Life May Be a Vale of Tears, but at Least We Have All That Dark Matter to Look Forward To

2008-05-20T23:01:00.000-07:00

If you want to hold tight to your last vestige of childlike optimism and faith that humanity is headed in a good direction, I strongly advise you not to read the June issue of Harper's cover to cover.

If, on the other hand, you want to put your own petty beefs into some kind of perspective, have at 'er.

Inside Eudora Welty's Bedroom (and Other Places You Never Thought You'd See)

2008-05-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

“This is the phone that William Faulkner was summoned to while working in the fields, to learn the news that he had won the Nobel Prize for Literature. The writing above the phone is Faulkner's informal address book, preserved in his own handwriting.”

Faulkner's home -- as well as the homes of other Southern literary giants Eudora Welty and Flannery O'Connor -- is featured in a series called "A Sense of Place" by photographer Susana Raab. What's even cooler is that you can buy some of these prints in her Etsy shop.

To be honest, as interesting as I find this series, the idea of my own bedroom being preserved as a shrine freaks me out a little. Like, I hope somebody at least hides the porn. That won't go over well with the more sensitive tourists.

(via Apartment Therapy)

I Love Lynda Barry So Much, It Hurts a Little

2008-05-11T22:21:00.000-07:00

When Barry created her "100 Poses of Marlys" series several years ago, I ordered one of the pieces, sending in my order with a fan letter so gushingly effuse I'd be embarrassed about it now if it weren't for the fact that I meant -- and still mean -- every word.

I still have the letter Barry wrote me back (enclosed with my signed original of "Graceful Pose Marlys"). It's a real letter, not one of those depressing form deals, and Barry is every bit as warm and awesome as you'd expect her to be. I can't even hold it against her that her novel, Cruddy, may have permanently damaged me.

So of course I read this recent interview with Barry in The New York Times from start to finish. It's a nice write-up, even if they did use the word "spunky" to describe Marlys. It's kind of too bad that she's become so reclusive (she and her husband live on a dairy farm, growing most of their own food and even chopping their own wood for fuel), but hey, whatever makes her happy.

On the plus side for the rest of us, she has a new book coming out, What It Is, which explains her method of making drawings and stories. I'll be grabbing a copy, but what I really wish is that I could attend Barry's workshop, "Writing the Unthinkable":

Taking the workshop, which Ms. Barry teaches several times a year, is a bit like witnessing an endurance-performance piece. Aided by her assistant, Betty Bong (in reality, Kelly Hogan, a torch singer who lives in Chicago), Ms. Barry sings, tells jokes, acts out characters and even dances a creditably sensual hula, all while keeping up an apparently extemporaneous patter on subjects like brain science, her early boy-craziness, her admiration for Jimmy Carter and the joys of menopause.

As Marlys would say, daaang.

Why You Should Never Discuss the Classics with Preschoolers

2008-05-02T14:40:00.000-07:00

"Why did Moby Dick want to wreck the Pequod?"
"Well, maybe it was because the Pequod hunted whales, and he didn't want to be hunted."
"Why did the Pequod hunt whales?"
"Because a long time ago, people used oil from whales for their lights and things."
"Why did they use oil from whales?"
"People hadn't discovered electricity yet. Remember when we talked about how lights use electricity?"
"Why didn't people discover electricity yet?"
"I guess because it just hadn't occurred to them."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't know. What do you think?"
"No, what do YOU think?"
"I'm kind of stumped, actually."
"Why are you stumped, actually?"

And then my head exploded. The end.

(This post would not have been possible without this fabulous pop-up edition of Moby-Dick, given to Sam by our good friend Shona. It's making me reconsider my hard-line stance against reading the unexpurgated version.)

For Doppelsis

2008-05-01T15:02:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I don't update this site, I don't return emails, I don't send pictures of the kids. Things have been pretty hectic, and I keep forgetting to pull out the camera. But if you want to know what Will looks like these days, this picture should give you a pretty good idea:

(More photos, plus heartwarming story, here.)

I'm a Yuppie Douchebag and That's Okay

2008-04-18T16:21:00.000-07:00

A quick physical inventory:

Head - Ache-y and congested
Throat - Scratchy
Ears - Ouchy
Back - Sore from non-stop holding of baby, who may also be getting sick
All the rest - Well, flabbier than I'd like, to be frank

But today, right now, none of this matters. For against all odds, my elder son has just been enrolled successfully in the good preschool.

Yes, preschool concerns are a hallmark of your standard-issue yuppie douchebag. If wanting my kid to go to the school that looks like the inside of a charming ski lodge and has the awesome outdoor play area makes me a yuppie douchebag, then I accept that. Let the douchery begin!

An Open Letter to Everyone Who Told Me Two Kids Are Almost as Easy as One

2008-04-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

Dear fellow parents,

Please inspect your pants. I believe careful examination will reveal that they are on fire.

Love,
Me

So, What Did You Do for the Long Weekend?

2008-03-24T10:33:00.000-07:00

Me? I went and had a baby. This one, to be specific:

Say howdy to William Falco. Feel free to call him Will. Some of you may be wondering if there's some deep literary significance to either of his given names, like his elder bro's. Literature is stuffed to the gills with Williams, of course... Shakespeare, Thackeray, Carlos Williams. I like those guys a lot, but I think that, deep down, I just like the fact that Will's name is both a verb and a noun. Though, given how hard I had to fight with myself not to title this post something like "Where There's a Will, There's a Way!" he may not thank me for this later.

As for Falco, that was the name of Rusty's grandfather, who brought his family from Italy to the New Country on a steamship at the turn of the century. A bit of an adventurer, which merits a naming, I think. Plus, if you think I'm missing out on a legitimate opportunity to name one of my offspring Falco, then you don't realize what a child of the '80s I truly am.

Posting has been sporadic lately, but now that I've got lots of free time for one-handed typing (whoa! deja vu!), you can expect to see a lot more of me 'round these parts.

And a happy day to you.

"I Hereby Claim This Female Reproductive System in the Name of... Me!"

2008-03-11T16:18:00.000-07:00

Time to learn stuff!

Braxton Hicks contractions are named after John Braxton Hicks, an English doctor who, according to Wikipedia, "first described them" in 1872.

And also according to Wikipedia, the G-spot is named after the German gynaecologist Ernst Gräfenberg who "first hypothesized its existence" in 1944.

And the Skene's gland, the gland ostensibly responsible for the elusive female ejaculatory orgasm? Again we look to Wikipedia to learn that these glands are named after the physician who "described them first in Western medical literature," one Alexander Skene.

Note the operative word "first" in all these claims. Because I'm sure not a single woman in the history of humankind ever noticed any of these things about their own bodies until they were pointed out to them. They were probably too busy doing EVERYTHING ELSE.

I Think I've Found My New Calling

2008-02-28T09:52:00.000-08:00

From the LA Times:

The Los Angeles metropolitan area accounts for more than 5% of U.S. book sales, a figure surpassed only by New York City, according to Nielsen BookScan. But even though a study by the National Endowment for the Arts says Angelenos read more than their Manhattan counterparts, Los Angeles still ranks 53rd on the America's Most Literate Cities report measuring per-capita usage of bookstores and libraries, among other things.

Which is perhaps why a certain segment of the population in Southern California has begun to showcase the home library as an image-enhancing badge of literacy. The trend has even spawned a service: the library consultant.

Can you imagine? Getting PAID to tell people what books to read. This scheme involves two of my favourite things: being bossy, and receiving money for very little effort.

[via Apartment Therapy]

Oh, Sure, NOW I Find Out You Can Just Buy One on Craigslist

2008-02-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

Coincidentally, "Ennui" Rhymes with "Almost Three"

2008-02-21T16:18:00.000-08:00

So I just realized that when Sam plaintively tells us "I don't want to do anything," it means one of three things, depending on which word is emphasized:

"I don't want to do ANYTHING."
Translation: I am bored.

"I don't want to DO anything."
Translation: I am inconsolably sad for no apparent reason, though I invite you to try cheering me up.

"I don't WANT to do anything."
Translation: Your efforts are laughable.

And Then He Said "Eff You"

2008-02-20T15:43:00.000-08:00

"Oh my god."
"I can't watch this right now! I'm all hormonal. It'll make me cry!"
"I'm crying right now."
"Baby."

Giving to Others Makes Me Hot

2008-02-18T11:52:00.000-08:00

It's a troubling mental picture, isn't it? An eight-months-pregnant lady all hot and bothered? I promise never to mention it again if you haul your delightful derriere over to the Dewey Donation System website to check out this year's drive.

Donating, of course, is an awesome first step. Plugging the drive on your own blog/website/newsletter/skywriting campaign is an excellent choice as well. And if you have any goods or services to donate as prizes... well, that may just earn you a special seat next to your favourite deity in book heaven.

P.S. If you're interested in what I gave, go here.

Silhouette Masterpiece Theatre

2008-02-14T21:33:00.000-08:00

This series of repurposed paintings is so awesome, it may actually be beyond awesome.

[via design*sponge]

Watch That First Step. It's a Doozy.

2008-02-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

"Limited by space, we melded the idea of a staircase with our client's desire for a library to form a 'library staircase' in which English oak stair treads and shelves are both completely lined with books."

Trust me. You NEED to see the rest of the photos of this feat of architectural genius.

[via Apartment Therapy]

Know-It-All

2008-02-08T00:26:00.000-08:00

"Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
"What's that, Sammy?"
"Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope."
"Ah. That's what I thought you said."
"..."
"Princess Leia says that, doesn't she, Sam?"
"Actually, R2-D2 says that."
"Well, yes, technically... I suppose he does."
"Not technically. ACTUALLY."

Fun to Say, AND TRUE

2008-02-07T16:29:00.000-08:00

Moses supposes his toeses are roses,
But Moses supposes erroneously.
For nobody's toeses are posies of roses.
As Moses supposes his toeses to be.

Oops.

2008-01-30T15:36:00.000-08:00

If you're seven-and-a-half months pregnant, you might want to think twice about emailing your friends a link to an amusing article, using the article's headline as the subject line. Especially if said headline reads as follows:

Baby won't wait; arrives in driveway

Handy

2008-01-23T15:49:00.000-08:00

I've been on bit of a book-organizing bender lately, which is why, despite not normally being much of an impulse shopper, I had to order two sets of these bookends for Sam's room as soon as I saw them on Apartment Therapy this morning:

If you don't agree that they're ten different flavours of awesome, I don't want to know about it.

More From the "Context is Everything" Department

2008-01-20T23:33:00.000-08:00

More things my toddler has said in public that were hard to explain to strangers (numbers 287 through 291):

"I need to keep my face on to keep my head warm."
"Daddy fell down the basement stairs and was eaten by the dryer."
"The Buddha is not a dinosaur or a monster or a Komodo dragon."
"I have to take your head to Home Depot and use your eyes to buy tools."
"There's a Canadian on your leg."

