A wee bit drunk, on all of three beers, and sprawled on the bed at Booklover's BnB where we're staying during our visit to Wellington.
I think I entered Vacation Mode today. Partly this is because we went rafting yesterday, which was so outside my frame of reference it felt unreal, and partly because I've managed not to think about work today. Hooray!
We flew down today, spent about 45 minutes in the air which barely gave the cabin crew time to bring out the snack cart, and then enjoyed a taxi drive through Wellington to our BnB. The city has sort of a San Fransisco vibe going, with steep hills and plenty of small hole-in-the-wall bars. We had steaks and beer at a place called Coyote, where the drink list contained things like Cookie Monster, God Father and Quick Fuck, which contains Baileys, Kahlua and Midori. Not sure if that might be the most delicious thing ever, or liquid evil.
Tomorrow we're renting a car to drive around Wellington and surroundings for a while. Perhaps visit Helm's Deep and Isengard, and definitely going to Weta Cave, though that may be Saturday and not Friday.
I forgot my book, The Gum Thief, on the plane down, for some reason. We have a twelve hour train ride back to Auckland on Sunday, so I figured a new book might be a good idea. We found a big bookstore on a side street from the main drag in Wellington, which turned out to have a very well-stocked sci-fi and fantasy section. I wanted something new, so I asked one of the employees what I should get.
"What do you like?" he asked. I listed Gaiman, Gibson, Stephenson, Barker and Reynolds. According to my brother, the guy's smile got wider and wider for each name. "Obviously you're a man of good taste", he said, which is something I can't argue with. He proceeded to ask me if I had read some of the obvious stuff (Dune, Ender's Game, etc) and then pointed me to Peter F Hamilton. So now I have a brick of a paperback on the sidetable for the ride home.
Vacation Mode feels really good right now. Relaxed. Laid-back. I think I will be well rested, at least mentally, by the time I get back home. Shutting work out like this is absolutely necessary to mental well-being, or at least I think so. I hope this will be true for me in two and a half weeks' time.
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
E iti noa ana, na te aroha
Second day in Auckland, and I woke up at 0445. This was partly because of jetlag, and partly because of the fact that I had three beers with the mussels yesterday. After two and a half months without a drop of alcohol, I felt those three beers quite a bit when we got home last night. I always have trouble going back to sleep the day after I've consumed alcohol. I gave up trying to sleep at 0630, got up and spent a little more than an hour on the couch, reading John Ajvide Lindkvist's "Människohamn" (great stuff) until my hosts woke up.
I took the bus with my brother's fiancee this morning. She was off to work, and I rode along to go to the Auckland War Memorial Museum, which is less warlike than it sounds. Sure, they had some stuff about both World Wars and a lot of Maori weapons on display, but on the whole it was focused on Maori culture and arts, with a lot of side exhibits, including the unavoidable natural history museum dinosaurs. A nice mix.
The best part was the Maori Cultural Experience, which is a fancy way of saying we got to see some traditional Maori rituals, performed live. Lots of singing and dancing, various games involving sticks and staffs, and of course the haka. Very impressive, even though it was only three warriors performing with four women supporting. I wouldn't want to try and stand my ground against say a dozen or so Maori warriors. According to the guide, a well performed haka before a battle sometimes meant there was no battle, because the enemy were so scared of the Maori they just left the field.
Bob was so embarrassed by his friends, that he did his best to escape
But no matter how hard he flapped his arms, he couldn't take off
After the museum I walked around downtown Auckland for a few hours, did some shopping and just enjoyed the fact that I'm on vacation. Found some gifts for Mah Girl. On the way back to the apartment I went to Eve's, a sort of café that has all sorts of interesting cakes and pastries, and bought some stuff for dessert for tonight. Mmmm, unnecessary...
I've seen quite a few street racing cars here in Auckland. You know the type, monstrosities that are just as much about making the right sound as being able to go fast. Often with a twenty-something man behind the wheel, who is just as much about looking just so as being able to drive the car. My brother told me that a law has been passed whereby the police can stop someone if they have a street racey car and they either race the engine so it sounds loud, or if they do basically anything to draw attention to the fact that they're not a normal driver in a normal car. The owner of the car, regardless of if he was driving or not, gets a warning when this happens. The second time it happens, the police seize the car and crush it. That's right. Crush it.
That's one of the funniest things I've heard, ever. Can you imagine how one of those twenty-somethings would feel when he gets his pride and joy back as a one ton metal cube, where you can just make out the remnants of the chromed rims and a warped outline of a flame pattern? Hilarious.
And as a further side note. There's a wireless connection in the apartment complex here called Die Eier von Satan. Me thinkest there liveth a TOOL fan here.
I took the bus with my brother's fiancee this morning. She was off to work, and I rode along to go to the Auckland War Memorial Museum, which is less warlike than it sounds. Sure, they had some stuff about both World Wars and a lot of Maori weapons on display, but on the whole it was focused on Maori culture and arts, with a lot of side exhibits, including the unavoidable natural history museum dinosaurs. A nice mix.
The best part was the Maori Cultural Experience, which is a fancy way of saying we got to see some traditional Maori rituals, performed live. Lots of singing and dancing, various games involving sticks and staffs, and of course the haka. Very impressive, even though it was only three warriors performing with four women supporting. I wouldn't want to try and stand my ground against say a dozen or so Maori warriors. According to the guide, a well performed haka before a battle sometimes meant there was no battle, because the enemy were so scared of the Maori they just left the field.
Bob was so embarrassed by his friends, that he did his best to escapeBut no matter how hard he flapped his arms, he couldn't take off
After the museum I walked around downtown Auckland for a few hours, did some shopping and just enjoyed the fact that I'm on vacation. Found some gifts for Mah Girl. On the way back to the apartment I went to Eve's, a sort of café that has all sorts of interesting cakes and pastries, and bought some stuff for dessert for tonight. Mmmm, unnecessary...
I've seen quite a few street racing cars here in Auckland. You know the type, monstrosities that are just as much about making the right sound as being able to go fast. Often with a twenty-something man behind the wheel, who is just as much about looking just so as being able to drive the car. My brother told me that a law has been passed whereby the police can stop someone if they have a street racey car and they either race the engine so it sounds loud, or if they do basically anything to draw attention to the fact that they're not a normal driver in a normal car. The owner of the car, regardless of if he was driving or not, gets a warning when this happens. The second time it happens, the police seize the car and crush it. That's right. Crush it.
