abigailnicole: (books)


I've been reading Clay's Quilt. It's all about Kentucky, and it's accurate. Not just the bad bits, religion that endorses abusive relationships and drunken parties with cocaine and bourbon every weekend, trailers with single dads with pregnant daughters, men and women with only a fleeting notion of fidelity or relationships. The good bits, too, all the true loveliness of it, the descriptions, the winding roads and gardens, the fireflies and winter snows on the mountains.

One of my favorite parts is where Clay is imagining the death of the man who shot his mother.
'We all wanted so bad for him to be dead, that he just was. Something took care of it for us.'

Her words were final, and that was enough for Clay, anyway. He pictured the death wishes of everybody that had loved his mother--Easter, Gabe, Marguerite, Paul, Sophie--all of those vengeful prayers rising up into the air, becomine one solid and real entity. He imagined that they became a mass of red, crying birds, flying over the mountains, casting a shadow on the land beneath them. They were redbirds, and their bright bodies were stark and beautiful against the gray sky, the white earth. They sliced through the winter air as they zeroes in on Glenn. The murderer was so frightened by the oncoming flock that he lost control of his vehicle and plummeted off the side of the road. He tried to run, until he fell into the creek, where the birds rested heavily upon him--the thousand of them. They sat on him,flapping their broad, shiny blood wings, their eyes perfectly round and opaque. Finally, all of his breath was in the creek, and ice started to collect back around the corpse. Then the birds took off, one by one, like drops of blood being sucked up into the clouds, up to become a part of the gray, rolling sky of January.


It's hard for me to be objective, because everything I loved about Eastern Kentucky I loved about this book. The descriptions, the wildness of the land, the mountains arching off into the sky, the weather and the rocks and the trees and the wildness of trees over a creek bed with the spots of sunlight coming through, the way the snow crunches underfoot and it's so quiet you can hear your blood rushing through your body, the hot muggy nights when you open the windows even though it's raining.

But everything I disliked about Eastern Kentucky I disliked about this book. We don't have a lot to do to keep ourselves busy; there aren't shopping malls, or many cinemas, or art galleries or theatres or cafes or bookstores; things close at dark, people go home and watch TV, or people go out and entertain themselves. Evangeline's honky-tonk with whiskey-beer-chasers and lines of coke before you go on stage isn't a far cry from it. I hate how relationships are here, how people decide to get married so young, how they cheat on each other without a thought, how intelligent boys don't see a point in education anymore and stop being intelligent, how nice girls with a future ahead of them throw it away for some boy who won't stay with them for another six months, how commitment doesn't last and you're either giving up all worldly things or you're going to hell, how everybody's cousins with everybody else and outsiders are so distrusted. How people have such a deep, abiding love of this place and don't want to leave, they don't want to move away to somewhere where there are other things to do and other things to think about. You're in or you're out. And Clay Sizemore, and his wife Alma, and Easter and Anneth and Silas House....they're all in.

But not Marguerite. She's brought up to the mountains as a bride. No one really likes her or gets the time to know her but Anneth, she doesn't fit in with the locals, she only gets close to other people after Anneth is dead, and even then, in the last scene of the book, where there's the uncomfortable "If you were really worried, you would have come to see me instead of coming to Easter's" that hits home to even her son. I felt sorry for her, and I identified with her; sitting on her porch, reading books, playing records no one else listens to, surrounded by a sea of people who are all so close to each other that there's no room for anyone else. Marguerite stayed but I moved away.

This book got to me in a couple of different ways. I started it back in June, but after Alma dreamed the rising-water dream that signified death, I became absolutely certain that she and Clay were going to die and stopped reading it. I just finished it Saturday, waiting for their death in the final passages. I don't understand why Alma felt so out of place, why she hated all the other people at the beach, why she didn't want them listening to her music. She feels like they're judging her for being from the mountains? But that doesn't make sense, either; it's like she's afraid of them, of them disapproving of her and of not fitting in with them, so she jumps on them when they're saying nice things about her playing. I don't understand why. Did living in such a tight-knit community make her suspicious of anyone else? Is it just another extension of the distrust-strangers mentality?

I like not being afraid of the end of a book, so I'll tell you now: they don't die. Instead of the death by rising water that I feared, Anneth and Clay have a child, and Clay finally gets a piece of his dead mother back in the form of a quilt made from her clothes. It's a good ending, not the poetic one I fearec was coming, but a good one nonetheless. I'm glad this is the last book I've read this summer before going back to school, because it brings some closure to leaving this state, trying to idenitfy all those mixed emotions about whether it's home. It's lovely and lush and cool and deep, and it depicts its setting perfectly.
abigailnicole: (books)


today I took three hours I should have spent studying for the MCAT to read the old scifi classic Stranger In A Strange Land. I'd started it before, reading Bailey's copy, and the copy I got from the library is apparently the original, unabridged version. When Robert A. Heinlein wrote it, he turned it into the publishers and they said "It's too long, it's too weird" and so he cut out almost a quarter of it and that version got published. But after he died his widow went back and published the first version, which is what I'm reading.