Catching Up

2008-01-12T14:42:00.000-08:00

Goodness. Looks like I left the Christmas tree up a little late this year. How embarrassing.

I hope you all had a great holiday, however you chose to celebrate -- or not celebrate -- it, and that your new year has proved satisfactory, at the very least, so far. Mine was pretty good, and the new year seems A-OK so far. I don't have any resolutions or anything, other than, you know, popping out another baby and trying not to go batshit crazy. Those seem attainable, I think.

Since I feel like some catch-up is in order, a few life events of note:

Our cat Lulu had to be put down a couple of days after Christmas. She was sixteen years old, blind, mostly deaf, incontinent, and suffered from high blood pressure and lymphoma. She started to fail noticeably before Christmas and things went downhill quickly one day. We were sad, and yeah, the timing sure sucked, but we were glad that at least we were all at home for the holidays so that we could monitor her closely and then say goodbye properly. She was the sweetest cat you could imagine, and she was sweet all the way up to the end. I was worried that she'd be afraid, but she went peacefully. Rusty gave her a proper Dickensian burial in the backyard in the cold, sleeting, dark-grey late afternoon.
On a more upbeat note, gestation continues apace. We're counting down the final ten weeks, which is kind of shocking, all the more so because we haven't done anything to get ready. We figure we'll pick up some diapers in early March.
Oh, but get this: my doctor, whom I've been seeing for ten years and I really like, forgot to tell me that she's no longer doing deliveries. I just found this out two weeks ago. Argh, right? Fortunately, I've always been interested in the idea of midwifery, and even more fortunately, my good friend Anne-Marie happens to work for an excellent midwifery clinic and got me in the door quickly, and now I'm all set to go. Nonplussed? Moi? Bah! My midwife also permanently endeared herself to me, via my sense of medical vanity, by looking at my records and exclaiming about my unbelievably awesome hemaglobin. Everyone has to be good at something, right? In my case it would seem to be absorbing iron. You can't tell it to look at me, but I'm socking away minerals like a mofo over here.
I've been freelancing since September, when I landed a big contract for a website for the Discovery Channel, which launched a month ago. I'm the solo site editor, which has been awesome and challenging and again awesome (because dude, it's the DISCOVERY CHANNEL, yo). It's probably the perfect project for me to cut my freelance teeth on, and the timing couldn't have been better, as it wraps up about three weeks before my due date. (If you're wondering, yes, I do occasionally find it uncomfortable to sit with this horseshoe up my ass.)
Despite the fact that both Rusty and I have been gunned, work-wise, we've been doing a LOT of work around the house for the past month... cleaning, purging, organizing, painting, and getting really familiar with the floorplan of the nearest IKEA. One of the highlights of all our work is that we finally -- FINALLY! -- got new bookshelves in the kitchen, replacing our crappy old utility shelves with a much nicer set of Billy shelves (with the height extender, which I highly recommend for that authentic library look). To jog your memory, here are the old shelves. And here are the new ones:

Despite all this other stuff, I don't know how but I've actually managed to read a lot of books. I'll get around to recapping my remaining books from 2007 one of these days. Who knows, I may even throw in a top ten list or something like that. And then, man, I've got to nail the ones I've read so far in 2008, or else they're going to totally get on top of me.

Am I the only person who's ever looked forward to her maternity leave so that she'll finally get a chance to friggin' relax?

The Books in 2007

2008-01-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

It was a nutty year, but I did make it to 50 books. What the remaining seven books are, however, is a mystery that will forever be lost in the gritty sands of time. I sure hope they were good.

43. Happenstance
42. Jane Eyre
41. The Dharma Bums
40. Prep
39. Diary of a South Beach Party Girl
38. Season of the Witch
35-37. The Freddy trilogy
30-34. The Wrinkle in Time series
29. Arthur and George
28. Youth in Revolt
27. Shooting an Elephant
26. After Dark
25. Home from the Vinyl Cafe
24. Vinyl Cafe Diaries
23. Einstein's Monsters
22. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
21. The Line of Beauty
20. God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
19. A Curtain of Green and Other Stories
18. Dream Angus
17. Espresso Tales
16. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
15. The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
14. House of Meetings
13. Lullabies for Little Criminals
12. How to Cook a Wolf
11. Consider the Oyster
10. Serve It Forth
9. Down and Out in Paris and London
8. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas
7. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
6. The Sea
5. 44 Scotland Street
4. The Year of Magical Thinking
3. Girl, 20
2. Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures
1. The Van

Merry Merry!

2007-12-24T15:24:00.000-08:00

My very best wishes for peace and happiness to you all. May your turkey be moist, may your socks stay dry, and may you have all the books you can read, now and in the new year.

[Photo from IJM]

Next Up: Beowulf

2007-12-19T12:54:00.000-08:00

Ever since young Master Sam sat raptly through an entire reading of Green Eggs and Ham at the age of four months, the works of Dr. Seuss have been in pretty heavy rotation around our house. This could explain why, when one of his grandmothers asked him who would be coming down the chimney at Christmas, he immediately responded with "The Grinch!"

I knew Sam was a fan of the Grinch and his holiday-thwarting shenanigans, but I didn't realize how big a fan until I overheard him reciting the following to himself, verbatim, while he was noodling around with his toy cars:

And the Grinch grabbed the tree, and he started to shove,
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Who!
Little Cindy-Lou Who, who was not more than two.

The Grinch had been caught by this little Who daughter,
Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at the Grinch and said, "Santy Claus, why,
Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick,
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.
So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head
And he got her a drink and he sent he to bed.
And when Cindy-Lou Who went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

Then the last thing he took
Was the log for their fire.
Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.

And the one speck of food
That he left in the house
Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then he did the same thing
To the other Whos' houses,
Leaving crumbs
Much too small
For the other Whos' mouses!

Now if only this awesome toddler brain power could be channelled into something like, say, learning not to poop his pants.

Storytelling Tip #381: Respect Your Audience

2007-12-11T23:05:00.000-08:00

"How did bedtime go?"
"Fine."
"Did you tell more stories from Star Wars?"
"That's getting kind of old, so I decided to mix it up by using the characters in regular fairy tales."
"So what story did you tell?"
"Jack and the Beanstalk. But I used Luke Skywalker instead of Jack. And he gets the magic beans from Obi Wan Kenobi, when he goes into town to try to sell the family's droid. And then when he climbs up the beanstalk, the Death Star is at the top."
"I... see. How did it go over?"
"He really liked it. But I was really tired, so when I got to the part with the goose that lays the golden egg, I accidentally made it say quack-quack. And then he got really upset and was all, 'Geese don't say quack-quack! Geese say honk-honk!'"
"Well, he has a point."
"Sure, but it kind of seemed like we'd agreed on a fair degree of suspension of disbelief."
"But only if you're being creative. Like, maybe you could have gotten away with it if you'd had the goose go woof-woof or moo-moo, or something like that."
"True. Woof-woof would have been creatively absurd."
"Exactly. Quack-quack is just sloppy."

Those Trees Aren't Going to Kill Themselves, You Know

2007-11-28T15:46:00.000-08:00

Gah! Sick! Pregnant! Toddler! Deadlines! Did I already say "Gah!"?

It's going to be a list-y week. (It would seem that, for me, the week starts on Wednesday.) So here's the first instalment.

Like many people who live, work, and love on the internet, Rusty and I have found our attention spans shrivelling to the point where an article that requires scrolling is considered way too wordy to deserve our precious clicking time. So, in an effort to keep our aging brains from further atrophy, we've recommitting to print magazines, which were once the great love of our pre-internet life. Here are the ones we've subscribed to so far:

Dwell
Maisonneuve
Harper's
The Walrus
The Economist

I'd explain why we chose each publication, but that would defeat the entire purpose of the brief list post. I will say that we've been getting them for a couple of months now, and so far we've actually been reading them, pretty much cover to cover. This could be because we keep them in the bathroom, which is one of the favourite retreats of savvy parents of small children. Because while you can't say to your partner, "Hey, watch the kid while I go fuck off with a magazine for half an hour," you can say, "Hey, keep an eye on the boy while I use the facilities, okay?" And then what's he going to do? Dispute it? Time you?

And in conclusion, I win!

Thoughts Thunk While Riding the Bus

2007-11-27T14:09:00.000-08:00

"I wonder why the weirdos on the bus are so much more considerate than the straights on the Skytrain."
"Wow. Sleeping on a packed bus. That's an enviable gift."
"It's probably best not to think too hard about that smell."
"On the 'cryptic and disturbing' scale, between 1 and 10, I give the people on the bus an 8. I give the ads a 10."
"I really believe in public transit, but it's a lot easier to believe in it when I'm not on it."
"Remember that time The Don was riding this route and a junkie threw up on him?"
"It's getting harder not to think about that smell."
"What terrible series of decisions has led us all to this place?"

Things My Cat Thinks but Doesn't Say*

2007-11-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

I have so many unfinished chores it's not funny. But reading this post reminded me that -- despite the fact that I haven't yet reorganized my bookshelves, booked my flu shot, or sent in this year's cheque for Sam's RESP -- I managed to find the time a couple of weeks ago to do a mind-meld with Puck and glean these important thoughts:

"Great. Cat food. Again. You know bag ladies eat this stuff, right?"
"Night vision is awesome. Check out how I'm going to totally fuck with the dog."
"Don't blame me. If you'd just leave the front door open, we wouldn't keep having this problem."
"Am I the only person who's awake? I'd better go into the short one's room and meow loudly. That always gets everyone up."
"Can someone change the goddamn cat litter? When I want to go around smelling like shit, I'll come back in my next life as the dog."
"Whoa! Did you see that mouse? Don't tell anybody, but I'm totally friggin' scared of mouses."

*It probably important for you to know that Puck's inner voice sounds a lot like Strongbad.

But in a Way, Aren't We All Winners?

2007-11-14T21:22:00.000-08:00

In case you've been expiring of curiosity, here are the author-quote matches from the quiz I posted yesterday:

A. Azar Nafisi
"On the first page of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck informs us that the Widow Douglas decided to take him up and 'sivilize' him, but 'it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer, I lit out.'"

B. John Updike
"The American idea, as I understand it, is to trust people to know their own minds and to act in their own enlightened self-interest, with a necessary respect for others."

C. Joyce Carol Oates
"How heartily sick the world has grown, in the first seven years of the 21st century, of the American idea!"

D. David Foster Wallace
"Are some things still worth fighting for? Is the American idea* one such thing? Are you up for a thought experiment?" [I feel bad about this quote, in that I may have made it harder than it should have been because I used an asterisk instead of a footnote. I don't know the HTML for footnote numbering. Sorry!]

E. Tom Wolfe
"Since you asked... the American idea was born at approximately 5 p.m. on Friday, December 2, 1803, the moment Thomas Jefferson sprang the so-called pell-mell on the new British ambassador, Anthony Merry, at dinner in the White House."

F. Judith Martin (aka Miss Manners)
"The original American idea was that everyone should be treated with equal respect and dignity."