That's one of the funniest things I've heard, ever. Can you imagine how one of those twenty-somethings would feel when he gets his pride and joy back as a one ton metal cube, where you can just make out the remnants of the chromed rims and a warped outline of a flame pattern? Hilarious.
And as a further side note. There's a wireless connection in the apartment complex here called Die Eier von Satan. Me thinkest there liveth a TOOL fan here.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy
I believe my parents did a good job raising me, if we talk about manners. Not sure they agree when it comes to cultural preferences...
So I consider myself a fairly well-mannered guy, in some respects. I know how to be out among people without screaming and cursing or licking people's backpacks. I hold the door at the train station if you're right behind me. I offer my seat on the bus or train to the elderly.
Sure, I've been known to scare a child or two to tears, but that was never intentional, and I tend to run people over in conversations from time to time, but that's not intentional either. I know I can come off as arrogant until you get to know me, but then you find out that I'm nice and lovable and all that jazz. And well-mannered, in most situations.
When someone returns the favor, I smile inwardly. Like when someone holds a door for me or says thank you when I do the same. However, sometime acts of courtesy take me completely by surprise, and I find myself smiling openly. Often it's when something happens that feels completely inappropriate for the situation, in the best possible way.
On Friday I sat waiting for a bus to go work in our newly opened store (that day in the store is a whole other post just waiting to be written), reading, headphones on. It was around nine in the morning. A girl sat down a meter or so away on the bench. 16-ish, wearing those awful gray sweatpants that have no business being worn outside, under any circumstances unless you're going home from the gym and barely then. Suddenly she tapped me on the shoulder.
I removed my headphones, and she said: “I just wanted to tell you that the label is still on your jacket”. Lo and behold, it was. I thanked her, and she continued. “And do you mind if I smoke?” I just stared at her, completely flabbergasted that she would even ask. My experience is that a lot of people that smoke will just light up without even bothering to check if someone is downwind of them. And teenage girls aren't exactly in that group that is likely to ask.
Finally I shook my head and said “No problem”. She nodded, sat back and lit up. I pulled my headphones back on and went back to my book. Pattern Recognition. By William Gibson. Again. Stared at the page for a while, not reading, just trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then smiled. Read.
So I consider myself a fairly well-mannered guy, in some respects. I know how to be out among people without screaming and cursing or licking people's backpacks. I hold the door at the train station if you're right behind me. I offer my seat on the bus or train to the elderly.
Sure, I've been known to scare a child or two to tears, but that was never intentional, and I tend to run people over in conversations from time to time, but that's not intentional either. I know I can come off as arrogant until you get to know me, but then you find out that I'm nice and lovable and all that jazz. And well-mannered, in most situations.
When someone returns the favor, I smile inwardly. Like when someone holds a door for me or says thank you when I do the same. However, sometime acts of courtesy take me completely by surprise, and I find myself smiling openly. Often it's when something happens that feels completely inappropriate for the situation, in the best possible way.
On Friday I sat waiting for a bus to go work in our newly opened store (that day in the store is a whole other post just waiting to be written), reading, headphones on. It was around nine in the morning. A girl sat down a meter or so away on the bench. 16-ish, wearing those awful gray sweatpants that have no business being worn outside, under any circumstances unless you're going home from the gym and barely then. Suddenly she tapped me on the shoulder.
I removed my headphones, and she said: “I just wanted to tell you that the label is still on your jacket”. Lo and behold, it was. I thanked her, and she continued. “And do you mind if I smoke?” I just stared at her, completely flabbergasted that she would even ask. My experience is that a lot of people that smoke will just light up without even bothering to check if someone is downwind of them. And teenage girls aren't exactly in that group that is likely to ask.
Finally I shook my head and said “No problem”. She nodded, sat back and lit up. I pulled my headphones back on and went back to my book. Pattern Recognition. By William Gibson. Again. Stared at the page for a while, not reading, just trying to comprehend what had just happened. Then smiled. Read.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Every city has secrets. But none as terrible as this
With emphasis on terrible.
When I was fifteen-ish I read a lot of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. A very small number of those books made enough of an impression that I can still remember them, and most of them were King's. Of Koontz's stuff it's only Twilight Eyes, which was the first of his that I read, and The Bad Place that I really remember.
Recently I discovered that Mr. Koontz had come up with his own twist on the Frankenstein mythos, mad scientists and monsters and all, and I decided to order the first part of the trilogy, Prodigal Son.
The reason I stopped reading Koontz was that I wanted more. Not more plot or more suspense or more monsters, no, I wanted better writing. The reason that Koontz has sold millions and millions of copies of his novels is that he writes page-turners, and not because you have to know what happens on the next page, but because you sit down and read and all of a sudden you've read 130 pages and it feels like you've just been flipping through them without reading them. The text requires only the slightest processing involving higher brain functions, and it moves through the reader like sterile water. Tasteless, transparent, forgettable.
And I also wanted less. Less clichés. Less formulaic plots and characters. After a couple of books it was very easy to pick out who would die when and who would hook up with who.
So my expectations concerning Prodigal Son were very low. I went into this novel suspecting I would be disappointed. And I was, and am.
I'm sorry to say that Prodigal Son is a POS. Piece of shit. While the idea of a modern twist on the Frankenstein myth appeals to me, it's poorly executed both in terms of story and writing, and I find myself annoyed whenever I read it. And cliché upon cliché upon cliché. Tiresome.
I will finish it, because I rarely put down a book. The exceptions being Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close that I had to put down because I started crying, and Gravity's Rainbow because I just couldn't handle it. I've read Extremely since then, and enjoyed it immensely, and while I intend to read Rainbow some time, I need to make my way through some earlier Pynchon before I tackle it again.
After Prodigal Son, I will probably reread The Road or Pattern Recognition to purge my system of this literary travesty. Again, with emphasis on terrible.
ADDED:
I just took a "Which crazy writer are you" quiz, and the result is here!
What are the odds?
When I was fifteen-ish I read a lot of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. A very small number of those books made enough of an impression that I can still remember them, and most of them were King's. Of Koontz's stuff it's only Twilight Eyes, which was the first of his that I read, and The Bad Place that I really remember.