I love Jubal. I really do. Crotchety old men protaganists are the best protaganists. Look at Vimes, look at Sherlock Holmes, Gregory House, Hercule Poiroit, look at ST:TNG even, Jean-Luc Picard is a crotchety old man who doesn't like children. And they're all fantastic. Sexism and sixties ideas of gender aside. He reminded me a bit of Delilah-house: the pleasure-dome of Jubal's house, with its overeducated population of clever people who do whatever they want to and get away with it. What was that quote? "Never doubt that a small group of educated citizens can change the world; indeed it is the only thing that ever has"? Well, that. <3 that. This book is kind of a if-Vimes-were-in-charge-of-Leonard of Quirm which is ahahaha the best.

That being said, let's not pretend like there aren't some serious gender issues--Jubal's small harem of educated, beautiful, talented geisha-women who are at his beck and call, Jill's tenderheartedness and complete lack of logical thinking or political understanding, the fact that all Martian adults are MALES. Obviously a writer who doesn't know women well, who can't write powerful women, who kind of just works with this massive handicap of being unable to write women other than how they are narrowmindedly viewed by patriarchal men. And it is a handicap; patriarchal literature loses a lot of richness because of its weak, interchangeable female characters. And the sex. Oh man, for so much free-love sixties-style as this book advocates it needs real women. What about "growing old doesn't hurt men, because (unlike women) we're not made to be admired". Ugggh. What about "nine out of every ten rapes, the girl asks for it"? Jill, stop it. The patriarchal views of women's sexuality really detract from the story. I really hope that the Fosterite stuff was what was cut from the original version, because I'd find it a lot more enjoyable. For a book that is well-researched, resplendent in archaeology, anthropology, linguistics, religion, science, and politics, (mostly Jubal) some strong women and sane sexuality would help. I wish it had stopped before 'his eccentric education'; after that it gets almost Randian in its desire to explain its all-encompassing philosophy, but without the page-turner story to keep things interesting. The second half dragged is what I'm saying.

And the book--the first half, anyway--is beautiful. It's very hard sci-fi: usually hard sci-fi refers to technology, when authors go on about explaining alien technology or human technology or how it works, but to me this is all hard sci-fi because it's very much about how, even if there is no technology. How would earth really react, how our government would really function, how we overcome these very concrete obstacles. Martian culture is replete with wonder and awe, but we humans must view that awe and wonder through the lens of cynicism and scientific explanations: so does the book. Only in Valentine Michael Smith does any of that wonder show through, in the brief scenes from his point of view. Overall, the book is cynical. There is not much wonder or awe that shows through. And that is fine. It's a richly detailed narrative that questions everything, that explains everything, that takes itself very seriously and tackles the subject with scientific precision. It's an adult book.

I explained the difference between adult books and children's books to Cecily on Friday by saying that in children's books, not everything has to be explained. You start with a fantastical premise and go from there: a family lives in a pirate ship. Their life is normal in every other way except they live in a pirate ship. Why? It's not important. Why did the little old lady live in a shoe? Who cares?! Why is Howl living in a moving castle? Not really important. Why does Willy Wonka live in a giant underground mansion with a billion pounds of sugar and about a thousand little orange people, how did he get there? Not important. Not having a reason, not having an explanation to everything, is what gives children's literature an air of mystery and excitement. One of my favorite passages from The Phantom Tollbooth is when Milo meets the child who grows from the top down: he is born at the height to which he will grow, and eventually his feet touch the ground as he gets older. He has an offhanded remark about "Of course, some of us are born at the ground and get taller and taller until their heads touch the clouds, but they leave us eventually" and that is all that is ever said on the subject. That offhand remark just adds mystery and excitement of the unknown to the novel. The explanations aren't important. The leap of faith, the ability to take the leap of faith, is what makes it children's literature and what makes it magical. I maintain this, even across "young adult" fiction that deals with more adult topics than most of "adult fiction" and has some more complex writing than some "adult fiction". And I like that element of surprise and mystery in my fiction. It's why I continue to read juvenile and young adult fiction; some things you don't understand, you must take on face value. Believing six impossible things before breakfast keeps your mind fresh. It's good to read things that are different and delightful, where explanations are not always forthcoming and suspension of disbelief muscles get stretched.

Now back to MCAT studying so that I may someday be a rich and powerful crotchety old doctor/lawyer and live in my own house with a harem of beautiful women at my beck and call. time to be superbusy once again.
abigailnicole: (books)


I've discovered I work 12-8 tomorrow instead of 10-5 and so can stay up and write my book review instead of going to bed at my fantastic old-person time of 11pm. It's fantastic. I wish I could go to bed at 11, wake up at 8 and eat breakfast and do sun salutes every day. My life would be better.

I read Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love In The Time of Cholera over my vacation, and I don't think it's good beach reading. Just a head's up. And I wasn't in love with this book, for all the hype around it. I think it is a great book. I think that no matter what your ideas of love are, they are represented in this book and probably accurately. Gabriel Garcia Marquez's brand of absurdism is a little too dehumanizing for my tastes; characters are at once real and highly ridiculous, idealized versions of themselves. He does it well, obviously: I'm not going to make bad comments about the quality of a Nobel Prize winner, so let's move on to what I had issues with, which was the content.

Maybe it's just where I am right now. I'm not looking for a book about love, because I've been in and out of a rough relationship and I want something not like that right now. But it's not just about couple-love; mostly it's self-love. Fermina Daza on the bathroom floor, smoking her cigarettes with the wrong-way out and masturbating while she's angry at her husband; the widows that Florentino Ariza sleeps with who use him for their own pleasure, how sex fits into love and where it does and where it doesn't. And I liked it best where it did, and where it didn't it made me really uncomfortable. When Florentino Ariza, age 74, has an affair with his 14-year-old ward, I was absolutely horrified.

