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adult books

  • Patricia Cornwell: Book of the Dead (Kay Scarpetta, No. 15)

    Patricia Cornwell: Book of the Dead (Kay Scarpetta, No. 15)
    I only put myself through this out of some sick completist compulsion. She jumped the shark when she brought Benton back to life. Although, reading this one reminded me of whatser in Misery. Maybe if someone kidnapped Cornwell ... she would write better books ... Hm.

  • Jennifer 8 Lee: The Fortune Cookie Chronicles: Adventures in the World of Chinese Food

    Jennifer 8 Lee: The Fortune Cookie Chronicles: Adventures in the World of Chinese Food
    This was cute, something light to read on vaca. But seriously, when I got to the end, at the big internment camps! reveal? I just thought ... What? She seemed real smart up till now. She couldn't figure that out? This is why an intense history curriculum is the cornerstone of our home education program.

  • Julie Kavanagh: Rudolf Nureyev

    Julie Kavanagh: Rudolf Nureyev
    This is the finest piece of writing I have read in five years, maybe longer -- maybe ever. It is a fascinating biography, sure, but the writing! The writing!! Applause! Clapping! She is drawing from so many sources and narratives and different kinds of material to weave this whole story together, but she makes it look so easy, and it is a technical marvel, aside from a great yarn. The account of his defection is masterful and pulse-pounding and page-turning! Also, when Fillette came to me and asked me why her new school teaches second position differently from her old school: I had a real smart, accurate & informed history-of-ballet answer for her! Five stars!

  • Sheherazade Goldsmith, ed: Slice of Organic Life

    Sheherazade Goldsmith, ed: Slice of Organic Life
    This had pretty photographs and sweet, matter-of-fact introductions to all manner of suburban-y farmstead, carbon-fp-reduction things, without all that kind of wooden-necklace attitude that made that Kingsolver book so insufferable. I fantasized for 8 or 12 whole minutes about keeping bees, but a. don't look good in white and b. neighbor keeps bees and will trade honey for vegetables I grow as ornaments. I love my neighborhood.

  • Debra W. Haffner: From Diapers to Dating : A Parent's Guide to Raising Sexually Healthy Children, from Infancy to Adolescence.

    Debra W. Haffner: From Diapers to Dating : A Parent's Guide to Raising Sexually Healthy Children, from Infancy to Adolescence.
    [while reading this book, I groaned in a singsong, "transphooobiaaaa!" Mari sang back, "Sweeeeediiiiiiiiish!"]
    the one for older children is better, though when my children are actually that age, I may find it as basic as I found this one. apparently, I am totally Swedish in my uptight heart. she talks about not omitting the concepts of family planning, contraception, and HIV transmission from the family's culture of quotidian sex talk, even to the littlest, which was good to remember. also, in the introduction reveals that in 21stc, there are still parents telling children they came from cabbage patch. (not in sweden)

*ping*

6 posts categorized "moi-moi"

tag team

Yawn

Thanks for the game, Alex.  Not like you were low on content.

Three-word answers:

1. Where is your cell phone?
like an appendage

2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend?
married twelve years

3. Your hair?
incites girl talk

4. Where is your father?
chasing skirts, surely

5. Cheesecake?
Buffalo '66 Ricci

6. Your favorite thing to do?
make pretty things

7. Your dream last night?
my fingerprinted heart

8. Your favorite drink?
dewar's, water back

9. Your dream car?
any pickup truck

10. The room you're in?
paper avalanche looming

11. George W. Bush?
319 days left

12. Your fears?
not unlike Serpico's

13. Nipple rings?
make babies happy

14. Who did you hang out with last night?
soccer league nutjobs

15. What you're not good at?
making things easy

16. Your best friends?
know their strengths

17. One of your wish list items?
to hear again

18. Where did you grow up?
city that works

19. The last thing you did?
shovel steel-cut oatmeal

20. What are you wearing?
black shirt, jeans

21. Tattoo on the lower back?
for owls, sure

22. Ketchup?
sticky homeland menace

23. Your computer?
double plus low-tech

24. Your life?
born to trouble

25. Your mood?
matthew 26, 41

26. Missing?
$29, alligator purse

27. What are you thinking about right now?
Calvin Trillin's writing

28. Your car?
excellent high-speed handling

29. Your work?
is never done

30. Your summer?
american south motoring

31. Your relationship status?
to have, hold

32. Your favorite color(s):
farmhouse brothel prints

33. Last time you laughed?
sweet homeland vigilantism

34. Last time you cried?
sunset & alvarado

35. High school?
hounds of God

36. This quiz:
by someone else

descending

Forward_2

friday five

1. Name five favorite movies.
i. dirty dancing; ii. godfather II; iii. the house of yes, iv. great expectations, v. notorious

2. Name four areas of interest you became interested in after you were done with your formal education.
i. poetry, ii. american history 1781-1861, iii. crafty-makey, iv. eric kroll

3. Name three things you would change about this world.

change begins at home.