Recently I discovered that Mr. Koontz had come up with his own twist on the Frankenstein mythos, mad scientists and monsters and all, and I decided to order the first part of the trilogy, Prodigal Son.
The reason I stopped reading Koontz was that I wanted more. Not more plot or more suspense or more monsters, no, I wanted better writing. The reason that Koontz has sold millions and millions of copies of his novels is that he writes page-turners, and not because you have to know what happens on the next page, but because you sit down and read and all of a sudden you've read 130 pages and it feels like you've just been flipping through them without reading them. The text requires only the slightest processing involving higher brain functions, and it moves through the reader like sterile water. Tasteless, transparent, forgettable.
And I also wanted less. Less clichés. Less formulaic plots and characters. After a couple of books it was very easy to pick out who would die when and who would hook up with who.
So my expectations concerning Prodigal Son were very low. I went into this novel suspecting I would be disappointed. And I was, and am.
I'm sorry to say that Prodigal Son is a POS. Piece of shit. While the idea of a modern twist on the Frankenstein myth appeals to me, it's poorly executed both in terms of story and writing, and I find myself annoyed whenever I read it. And cliché upon cliché upon cliché. Tiresome.
I will finish it, because I rarely put down a book. The exceptions being Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close that I had to put down because I started crying, and Gravity's Rainbow because I just couldn't handle it. I've read Extremely since then, and enjoyed it immensely, and while I intend to read Rainbow some time, I need to make my way through some earlier Pynchon before I tackle it again.
After Prodigal Son, I will probably reread The Road or Pattern Recognition to purge my system of this literary travesty. Again, with emphasis on terrible.
ADDED:
I just took a "Which crazy writer are you" quiz, and the result is here!
What are the odds?
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Blame it on a brief bout of sentimentality
I'm not a sentimental guy. Not really. I do have some things that have been with my for a while, though, that I treasure. And today, when I realized one of them was missing I got sentimental.
Back in 1991 (I think) I spent three weeks in a language program on the Isle of Wight outside Great Britain. I didn't get a whole lot out of that, that has stayed with me, except two things: that we taught our host's parrot to curse in Swedish, and a bookmark.
That bookmark, a simple black leather thing with a Stonehenge logo (since I bought it at Stonehenge), has been with me since then. I haven't read a book in eighteen years where it hasn't been between the pages. It's been a part of my life longer than The Beard. And now it's gone. Gone gone without a trace. Strange that the loss of such a trivial thing can affect me like this.
Most likely it's because of all the memories associated with that bookmark. All those hours spent with a paperback in my hands, escaping to other worlds, on the train, at home, in the car, during lunch hour at work, outside, inside.
I looked for it in the places where I thought it might be, in some books I've read recently, on the table where I keep a pile of stuff, in the drawer where I keep even more stuff. Nowhere to be seen. To be continued.
Back in 1991 (I think) I spent three weeks in a language program on the Isle of Wight outside Great Britain. I didn't get a whole lot out of that, that has stayed with me, except two things: that we taught our host's parrot to curse in Swedish, and a bookmark.
That bookmark, a simple black leather thing with a Stonehenge logo (since I bought it at Stonehenge), has been with me since then. I haven't read a book in eighteen years where it hasn't been between the pages. It's been a part of my life longer than The Beard. And now it's gone. Gone gone without a trace. Strange that the loss of such a trivial thing can affect me like this.
Most likely it's because of all the memories associated with that bookmark. All those hours spent with a paperback in my hands, escaping to other worlds, on the train, at home, in the car, during lunch hour at work, outside, inside.
I looked for it in the places where I thought it might be, in some books I've read recently, on the table where I keep a pile of stuff, in the drawer where I keep even more stuff. Nowhere to be seen. To be continued.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Isn't it interesting... religious behavior is so close to being crazy that we can't tell them apart
I've had two religious experiences over the last few days. As in “brushes with religion”, not actual religious experiences. I only have those at live gigs.
The first was a few days back, as I was getting on the bus. Further back, at the middle door, what appeared to be an old imam got on. He had a great white beard, a shaved upper lip, a knitted white cap and a walker. I walked by him as he was settling in, and as I passed him be looked up. Nodded slowly. Sagely. Like a mentor to his student. Like Obi-Wan to Luke. I nodded back. Slowly. Sat down. Smiled.
So the guy thought I was Muslim. If I shaved my upper lip too, which I've done before, I would probably get a very interesting experience the next time I try to go to the US. When I went the last two times I made sure to braid my beard, to avoid being mistaken for a Taliban. Plastic gloves and lubricant ain't my idea of a good time.
The second one was on the train this morning. Picture this. Me sitting on the train, wearing a black Neurosis tee and baggy gray cargo pants, reading Cormac McCarthy's “Blood Meridian”, headphones on, probably leaking some Neurosis noise (yes, I'm currently seriously in love with that band. Again). A woman sits down next to me. Sits still for a while, maybe one station, and I feel her looking at me.
Then she taps my shoulder, I remove my headphones and she says, and I'm so not kidding, “Have you accepted Jesus as your savior?”. What. The. Hell.
Religion and I aren't friends. We're barely on speaking terms. And this is why. Nut cases on the train that want to “save me”.
My response then? “Eh...no”. Eloquent, eh? It was 07:15 in the morning. Give me a break. My brain wasn't up to warp speed yet. Then she goes off on this rant how Satan is in music, in books, in movies. I guess the word “Blood” on the cover was a dead giveaway. Me and Cormac, worshiping the Great Old Ones together. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!!
There were two things I could do.
1. Explode and rant back at the misguided fool. I was tired from a weekend of uneven sleep patterns, and cranky. A recipe for disaster, but oh so rewarding.
2. Get up and walk away.
Wisely, I chose number 2. I am The Bigger Man. When she got off at the Central Station she looked over at me with a look like “I pity you that you cannot see the way to avoid burning in hell, you poor man”. Again, the temptation was great to back up and go with item number 1 above. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and went back to the book. Don't let the fuckers get you down.
The first was a few days back, as I was getting on the bus. Further back, at the middle door, what appeared to be an old imam got on. He had a great white beard, a shaved upper lip, a knitted white cap and a walker. I walked by him as he was settling in, and as I passed him be looked up. Nodded slowly. Sagely. Like a mentor to his student. Like Obi-Wan to Luke. I nodded back. Slowly. Sat down. Smiled.