That's the crux of the book, though. Florentino Ariza spends his entire life in love with Fermina Daza, waiting for her husband to die so he can be with her again. When her husband dies, he abruptly cuts off his affair with his 14-year-old ward (an affair that began, if I remember correctly, when she was twelve) to pursue the 72-year-old Fermina Daza. While they are traveling up and down the river, flying a false flag of cholera so they can avoid all checkpoints and stops, his ward commits suicide by drinking a bottle of laudanum. If this is a book about sex and love and where they fit together and where they don't, then the ending of the book is that exactly, where this destroys and where it heals. How Fermina Daza gains happiness at the expense of another, how sex destroys where love heals, where the two come together. Gabriel Garcia Marquez there puts it with the widows: they come together in you, when you are doing it for you and not for someone else, how dangerous and foolish and inevitable it is to give yourself away to someone else.

but let's ignore the overarching theme for a second and talk about Dr. Urbino (Fermina Daza's husband)'s last words, and how FANTASTIC they are: "Only God knows how much I've loved you."

RIGHT?! Which only reminds me of other great last words--Will Navidson in House of Leaves writes in what he thinks is his final letter to his wife, Karen, "there's no second ive lived you can't call your own"

HOW CAN YOU PICK BETWEEN THOSE TWO. They melt my mind just thinking about it, my skies go black and my heart fills with water and I want to die with my lover's letter in my hand. So here's the question I have for you: What are your favorite romantic last words? When it comes to dying in your lover's arms, what are you going to say? What did your favorite book/movie/song character say? Because I don't know if there's anything that tops those two, and I wanna hear them.
abigailnicole: (books)


The copy of Forrest Gump I read I got from the Fayette County Public Library for fifty cents or something like that and it has Tom Hanks name on the cover in large misleading letters. Because he didn't write the book, he's not in the book, the descriptions that Winston Groom wrote of Forrest actually don't fit with Tom Hanks at all, he's supposed to be two hundred and fifty pounds and 6'6".

And the whole thing is a bit absurdist; even more so than the movie (the book WAS first, fyi, otherwise why would I read it?). Things not included: Forrest becoming an astronaut (due to his idiot savant mathematical prowess) and being sent into space with a chimpanzee. The spaceship consequently crashes into the forests of southern Africa somewhere, where the crew (Forrest, the ape, and a woman) befriend a tribe of cannibals. Forrest learns to play chess and must play the head of the tribe--a Yale-educated cannibal--to avoid being eaten. The woman runs off with a pygmy, Forrest returns to America to become a wrestling star and impregnate Jenny before she leaves. He then becomes a chess champion, starts his shrimp company, unsuccessfully runs for Senator, and becomes a homeless bum on the streets of New Orleans by the end of the novel. It is more colorful and more absurd than the movie.

And that's the point, right? to be absurd to make fun of America. whereas the movie was absurd to be heartwarming and revel in simplicity and the joy of life, this is just as much complications and "I got to pee" jokes that failed to impress me. It's got all the ridiculousness, but not the warm humour and compassion. It's very enteratining, and parts are pretty funny, but this is one case where the (radically different) movie adaptation managed to be deeper and more meaningful.
abigailnicole: (books)


I've not been keeping track of my book reviews like I should. Last friday, the day I went to see Eclipse with Amanda, I read Inamorata by Joseph Gangemi, all about seances in the 20s. It was good--I just was reading through our paperback literature and picked it up because it looked interesting, and it was.

It started out as a kind of ghostbusters thing, with our main character Finch figuring out ways to disprove psychics for Scientific American magazine, but then after the first two he goes to the home of the third one and falls in love with her. Instead of solving the matter quickly, he gets involved with her marriage, her first marriage, and tries somewhat to explain her visions: the first two are very satisfactorily debunked with SCIENCE but the last one is never spelled out. Hints are given at how she could accomplish the phenomena that are revealed, and the explanations vary from very dexterous feet and ventriloquism to multiple personality disorder, but none are ever brought forth. The end finds our hero, like me, dissatisfied, listless, and unfulfilled.

I wanted this to be good. I wanted it to be another mystery-solving, where he becomes very close to his professor and uses clever problem solving skills to firmly and politely disprove this woman's psychic powers, not the sappy love story that it was. I think that's why it was popular--ambiguity of literature and life and all that--but I for one would have preferred a more satisfactory ending.

Eclipse was worse than New Moon, as expected. But it was my least favorite book, made of 100% filler. I think we laughed in all the inappropriate places and made all the other audience members hate us.
abigailnicole: (Default)


I forgot yesterday was the solstice until kelsey posted about it. Luckily, I wrote a summer solstice short story a few weeks ago--it's not really a short story because like everything else I write I'm fitting it into Be Nice or Leave which I'm combining with 1522 St Joan Ave and the captain's story to make a novel, but it's about how Delilah learned that she didn't need to sleep, because the days got longer and longer, and with them so did her waking hours. Then the solstice came and went and after that she just didn't sleep anymore.