4. Name two of your favorite childhood toys.
i. dolls, ii. jacks

5. Name one person you could be handcuffed to for a full day.
Mari, if it were just the two of us.  If I were on Full Mothering Duty? Kaylie.

calm before

Still_moreSunday morning, in the wake of 8 quiet hours of sleep, I vanquished The Sadist & His Class Featuring Medicine Balls, plus had it to spare 45 minutes on the down-escalator machine!  I drove home with the roof open, the weather was hot & clear, and Sonny & Cher happened to be on the radio singing "I Got You, Babe."  Last year (two years ago?) I wrote a reluctant post-conceptual love poem, the denouement of which is The Bonos' enduring love swelling publicly when she spoke at his funeral.

All of him/once lived inside of her, like false eyelashes, like a/porpoise, like the brutality of her diversion and/neglect, and the body of her love rose to share/forever in the glory of the collective memory of/their love. 

It might not be clear in a fragment, but listening to them singing from the studio back in 1965, I was bamboozled all over again to realize I got it so right.  I was calm & clear, obviously brilliant, and I felt like the girl from Ipanema.  I could not wait to get home and see the rest of my excellent, lovely family.  The rest of the day was amazing, winding up with Mari and I divvying up the Sunday NYT alongside theWeekend_002  hometowny & welcome interruption of playground chat with acquaintances while we all watched our children play in wholesome, outdoor, co-educational, self-actualizing, team-building playground games of their own design.

I was thinking about thinking about poems again, or as people will sometime tease, Hey, remember when you wrote poems?  Then it was bedtime and we were reading stories and then we had to go to the children's hospital's emergency room and then in the wee hours of the night -- or the first hours of the morning -- I had to downgrade my judgment of our nearest children's hospital aloud while on the premises from I would not take a dog there to I would sooner let Joseph Mengele treat my kids.  Then I had to go all triple-x, plus-plus Emperor Xerxes on them while they tried to keep me from taking my son out of their shitty facility AMA.  I mean, I am the mother, hello?  Additionally, I made it through The Sadist's class at the top of my game which means that on the inside I am like one of the 300 extras, duh!  Recognize!      

Emperor Xerxes did not write poems, I do not think.  Poetry is definitely the girl from Ipanema's game.   Maybe I could start wearing a bikini everywhere.  The point is, that is over.  Sunday night and all of Monday were devoted to getting my son's grave medical mystery sussed out at the farther-away-but-far-superior children's hospital over the river.  He seems to be fine, in the main, which we knew going in, since Garçon is the very picture of fine fettle.  We have to wait and see.  Tests, appointments with specialists, ultrasounds, next week.  Whatever.

I am glad something like this waited to come at the end of a super-relaxing day.  In spite of all the sleeplessness and up-all-nightiness of it, it turned out something of a Grand Family Adventure.  There was reading aloud from Roald Dahl books and funny face games and Life Skills Exposition.  Fillette rolls her eyes at the midnight rumble in the ER, saying of the fresh supervising physician, I can't believe she tried to boss you, Mommy.  Neither could I.  I cannot believe there are people in the world who actually let themselves get bossed, not outside of the gym.              

come to jesus

Youguys I had a billion things jingling and jangling through my head today and I wanted to write about how I am sick of summer fruits (sssshhh!), gluten-free doughnuts (zzzZzzz), three really excellent emails I got this week (shhhh), amores perros (it does not matter what I think of a 7yo movie!) & Mexican cinema (more zzZZZZzzz), and Mari's sartorial splendor (zZzzzzZZ) but I felt really unsure about how to make anything GO, especially with all the dissonant photographs I had to anchor the way-too-busy week and also my surly countenance of late and then I saw this over at glittergoods and thought about how I could stand to stand my ground a little about what I am supposed to be writing about, really.