So the guy thought I was Muslim. If I shaved my upper lip too, which I've done before, I would probably get a very interesting experience the next time I try to go to the US. When I went the last two times I made sure to braid my beard, to avoid being mistaken for a Taliban. Plastic gloves and lubricant ain't my idea of a good time.
The second one was on the train this morning. Picture this. Me sitting on the train, wearing a black Neurosis tee and baggy gray cargo pants, reading Cormac McCarthy's “Blood Meridian”, headphones on, probably leaking some Neurosis noise (yes, I'm currently seriously in love with that band. Again). A woman sits down next to me. Sits still for a while, maybe one station, and I feel her looking at me.
Then she taps my shoulder, I remove my headphones and she says, and I'm so not kidding, “Have you accepted Jesus as your savior?”. What. The. Hell.
Religion and I aren't friends. We're barely on speaking terms. And this is why. Nut cases on the train that want to “save me”.
My response then? “Eh...no”. Eloquent, eh? It was 07:15 in the morning. Give me a break. My brain wasn't up to warp speed yet. Then she goes off on this rant how Satan is in music, in books, in movies. I guess the word “Blood” on the cover was a dead giveaway. Me and Cormac, worshiping the Great Old Ones together. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!!
There were two things I could do.
1. Explode and rant back at the misguided fool. I was tired from a weekend of uneven sleep patterns, and cranky. A recipe for disaster, but oh so rewarding.
2. Get up and walk away.
Wisely, I chose number 2. I am The Bigger Man. When she got off at the Central Station she looked over at me with a look like “I pity you that you cannot see the way to avoid burning in hell, you poor man”. Again, the temptation was great to back up and go with item number 1 above. Instead, I took a few deep breaths and went back to the book. Don't let the fuckers get you down.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Grown ups are quirky creatures, full of quirks and secrets
My day, in short.
Woke up. Had myself a turbo morning. Went to work. Had meetings from eight until four. Lunch during a meeting. A chicken sallad. Wrote a Change Request for our statistics system. Finished a Commercial Description for a new project. Took the train home. Finished The Terror by Dan Simmons. Excellent, excellent book. Noticed the girl had cleaned the entire apartment. Squeaky. Fucking. Clean. Smile. Ate hamburger. Watched The Others. Scary-ass movie. Cuddled in the couch. Watched Eddie Izzard's Circle. Laughed. Soon sleep. A good day.
Woke up. Had myself a turbo morning. Went to work. Had meetings from eight until four. Lunch during a meeting. A chicken sallad. Wrote a Change Request for our statistics system. Finished a Commercial Description for a new project. Took the train home. Finished The Terror by Dan Simmons. Excellent, excellent book. Noticed the girl had cleaned the entire apartment. Squeaky. Fucking. Clean. Smile. Ate hamburger. Watched The Others. Scary-ass movie. Cuddled in the couch. Watched Eddie Izzard's Circle. Laughed. Soon sleep. A good day.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
But I'd trade it all for just a little bit of piece of mind
So here I am, Thursday night, watching Criminal Minds, a semla in my stomach and a smile on my lips. A shitload of things to say, but no real peace of mind to say it.
It's not that I am in a bad place, I'm actually feeling pretty good, but I can't seem to be able to structure what I want to say. There are some things that I feel I need to get out, but they will just have to wait.
For now, a short list of wohoos!
- Faith No More is reuniting. One of my all-time fave bands is playing in Europe again this summer, after a ten year hiatus. Apart from dead bands and The Tea Party, they're the band I thought least likely I would ever get to see again. Wohoo!
- I've bought a new laptop. A Lenovo Ideapad 10-inch. A pretty sweet little machine. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow I'm hopefully getting a load of DVDs from Amazon in the mail, to go with the package already waiting at the post office. We're mostly looking forward to seeing The Escapist. Wohoo!
- I'm currently reading Starbucked, about the rise of Starbucks. Excellent stuff. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow night a bunch of people from work are going out to down ridiculous drinks and get Jakob, who is leaving to go to a small web development company, drunk beyond relief. Wohoo!
What are your wohoos right now?
It's not that I am in a bad place, I'm actually feeling pretty good, but I can't seem to be able to structure what I want to say. There are some things that I feel I need to get out, but they will just have to wait.
For now, a short list of wohoos!
- Faith No More is reuniting. One of my all-time fave bands is playing in Europe again this summer, after a ten year hiatus. Apart from dead bands and The Tea Party, they're the band I thought least likely I would ever get to see again. Wohoo!
- I've bought a new laptop. A Lenovo Ideapad 10-inch. A pretty sweet little machine. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow I'm hopefully getting a load of DVDs from Amazon in the mail, to go with the package already waiting at the post office. We're mostly looking forward to seeing The Escapist. Wohoo!
- I'm currently reading Starbucked, about the rise of Starbucks. Excellent stuff. Wohoo!
- Tomorrow night a bunch of people from work are going out to down ridiculous drinks and get Jakob, who is leaving to go to a small web development company, drunk beyond relief. Wohoo!
What are your wohoos right now?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Just the knowledge that a good book is awaiting one at the end of a long day makes that day happier
Back in 2005, Time listed the 100 best English-language novels from 1923 to the present. Why 1923 you ask? That's the year when Time Magazine was first published.
It pleases me that my two favorite writers, William Gibson and Neal Stephenson, are both on the list, though not for what I believe to be their best books (that would be Pattern Recognition and Cryptonomicon, respectively), and that Watchmen is on there. A graphic novel on that list. Amazing.
Out of the 100 books, I've read 15:
Animal Farm - George Orwell
Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
The Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
Naked Lunch - William Burroughs
Neuromancer - William Gibson
1984 - George Orwell
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey
Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson
Watchmen - Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
These two are on my bookshelf, waiting to be read:
Blood Meridian - Cormac McCarthy
The Crying of Lot 49 - Thomas Pynchon
And I tried to read Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon eight years back, and couldn't get past page 20. I've evolved considerably as a reader since, and I need to try it again. I need to read The Crying of Lot 49 first though. And the dozen or so other books waiting on my shelves.
Which ones have you read?
It pleases me that my two favorite writers, William Gibson and Neal Stephenson, are both on the list, though not for what I believe to be their best books (that would be Pattern Recognition and Cryptonomicon, respectively), and that Watchmen is on there. A graphic novel on that list. Amazing.