G. Eric Schlosser
"My idea of America was formed by stories about the Founding Fathers that my grandfather told me when I was a boy, by road trips through the Rockies with my parents, by reading almost everything by Mark Twain, by Emerson, Whitman, and Thoreau, especially Whitman, by Kerouac and John Dos Passos, by Frank Capra films, Coppola films, Jimmy Stewart, and Billy Jack, by childhood memories of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. and their murders, by the war in Vietnam and the protests against it, by Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew, underground comics, the 1977 New York Yankees, loud music of all kinds, fireworks, hamburgers, and French fries."

I tried to tabulate scores, but since my laptop only has a 12" monitor, I went insane three times trying to flip back and forth between everyone's answers. So let's say everyone who commented wins! Including you, b*babbler, for honourably bowing out of the competition. If each of you would like to get a little sumpthin-sumpthin in the mail, fire me your mailing coordinates at 50books [AT] gmail [DOT] com.

Test Your Nerd Power

2007-11-13T16:58:00.000-08:00

I like The Atlantic, but I rarely remember to pick it up. It recently called out to me, however, from an airport newsstand... partly because I do enjoy it and partly because, what with it being the magazine's 150th anniversary and all, this particular issue is extra thick, which appealed to my inner cheap bitch.

The theme of the issue is "The Future of the American Idea". To explore this theme, the editors invited an impressive roster of writers and other luminaries to contribute anything they wanted to write on this theme.

So here's a fun (or stupid or boring, depending on how well you do) quiz:

See if you can correctly match each writer with the first bit of his or her piece. (I've thrown in one easy little gift question, because I'm nice that way.)

Joyce Carol Oates
Eric Schlosser
Judith Martin (aka Miss Manners)
John Updike
Tom Wolfe
Azar Nafisi
David Foster Wallace

A. "On the first page of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Huck informs us that the Widow Douglas decided to take him up and 'sivilize' him, but 'it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer, I lit out.'"

B. "The American idea, as I understand it, is to trust people to know their own minds and to act in their own enlightened self-interest, with a necessary respect for others."

C. "How heartily sick the world has grown, in the first seven years of the 21st century, of the American idea!"

D. "Are some things still worth fighting for? Is the American idea* one such thing? Are you up for a thought experiment?"

E. "Since you asked... the American idea was born at approximately 5 p.m. on Friday, December 2, 1803, the moment Thomas Jefferson sprang the so-called pell-mell on the new British ambassador, Anthony Merry, at dinner in the White House."

F. "The original American idea was that everyone should be treated with equal respect and dignity."

G. "My idea of America was formed by stories about the Founding Fathers that my grandfather told me when I was a boy, by road trips through the Rockies with my parents, by reading almost everything by Mark Twain, by Emerson, Whitman, and Thoreau, especially Whitman, by Kerouac and John Dos Passos, by Frank Capra films, Coppola films, Jimmy Stewart, and Billy Jack, by childhood memories of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. and their murders, by the war in Vietnam and the protests against it, by Richard Nixon, Spiro Agnew, underground comics, the 1977 New York Yankees, loud music of all kinds, fireworks, hamburgers, and French fries."

Edited to add: Oh. The answers. You'll probably be wanting those. I'll post them sometime tomorrow. So hurry and get your guesses in. There may be prizes involved!

Well, I Guess I'm the Bitch After All

2007-11-12T21:13:00.000-08:00

Fine, NaBloPoMo. You win. I lose. Are you happy?

I could defend myself by saying that I DID travel to a different time zone WITH a toddler WHILE pregnant AFTER a daylight savings time change AND I stayed at a place without reliable wifi. I could say all of that, but I won't. Gracious losing: that's what I'm all about.

Perhaps my equanimity in the face of defeat is based on the fact that, last week, I hit the 50-book mark for the year, with seven whole weeks to spare. Such is the power of chronic incomnia, my friends. Maybe, if you're lucky, in your next life you'll be endowed with this blessed gift.

I wish I could tell you about the last whack of books I read, a couple of which were really excellent, but I'm beat. More to come.

Probably All Three

2007-11-09T23:12:00.000-08:00

Here's a question for you. Is it:

(a) overtiredness
(b) hormonalness
(c) bad-person-ness

that makes me watch Sam gliding his crayon (which, if you're wondering, we pronounce "CRAY-on" around these parts) over the paper so lightly as not to even leave a phantom wisp of colour behind, and has me fighting the urge to mash my meaty grown-up hand over his little fist and force said crayon down on the paper hard enough to make big, clumsy scribbles on the page and yell, "Press, dammit! YOU HAVE TO PRESS."

Who's the Bitch, NaBloPoMo?

2007-11-08T22:06:00.000-08:00

I have been in transit from Vancouver to Ontario literally all day, first with the driving to the airport and the obligatory sitting around one's ass in the airport for way too long. (Checking in TWO HOURS before your departure for domestic flights: come now, is this really necessary? Really?) And then there's the flying with a squirmy toddler part. And then there's the job of driving an hour and half to our final destination, plus the added hour and a bit required for getting lost because Toronto's highway system is a fucking nightmare and hey, here's a thought, why not have the different highways start with numbers other than 4, huh?

So, four things:

1. My toe still hurts like a mofo, though, miraculously, no one dropped a large suitcase on it. (I like to see the glass all half full like that.)
2. Never having flown five hours whilst heavily pregnant before, I do not recommend it. Ow, my uterus!
3. My usual travel-related time confusion, in diabolical partnership with the recent daylight savings time switcheroo, has left me with a serious sense of temporal dislocation. Unless it actually IS next week already. Is it?
4. Just because this post is technically about nothing doesn't mean it doesn't count. (Or something like that. When I've got a bad case of the temporal dislocation, I tend to abuse the double negatives.)

And in conclusion, who's the bitch, NaBloPoMo? That's right. You are.

Three Reasons Why the Baby Toe Is Utterly Useless

2007-11-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

1. It serves no purpose other than sticking out and waiting to be injured.
2. It causes a disproportionate -- and some might say ostentatious -- amount of pain for its size.
3. Even at the best of times, it looks weird.

And bonus reason #4: It goes wee-wee-wee all the way home, like a total pussy.

He's No Book Expert, but He Knows What He Hates

2007-11-06T20:58:00.000-08:00

So a couple of days ago, in the comments section of a post, landismom asked:

And where are the Sam Halloween pics, btw?

Good question. Funny story about that, which I think will serve as a set-up for this post. So as to conserve my precious storytelling energy, I may as well copy and paste from the email I sent Doppelsis on this very subject:

In the days leading up to Halloween, Sam seemed really psyched about the whole thing. He was excited about his costume [a train engineer, complete with pocketwatch, walkie-talkie, and awesome hat], and he'd perfectly memorized the whole trick-or-treat drill. He woke up on Halloween morning raring to go. Or so he had us believe.

He didn't get further than half a block from the house before Rusty had to bring him back, wailing his guts out. I think part of the problem was that, in all our discussions, we'd talked about having him carry one particular flashlight. At the last minute, Rusty thought (correctly, but since when does a toddler care about what's right?) that a smaller flashlight would be a better idea. He attempted to make the switch, and the change in game plan made Sam blow a minor gasket, which signalled the beginning of the end.

We somehow coerced him into his costume, but by the time he and Rusty left the house, we were starting to get trick-or-treaters. I suspect Sam thought I was throwing some kind of big candy-related hootenanny without him, and he was confused and angry that I was kicking him out of the house. Which is totally understandable when you think about it.

I am, of course, guessing at ~~50%~~ ~~75%~~ 100% of Sam's motivations. Who can claim to know the mind of a two-and-a-half year old?

And so goes the complex inner life of today's modern toddler. So you can imagine what it's like trying to pick out books for one. ("Aha!" you say to yourself. "There's the segue!" It's true. You've picked up on my subtle writerly devices.)

Here is a partial list of books I've picked up recently, on my own, for Sam, all of which were dismal failures:

Madeline in London
We love Madeline. We love Madeline's Rescue. I don't know what Sam has against London, especially since he recently informed me that he wants to be a Beefeater when he grows up, but there you go.

There's a Wocket in My Pocket
This is the first Dr. Seuss book to freak Sam out. I think it might have been the Vug under the rug that did it.

Tikki Tikki Tembo
I can't even speculate as to why Sam doesn't like this book. We've read it only once, and ever since then, if I suggest it, he yells "NO!" and makes sure to file it away on a bottom shelf.

Keats's Neighborhood
Sam likes a bunch of Ezra Jack Keats's stories, as I've mentioned in the past, but this treasury of ten classics by Keats did not go over well when I brought it home from the library. I know this because Sam tried to open the front door to put the book outside.

Lost and Found
Rusty and I both love this charming story about a boy and his pet penguin, which makes it really hard to fight the urge to tie Sam down and force him to listen to it when we want to read it. It's not unlike that feeling you get when you're trying to convince an otherwise quite intelligent friend to try a book you love, and you can tell they're not buying what you're selling. And then you punch them.

But sometimes I have my small victories, and these I cherish. To wit:

Pezzettino
In Italian, "pezzettino" means "little piece." This story is about a little square (literally, the character is a red square) who goes around trying to find out if he's a piece of something bigger. Holy friggin' cow, does Sam ever love this book. The first time we read it, it was like he'd found religion.

The Mr. Men and Little Miss series
I think what Sam likes about these books is that they're so small he can carry a bunch of them at once. And he really likes the back of each book, where every character in the series is pictured and named, and he insists on having each one identified. Every bloody one. Every single time we read one of the books. And even when we don't.

Katy and the Big Snow and Maybelle the Cable Car
Duh... books about anthropomorphized heavy equipment. Even I know these are a no-brainer for your average mechanically obsessed toddler.

So now, given what I've told you about Sam's literary preferences these days, any suggestions? The holidays are coming up, and I have shopping to do.

Bookus Memeus Randomus

2007-11-05T21:52:00.000-08:00

It's only day 5 of this thing, and look at me: I'm already playing the meme card. (Don't you judge me, you!) Landismom tagged me, and I'm not one to ignore a tag. What can I say? I'm a team player.

Total number of books I own
Sweet merciful Jesus, too many. They're double-stacked in places on the main set of shelves in the kitchen, and they're creeping up the walls all over the house. I did a major purge two years ago and, sadly, my shelves have pretty much reverted to their "before" photo state.

Last book I read
I can't tell you, because I'll be writing about it soon, along with some exciting news. That's right. MORE EXCITING NEWS. Get a load of my life, with the dizzying highs and the terrifying lows and the creamy middles.

Last book I bought
Hmm... well, the last book I bought was a gift for someone who knows someone who sometimes reads this site, so I can't say. But the second-last book I bought was Goodnight, Sam by Marie-Louise Gay. It's to be a Christmas present for Sam, who never reads this site. It hurts, but I live with it.