I'm in a funk. Yesterday I started and finished Incarceron which was an interesting premise which, like everything else I read, I would have liked to see done with more finesse--the dystopian, stuck-in-the-past Protocol and the out-of-phase sentient inescapable planet-prison were really great ideas! but I am picky and I want all books to be fabulous. This might be my own fault, I read too fast. I'm like an obsessive eater who goes after whole pies in one sitting. Of course I can't appreciate them. BUT I WANT TO. I want someone to go Chuck-Palahinuk and put aluminum foil in that pie so I have to stop and enjoy every bite. Rar rar rar.

My personal desire for THE PERFECT BOOK aside, this was a good book, interesting premise. The characters aren't typical--Finn is, but Claudia way isn't. Her commanding, domineering, manipulating nature surprised me: she's imprisoned by this system but wants to destroy it out of spite of the people therein, not to free herself from it. I don't think she really wants to get rid of Protocol or give up her position of power, just make life convenient for herself. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is the first in the series. I don't know when the others are coming out, but I probably won't read them anytime soon.

I'm finishing Clay's Quilt next--I started all these books about the same time--so more on that in a bit. In the meantime I'm still looking for a REALLY SATISFYING BOOK. Like Edgar Sawtelle but this year. So the search continues.

Also "From grocery-store shelf-stacker to sheik's surprise wife!" was the tagline on a book someone brought back today. You're welcome.

Also a coke mysteriously drained into my cupholder while my iPod was in it (upside down). Only the headphone jack got wet, and there's liquid in the screen, but it still turns on and works. It sat in about a half-inch of coke for a few hours, but it still works? iPod classics are stupidly impossible to open so I'm just gonna keep seeing if it works, maybe the screen will dry out. hopefully the screen keeps working. that'd be fab.
abigailnicole: (books)


should I feel bad that I just spent a good half of my workday reading Videogum? Because I don't, I had a morning of fail (Leverage fail, hair fail, Doctor Who fail, food fail) and felt crappy and didn't feel like doing anything except trying to stifle laughter behind the front desk. Mom sent me an email this morning that was a forward of a thousand billion cute animals and at the bottom it said "if it made you smile, don't regret it" because that's the kind of thing those forwards say and I know she would never forward me something unless it had cute animals or was NPR concerts she knew I'd like, or something. Short story I don't regret it.

I do regret not posting this book review earlier, because The Gates by John Connelly was a charming book. If you remember the demon-summoning premise of A House With A Clock In Its Walls (which I really remember because living in an old house full of clocks with a crazy uncle and getting to eat chocolate in bed while you read books seemed like a great way to spend your time) then add some particle physics for elementary school kids and clever prose that made you wish childhood was actually that cool and you get The Gates. It's in tone a lot like Discworld, the same blend of puns/narrative humour and slapstick, with a fantastic narrator voice and a good main character (I wish real kids/childhood were this cool).

My problem with it is the pacing. It would be a good movie, because in movies, you have one main plot. But if you've seen a movie made of a book, the first thing you realize is that they cut out a bunch of stuff. Books have side plots to make the characters and situations and settings interesting. When you make a movie, you don't have time to show all the side plots and so you cut them out. If this book became a movie it'd be exactly the same as it is now, no side-plot cutting-out needed. Even the minor side plots could be done with a twenty-second jump cut. It's a charming book, and I'm glad that I read it, I just wish it had more plot, something to take up the extra space that happens when the undead rise and you get a lot of dumb policeman filler, about which I care not. His friends, Maria and wahtshisface the cricket player, I wanted to hear more about them. Why does an 11 year old know about Einstein-Rosen bridges? Maybe you should have told me more about her!

I would still recommend it--my fourteen-year-old brother is about the perfect audience, and it's clever and not terribly time consuming. So if you want a funny beach read about particle physics and how the LHC causes all Hell to break loose, go for it.

also I watched the Season 3 premiere of Leverage with mum and dad. We had no idea what we were watching--Dad thought it was a movie, mum a new show, and later I googled it and found out surprise! season 3. I was totally retroactively right in my prediction that Nate has an ex-wife. So I'm going to try watching the first two seasons, I'll tell you how that goes. I still haven't finished Doctor Who or started Deadwood yet. sorry ladies...

also I'm reading all these things simultaneously, and probably won't review most of them:
abigailnicole: (books)


I was lonely, and the internet was broken, so I started reading Audrey Niffengger's The Time Traveler's Wife. I don't think this was a fantastic choice for warding off the blues, though....between this and Never Date A Writer I don't know that relationships are worth it or if they're the only thing that's worth it. I need a perspective not-relationship novel.

I love stories about time travel. I'm writing one, after all. And the time travel in this was well-executed...the problem of course is that time travel isn't real and doesn't work, so you have to walk a fine line between the mechanics and the story, and this toes that line well. While technology can be explained by a few sentences of technobabble, time travel affects causality and thus affects the flow of your plot. You can really write yourself into a corner in a hurry. The interesting thing is that The Time Traveler's Wife is written into a corner for an entire book. Henry, the main character, has no choice but to go through these experiences--he's caught in a corner. These are scenes I'd hate writing, but she does them well.

The plot is very well done--time travel is tricky, and she has same scenes reseen from different points of view, by different characters or sometimes the same character at different ages. The situation is profound, moving, the imagery lovely. I cried at the end. He died quoting Andrew Marvell, what do you expect? "Had we but world enough, and time--" ahhh.

But this book didn't quite satisfy me. It did, in some ways: the plot was lovely, well-thought out, the writing was simple, clear, precise, and lovely. What bothered me were the characters. And I didn't really know why until a patron interrupted me, while I was reading this today, to check out Twilight. And then I sat there for a moment and thought about it.