Out of the 100 books, I've read 15:
Animal Farm - George Orwell
Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger
A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
Lord of the Flies - William Golding
The Lord of the Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
Naked Lunch - William Burroughs
Neuromancer - William Gibson
1984 - George Orwell
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey
Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson
Watchmen - Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
These two are on my bookshelf, waiting to be read:
Blood Meridian - Cormac McCarthy
The Crying of Lot 49 - Thomas Pynchon
And I tried to read Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon eight years back, and couldn't get past page 20. I've evolved considerably as a reader since, and I need to try it again. I need to read The Crying of Lot 49 first though. And the dozen or so other books waiting on my shelves.
Which ones have you read?
Monday, January 5, 2009
People say that life is the thing, but I prefer reading
So, on to books. Here it's not the best books that came out in 2008, but rather the best books I read during 2008. Why? Because while I do buy a fair number of books each year, I don't necessarily buy new ones.
3. Winter's Tale, by Mark Helprin
A very odd, but fascinating book. A sort of fairytale, but not for children. It's a story about love, time and New York. Not an easy read, but well worth the time. If you have any interest in modern fantastic literature (not fantasy, mind you), read it.
2. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
Outstanding. A punch in the stomach. A man and his son walk down a road through an America devastated by an unspecified catastrophe. It's the first McCarthy novel I've read, but won't be the last. Stunning story, and amazing language.
1. JPod, by Douglas Coupland
Coupland is one of those on/off writers for me. Either I worship what he has written, or just shrug after I put the book down. This is definitely an on. The story revolves around a group of people working at a company that designs computer games, and is brimming with geek references and geek humor. However, it soon evolves into something else, as the main character's pot-growing mother and Douglas Coupland himself are introduced into the story.
I believe that Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close would have made in into the list, but I haven't picked that up since I put it down.
That is all. What did you read in 2008?
3. Winter's Tale, by Mark Helprin
A very odd, but fascinating book. A sort of fairytale, but not for children. It's a story about love, time and New York. Not an easy read, but well worth the time. If you have any interest in modern fantastic literature (not fantasy, mind you), read it.
2. The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
Outstanding. A punch in the stomach. A man and his son walk down a road through an America devastated by an unspecified catastrophe. It's the first McCarthy novel I've read, but won't be the last. Stunning story, and amazing language.
1. JPod, by Douglas Coupland
Coupland is one of those on/off writers for me. Either I worship what he has written, or just shrug after I put the book down. This is definitely an on. The story revolves around a group of people working at a company that designs computer games, and is brimming with geek references and geek humor. However, it soon evolves into something else, as the main character's pot-growing mother and Douglas Coupland himself are introduced into the story.
I believe that Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close would have made in into the list, but I haven't picked that up since I put it down.
That is all. What did you read in 2008?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
And they hummed of mystery
I finished Cormac McCarthy's The Road today. Possible spoilers below.
It's the first McCarthy novel I've read. I have to say I was skeptical, since suffering through the end of No Country For Old Men, which is based on a McCarthy novel, and frankly disappointed me like no other movie has for a very long time, especially considering how strong the start of the movie is.
So, on to The Road. The story centers around a man and a boy, walking down a road through a devastated America, post some unspecified apocalypse. The landscape is all ashes, forests and cities and everything burned. Destroyed. It's a very bleak picture McCarthy paints, and a post-apocalyptic setting quite unlike anything I've read.
The prose is at times exactly how I write, which probably has a big part in me liking it. The dialogue is condensed, and several key phrases repeat over and over, which gives the impression that the two characters know each other intimately.
My mind is winding down, going “Sleep now, oh bearded host animal”, so I must come to a conclusion.
I really, really liked The Road. I read it in two days, I will re-read it at some point, and the end almost made me cry. On the train. That almost never happens, on or off the train. Bookwise, only Man and Boy has affected me in that way, and I'm guessing Extremly Loud and Incredibly Close will too.
I highly recommend The Road for any fan of quality writing, or post-apocalyptic fiction for that matter. Now I have to listen to my mind and go night night.
It's the first McCarthy novel I've read. I have to say I was skeptical, since suffering through the end of No Country For Old Men, which is based on a McCarthy novel, and frankly disappointed me like no other movie has for a very long time, especially considering how strong the start of the movie is.
So, on to The Road. The story centers around a man and a boy, walking down a road through a devastated America, post some unspecified apocalypse. The landscape is all ashes, forests and cities and everything burned. Destroyed. It's a very bleak picture McCarthy paints, and a post-apocalyptic setting quite unlike anything I've read.
The prose is at times exactly how I write, which probably has a big part in me liking it. The dialogue is condensed, and several key phrases repeat over and over, which gives the impression that the two characters know each other intimately.
My mind is winding down, going “Sleep now, oh bearded host animal”, so I must come to a conclusion.
I really, really liked The Road. I read it in two days, I will re-read it at some point, and the end almost made me cry. On the train. That almost never happens, on or off the train. Bookwise, only Man and Boy has affected me in that way, and I'm guessing Extremly Loud and Incredibly Close will too.
I highly recommend The Road for any fan of quality writing, or post-apocalyptic fiction for that matter. Now I have to listen to my mind and go night night.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
And all the sweet serenity of books
I'm reading Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs right now. I was supposed to be reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, but I couldn't read it. It was too powerful. The grainy image of a man falling from the Twin Towers on 9/11 was just too much, right now.
So it will have to wait until another time. Because it was a very interesting book, and the main character, Oskar, is fascinating. I don't recommend it to the faint of heart or...whatever it is I am right now. Stressed out? Depressed by the fall? Angry at the world in general? All of the above? Probably.
Klosterman has some interesting views on pop culture in the 90s. I'm not even halfway yet, but I think I like where Cocoa Puffs is going, though I have some issues with Klosterman's use of the word “fucking”. I'm not against it as such, but I see no need for throwing it into a text just for the fucking sake of it *grin*
What are you people reading right now, and what do you think about what you're reading?
My plan for the coming week is to write. Maybe not finish but at least start two separate texts, one to post as part of the second fall deadline for my creative writing class, and the second to bring to said class' meeting at Storvik outside Gävle in early November.
So it will have to wait until another time. Because it was a very interesting book, and the main character, Oskar, is fascinating. I don't recommend it to the faint of heart or...whatever it is I am right now. Stressed out? Depressed by the fall? Angry at the world in general? All of the above? Probably.