Five meaningful books
Holy crow. You knew those other questions were too easy, right? Okay, so for my own purposes, I'm going to eliminate all religious texts from consideration, mostly because I'm a heathen ignoramus. And I'm not going to go the "I love these books in a totally deep and personal and meaningful way that you couldn't possibly understand but I will tell you anyway" route, mostly because, well, meh.

Instead, I'm going to go the preachy, prescriptive route and list five books that I think would be meaningful if the entire population were to read them. You know, in case 6.5 billion people start looking to this site for book recommendations. (What? It could happen.)

Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver
The Age of Missing Information by Bill Mckibben
The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
Night of the Mary Kay Commandos by Berke Breathed

You know my M.O. I don't tag. But I must warn you: a man in Spokane, Washington, ignored this meme and was stricken with a devastating case of ennui. Plus itching.

The Announcement I Didn't Use

2007-11-04T15:21:00.000-08:00

Art for a Snowy Day

2007-11-03T15:07:00.000-07:00

Given that I'm committed to this posting-every-day thing, I'm thinking that weekend posts may be a little light on verbiage. I'm not sure I've got seven good thoughts to share every week. (Do I have FIVE good thoughts? Let's not explore that question.)

So I thought I'd show you one of the pieces of book-related art I've acquired for Sam's brand-new big-boy room:

It's an illustration from The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats. I may have gotten this slightly more for Rusty than for Sam, because this book almost makes him cry. Don't tell him I told you that.

If you're looking for book-related art, children's or otherwise, there are hundreds of great pieces -- including gorgeous illustrations from classics like Alice in Wonderland and The Waterbabies -- at Art.com, and right now the site is having a sale on a lot of their stock.

[tip via Apartment Therapy: Nursery]

A Conversation That Should Have Waited Till 2025

2007-11-02T22:40:00.000-07:00

"I'm not getting the relationship between this couple on TV."
"What do you mean?"
"They're not acting like a couple, and she looks a lot older than he does."
"I think they look about the same age."
"He's pretty well-preserved then."
"Well, you know that men get better looking as they get older, whereas women..."
"Excuse me?"
"Er, and you, of course, being man-like in many regards, are also getting better looking."
"Come again?"
"..."
"..."
"This is where a rocket-pack would come in handy."

I'm Back, Large (Very Large) and in Charge

2007-11-01T20:01:00.000-07:00

Since this is the first day of NaBloPoMo, I thought I'd kick things off by, you know, posting on my blog. You may recall that I made a heroic attempt to do this last year, and failed ON THE THIRD-TO-LAST DAY for the twin reasons that Rusty and I were out of town and I'm a dumbass.

So let's get the party started with an announcement: Yes, I'm pregnant.

Thanks so much to those of you who posted or emailed me with your hopeful congratulations after my not-so-cryptic previous post. You guys are so sweet. In retrospect, I realize how obvious my mention of pending big news was. I mean, how many top-secret, big-big-SUPER-BIG announcements does your average middle-class person make in their lifetime? If you're already married, that pretty much leaves just the one. I guess it could've been a shocking surprise -- I just realized I'm gay! I'm joining the army! I'm secretly a conservative! -- but I'm not that interesting.

If you're wondering, the baby -- to whom I like to refer as Doppelganger Junior, aka DJ -- is due sometime around the middle of March, which puts me squarely at the halfway point of this pregnancy. How's that for keeping a secret, huh?

So now that we're not keeping secrets any more, here are three full-disclosure things I will tell you about me and pregnancy:

Hormones can turn even the most mild-mannered -- or, if not mild-mannered, so passive-aggressive as to SEEM mild-mannered -- person into a total psycho hosebag. To wit, the day Rusty came home from work early because he'd made the mistake of calling me midday to say hi, only to have a blubbering, incoherent freak answer the phone. Said freak (okay, it was me) was unable to make him understand that really, no, REALLY, nothing was wrong, so he rushed home. Why all the hoo-haw? Because the neighbour's lawnmower had woken me from a (clearly much-needed) nap.

You know that "glow" people are always saying we pregnant folk have? That glow is the sweetly unadulterated incandescence of batshit craziness.
I secretly love maternity clothes, especially those jeans with the full panel that goes practically up to your sternum. I'm sorry, but you are just never going to find comfort like that with regular pants. And the skirts? Oh my god, they're the closest thing to feeling like you're walking around naked. Admittedly, I don't think the phrase "Man, those maternity jeans make your ass looks FABULOUS" has ever been uttered by human lips, but I can live with that.

(Important addendum: Yes, I love maternity clothes. ON PREGNANT PEOPLE. I don't know what young ladies these days are thinking. Back when I had a waist, I wasn't hiding it underneath empire waistlines and trapeze jackets. But hey, whatever, that's your nevermind. You're making my clothes shopping easier.)
God or Mother Nature (or whatever deity you prefer to abuse when you swear) has cursed me with perhaps the cruellest trick that he/she/it has ever played: Though my early-pregnancy nausea has finally passed, I'm left with a complete aversion to chocolate. Which, if you know me, you know how devastating a blow this is. When I was pregnant with Sam, we were both giddy and drunk off the kilos of chocolate and chocolate-related products we consumed regularly... which could explain the sixty glorious pounds I gained. Can little DJ show some similar cooperation? Noooooo... he/she's all like, "Mm-mmm, I sure could go for a nice refreshing SALAD right about now." I'd better get something really friggin' good for Mother's Day.

So that's my big secret. And now, if you have any secrets and you've read this far, I think it's only fair that you share.

Gone Fishin'. And by Fishin' I mean Sleepin'.

2007-10-21T16:04:00.000-07:00

Posting round these parts has been sporadic of late. Don't pretend you haven't noticed. There's a whole lot of something (and also sumpthin', as well as sumpthin' sumpthin') brewing here at 50 Books HQ. In fact, almost every area of my life has changed radically from what it was a mere six months ago.

But more on all this later. My dear Doppelsis is jetting into town for a visit this week, and I'm going to be doing my best to act as a good host. (Shit. I forgot to pick up the pillow mints!) So I'll see you all back here in a week or so, okay?

In the meantime, I'll leave you with this to rock your world. (Ha! "Rock." I still got it. Oh, yeah.)

Espresso for All My Friends!

2007-10-16T00:52:00.000-07:00

Remember a while back when I rhapsodized about my awesome Presso manual espresso maker? At the time, it was only available in the UK (I got mine via my fabulous friend Suzi, who loves me and knows the value of good coffee), much to the chagrin of many of you.

Well, I'm pleased to announce that the Presso seems to be taking the globe by storm and is now available for sale in Canada, the US, Australia, and lordy... I don't know where else. Maybe everywhere! Woot!

I'm not exaggerating when I say this is some of the best news I've had in weeks. Now we can get a second machine for the cabin! And if you're planning to get hitched and invite me to the wedding, just guess what you're getting as a gift. Which is for the best, because I WAS planning to get you monogrammed his 'n' hers (or his 'n' his, or hers 'n' hers, as the case may be) matching thongs.

Memories

2007-10-15T23:07:00.000-07:00

"Man, copying all the phone numbers from my old cell to my new one is taking forever."
"Yeah, that's a pain in the ass."
"And I keep finding people I don't remember at all."
"That's what happens when you keep the same phone for nine years."
"Like, I don't think I've ever even met a Nina, and yet there's one right here in my address book."
"Probably from your raver days."
"Getting contact deets from all my new best friends."
"Who you never saw again."
"Totally."
"'Hey, everybody! Have you met Nina? She and I are going to get together sometime to make soap!'"

I Am a Revisionist Female Character in a Kids' Story, Hear Me Roar

2007-10-11T16:15:00.000-07:00

So, this is kind of funny. Not "ha-ha" funny, you understand. More like "huh" funny. Play along with me for a moment.

Realizing that our municipal strike, which has been going on for almost FOUR MONTHS now, could keep going indefinitely -- meaning that, in addition to having garbage piling up in a scary fashion in our shed, we also continue to not have access to the local library* -- I finally caved and ordered Sam some new books:

Lost and Found
"Once there was a boy who found a penguin at his door. From this opening line to the very end, this gentle story of friendship will capture young readers' imaginations."

Tikki Tikki Tembo
"Tikki Tikki Tembo (which means "the most wonderful thing in the whole wide world") and his brother Chang (which means "little or nothing") get into trouble with a well, are saved by the Old Man with the Ladder, and change history while they're at it."

Snowmen at Night
"Not since Frosty paraded through the village square have snowmen enjoyed such a slip-sliding good time as they do in the Buehners' latest flight of fancy."

Now, these are all good stories, and I stand behind them, but note anything interesting? Such as the fact that, in light of my recent complain-y post, NONE OF THESE BOOKS HAVE FEMALE CHARACTERS. Argh. Somebody thump me.

So, to refresh my memory -- and to give myself a one-stop wishlist to refer to next time I shop for kids' books -- I've reviewed all your comments on my original post, and I've compiled a list of stories for pre-schoolers that prominently feature girls. It's a work in progress, but it's a start:

Stellaluna by Janell Cannon
The Miss Spider series by David Kirk
Princess Smartypants by Babette Cole
The Frances series by Russell and Lillian Hoban
The Paper Bag Princess, A Promise is a Promise, Angela's Airplane, David's Father, Millicent and the Wind, Moira's Birthday, Murmel Murmel Murmel, Pigs!, Something Good, Stephanie's Ponytail, and The Boy in the Drawer by Robert Munsch (Here's where I sadly must confess that, so far, Sam is not feeling the Munsch)
Chrysanthemum, Lily and her Purple Plastic Purse, and Julius, The Baby of the World by Kevin Henkes
The Little House and Katy and the Big Snow by Virginia Lee Burton
Helga's Dowry and Adelita by Tomie DePaola
When I'm Sleepy by by Jane R. Howard and Lynne Cherry
The Charlie and Lola series by Lauren Child
Big Momma Makes the World and Lucia and the Light by Phyllis Root
The Princess Knight, plus many other titles by Cornelia Funke (who is now at the top of my list... well, not THIS list, but the list in my head)
The Seven Chinese Sisters by Kathy Tucker and Grace Lin
The Library by Sarah Stewart
Moonstruck by Gennifer Choldenko
Roxaboxen by Alice Mclerran and Barbara Cooney
A Bad Case of Stripes by David Shannon
The Balloon Tree by Phoebe Gilman
Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle by Betty Macdonald
Noisy Nora by Rosemary Wells
The Little Princess series (which, trust me, is NOT all princess-y) by Tony Ross
The Daisy series by Jane Simmons
Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey
If You Give a Pig a Pancake by Laura Joffe Numeroff and Felicia Bond
Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney
Ugly Truckling by David Gordon
Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems (I can vouch for this one. The story is cute and the illustrations are fabulous.)
Lizzy's Lion by Dennis Lee
Ganzy Remembers by Mary Grace Ketner
Mrs. McTats and Her Houseful of Cats by Alyssa Satin Capucilli and Joan Rankin
Who Said Boo? by Anne Miranda
Attic of the Wind by Doris Herold Lun and Ati Forberg
Baby Island by Carol Ryrie Brink
George and Martha: One Fine Day by James Marshall
Maggie and the Pirates by Ezra Jack Keats
Katy No-Pocket by Emmy Payne
Fairy Wings by Lauren Mills
Dahlia by Barbara McClintock
Red Riding by Jean Merrilla
Outside, Over There by Maurice Sendak
Peg and the Yeti by Kenneth Oppel
Bullfrog Builds a House by Rosamond Dauer and Byron Barton
Petronella by Jay Williams
A Cowboy Named Ernestine by Nicole Rubel
Cinder Edna by Ellen Jackson
Little Red Cowboy Hat by Susan Lowell
Eloise by Kay Thompson
Sleepless Beauty by Frances Minters
Christina Katerina and the Box by Patricia Lee Gauch
The Maggie B by Irene Haas
The Stella series by Marie-Louise Gay (Bonus: She has a little brother named Sam!)