Because it's the same story. Bella and Clare are both pretty, feminine, have long hair, fall in love young and say with that man for life, don't do very much on their own. They both want a child, both have a daughter, both have husbands that are more interesting than they are, both their lives totally revolve around the person they love. The conflict in each depends on the defect of the other person that they love: vampire, time traveler. The intellectualism is better done here, obviously, and the plot is MUCH better written---but the characters remain the same mold. The perfect family save for one thing. A woman whose life depends on her significant other. When Edward/Henry leaves, Bella/Clare sits around and doesn't eat, stares into space, turns into emotionless zombies, stays in bed all day and feel awful. Only Jacob/Gomez is there to distract her but the depth of feeling is friendship and not love.

And this story is much better, don't get me wrong. But the characters irk me. Henry I love. A gaunt, tall, thin, dark, punk-lovin, alcoholic, sort of authentic version of the Arsonist. But he's all fuzzy around the edges. And that's all right--if that's a product of time travel, because he is mostly telling his own story and he feels fuzzy around the edges, then it's great characterization. But Clare is supposed to be his anchor, to hold him down, right? And all I know about her is that she has long red hair. Blue eyes, or maybe green. Part of this is the nature of the characters--from six to forty-three in the course of one book--but some of it is just general characterization. She does physical descriptions of characters well: when you're doing descriptions you stick to main traits that are easily identifiable, and let characters be memorable based on personality. But Clare needs to be solid. She needs to be what is holding him here, and she needs to be firmly fixed in the reader's mind as a solid point, and she's not. They're like twin stars in a solar system: they hold each other in place, and when one is missing the other sort of drifts away. I want them to be more solid, especially Clare. Even if she is the type of woman who spends her whole life waiting on a man, and who ahs a man at the center of her universe...well, maybe that's why she's not a very solid character, if she lets someone else be that much a part of her. But I want to know that, I want details of that, I want Clare to be more than she is. All of their friends, even Charisse and Gomez, feel flat and placeholders, not real and solid and fleshed-out: she's not good at doing little details that make characters really come alive. and for all of Alba's build-up she doesn't have much: part of that is her age, I know, you're not solid when you're that young. But you can have children who are more than a placeholder: look at Pearl, if you want to look at children that symbolize things.

Maybe these character types--interesting male, female who is dependent on him and whose life is mostly him--are more prevalent in literature than I think or realize. But I don't think it has to be this way, and I know it's not. Look at Jane Eyre, for crying out loud. She realized this very thing and had to say no, had to leave it so that this wouldn't be the case. She was solid first, and then she was solid again after he was gone. As a disconnected woman, I have to believe that there is more to life and literature than this: waiting on a man.

So thank you, Audrey Niffenegger--I love your plot, and I love your story, and I love your French poets and your prose. But your characters need to stand on their own.
abigailnicole: (epiphany)


I drive about 45 minutes to work each morning, so I have a lot of time to listen to music. And I drive the Hal Rogers Parkway, which is a sort of straight no-turnoffs interstate kind of road that you can safely drive at about 70 or 75 mph. And all the cars that pass me (which is most of them) usually drive at about 70 or 75mph. They don't seem to appreciate my efforts to drive my car in neutral for as much of the parkway as I possibly can, probably because this leads me to not care if I go the posted speed limit of 55mph. But I digress.

The point was that I get a lot of time to listen to music. I do this drive 6-10 times per week, which is about 5-7 plays of any CD and since so far I'm going at about a CD a week I thought I should say something about them or give you a song or something. So far it's been all ladies--

Kate Nash was the first week, and luckily I could fit both her CDs on one blank CD if I took the songs I didn't like from her first CD off. I loved Made of Bricks the first time I heard it, it's poppy fun and all that. But My Best Friend is You sort of went the other way? She could have gone two ways--the pop-star punk-rocker way or the Regina way, because her first CD was split about half and half between them, and she definitely went more pop-star punk-rocker. I really like Paris, which is the pop-star fun part with horns that sound like the audio equivalent of little starbursts on your powerpoint presentation. But I think my favorite is the regina-esque Pickpocket (have a download) because I had to stop and listen to it about a million times. Another one of those uncomfortably close lines--"get out, get out of town, before it catches up to you and you cannot withstand..." Mansion Song's spoken-word intro makes me really uncomfortable, but I never turn it off, so does that qualify it as art? I just have to keep listening for that Marla-Singer line:
"just another undignified product of society--
THAT GIRL SHOULD HAVE BEEN A MANSION"
and I don't regret it after that point.

Sleigh Bell's Treats was last week and for all that I've been soooo excited and checking pretty much every day in may to see if this was leaked/out yet I'm not sure about it? The stuff that we've heard before is all fantastic--Infinity Guitars, Crown on the Ground, Ring Ring/Rill Rill (I'm really upset that they switched the pronouns on the "you're/we're just the weatherman, we/you make the wind blow" line, that was my FAVORITE and now it's backwards and I WANNA MAKE THE WIND BLOW) etc. But a lot of the other ones are just ehhhhh. And ever since that awful overplayed ahhhhh Boulevard of Broken Dreams I can't take that guitar effect seriously, the one at the beginning of Straight A's, I think it is. It's a bit like Japanese punk to me, too, am I the only on getting this vibe? Maybe the guitars + cute high girl singing just makes me think Japanese punk. It would be better in a movie, I think, with some badass action scene and a blonde chick wearing all black. You know, someone who goes from timid to badass in the course of the movie, and at the end there's a kind of Boondock Saints action/assassination/robbery/criminal/badass montage with Sleigh Bells playing. also loland ditto on 10 Listen's "I want to rent out musical halls and destroy their PAs with this album. I want to see if this album can literally raise the dead. I think it can. I want this album to take my hearing because it’s the last thing I want to hear before I die and I don’t want to die yet." Preferably Riot Rhythm, kthxbai.