Klosterman has some interesting views on pop culture in the 90s. I'm not even halfway yet, but I think I like where Cocoa Puffs is going, though I have some issues with Klosterman's use of the word “fucking”. I'm not against it as such, but I see no need for throwing it into a text just for the fucking sake of it *grin*
What are you people reading right now, and what do you think about what you're reading?
My plan for the coming week is to write. Maybe not finish but at least start two separate texts, one to post as part of the second fall deadline for my creative writing class, and the second to bring to said class' meeting at Storvik outside Gävle in early November.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
It's better to be barefoot than without books
I realized like/don't like sort of fizzled out and died. I will now attempt to resurrect it. Rise...rise...RISE!!! *thunder in the background. A hunched-back servant throws a switch*
beardonaut likes:
JPod, by Douglas Coupland. I finished this book a while back, and wanted to write something about it, but it just never happened. So here goes.
So far I've only read three of Coupland's novels, Microserfs, All Families are Psychotic and JPod, but I need to read more. Microserfs was good, Families was so-so, and JPod was great. Hilarious, well-written, exceptional characters, and with a nice meta-plot twist, since Coupland himself plays a minor part in the story.
My gut feeling is that you need to be at least partially a geek to appreciate JPod (and Microserfs) fully. There are geek references throughout, and most of the characters are geeks. However, since it is very well-written, anyone with an appreciation for witty contemporary literature should be able to appreciate it.
Now go read it.
beardonaut doesn't like:
Undisciplined dogs. Or rather, their owners. While walking home from the grocery store today, I met a woman with two dogs. I rarely pay attention to dogs, unless it's a pitbull straining at a leash held by a punk with too many heavy gold chains around his neck (wait, what am I saying? One heavy gold chain is too many...). So today I paid them no attention, and just walked on, headphones on, cut off from the world.
Until one of her dogs decided that whatever I had in my bag was of interest. Not like it bit me or anything, it just lunged at me and careened into me. The woman pulled it back from me, and started screaming at it.
Now, here was a person that obviosuly shouldn't own a dog at all. Why? Because she couldn't control it, and because she screamed at it.
I have no problem with dogs in general. My grandfather had dogs when I was younger, but they were well-behaved, well-trained dogs.
I could make all sorts of parallels here between dogs and children, but I won't. For now.
beardonaut likes:
JPod, by Douglas Coupland. I finished this book a while back, and wanted to write something about it, but it just never happened. So here goes.
So far I've only read three of Coupland's novels, Microserfs, All Families are Psychotic and JPod, but I need to read more. Microserfs was good, Families was so-so, and JPod was great. Hilarious, well-written, exceptional characters, and with a nice meta-plot twist, since Coupland himself plays a minor part in the story.
My gut feeling is that you need to be at least partially a geek to appreciate JPod (and Microserfs) fully. There are geek references throughout, and most of the characters are geeks. However, since it is very well-written, anyone with an appreciation for witty contemporary literature should be able to appreciate it.
Now go read it.
beardonaut doesn't like:
Undisciplined dogs. Or rather, their owners. While walking home from the grocery store today, I met a woman with two dogs. I rarely pay attention to dogs, unless it's a pitbull straining at a leash held by a punk with too many heavy gold chains around his neck (wait, what am I saying? One heavy gold chain is too many...). So today I paid them no attention, and just walked on, headphones on, cut off from the world.
Until one of her dogs decided that whatever I had in my bag was of interest. Not like it bit me or anything, it just lunged at me and careened into me. The woman pulled it back from me, and started screaming at it.
Now, here was a person that obviosuly shouldn't own a dog at all. Why? Because she couldn't control it, and because she screamed at it.
I have no problem with dogs in general. My grandfather had dogs when I was younger, but they were well-behaved, well-trained dogs.
I could make all sorts of parallels here between dogs and children, but I won't. For now.
Monday, September 1, 2008
1f u c4n r34d th1s u r34lly n33d t0 g37 l41d
It should come as a surprise to no one that I am a geek... Hello? Anyone? Surprised? No? Damn.
I spent (misspent?) large parts of my youth with my nose in comic books, rolling oddly shaped dice to determine whether my elf would be able to bash in the skull of an orc/troll/dragon/duck/whatever, and playing with Star Wars miniatures. My mother, the Swedish/English teacher, must have been dismayed to have one son with no interest in serious literature (me) and one with no interest in literature whatsoever (my brother). In the end, I think we turned out alright. Ish.
Nowadays I read the occasional graphic novel (comic books with more pages) and roll oddly shaped dice to...eehm...determine whether my elf will be able to bash in the skull of an orc/troll/dragon/duck/whatever. But with more story. And more pages. As for the miniatures, I don't play with them anymore (only when alone on a Friday night, really really drunk), but I still buy them. Not specifically Star Wars, but there are toys all over the place at home. Stewie. Ralph Wiggum. Pinhead. The Sarge.
And I spend a lot of time around other geeks. Music geeks, gaming geeks, tech geeks... I've come to the realization that you can be a geek about just about anything.
Back in the day a geek was a computer wiz with glasses with thick rims and questionable hygiene. I can safely say that I fall into none of those categories. I might be more tech savvy than the average Joe, but don't expect me to fix your PC.
By spending time with geeks, I get exposed to a lot of interesting and downright weird phenomena, special interests, sub-cultures, etc.
SETI is one of those phenomena. I have been aware of SETI through various books, movies, TV shows, articles, etc, for quite some time, but I had no idea I could contribute. Readers, meet SETI at home (Wiki, official site). Now go do your part, to help us all find our benevolent friends in the sky (I choose to ignore Alien, War of the Worlds, Predator, Independence Day, Footfall, Martians, the Inhibitors, etc. Real aliens are cuddly-wuddly).
Batman AND a ninja-ish assassin. That's almost too much...
And to continue the geek theme. I walked past a comic book store on Sunday and was unable to resist. The title above and a Lobo trade paperback now sit on my shelves. Mmmm...geeky.
I spent (misspent?) large parts of my youth with my nose in comic books, rolling oddly shaped dice to determine whether my elf would be able to bash in the skull of an orc/troll/dragon/duck/whatever, and playing with Star Wars miniatures. My mother, the Swedish/English teacher, must have been dismayed to have one son with no interest in serious literature (me) and one with no interest in literature whatsoever (my brother). In the end, I think we turned out alright. Ish.