Thanks so much to everyone who left suggestions. Keep 'em coming!

*Understand this: I fully support our librarians. They're getting screwed. Vancouver has a higher cost of living than Toronto. Why, then, do our library workers earn, on average, seven dollars per hour less than their eastern counterparts? Yeah, I think it's a good question, too.

Don't Worry. I Only Died in My Dream.

2007-10-10T15:29:00.000-07:00

To dream of your own death indicates a transitional phase in your life. You are becoming more enlightened or spiritual. Alternatively, you are trying desperately to escape the demands of your daily life.

Or possibly both. I like to multi-task, even when sleeping.

Putting the "Me Me" in "Meme"

2007-10-01T00:13:00.000-07:00

It's a funny thing about memes. Everybody pretends to hate them, and perhaps some people actually do, but then a few weeks or months pass and nobody tags you, and you start to feel a little sad. "What did I do?" you wonder. "Maybe I shouldn't have pretended to be so dismissive about memes. And can someone remind me again why they're called memes anyway?"

Fortunately, Carrie has rescued me from this small human tragedy.

1. Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Paperback, because hardcovers really hurt if they land on your face when you fall asleep while reading.

2. If I were to own a book shop I would call it…
Books, Ink. If being twee is wrong, I don't want to be right.

3. My favorite quote from a book (mention the title) is…
From one of my favourite novels, Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald:

"Most people think everybody feels about them much more violently than they actually do--they think other people's opinions of them swing through great arcs of approval or disapproval."

4. The author (alive or diseased) I would love to have lunch with would be…
No way I could ever do this. I get tongue-tied in normal human interactions. I don't need the added pressure of hero worship. But pretending that I'm a person completely devoid of social neuroses, I guess I'd have to say F. Scott Fitzgerald, since he wrote one of my favourite books and all. Maybe we could get drunk together. That would help.

5. If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except from the SAS survival guide, it would be…
You know, I've never found a satisfactory answer to this question. I've been in similar situations with camping trips or trips to non-English-speaking countries, where I knew I'd have to carefully plan which books to bring, and I've yet to find a book with the nigh-infinite ability to engage me. In a fit of desperation, I once even tried the Bible. No dice. I'm probably going to hell... which will probably be a lot like being on a desert island with nothing good to read.

6. I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that…
Turns back time so I could read all night and then get a full night's sleep.

7. The smell of an old book reminds me of…
This crazy used book store that was right around the corner from Rusty's and my first apartment. It occupied every room in an old house, and the entire place had that old book smell. I always imagined the owner did, too, and I wondered if she minded the fact that, say, her hair would smell like old books even when she was away from the shop. Or maybe she liked it, kind of like when you go camping and days later you catch a whiff of woodsmoke on your jacket and it makes you extra happy for just a moment.

8. If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be…
It'd be fun to be Jane Austen's Emma. She was flawed but charming, and she seemed to have a pretty nice life.

9. The most overestimated book of all times is…
Probably something really weighty and serious and important. In other words, something I haven't read and therefore can't comment on. That or a Harry Potter book.

10. I hate it when a book…
Sucks. I know that sounds like a facile answer, but I really do.

Oh, crap. I always forget that this is the part where I'm supposed to tag other people. Well, if you've been coming here for a while, you're familiar with my usual meme policy: consider yourself tagged if you'd like, but please post a link to your site in the comments so I can read your answers. And have a happy Monday!

"That very night in Max's room a forest grew..."

2007-09-28T00:36:00.000-07:00

I looooove Craftster. Love it. LOVE IT. The folks there are so... crafty. And inspiring. They almost make me believe I could follow in their nimble-fingered footsteps. Er, if fingers could be said to have footsteps.

I can tell you this: if I were to take on a new project, I'd be tempted to duplicate this amazing mural by a Craftster member called Redforkhippie:

It looks impossibly daunting, but she breaks it down for us here with step-by-step instructions (and more photos, including pictures of the two young friends who helped her with the project).

Or maybe I could just find out if she makes house calls.

[via Apartment Therapy]

There's a Sausage Party on My Shelf, and I'm Not Invited

2007-09-27T08:54:00.000-07:00

It took me a long time to realize there's a total sausage party happening on Sam's bookshelves. Perhaps it's the ubiquity of board books that feature practically androgynous characters, such as that bunny from Goodnight, Moon and the caterpillar from The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I mean, I think I've always assumed they were male, which possibly reveals my own gender biases, but their Y chromosomes always seemed kind of beside the point.

But then when you move into books for pre-schoolers (aka "stories that are actually interesting"), you notice the dearth of female characters. Corduroy? Peter Rabbit? Curious George? Babar? The poky little puppy? All boys. Ditto a couple of my personal favourites: Peter from The Snowy Day and Max from Where the Wild Things Are. And when you think about it, almost every major character in any Dr. Seuss book is male, with the the exception of Cindy Lou Who, who's really more of a bit part. Though I guess that kangaroo from Horton Hears a Who is an important character, but let's face it: she's kind of an asshole.

Let me tell you about one Richard Scarry book we have, which really illustrates my point: Busy, Busy World. Billed as "33 exciting adventures for girls and boys," the book is a collection of stories that take place around the world, each featuring a new and different character... and almost every single one is male. There's Couscous the Algerian Detective, Officer Montey of Monaco, Happy Lappy from Finland, Rajah of India, and Ukelele Louie the Hawaiian Fisherman. (Disregard for a moment the raging ethnic and nationalistic stereotypes. The matter currently under discussion is the fact that almost none of the titular characters in these stories are female.)

Oh, there are women in these stories. You've got Heidi, who keeps asking Ernst the Swiss Mountain Climber to rescue her damn stupid cow. You've got Tina, a pig who is so fat that on her wedding day she can't fit into a gondola. (Fortunately, Mario comes along with his melon boat and saves the day.) And you've got Shalom of Israel's wife, a woman who is such a nag she doesn't even deserve to have a proper name. But if you take away the damsels needing rescuing and the nagging wives, you've got precious little left.

There are a few noteworthy female characters in pre-schooler lit, I'll admit. Sam adores both Madeline and Olivia. And I guess you can sort of count Mary Anne from Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, if Sam's fondness for her is anything to go by... despite the fact that hers isn't really a speaking part. But that's about all I can come up with.

Help! Any suggestions for great kids' books featuring girls? I'm trying to raise a kid who doesn't follow in the footsteps of his father -- a man who, while I love him dearly, has never been known to voluntarily crack the spine on a book written by a woman. Unless you count Annie Proulx... which I suspect he doesn't.

Laying to Rest Childhood Mystery #4619-B

2007-09-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you can help me with this. For months -- possibly years -- I've been trying to track down a young adult novel I read when I was ten or eleven. It's called Jem (no, not the National Book Award-winner by Frederick Pohl, though that's the only book the internet wants to tell me about), and these are the only details my spotty memory can yield:

The story starts at some point after the earth's population has been simultaneously afflicted with amnesia. The story is told, I believe, in the first person, by a narrator whose name I can't recall, but he describes how people try to deal with the confusion and aftermath of whatever has happened. A central character emerges in his narrative: a young man named Jem, who seems to have his shit together a little better than everyone else. As the narrator struggles with his own memories, which seem to be trying to resurface, Jem emerges as a possibly dangerous character who may have had something to do with the entire cataclysm.

I think. Like I said, I was only ten or eleven, and my precocious little brain didn't deal well with subtlety, ambiguity, and deliberately unresolved endings. My most vivid memory of reading this book was of perplexedly scrutinizing the last few pages before finally having to return the damn book to the library. And now I need to re-read it just so that I can finally lay to rest the burning question: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BOOK ABOUT?

For what it's worth, I've looked on Abebooks and Powell's. No luck. Any tips? Better yet, does anyone have a copy they can send me? In exchange, I'll trade you a book that actually makes sense.

Adventures in Three Dimensions

2007-09-24T08:51:00.000-07:00

For someone who's currently ~~unemployed~~ "between contracts", I sure am lackadaisical on the blogging front. And today is no exception. I could have been writing over the weekend, but here's what I did instead:

Napped
Watched season one of The X Files
Updated my Facebook profile
Went to the mall
Napped

Who do I think I am, some university student? Shameless! But your trip here was not for naught. Via Dooce, I bring you the three-dimensional stylings of artist Brian Dettmer:

Dettmer's sculptures makes me want to get rid of almost everything in my house and install nothing but pedestals and spotlights for displaying his work. Go here for many more images. Stunning.

Seventy Years Young!

2007-09-21T00:10:00.000-07:00

On this day in 1937, The Hobbit was first released to the public.

Given that J.R.R. Tolkien was notedly anti-technology, I wonder what he would have thought if he'd been told that that his humble little story would someday spawn countless terabytes of online Elvish fanfic.

LATE-BREAKING NEWS: Apparently, scientists have discovered fossilized Hobbit remains. Funny. I thought they'd be taller.

No, Thanks. I'm Waiting for the Movie.

2007-09-18T13:46:00.000-07:00

Hey all. I'm working on a radio story about this whole "book trailer" trend for CBC's Definitely Not the Opera. (If you're new to the concept, book trailers are short videos that authors and publishers are creating to promote their books. It's a relatively new idea, and it's meeting with mixed reviews from the book-loving public.)

What's your take on this? Are book trailers weird, or just good marketing? Have you seen any awesome book trailers, or any that are absolutely terrible?

I Have No Idea Why the Caged Book Sings

2007-09-17T23:05:00.000-07:00

This, apparently, is a bookcase. If the designer says this is so, then I suppose I must believe him. But I would appreciate it if someone could explain to me how it works.

Thank you in advance.

[via cribcandy]

Next Best Thing to Crawling Under a Rock

2007-09-14T00:45:00.000-07:00

There is a very stern copyright notice on this site saying that unauthorized use of images is forbidden, so you'll just have to click the link to see what I'm talking about when I tell you that THE CAVE BOOKCASE IS AWESOME:

In urban life, there seems to be a common understanding that people tend to consciously or subconsciously become wary of strangers surrounding them. They are always balancing a certain level of privacy with others. A bookcase CAVE provides a private reading space within its form. As a seat height is just above the floor, CAVE gives a feeling of hiding from others standing around it.