This week I'm listening to Basia Bulat's Heart of My Own. Do you know those bands that have no context? Some bands you hear about in blogs, or on the radio, or in magazines, or from friends, and you know what kind of music they're classified as, their label, the genre, where they fit: they have context. Basia Bulat has no context for me--I heard Go On on stereomood and immediately downloaded it, then heard Gold Rush somewhere and decided that getting the whole CD would be a good idea. So I did. And it still doesn't have much context. I like it, quite a lot--have this rollicking ditty (how often do I use the phrase rollicking ditty? I think this makes the first time, or the second if you count the use in this parenthetical phrase) called If Only You which starts out "I'm giving up, I'm going home" which is so much how I feel right now. Look out for fantastic lines like: "I've said hello to Jekyll and to Hyde / I still can't say who I want by my side / And truth be told / I love them both / and I'm no better half" ahhhhh look at that. Just look at that. And it's all good! you know, the sunny tree-covered parkway with sunglasses and windows down and all that and it's good for that. For real? All I know about her is that she's Canadian. And I'm okay with that. Music in a vacuum is easier to appreciate, sometimes.

in other late-breaking music news, I'm going to see Andrew Jackson Jihad (just a Sean solo show actually) with my wives on Saturday. whooooo! I'll probably post about that when the time comes. I'm excited to wear my Andrew Jackson Jihad outfit though. I've thought of this outfit (rainbow dress + cowboy boots Evian gave me with the rainbow stitching) as this ever since I walked down McAlister avenue singing Brave Is A Noun "I could go off the deep end, I could kill all my best friends" and it felt like the appropriate outfit. So that's to come.

I forgot how much I like having long hair. I do! You can do so much with it! I can do braided pigtails if I want (which is mostly the only fun thing I can do with long hair that I can't do with short hair, but that's a really fun thing, in my defense). Now my hairdresser says the last four inches are split ends. Having hair that is fourteen inches long is a great length, I can wash it every two days and be fine.

Food here is really cheap. Someone brought in a dozen doughnuts today--the Mininites make them daily, those glazed doughnuts with the chocolate frosting? you know, the really delicious ones that are just fantastic. And it was $3 for a dozen of them. Food is so cheap here!!! Also the Mininites have a produce stand on the side of the road--at night, they just put a little rope across the entrance to their stand and leave all the produce there, overnight and no one ever takes it. At least, not enough to make them stop doing it. Food is so cheap, and there's so much of it, and it's nothing like college where I am always hungry.

Also I kind of stopped reading a book a day except yesterday, the 25th of May, I read Night Watch and wore the lilac like I do every year. I've decided to start knitting a sweater instead. I've got another 2 inches of stockinette bottom trim to go before I start the cable pattern. It's for mom so I might go up a needle size, she likes her sweaters not-form-fitting, unlike me. Also I realized I'm (stereo)typically attractive. Huh, when did that happen? This is not something I have much experience with.

Did I tell you about my intentions to make the Jaws Show Me The Way To Go Home my ringtone? now you know.

Except Marco is getting so sad. After a week of me installing drivers and running scans and downloading patches and reinstall disks and doing tests I've finally gotten Error 0146 HARD DRIVE FAILED. :( So Marco's not doing well, poor dear. I'm gonna try a hard drive complete wipe tonight and THEN! I told mom if I couldn't fix it by the end of the week I'd take it to a real computer place. They'll probably tell me my hard drive is broken, charge me $60 and say it'll be $XXX to put in a new hard drive. I'm contemplating getting a netbook + external monitor, and then just using my external hard drive as my main thing if Marco dies. Maybe I can get external speakers, too, and move away from so much one-computer reliance, cause it's not working well for me.... maybe I'll just get a new hard drive. it's a sad situation.
abigailnicole: (books)


I spent most of today alternately reading Notes From A Small Island and browsing foodgawker. Now I want to make foccacia! Soft pretzels! The verdict's still out on the Pumpkin Garlic Chili Bread though.

I do love Bill Bryson. I had the fortune of reading A Short History of Nearly Everything first and A Walk In The Woods second. I did like them a lot more than Notes From a Small Island, mostly because this read like a series of newspaper columns. His voice is very amusing but his adventures less so; he's mostly convinced me Britain is a nice, quiet, and boring place to live with the normal sorts of tourist attractions if you like history. I'm blaming him for the nearly two litres of tea I've drunk today, as well for that spelling of litres.

It's written in the British, very dry humour way, with lots of people bumping into each other and going: "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I had better go" followed by "I think you must" and ordering sandwiches and going into tea shops. He spend a lot of time lamenting the gaudy commercialization of Britain from when he was there in 1973, which is fair.