This morning, if Mari had asked, "What is the purpose of your weblog, Femme?" I would have said, "To document my crafts and those of the children!" Then mid-morning I sent an email to a long-lost, fondly-regarded acquaintance and I described it as something entirely different, which after answering these questions, it looks like it actually is.

1. Do you promote your blog?

No. I am probably the Emily Dickinson of the weblog-writing world. I think writing a weblog is like being the girl who puts out -- the people you want know who you are & beat a path to yr door, there is no need to blabber. 

If I knew that I had An Audience, the whole thing would feel like work to me, anyhow. But, I pretty much try to walk a line between not being inviting in my narration and not excluding anyone who stumbles upon this & wants to keep up, for whatever reason. It is not a secret, but I am neither pimping myself.  There are links in the world.  There is a feed.  There is google, uh, harvesting? 

I guess when I have seen the conversational back-and-forth or (sometimes) the needy, harrassing solicitations some weblog writers get into with the You of the The Audience in the meat of the meta, it does not appeal to me. Because next thing, someone says, "Bah" when they should have said, "Boo" and then it is all, "You're mean, reader!"  But, who was all "Read me!  Read me!," hmm?  Also, the cross-talk?  Between non-authorial writers in comments sections? Discussing controversial topics?  (Meli once linked me to a blow job one that went on for weeks and weeks and weeks of fisticuffs)  Fuck that shit. Go to a bulletin board, already.  Or don't, like Alex says.

2. How often do you check hits?

Weekly or such -- as often as I update. I enjoy seeing which depraved google search terms hooked up with the search engine's malapropist to deliver the wrong traffic. Which is another reason I do not promote: I have seen the inner desires of these people on the onlines & what they seek. Yikes.

3. Do you stick to one topic?

A roman-fleuve is a chronicle of a family over time & I deliver what I promise, through my ownNewshoes  selfish lens.

4. Who knows that you have a blog?

Pretty much anyone who knows my maiden name has a free pass to it, should it come up. Usually it happens that I have been minding my own business about it and someone (in the know) will say, "Oh, I wish I had more time to talk about that project you worked on" or "I really miss yr writing, will you ever again," or something else of the kind of deep, connective baloney none of us have time for any longer, what since we have eighty billion children and 160 spouses among us, plus all the miles. Then I will sort of shyly confess it. But, really, whatever.  Also, anyone I know who has a weblog themselves, because I feel that it is only fair.  Even if they do not read it. 

5. How many blogs do you read?

The ones on the left. Mostly, they are people I know or have had some meaningful offline contact with.

6. Are you a fast reader?

Yes. I have also turned into an internet skimmer, since I realized that very many people fail to use their close-reading skills on the onlines, plus rely v heavily on their projector to light up what they are necessarily missing.

7. Do you customize your blog or do anything technical?

I have an extra page full of Garçon's non-text books for his continuing educational advancement. I have the typelist of tiny book reviews. I was thinking of a banner, but I have too much knitting to get crafty with pixels.

8. Do you blog anonymously?

Yes. I have changed everyone's name and been cagey about all the rest.  I make liberal use of red herrings.  I am tight-lipped, but not secretive, about where we live, as it surely is no secret to anyone reading who knows of our town.

9. To what extent do you censor yourself?

I keep foremost in my mind that anyone in the world can read this, without my permission or knowledge and without leaving a trace. Within those boundaries, I think that what I write is fairly confessional, in my own coy way. Because traffic way outpaces the population I know to be reading -- and because of some emails I have gotten from people reading of whom I have not heretofore known -- I think the whole narrative has this very lurid quality to it that keeps readers quiet, lest I realize I have company & bolt.  It is probably a voyeur's paradise.

Selfportrait 10. The best thing about blogging?

I get to put it out of my head. Also, when I feel like I am getting nothing done, it is all in down for the ages -- the books I read, the books I read to the children, how many holiday gifts I knitted, over which ennui I prevailed.

Also, it serves as a supplemental text for my dearest friendships. I mean, there is no way that -- for example -- the Israeli and I are ever going to get around to a meaningful discussion about Kershaw's last book or about my stomachaches over ballet school, what with the kindergarteners on crack racing around behind us in our respective homes and the trying to sort conversational triage on the topics front and center -- our spouses, current events, the chicken pox, parents in health crises. This way, he can sneak in late at night and then send me an email that says, "You are so weird -- cumbia. Plus, why didn't you bring the whole case up that time? Don't hold out on me, cookie!" If Fillette or Garçon do a piece of something that is exciting, I can photograph it and then say to Meli or Chickie, "oh, cute mermaid drawing. check it at the weblog."