I want. Oh, how I want.

[Thanks for the link, roughmagic!]

The Way I See It #275

2007-09-13T14:33:00.000-07:00

When I wake up in the morning, I want
to know that my family, friends and
fans know what I believe in and what
I'm all about. That's what should
be important.

How inspiring. It's good to know that the person who threw the empty cup from their grande no-foam extra-hot caramel machiatto into my yard really BELIEVES in something.

Let's all take a moment to silently thank Starbucks for making sure that every piece of garbage it generates has a little bit of philosophy attached to it.

BANG!!!???***!!!

2007-09-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not the only parent who, when confronted with a broken balloon and a toddler who's in the process of deciding how big a hissyfit he's about to pitch, rushes to find a Useful Pot to put things in. Am I?

Because let me tell you something, yo: this strategy works.

But How Does It Handle on the Highway?

2007-09-11T22:16:00.001-07:00

I don't know about you guys, but sometimes I feel ambivalent about whatever I'm doing in the moment. When I'm roaming, I feel like I should be reading. When I'm reading, I feel like I should be roaming. It's hard being me.

Clearly, I'm not alone, and FINALLY some benevolent, entrepreneurial soul has developed a solution to this no-doubt widespread conundrum:

[Ups to Stephie, Juliane and Kay for the link! Also, Rusty just told me that Glark had IMed him this link to forward to me, and Rusty forgot till now. So ups to you, too, Glark! Though the fact that you thought Rusty would actually remember to do this is a sign that we need to hang out soon, because you're clearly forgetting that this "remembering" business is not how Rusty rolls.]

A Midsummer Latesummer Night's Book Reckoning

2007-09-10T00:27:00.000-07:00

I guess all those books I've read over the summer aren't going to blog themselves. Problem is, I've read 27 books since I last wrote about one. That's great and all, but it makes for an intimidating round of catch-up. It's like when you run into somebody whom you haven't seen in years, and they ask you what's new, and you're like, "Oh, nothing. Just EVERYTHING."

So here's what I'm going to do to make this enterprise less scary for myself. Today I'm going to list all the books I've read, with mini-reviews. Maybe I'll get to longer reviews someday, maybe not. I am, after all, a fey creature, prone to vapours and whimsies, as ephemeral as a unicorn fart. But if there's a particular book you're especially interested in, let me know, and I'll do my best to bump it to the top of the list of things to write about. (Note: 50 Books management is unable to define in clear terms what "do my best" actually means.)

Espresso Tales, Dream Angus
by Alexander McCall Smith (#17-18)
Do I have anything new to say about Alexander McCall Smith? Dare I repeat myself? Simply put, McCall Smith is my go-to guy for stories that give me a sense that there is an order -- a gentle order -- to the universe. Unrealistic? Probably. Who cares?

A Curtain of Green and Other Stories
by Eudora Welty (#19)
This is Welty's first collection of short stories, published in 1941. If these are just the first, I can't wait to read the rest. And can I just thank all you folks who pimped Welty to me way back in the day?

God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
by Kurt Vonnegut (#20)
I was feeling sad after Vonnegut's death, and wanted to re-read this, his most optimistic and redeeming novel. I was still sad afterward, but it was okay.

The Line of Beauty
by Alan Hollinghurst (#21)
For some reason, this book made me think of The Great Gatsby and Evelyn Waugh's Mayfair novels and Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children. In other words, it was pretty good. There's a movie, isn't there? Worth seeing?

Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
by David Sedaris (#22)
This, to me, is Sedaris's most wistful collection of stories, and my favourite to date. It's funny, too.

Einstein's Monsters
by Martin Amis (#23)
Reading Amis's circa-1987 thoughts and stories about nuclear weapons and the Cold War was, strangely, anthropological yet relevant. As interesting as the stories are, the introduction is even better. I don't usually push introductions on people, but you really should read Amis's forward to this book.

Vinyl Cafe Diaries, Home from the Vinyl Cafe
by Stuart McLean (#24-25)
After Martin Amis finished scaring the living shit out of me, I needed to read some stories that were the literary equivalent of a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. If you tend to disparage this kind of reading... well, bully for you. I'm made of more fragile stuff.

After Dark
by Haruki Murakami (#26)
I wanted to read The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles. I ended up reading this. It was okay, but it felt kind of like I was reading a treatment for a screenplay. This is a trait I've noticed in other contemporary novels, as if the writer were already planning two steps ahead to when their publisher sells the movie option for their book. Or maybe I'm just projecting my own cynicism. Maybe the more innocent explanation is that TV and movies have moulded how some writers create stories. Or maybe I just got a bad translation.

Shooting an Elephant
by George Orwell (#27)
Don't tell anybody, but I think I have a crush on George Orwell. I could read his essays every single day for the rest of my life and never get bored. Plus, I think if he were alive today, he'd either be a blogger himself, or at the very least he'd be a huge blog advocate. I have proof.

Youth in Revolt
by C.D. Payne (#28)
I read this years ago, and while I didn't love it quite as much this time around -- due, no doubt, to the fact that I am now somewhere between an old biddy and a fuddy-duddy -- I still enjoyed it. It's sort of like The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole meets Portnoy's Complaint.

Arthur and George
by Julian Barnes (#29)
This novel surprised me by being one of the best new books I've read this year. Oh, and look: I guess it was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, too. Those people are S-M-R-T.

A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, Many Waters, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, An Acceptable Time
by Madeline L'Engle (#30-34)
I was sad to find out that L'Engle recently passed away, but I was glad that I finally got to read the entire Wrinkle in Time series. They're a bit cheesy and New Age-y (the power of love and forgiveness seems to save the day a fair bit) -- and yes, there are unicorns -- but that's what makes them so sweet. Enjoy them before we get even further away from the '60s.

Freddy the Detective, Freddy Goes to Florida, Freddy and the Space Ship
by Walter R. Brooks (#35-37)
I don't know. I just like stories about talking pigs, okay?

Season of the Witch
by Natasha Mostert (#38)
This was given to me, and I kind of worried that, what with the smoldering hero and the hot ladies and the occult stuff, it would be like a poor woman's version of an Anne Rice novel (which is tough, since sometimes Rice herself writes the poor woman's version of her own novels). But then the book redeemed itself by being like a cross between a poor woman's Anne Rice novel AND a poor woman's Umberto Eco novel, and somehow the combination worked. I'm not too proud to say I pulled a nigh all-nighter to finish it.

Diary of a South Beach Party Girl
by Gwen Cooper (#39)
What can I say? When you're on a roll with the chick lit, you're on a roll. This novel is a diary. A diary about a girl. A girl who likes parties. A girl who specifically likes parties in South Beach. (Cryptic titles are so passe.)

Prep
by Curtis Sittenfeld (#40)
I seem to be rocking the blank-meets-blank trope today, so why stop now? Prep is like Catcher in the Rye meets, er, something not unlike Catcher in the Rye but more contemporary and written by a woman. Maybe A Complicated Kindness? Maybe?

The Dharma Bums
by Jack Kerouac (#41)
We had just come back from a fantastic camping trip and I realized that I needed to re-read this story about camping and hiking and Buddhism and enlightenment. Pretentious? Holy crap, yes. But compelling nonetheless. Side note: You know you're getting old when you start developing fond, forgiving, maternal feelings toward Kerouac characters.

Jane Eyre
by Charlotte Brontë (#42)
I know Jane has her haters out there, but for the love of god, I have no idea why. An undergrad professor came thisclose to ruining this book for me, thanks to his obsession with what he termed the sadomasochistic qualities of Jane and Rochester. It's taken almost fifteen years, but fortunately I've bounced back. And while I'm providing the running commentary on my age as it relates to the characters in the books I'm reading, I should mention how disorienting it was to realize that I'm two years older than Rochester is at the beginning of the story. Maybe I'm just developing fond, forgiving, maternal feelings toward EVERYONE.

Happenstance
by Carol Shields (#43)
I spent way too long trying to read Umberto Eco's The Island of the Day Before, before I realized that I needed less whimsy, not more, swirling around in my fevered brain. Thank god for Carol Shields. Her stories about regular folks encountering minor-but-important crises and crossroads in their lives have a roundness that may not be exactly true to life, but at the same time have their own internal truth. Plus, quilts!

Done! Whew. That felt good. And remember what I said (unless senile dementia has struck you since you first started reading this post back in 1973): if you want more on any of these books, fire me a comment!

Memo to Inventors: There's Nothing Left

2007-09-06T22:40:00.000-07:00

So your books are crammed tightly on your shelves... so tightly, in fact, that your delicate, petal-like fingertips pinken ever so slightly at the effort of extracting a tome.

To get past this vexing problem, you could:

a) suck it up
b) get rid of a few books
c) get one of these little doohickeys*

*Except that you can't get them, unless you happen to live in Japan. Alas.

Boho or Bust

2007-09-05T22:18:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every aspiring young bohemian's life when she or he embraces all the decorative trappings that come with the territory: the beaded curtains... the gazillion votive candles... the big faux-gilt mirrors... the Indian bedspreads hung just so over the futon... the cheeky holographic Jesus poster whose eyes follow you around the room.

Sadly, for me, those years are naught but hazy, patchouli-scented memories, which is why I have to pass on this biblioteca bookrack.

But perhaps it's not too late for you?

[via Apartment Therapy]

Designer Stool

2007-09-03T21:39:00.000-07:00

New Year's Eve is kind of a big deal for most of the population. A time for renewal, resolutions, starting over, blabbidy blah blah. Like I said: for MOST of the population.

Nerds like us know that the REAL time for new beginnings is autumn, specifically Labour Day. Because deep down, we're still back-to-school junkies who get a weird hard-on at the prospect of sharpening our pencils, putting fresh-smelling ruled paper in all our three-ring binders, and getting a spanking new geometry kit, despite the fact that we're not really sure about what half the gizmos in it actually do. And somehow we associate the smell of pencil shavings and new paper with rebirth. Because we're freaks.

I'm not sure why, but I thought of all that when I saw this contraption:

That's right. From Paris, by way of New York, it's a pair of black cotton-and-nylon straps that turns a common stack of magazines and/or books into a useful stool. It's called the Book Stool, and it, too, can be yours for the low, low price of $39 USD (magazines not included).

Or, if you don't mind losing out on the cachet of owning the Parisian original, you could get a couple of virtually identical straps from your local camping or army surplus store and make your own stool for under five bucks. It all depends on how you feel about cachet. (Me, I just like to say it, lingering lovingly over the second syllable. Try it yourself: Cash-ayyyyyy. Fun, right?)

From the "Now I've Seen Everything" Department: Sex Guides for Evangelicals

2007-08-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

Erotica for the evangelical set:

Religious-themed sex guides are flying off the shelves - some even give believers permission to enjoy a good romp.