It's worth a read for the lolarious passages. Stand-up comedian type of passages, like the "I especially hate it when you get a new car and go into a pub, because somebody will always start quizzing you about it, which I dread because I don't even understand the questions. 'So you've got a new car,' they'll say. 'How's it drive?' I'm lost already. 'Well, like a car. Why, have you never been in one?'" And the whole book is more or less like that. Look out for descriptions of the peerage compared to a game of very complicated baseball, and the description of the old man on the train (I laughed so hard I nearly cried), though his descriptions of towns kind of run together. The adventures are mundane but the prose entertaining.

If you're looking for a book to tell you notable places to go in England, don't read this one. But if you want a hilarious account of bumbling around the English countryside, full of nostalgia for the Britain of his youth, this is the book for you. I think the best description of Britain is to quote Bryson himself: "'Not bad,' I said, 'not bad at all,' and wondered if there was anywhere nearby where I could get a cup of tea and possibly change my pants."
abigailnicole: (books)


I love fiction about smart people. It's why I liked (the first) Artemis Fowl, why I liked Iron Man, and for that matter why I loved The Count of Monte Cristo and most of the Wheel of Time, why I love Doctor Who. When people do clever things to win it's my favorite. When I can't see a twist in a story coming, when a character does something really clever--the balefire to wipe out Graendal, as a most recent example, or Artemis Fowl getting out of the time lock, Shadow figuring out Wednesday's con, pretty much everything Vimes ever does--that's what gets my rocks poppin, if you know what I mean.

So it's probably no surprise that I loved Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. My brother owned the first one and asked me to read it last year, which I didn't, but since I'm on a crazy one-book-a-day spurt WHY NOT. And it's fantastic. Smart people being smart! Solving problems through simple clever solutions! It's half British-boys-boarding-school, half Fight-Club ("All gone, except they recycled it and we'll be drinking Bonzo's bloodwater in the morning"), one-third dystopia and two-thirds hard sci-fi.

I'm not sure how other people make the hard/soft sci-fi distinction. For me, when there is more science than plot, it becomes hard sci-fi. Like the end thing about the buggers--it's not imaginative, it's just work you have to do while writing. By that point the clever part's over: you've set up your prodigy, and he's practically an adult. So I'm not nearly looking forward to the next one, because it will be an adult novel, dealing with adults: you're out of the dystopia and now you've got to face all the reasons for that dystopia and defend them. Understand your government even if you are harmed by its faults and then defend it, faults and all. That's not the fun part.

And it's not clever the whole time. By the end of the book I felt like Ender, tired and worn down and discouraged and defeated just like the main character. I'm not sure if I want to read the sequel, for all I checked it out...I don't know if I want to read all the other books detailing all the stuff that was going on simultaneously with all the stuff in this one. That's so much stuff, and it's going to be a lot more brutal and less clever, more like the end of this one and not the fun beginning parts of this one. In conclusion, man this book wore me out.

Also "I can't do a weekly column, I don't even have a monthly period yet" lolololol thank you. The only problem is, of course, that kids don't act like this when they are six and seven and eight years old (otherwise why would evolution think we needed parents).
abigailnicole: (books)


okay, I used to be real obsessed with the Wheel of Time. but that not withstanding, it's a very complex series and it's been years since I've read it, so I'm really surprised about how easily I'm falling back into The Gathering Storm, the Robert Jordan-oops,-he's-dead-Brandon Sanderson collaboration. I remember a lot of this! New writer is picking up the pace, wrapping up storylines, instead of slowing it down. but he really has to if he's gonna finish this, two more books for sure and the end! I forgot how much I love the Wheel of Time. oh man, so much. he knocked out an entire city by balefire !!!!!!! "How do you fight someone smarter than yourself? The answer is simple. You make her think that you are sitting down across the table from her, ready to play her game. Then you punch her in the face as hard as you can." lololol Rand al'Thor <3333. I don't remember the last time I read more than 700 pages in one day and was so bloody excited about a book. Can I finish the remaining 200 pages before bedtime? I feel like I won't sleep until I do. Wow but I'll have read a lot today.

most of the things I'm looking forward to have a 32% chance of happening with the exception of listening to Tell 'Em again, which has a 100% chance of happening six more times. the whole album is like when you were in high school and thought you were so badass. All the glory of impetuous youth.

so between yesterday's fantastic NPH-Glee, the Sleigh Bells album, and the new Wheel of Time my week is just ripe with delightful media-consumption if nothing else. I got the Format CD too! let's see if that's as good a decision.
abigailnicole: (books)


The next book is Thr3e by Ted Dekker. I'm not going to lie. The numeral-in-title name combined with the back summary: "Enter a world where nothing is what it seems. Where your closest friend could be your greatest enemy. Where black is white and white is black" were turn-offs (and vaguely reminiscent of The Room). And I'm not keen on suspense. So I was not terribly anxious to read this book. But I'll read anything (really. start to read, anyway.) so here goes...

The hero is Kevin, a seminary student who is being stalked by a serial killer who is obsessed with the number 3 and wants him to answer a riddle and confess something. The riddles are not particularly good: the answer to "in life he's your friend, but death is the end" is his dog. ??? okay, just go with it. They don't get more clever, either. The killer goes after his dog, his best friend from when he was small and confined in a house with crazy people (really crazy people, like the crux of this book depends on crazy shut-ins who dressed like Henry V every day for ten years), a bus full of people because the bus goes down (guess it) third street, a warehouse, a library, and his aunt who raised him. There are more false twists than a nausea-inducing rollercoaster; there have to be, because the plot is fairly straightforward really, so there are lots of is-this-him? he's in houston! he's in new york! he was this other serial killer! no he's not! kind of twists to take up time. The real plot twist is kind of spoiled by having one of the characters speculate about it two chapters before the end of the book.