Nowadays I read the occasional graphic novel (comic books with more pages) and roll oddly shaped dice to...eehm...determine whether my elf will be able to bash in the skull of an orc/troll/dragon/duck/whatever. But with more story. And more pages. As for the miniatures, I don't play with them anymore (only when alone on a Friday night, really really drunk), but I still buy them. Not specifically Star Wars, but there are toys all over the place at home. Stewie. Ralph Wiggum. Pinhead. The Sarge.
And I spend a lot of time around other geeks. Music geeks, gaming geeks, tech geeks... I've come to the realization that you can be a geek about just about anything.
Back in the day a geek was a computer wiz with glasses with thick rims and questionable hygiene. I can safely say that I fall into none of those categories. I might be more tech savvy than the average Joe, but don't expect me to fix your PC.
By spending time with geeks, I get exposed to a lot of interesting and downright weird phenomena, special interests, sub-cultures, etc.
SETI is one of those phenomena. I have been aware of SETI through various books, movies, TV shows, articles, etc, for quite some time, but I had no idea I could contribute. Readers, meet SETI at home (Wiki, official site). Now go do your part, to help us all find our benevolent friends in the sky (I choose to ignore Alien, War of the Worlds, Predator, Independence Day, Footfall, Martians, the Inhibitors, etc. Real aliens are cuddly-wuddly).
Batman AND a ninja-ish assassin. That's almost too much...And to continue the geek theme. I walked past a comic book store on Sunday and was unable to resist. The title above and a Lobo trade paperback now sit on my shelves. Mmmm...geeky.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Here is a simple but powerful rule - always give people more than what they expect to get
“Greetings from Amazon.co.uk,
We thought you would like to know that the following items have been sent to: …”
Now that’s customer service. I ordered yesterday, and part of the order is shipped today. Amazon are always fast and reliable, but this…phew. Me likey!
So what was shipped today?
Batman: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore (graphic novel)
Batman: Arkham Asylum by Grant Morrisson (graphic novel)
Absolute Sandman: Volume 3 by Neil Gaiman (collects a number of Sandman graphic novels)
The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made by David Hughes (non-fiction)
Forensics and Fiction: Clever, Intriguing, and Downright Odd Questions from Crime Writers by Douglas P Lyle (non-fiction)
Hooray! Hooray!
We thought you would like to know that the following items have been sent to: …”
Now that’s customer service. I ordered yesterday, and part of the order is shipped today. Amazon are always fast and reliable, but this…phew. Me likey!
So what was shipped today?
Batman: The Killing Joke by Alan Moore (graphic novel)
Batman: Arkham Asylum by Grant Morrisson (graphic novel)
Absolute Sandman: Volume 3 by Neil Gaiman (collects a number of Sandman graphic novels)
The Greatest Sci-Fi Movies Never Made by David Hughes (non-fiction)
Forensics and Fiction: Clever, Intriguing, and Downright Odd Questions from Crime Writers by Douglas P Lyle (non-fiction)
Hooray! Hooray!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Beware of the man of one book
Sometime early next week I’m going to place orders with Amazon (the English one, not the American one – toll fees suck almost as much as earwigs) and AdLibris to get me some books (and dvds and music, but that’s not the point of this post).
Now I want you people to point me to some new books. But not just any books. No no no. You must actually believe that I will like these books. Why? Cause I will judge you as a person based on the books you point me to. As John Cusack’s character Rob puts it in High Fidelity:
What really matters is what you like, not what you ARE like. Books, records, films, these things matter. Call me shallow, it’s the fucking truth.
Here’s what I like.
The Best Books Ever (fiction) are:
Pattern Recognition by William Gibson
Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk
American Gods by Neil Gaiman
Absolution Gap by Alastair Reynolds
I also enjoy non-fiction. The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Iraq by Philip Knightley is one of the best books I’ve ever read, and I intend to order three books on forensics and two about the American government’s use of mercenaries like Blackwater in Iraq with the coming order.
Oh. I will also order Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, and some sci-fi, probably something by Bruce Sterling.
So. Challenge extended. Wow me.
And I almost forgot. They have to be in English.
Now I want you people to point me to some new books. But not just any books. No no no. You must actually believe that I will like these books. Why? Cause I will judge you as a person based on the books you point me to. As John Cusack’s character Rob puts it in High Fidelity:
What really matters is what you like, not what you ARE like. Books, records, films, these things matter. Call me shallow, it’s the fucking truth.
Here’s what I like.
The Best Books Ever (fiction) are:
Pattern Recognition by William Gibson
Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson
Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk
American Gods by Neil Gaiman
Absolution Gap by Alastair Reynolds
I also enjoy non-fiction. The First Casualty: The War Correspondent as Hero and Myth-Maker from the Crimea to Iraq by Philip Knightley is one of the best books I’ve ever read, and I intend to order three books on forensics and two about the American government’s use of mercenaries like Blackwater in Iraq with the coming order.
Oh. I will also order Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, and some sci-fi, probably something by Bruce Sterling.
So. Challenge extended. Wow me.
And I almost forgot. They have to be in English.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Some great urban voodoo
OK. This is getting cree-he-he-heeepy. Earlier I pointed out that I had three headers starting with “A”. The last three headers begin with the letter “B” *cue stunned silence from readers, segueing into the X Files theme*.
Should the trend continue, I need one more header after this one not beginning with a “C”, and then three in a row starting with a “C”. Suggestions?
Further reference to the header: I recently finished The Best Book Ever. For the third time.
I’ve been quite the William Gibson fan since first sinking my teeth into Neuromancer (which is now required reading in some English college courses here). For those of you that don’t know, he coined the term “cyberspace”, and is considered one of the most influential science fiction writers currently active.
However, with Pattern Recognition, and more recently Spook Country, he has moved away from sci-fi, and into some sort of pop culture pornography thrillers. Pattern Recognition centers around Cayce Pollard, who works as a cool hunter for various clothing labels and is sometimes called in to determine whether a new logo for a company will work or not. She’s always right. In her spare time, she posts on a website dedicated to odd snippets of movie footage found hidden in various corners of the Internet.