In the years that Intended for Pleasure [a popular Christian sex guide] has been flying off shelves, the publishing industry has discovered the demand for faith-based material that speaks specifically to a purpose-driven sex life.
On The New York Times bestseller list, a book called It's All About Him is currently No. 4 for hardcover non-fiction.

Written by Denise Jackson, wife of country music star Alan Jackson, the book describes how religious faith restored passion and dedication to her marriage.

Lonnie Hull DuPont, director of acquisitions at Revell, which publishes Intended for Pleasure, said the book has sold more than a million copies since its release 30 years ago, and has never gone out of hardcover.

The book is an at-times-surprising combination of faith and fact.

Passages of Bible Scripture and earnestly romantic tributes to married life are scattered between straight-up explanations of the birth-control pill and illustrations labelled "positioning for premature ejaculation training session using squeeze control."

Gracious! I don't know about you, but this is not the kind of article I expect to find when I'm perusing The Globe & Mail's "Family & Relationships" section, but this is what you've got to love about The Globe: it'll always keep you guessing.

My first thought when I saw this article was this: "A purpose-driven sex life?" I know what the purpose of my sex life is. What the heck is a Christian's purpose? Is there a secret purpose I don't know about?

My second thought was a predictable one: A sex guide for evangelicals? In book form? I would've thought that a pamphlet would do.

My third thought was: How can I cash in on this hot new publishing trend?

And so I bring you my manuscript-in-progress, Ten Commandments-Based Sex Tips for the Faithful, which features some of the following chapters:

Introduction: Why Commandments? Isn't That Word Just a Little, You Know, S&M-y?
Chapter 2: Remember the Sabbath and Keep It Holy. In Other Words, Try to Wrap Things Up, If You Know What I Mean, Before Midnight on Saturday
Chapter 6: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbour's Wife, Unless Thy Neighbour Also Covets Thy Wife, In Which Case Perhaps You Can Work Something Out
Chapter 9: Thou Shalt Honour Thy Father and Thy Mother? Now Why Bring THEM into This? Haven't They Done Enough Already?

Publishers? You know where to find me. Please bring the dump truck full of money with you.

Alice in Blunderland

2007-08-28T22:31:00.000-07:00

So Sam's been requesting "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" at bedtime these days, and I'm happy to oblige. But there are only so many times you can sing a one-verser like "Twinkle Twinkle" before you get a hankering to mix it up a bit. And since mixing it up is how I roll, tonight I thought I'd throw a little Lewis Carroll Sam's way:

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a teatray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle—

At this point in the original story, this is where the Dormouse gets interrupted by the other attendees of the Mad Tea Party. Coincidentally (or perhaps not!), this is also where Sam stopped me, with the declaration, "No! We don't like that bat!"

And another attempt at parental smart-assery chews the dust.

Voracious Reader

2007-08-21T20:51:00.000-07:00

Quick. Someone buy this onesie before I do.

Next Step: Living off the Fatta the Land

2007-08-20T00:31:00.000-07:00

When was the last time I pimped something I've written elsewhere? I thought so! Far too long!

If you're new around these parts, you might not know that last summer, Rusty and I got sick of the insane housing bubble that has held this city in its thrall for the past few years. We may be living in the only place on earth where housing prices and property crime are both rising at EXACTLY THE SAME RATE. So we decided to stay in the shitty (but character-filled! And did I also mention cheap!) house we've been renting for the past ten years. We like it here. Also, we'll never find enough boxes to move all our crap. Some decisions just make themselves.

But we're wilful types. If we're going to compromise, we want to dictate at least some of the terms. And so we decided that, in lieu of spending half a million bucks on a shoddily constructed shoebox with used crack pipes all over the lawn, we'd spend considerably less than that on a chunk of land outside the city and build a little place to get away from our urban cares on weekends and during the summers. And so we did. Sort of. We bought the land, a five-acre parcel with a kickass view of the ocean and mountains, on a nearby island. Now we're working on building a cabin. This is where things get interesting. Did I mention that, when it comes to construction, we're the kind of people who tend to approach home fix-it projects with furrowed brows and a roll of duct tape?

Skills? We have not many of those. But ideas! Oho, the ideas... they flow thick and fast. And don't even get us started on the grandiose overarching philosophies. If we could build a cabin with the speed and confidence with which we construct a manifesto, this thing would have been up months ago, and would already be festooned with ivy. And turrets.

And so, because our motto seems to be, But if we don't blog about it, what's the point of doing it? we started a blog to document both our thinking and the ambling approach we laughingly refer to as "our process". The blog is called The Cabin. This seems like a good, optimistic title. If we use the word "cabin" on the internet, one is bound to appear on the land eventually, right? (Right?) We've been posting sporadically for a while, but lately we've picked up the pace. This, coincidentally, is in keeping with the fact that we seem to actually be moving forward with a design and build plan.

It all comes back to books, I swear.

So, I recently posted a sort-of review of a book called Cabins and Beach Houses, which has had some influence on our thinking. If, like me, you're into modernism, vintage design books, and recreational property, well, first of all, WHY AREN'T YOU HERE? We have so much to catch up on! I'll make sandwiches! Or if that's not a possibility on such short notice, you may just prefer to read the post.

Also, if you have any practical words of advice, please, forthwith.

Famous Men Bastards of Letters

2007-08-17T00:55:00.000-07:00

The tough thing about being famous is that, no matter how much good stuff you do, some picky critics out there are going to dig around for dirt on you. The tough thing about being REALLY famous is that they're going to keep doing it even when you've been dead for years.

And so we here at 50 Books bring you Three Literary Bastards and Why to Hate Them.*

1. Ernest Hemingway
You think you hate Hemingway because he was a misogynist with an aversion to descriptive words. You wonder, rightly, how could anyone not like women and adjectives? They are the eleven herbs and spices on the juicy chicken thigh of life. But the thing about trashing on Hem for either of these reasons is that, let's be honest, it's old. It's been done. Ho-hum.

But wait no longer. If you want to trounce Papa, I have new fodder for you: declining fish populations.

2. Arthur Miller
Everyone loves to love Arthur Miller, especially book geeks like us. Homely guy marries sexiest woman in the world and writes one of the defining classics of his generation? It's the American Dream, nerd-style. How can you not love him? How about because he never acknowledged his Down-syndrome child, Daniel, and instead had him institutionalized from birth?

3. Ryszard Kapuscinski
Oh, Ryszard... not you, too.

I just don't know whom to believe in any more. Except maybe the bonobos. Or maybe not.

*Okay, they're not actually bastards. (Probably.) I just said that to get attention. And I don't actually hate them. I have a hard time hating dead people. Except for Hitler.

Giddyup! It's a Readin' Roundup!

2007-08-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

Oh, people. Lordy, lordy, lordy. That's all I'm going to say about the voodoo zombie death plague that's hovered over Chez Doppelganger for the past week and a bit. Trust me, you're getting off easy.

So now I'm easing myself back into the real world. Is it okay if I practise on you? I've collected some neato bits and odds from around the internet to talk about. Or is this like those people who read the newspaper before a date solely so that they'll be able to make intelligent dinner conversation for once in their life?

................

The Last Book EVER... Sort Of
Stuart McLean, the host of the CBC Radio show Vinyl Café, and of course author of the excellent series of books by the same name, recently declared his new policy on book purchases:

I would like to take a moment this morning, if you would indulge me, to say I am not going to buy another book ever again ever in my life. I am not going to buy another book ever again ever in my life. Never.

He makes a few exceptions, of course:

And I am allowed to buy books if it is a book that more than one person says I should read... like say five people mention it. Okay, maybe five is a lot. Make it three people. Three people and they don’t necessarily have to tell me to read the book, but if they mention it in some way, even if they aren’t speaking to me. Like if I overhear them talking about the book at a dinner party. Or say, see them reading the book on an airplane.

In the case of a book that has had a movie made about it, or it has won a major award, or appeared on a bestseller list, then less then three but more than one.

What am I doing here with the copying and pasting? Really, you should just go read the whole piece. It's funny. I'll be waiting here when you're done. I'll do my nails or something.

................

If Madonna Can Write Kids' Books, So Can I
Finally, I know how to make my own board books. The world's been waiting for my sequel to The Very Hungry Caterpillar... The Very Bite-y Butterfly.

................

Engineering a Scientifically Perfect Book Storage Solution
I thought I was the only person who bookmarked cool bookcase photography, but it turns out I'm not the only shelving fetishist out there. Kim at Desire to Inspire has put together a nice collection of truly inspiring spaces and the book collections they house. (I'm ~~assuming~~ ~~guessing~~ praying that the owners actually read them and didn't just buy them by the meter.)

The jury's still out for me when it comes to organizing books by colour, but I have to admit that some people seem to make it work. Me? As I commented recently on Jane's site, I tend to group my books according to my gut feeling about whether I think the authors would have liked living next door to each other. (Leo Tolstoi? Meet your new neighbour, Kurt Vonnegut. He has a habit of borrowing power tools and forgetting to return them, but he'd loan you his last cup of sugar. If he had any. Which he doesn't.)

And speaking of Jane's site, you should follow the link above, because then you'll get to see the lovely shelves she just had custom built for her home. I'm struggling with envy. It's all part of becoming a bigger person, right?

................

Free Books! Free Books!
Well, sort of. You have to download them and print them out, but that doesn't make the Rosetta Project any less cool. For the past ten years, this volunteer-driven initiative has been amassing a huge online library -- we're talking tens of thousands of titles -- of antique and vintage illustrated children's books that are now in the public domain.

You may remember a while back when I was moaning that so many wonderful kids' books are disappearing from the public imagination. Projects like this make my jaded heart blossom like a dandelion in a cowpie-strewn meadow.

[Thanks to Dale for the link!]

................

When Posterity Bites Back
Speaking of projects, the Book Inscription Project is the kind of thing I always absent-mindedly think about doing, then never get off my ass to do. Good thing I'm not running the internet.

The website is a lot like Found, but exclusively dedicated to book inscriptions. I find this idea chilling, because god knows I've written my fair share of moronic undergrad "insights" inside books. Nevertheless, a recent favourite (note highlighted text):

I vote both!

[Thanks for the link, Kristin!]

In Which I Whine Unabashedly, but at Least Keep It Mercifully Brief

2007-08-09T22:00:00.000-07:00

Blargh. I'm sick. I've been feeling under the weather (and don't even get me started about our weather) for a week, and today it finally erupted into full-on spewitude the likes of which hasn't been seen around these parts since the dreaded Norwalk rampage of '06. (Man, I sure did go on and on about that, didn't I?)

I hope this doesn't last as long as the Norwalk thing did. Light a candle for me, huh?

From the "Context is Everything" Department

2007-08-06T22:35:00.000-07:00

Things my toddler has said in public that were hard to explain to strangers (numbers 112 through 116):

"When Puck grows up, he will turn into a manul."
"Bring me the axe!"
"My bear likes to eat hagfish and tuataras."
"If I don't get some, I think I'm gonna die."
"Po!"