Mari gets to check in on our days while he is away. I can go back and check on the details of past projects or yarn I used or dates of germination or whatever. Also, I cannot be coy about this -- it forces me to write, which is the thing that I do.  It will always be satisfying to me to distill a swirl in my mind down to its nugget of conflict, then dispatch it into the ether, a contained thing, a memory. 

coinage

I spent a lot of time at the library alone today, browsing.  Now that I am out of the holiday knitting mines, I have time to read once more.  I was quite gratified to learn that Cheryl Mendelson, the author of Home Comforts -- a cultural anthropologist's philosophical-yet-functional reference guide about the hows of homekeeping -- wrote an entire book about laundry, titled Laundry.  I borrowed it, though I don't really have time to read a book about laundry.  I expect I will buy it sometime later this year.  Maybe I can go wild and do so sooner than that.

There should be a word to describe the feeling of nostalgic contentment, the rightness that one experiences when they manage to find a book they loved as a child and know their children will love, too.  I was thinking the word is probably "readux," but it is a bit twee.  Well, but it fits, and I was having readux today.  When I got the book home, I realized it was quite similar to the book I wanted, but not the exact book.  This can be known as "false readux syndrome." 

The book I was looking for was a biography of Annie Sullivan and I remember being about Garçon's age and just gripped by the tale of the young Sullivan children in the poorhouse and her sauciness and the siblings' devotion to one another.  The book I found is called Annie Sullivan, A Portrait, and it is nearly the same book in narrative content, but the point-of-view is a little different in the book I read as a child.  Its prose was more immediate.  This one will do, and will be done, for it is unlikely they will want to read it again for a while.  I will keep looking.

Garçon had his first appointment with a speech-language pathologist today and in about 25 minutes, she honed in on all of his quirky little pathologies and bad habits, for the habilitations of which I have very little patience and am glad to have hired out.  With him, I really work best in large concepts, not so much in smaller tasks, and he had such an avalanche of details piling up into one huge obstacle that I didn't know where to start.  She is very good, however, and I am glad to be her scullery maid on this job.  Phew.

Also, in the area of hiring experts, I have to consult with plastic surgeons this month about the necessary excision of a lesion too large for dermatologists to handle.  One surgeon is the Glitzy Plastic Surgeon for Tits and Wrinkles, located in the Too-Too Part of Town and incongruously chosen for his noted experience in the area of craniofacial pediatric surgery (the target is something that should have, but was not, removed in my own pediatric years).  The others are Plastic Surgeons specializing in Reconstruction of Some Part of the Body at the Hospital Facilities of Major Universities.  I am terrified of physicians, so I just want the one that is Most Soothing and Listens the Hardest, which may be none of them and I don't know if I have the stamina to go on with the search.  By some miracle of scheduling, I was able to get all the consults lined up right in a row.  I hope one of them works out.   

disclaudere

My pal Marsha wishes to survey me.  Alors.

a) Four jobs I have had in my life:
i. I wore a headset; ii. I wore an apron; iii. I wore tall boots; iv. I wore glitter

b) Four movies I would watch over and over:
i. The Last Emperor; ii. Babe; iii. Apocalypse Now; iv. The Godfather II

c) Four places I have lived:
i. on a Great Lake; ii. on an isthmus; iii. on the Mississippi; iv. on an island

d) Four TV shows radio shows I love:
i. Car Talk; ii. Prairie Home Companion; iii. This American Life, iv. Mountain Stage

e) Four places I have visited:
i. Berkshires; ii. Blue Ridge; iii. Jersey Shore; iv. Finger Lakes

f) Four websites I visit daily:
i. angry asian man; ii. midtown lunch ...

g) Four of my favorite foods:
i. lambs; ii. pigs; iii. kimchi; iv. oolong

h) Four places I would like to be right now:
i. the basement galleries at the art institute of chicago; ii. cleveland's lunch; iii. the corner of state and gilman; iv. 1993

i) Four bloggers I'd like to tag:
I'm too shy to boss anyone but Algren.