Category : Books, Poetry

I think I’m actually the tiniest bit depressed about Hector dying. I thought about it at least three or four times today, and felt sad. WTH, Homer.  You suck.  And you suck, too, Brad Pitt!  /sad

Three dreams:

1. I dream I am on Top Chef. Padma Lakshmi is following me as I cook, and sneering (as she is wont to do) at my method. After a couple minutes of this treatment, I look up from my plating and say, “You know what? I don’t care if you kick me off the show – you’re an f’ing bitch!” And it felt good, because I can’t stand her. Every time she opens her mouth, I want to kick her face in.

2. I’m married to Patrick Dempsey, but cheating on him with Henry Francis, the ex-Mrs. Draper’s new Mister in Mad Men. We’re saving the world, but it doesn’t work out. And, on top of everything else, a Jewish soothsayer tells me I’m pregnant. Is it Henry’s?! Is it Patrick’s?!

3. I’m on a fishing trip with my dad. I feel bad for fishing. I feel even worse when he lifts a cleaver into the air and cuts off the fish’s head, splashing fish innards all over me. In the dream, I look down at myself, horrified for at least a minute before my subconscious self cannot take the idea of fish innards, and I bolt awake, gasping in terror. Fish innards FTL…

I’m stressed out, tired, and the house is a mess, but all else is well!

We saw the Coen brothers’ True Grit. I was not entirely happy with the ending, so I bought the book. The book is, for the most part, almost exactly like the movie (or, rather, vice versa). ***POSSIBLE SPOILER*** After some consideration, I concede it couldn’t have ended satisfactorily any other way; too much happiness ruins a good story.

***ANTISPOILER*** Not that the ending is unhappy. There are unicorns!

I’m about halfway through The Iliad now. The catalogue of who dies and at whose hand is both satisfying in its neatness, and extremely dull. I am enjoying it, in the slow way people enjoy things like sloths, and bird-watching, and Lawrence of Arabia.

I find myself sympathizing with the Trojans; particularly Hector. His brother is an ass, his city is under siege by asses, and the gods which rule his fate are asses. ***POSSIBLE SPOILER*** I have seen the sculpted sarcophagus bearing his fate at the Getty Villa; I know things don’t work out for him. Ah, Hector, Hector…the deaths of a thousand Orlando Blooms and a hundred Brad Pitts would not be enough to avenge you!

Anyway, I’m telling myself things get better with The Odyssey.

We’ve been really into boardgames lately. Somehow they are not as exhausting as sitting in front of a computer screen, although the learning curve is steeper.

I finished The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest. It was somewhat satisfying, but not as interesting as the first in the Millennium Trilogy, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. I expected more of a world-wide bestseller. Then again, Twilight was (is) a bestseller, so that accolade probably means nothing. De gustibus non est disputandum.

They’re probably going to screw up the movies.

In recent memory, other, less-heralded bestsellers have been far superior: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell for one, and The Thirteenth Tale for another. Not quite so mainstream in content, though I could argue that if you were going to believe in twinkling, fay vampires, you might as well go whole hog and dip into English magic and faeries.

Hard Case Crime.

I love a list, and I love these little books. I love the saucy, racy ladies. I love the tough, tortured detectives and the lurid plotlines. Yay! :)