The Toyshelves of Wal-Mart Are a Little Emptier, and a Little Sadder, Today

2007-08-02T14:50:00.000-07:00

Speaking of killing our culture -- or I guess more accurately in this case, culture that kills us -- have you heard about the gigantic Mattel toy recall that's just been announced? Almost a million toys potentially coated in a thick layer of delicious-but-deadly lead paint. Oh, China.

Thankfully, there have been no reported illnesses. And fortunately, this recall doesn't affect our house, mostly because Sam is too young to request crappy franchised toys by name, but I still found myself reading the recall list with fascinated interest. Just check out the names of some of these toys:

SESAME STREET GIGGLE DOODLER
GO DIEGO GO TALKING GADGET
SESAME STREET GIGGLE DRILL
SILLY PARTS TALKING ELMO
GIGGLE GRABBER OSCAR THE GROUCH

Remember that scene from The Hudsucker Proxy where the guys in the marketing department are working behind closed doors to come up with the perfect name for the hula hoop: "The Flying Doughnut! The Dancing Dingus! The Belly-Go-Round! The Wacky Circumference!" Reading this list, I don't think that scene was so very far from reality.

I have to confess that I'm intrigued by the Giggle Doodler. I like to giggle. I like to doodle. How awesome (not to mention efficient) would it be to combine the two? I'm a little more fearful of the Talking Gadget, though I suppose it might be something along the lines of those talking appliances from The Flintstones. I always liked them. They had moxy.

My apprehension increases with the Giggle Drill, possibly due to Dr. Giggles-related flashbacks. And do I even want to know about Elmo's "silly parts"? Though I suspect that, because he talks, he'll tell me anyways. (Everyone has to stop paying attention to that guy. Can't we see we're just encouraging him?)

The toy I think I like the most is the Oscar the Grouch Giggle Grabber. I picture it as a long-handled device that Oscar uses to reach out and grab any errant giggle that floats over his garbage can, before blasting it to smithereens like a turbo-charged bug zapper. I could really use one of those.

How Today's Internet Is Killing Our Culture

2007-08-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

Because Rusty knows I have a total bug up my ass about this endless stream of polemics stating that bloggers are destroying the integrity of book reviewers, food critics, democracy, and The American Way, of course he sent me this link. It's all about the kerfuffle surrounding a recently published book, written by a very upset-seeming gentleman named Andrew Keen, entitled The Cult of the Amateur. In case you're wondering what that title means, there's a snappy little subtitle: How today's Internet is killing our culture.

There's some blah-blah-blah about the book here. Some folks think that Keen raises some good points, but that these points are sabotaged by his tendency to say stupid things such as "I don't think bloggers read." But the upshot of his argument is that, apparently, the internet needs to be "saved". From itself, or from us, or maybe both... I'm not quite sure. Also apparently, bloggers are stealing jobs away from professional writers. This is funny to me, because I am both a blogger and a professional writer and editor. It would seem that I'm hijacking my own career. I always knew I couldn't trust me. You can tell by the eyes. Shifty.

But let's just say that bloggers really are clawing food out of the mouths of starving pros in this nutty DIY free-for-all that is the much-hyped "Web 2.0". If so, bloggers are part of a long and storied history of usurpers:

Gutenberg (not Steve, the other one) invents the printing press. The average Joe finally gets his own copy of the bible and realizes the local priest has been leaving out the best parts in his sermons. Joe decides to start his own church, which will include the juicy bits.
Literacy becomes widespread. The village letter writer realizes that his twenty-year career plan is going to need rethinking.
Samuel Morse invents his famous code and device. Goodbye, pony express workers, off to that big glue factory in the sky.
Henry Ford invents the car. Around the industrialized world, farriers weep.
During the Second World War, men go off to fight, and women go to work in factories and whatnot and then refuse to go back home when the war is over. The nerve!
Home Depot and a glut of home renovation TV shows conspire to create a culture of DIY home owners, as people realize they can now do their own renos, which will be equally shoddy but at only a fraction of the cost!

I'm being facetious, of course. Change is dodgy, and most people, understandably, get a bit bunched-up about it because they think the world is going to end or they're going to have to start waking up earlier or something equally dire. (I'm sure there's a great term that specifically describes this type of anxiety... probably in German. Lucky Germans.) A tiny minority of the population overcomes this anxiety by calling change "progress", and my hat goes off to them. I think. It's late and I'm tired, so it's hard to tell.

To tell you the truth, I'm just leading up to my real point: this quote from a positive review of the aforementioned Mr. Keen's book, which, apparently, the publisher saw fit to use in promoting the book online:

“Andrew Keen is a brilliant, witty, classically-educated technoscold—and thank goodness. The world needs an intellectual Goliath to slay Web 2.0's army of Davids.”
—Jonathan Last, online editor, The Weekly Standard

Answer me one question, and I promise I won't bug you any more: Can someone please tell me at what exact point in history GOLIATH became the hero?

Looking at Sidewalks in a Whole New Way

2007-07-30T00:44:00.000-07:00

Somewhere along the road, Sam has picked up this little chant, which he likes to say a hundred or so times a day:

Engine, engine number nine,
Going down the railway line.
If you step upon a crack,
You will break your mother's back.

My question for all you experienced moms out there is this: at what point, if ever, does this rhyme stop striking cold terror into your heart every time you hear it?

Fruit: The Musical

2007-07-26T22:02:00.000-07:00

I've got to tell you: I've had a killer headache on-and-off for most of this week, which is killing productivity in pretty much every area of my life. I'm going to pop an Advil or ten, then go and lie down, but not before I offer you something that just might make the click it took you to get here worthwhile. Because I'm all about providing value.

Bibliophiles get a bad rap. Pretentious, some people call us. Highbrow, accuse others. Snootypants... well, no one actually says that, BUT THEY THINK IT.

Lest anyone think that all we book-lovers do is sit around on the floor with wine and cheese, mispronouncing words like "allegorical" and "didacticism", I offer you an exhibit of just the kind of antics that regularly take place here at the 50 Books salon:

(In case you're wondering, yes, Sam is in fact channeling the vocal stylings of William Shatner.)

Famous Poems Rewritten as Limericks

2007-07-24T09:21:00.000-07:00

I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud
There once was a poet named Will
Who tramped his way over a hill
And was speechless for hours
Over some stupid flowers
This was years before TV, but still.

This is just a smackerel of the doggerel to be found here. I'm working on my own right now. More on that later. My muse can't be rushed.

[via Rusty via Metafilter]

This Is What a REAL Book Collection Looks Like

2007-07-23T00:07:00.000-07:00

Friday's post about fake libraries reminded me that Karen had emailed me suggesting that I add my own pic to the collection of home library photography that Kim is amassing over at Kimbooktu. If you're the kind of person who takes long twilight walks in residential neighbourhoods solely for the purpose of peeking in people's homes, you should definitely check it out (and dare I say, add your own?).

In the meantime, here's a sneak preview of my contribution to the project. After a lot of experimenting with angles and trying to shoo various animals and people out of the shot, here's the best photo I managed to take:

Note: By "best" I don't mean "good."

If you're still reeling from this assault on your taxonomical sensibilities, check out this same photo on Flickr, where I've added a number of rollover tags to give additional insight into the travesty that is my book collection. You could argue that in the time I spent creating these rollovers I could have just cleaned my damn shelves, but then I'd reply that you just don't know me at all.

And since I'm all about the participation today, I would be remiss if I did not let you know that the most excellent Carrie, of the most excellent site Try Harder, is having a contest. Yes! A contest! With prizes! She's challenging people to make a story from the following spam subject line:

Brian LaBovick: I think it was an accumulation of things

What's the prize, you wonder? You would do well to ask. One lucky person will receive a box of books and other assorted goodies. All the info is here.

How to Build a Fake Book Collection

2007-07-20T17:39:00.000-07:00

I just read this post over at Apartment Therapy and knew that I had to share it with you immediately:

Hello AT,

I am working with a client who has a new apartment, loads of beautiful bookshelves and no books. We'd really like to build a book collection relatively quickly. We'd like it to be based on his taste, but also be a great collection of classics and aesthetically as pleasing as the work that's gone into the rest of the apartment. Do you have any advice or know anyone or any place that can help??

The best part of this post is the comments... over 200 of them, each more outraged than the one before. Delicious. This is one of my favourites:

Why not collect all the Yellow Pages in all the lobbies in all the buildings in Manhattan...you know, the new Yellow Pages that sit, bulk-wrapped in the lobby until the super throws them away...then display them with the spines at the back of the bookcase. It would be a lovely shade of yellow, and it would fill the shelves. And it's FREE.

Goodbye, Bufu Periglenes. We Hardly Knew Ye.

2007-07-20T00:11:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before that Sam has discovered the small cache of children's books I co-authored back in the day. Since "the day" was actually between 1992 and 1995, there's always the chance that some of the information is now out of date. On the last page of Frogs and Toads, there's a mention of the Golden Toad, which at the time was on the endangered species list. Every time Sam and I read this book at bedtime, I make a mental note to look up the Golden Toad and see how it's doing, but a combination of crappy short-term memory and subconscious dread has kept me from doing this. Until just now.

According to Wikipedia:

The Golden Toad (Bufo periglenes) was a small, shiny, bright-orange toad that was once abundant in a small region of high-altitude cloud-covered tropical forests, about 30 square kilometers in area, above the city of Monteverde, Costa Rica. For this reason, it is sometimes also called the Monteverde Golden Toad, or the Monte Verde Toad. Other common English names include Alajuela Toad and Orange Toad. They were described in 1966 by the herpetologist Jay Savage.

Since 1989, not a single Golden Toad has been seen anywhere in the world, and it is classified by the IUCN as an extinct species. Its extinction is cited as part of the decline in amphibian populations, and may be attributable to climate change brought on by global warming.

This Mantra Sucks

2007-07-20T00:02:00.000-07:00

I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.
I don't need any more t-shirts.

Nope. No matter how times I say it, I still find myself coveting this t-shirt:

Fun to Say, Pirate Style

2007-07-18T00:46:00.000-07:00

bilge rat
landlubber
shanty
bucko
galleon
Arr!
gibbet
bosun
squiffy
nipperkin
buccaneer
keelhaul
avast
mizzen
carouser
doubloon
grog blossom
hornswaggle
poop deck

Harry Potter 101, or How I Really Knew, for Once and for All, That I'm a Total Dork

2007-07-17T00:49:00.000-07:00

This will be especially funny to anyone who's (a) read the Harry Potter books at least once, and (b) studied literary theory. (That's pretty much everyone, right?)

3. Post structuralism: Harry Potter and the violent hierarchies of opposition
Deconstruct the Voldemort character. To what extent does he exhibit Derrida's theory of binary opposites? Include in your analysis a discussion of how "his" power is everywhere and nowhere, how He Who Should Not Be Named has no physical or solid identity and how he represents "pure" evil. To what extent is Azkaban influenced by Foucault's Discipline and Punish?

Hee!