I won’t say anything else. No spoilers. Read it. When I feel cocky about my own writing, I read the first page, which is available here, under “Excerpt”. The language is so good I go numb.
For more pop culture porn, check out Gibson's blog. Now, back to meatspace.
Should the trend continue, I need one more header after this one not beginning with a “C”, and then three in a row starting with a “C”. Suggestions?
Further reference to the header: I recently finished The Best Book Ever. For the third time.
I’ve been quite the William Gibson fan since first sinking my teeth into Neuromancer (which is now required reading in some English college courses here). For those of you that don’t know, he coined the term “cyberspace”, and is considered one of the most influential science fiction writers currently active.
However, with Pattern Recognition, and more recently Spook Country, he has moved away from sci-fi, and into some sort of pop culture pornography thrillers. Pattern Recognition centers around Cayce Pollard, who works as a cool hunter for various clothing labels and is sometimes called in to determine whether a new logo for a company will work or not. She’s always right. In her spare time, she posts on a website dedicated to odd snippets of movie footage found hidden in various corners of the Internet.
I won’t say anything else. No spoilers. Read it. When I feel cocky about my own writing, I read the first page, which is available here, under “Excerpt”. The language is so good I go numb.
For more pop culture porn, check out Gibson's blog. Now, back to meatspace.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
A Clockbeard Orange
I find myself fascinated by the concept of clockwork mechanisms and automata. I’ve wanted to write a story featuring those for quite some time, but haven’t found the time or the inspiration for it.
To find that inspiration, I keep coming back to this. The first known mechanical computer, dated to about 150 B.C.
The Antikythera Mechanism in all it's rusted glory
The idea that the ancient Greeks (or whoever built it) possessed the know-how to construct a mechanical computer almost 2200 years ago is mind-boggling. The degree of mind-boggledness (new word) depends on who you ask, though…
I read Graham Hancock’s Fingerprints of the Gods about ten years ago, and found it to be a combination of interesting maths and facts, and absolute madness. is theory is that there was some kind of ur-civilization from which all the ancient civilizations (Egyptians, Mayans, Sumerians, etc) sprang. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity. I need to reread it soon.
To find that inspiration, I keep coming back to this. The first known mechanical computer, dated to about 150 B.C.
The Antikythera Mechanism in all it's rusted gloryI read Graham Hancock’s Fingerprints of the Gods about ten years ago, and found it to be a combination of interesting maths and facts, and absolute madness. is theory is that there was some kind of ur-civilization from which all the ancient civilizations (Egyptians, Mayans, Sumerians, etc) sprang. There’s a fine line between genius and insanity. I need to reread it soon.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I have such sights to show you
I’ve been a fan of Clive Barker for quite some time. I can’t really say when I first saw Hellraiser, but the mythology it and some of its sequels portray remains my favorite horror mythology other than the RPG Kult, which is heavily influenced by Barker’s work.
Best. Villain. Ever.
Over the years I’ve read a few of Barker’s books as well, particularly enjoying The Great and Secret Show, Everville and above all Weaveworld. So I was kind of excited when I found Mister B. Gone at the bookstore, and it was four paperbacks for the price of three. A shopping spree ensued. I’m quite adept at sprees.
***SPOILERS WARNING***
Mister B. Gone centers around the demon Jakabok Botch, who is bound into the very pages of the book the reader has in front of him. An interesting premise, which unfortunately became a POS – again, piece of shit – book.
The whole idea is that Jakabok (or Mister B.) speaks to the reader, urging him to “Burn this book”. Again and again and again. It gets old. Quickly. Then there’s the allusion to some Great Secret that will be worth the wait throughout the book. Let me find a word that fits here…yawn. Quite possibly the least exciting reveal ever. And it’s supposed to be a horror story. At least it says so on the cover, in several ways. The only horrific part was a description of snot dribbling down the main character’s face. Apart from that, it was all bland, boring, a sleeping pill. No horror, anywhere.
I do believe I will burn this book, not out of any desire to set Mister B. free, but rather to rid the world of this abomination.
Best. Villain. Ever.Over the years I’ve read a few of Barker’s books as well, particularly enjoying The Great and Secret Show, Everville and above all Weaveworld. So I was kind of excited when I found Mister B. Gone at the bookstore, and it was four paperbacks for the price of three. A shopping spree ensued. I’m quite adept at sprees.
***SPOILERS WARNING***
Mister B. Gone centers around the demon Jakabok Botch, who is bound into the very pages of the book the reader has in front of him. An interesting premise, which unfortunately became a POS – again, piece of shit – book.
The whole idea is that Jakabok (or Mister B.) speaks to the reader, urging him to “Burn this book”. Again and again and again. It gets old. Quickly. Then there’s the allusion to some Great Secret that will be worth the wait throughout the book. Let me find a word that fits here…yawn. Quite possibly the least exciting reveal ever. And it’s supposed to be a horror story. At least it says so on the cover, in several ways. The only horrific part was a description of snot dribbling down the main character’s face. Apart from that, it was all bland, boring, a sleeping pill. No horror, anywhere.
I do believe I will burn this book, not out of any desire to set Mister B. free, but rather to rid the world of this abomination.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The Tunnel Theory, part 2
So what was I saying, really? Am I saying live randomly, try everything, repeat nothing, never do the same thing twice? Maybe be inspired by Eric Idle: “Once a philosopher, twice a pervert.”?
No. What I am saying is be aware of your tunnels, your routines, your paths through life, both physical and otherwise. See the patterns you create, among friends, digitally, on the street, wherever, and control them. If you do this by breaking them, changing them slightly, or merely observing them closer and thus becoming more aware of them, that is a step in the right direction.
Look at Ellie (in Swedish). She broke her routines this morning and took a detour on the way to work. It seems like she had a very good morning. Good for her.
Joel E (is that American Joel or Swedish Joel? I would guess American) commented on part 1:
“Routines are good: they give life stability, safety. Just don't let them control you.”
Very true. Chaos is not good. The point isn’t to go all Dice Man (interesting theory, POS – that is, piece of shit – book) and let chance guide you through life. Just don’t let routine rule you. Fight routine. Fight boredom. Break out of your tunnels.
What then, have I done to break out of my tunnels? Quite a bit over the years, but recently not enough. That is the very nature of routine, that as soon as you’re out of one another begins creeping up on you. My project for the next few weeks is to go someplace random, with my laptop, and write. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.
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