I just don't like it. I don't like crime dramas, I don't care about FBI investigations, the main character's family is too weird, the main character is too scared and too defined by his circumstances and fear. The characters are stereotypical: an innocent hero with a dark secret in his past (he locked someone who was trying to kill him in a basement. sorry, I'm not exactly seeing why you feel so guilty about that one), a psychotic killer, a cop looking for publicity, an FBI agent with a grudge.... it reads like the novelization of a popular movie. It's filled with cliche phrases like "He should have killed her when he had the chance" and "I'd take him out", along with hilarious ones like "Right now he didn't need God's Word. Right now he needed a gun". It might be suspenseful if I could get over the cliches and buy into the story, which I can't. Sorry, Dekker. It's just not my thing.

I think I'll read the new, not-by-Robert-Jordan Wheel of Time book next, The Gathering Storm. But as I doubt I could talk about it in a way that would be comprehensible to anyone who hasn't read the rest of the series, I probably won't review it.
abigailnicole: (books)


"And like myself lone wholly lone
it sees the day's long sunshine glow
and like myself it makes its moan
in unexhausted woe"


The next book recommended to me was Emily's Ghost, by Denise Giardina, which is a book about the Bronte sisters. It's nice as a period piece, and it's light reading--not quite one afternoon at the library for me. I suppose I should also add that I've come straight from a literature class, reading Oedipus, Macbeth, Heart of Darkness, Toni Morrison, and Thomas Pynchon, so reading light books for fun goes super-fast. And after those books, I consider more things light reading.

This is period-style much like the novels of the Brontes themselves, but more heavy-handed. It's very critical of social classes at the time, and entirely unsympathetic to them in a way that Jane Eyre wasn't, and I'd go so far to say that even Wuthering Heights had more distinction between education and civilization and redeeming qualities. Due to Catherine's social climbing alone, I guarantee that Emily understood social classes and their appeal better than the uncaring feminist as which she's painted. Her description is an angry feminist, who "should have been a boy" who "cared not a whit for what anyone thought" and would have fared well in the "American backwoods". Basically, Emily Bronte is a cowgirl. I WISH. Forget stuffy Austen: "Emily Bronte and the Outlaws" with a six-shooter and a cowboy hat would be so much greater than Elizabeth Bennett whacking a vampire. Well, they'd probably be equal in anachronistic awesomeness.

Also, her dependent clauses standing alone as sentences was noticeable enough to annoy me.

As a history of the Bronte sisters, I'm not sure how accurate this is (I would hope somewhat) and I enjoyed reading about them and their history. It's obvious that their characterization is taken entirely from their writing styles, which is a nice homage to the novels themselves but makes for characters that are a bit one-dimensional, a little crudely portrayed. I personally like Charlotte Bronte a lot more than here--Charlotte is a downright villain. It's as if she read Jane Eyre and thought: "What if the writer had all this as a fantasy of a life she can never have? She must have been a sad, pathetic person" and even if Charlotte was a sad, pathetic person, she was more observant and a better writer than all that, and I don't believe she was quite so evil to her sisters. Now I've gone and defended Charlotte Bronte for a whole paragraph.

All in all an engaging book, some heavy-handed characterization not withstanding. If you like the Brontes, it's worth your time.

We have another book on the new shelf called "Bedlam: The Further Secret Adventures of Charlotte Bronte" which I kind of want to read as a counterpoint. But I can only take so much Bronte in one day, and reading RPF is a little unnerving for me in large quantities. Maybe after my next book, another recommendation, ominously titled Thr3e. If you have any other recommendations, I'll see if our library has them...
abigailnicole: (books)


The library where I work is small-town KY, and two most popular categories are trashy romance and christian fiction. And it's a pretty even split and there's not much overlap between the patrons. So when I finished my last book and asked someone to recommend me a book, I was told I had to read At Home In Mitford by Jan Karon and this whole series and that it was just adorable and fantastic.

So this is the Christian fiction side. Mitford is a lovely town where everything is perfect and nothing goes wrong. The book follows an Episcopalian preacher, Father Tim. He gets a dog that only behaves when you quote the Bible, throws a dinner party, plants flowers, halfway adopts a kid, gets a next door neighbor, loses his dog, has a convict in the church attic, stolen diamonds (really bizarre), etc. etc. A preacher having adventures!

Don't get me wrong, there are some bad things that happen. Father Tim is diagnosed with diabetes, has a diabetic coma? seizure? at one point. This just leads to him starting a daily jog, about which he is content and thankful and we get lush descriptions of the beautiful town. One of his friends, a 50-year-old woman, is pregnant. I was immediately concerned: an older pregnancy increases your risk of birth defects, Downs Syndrome, miscarriage, etc, etc--but it's never brought up as anything other than just absolutely wonderful that she's pregnant and no complications are mentioned. The kid runs away, then comes back. His dog is kidnapped, but he comes back. A woman has a terminal illness, but then falls in love with a doctor and gets a heart transplant and it works out. Sometimes people feel a little too busy with all the wonderful things they have to do.

And wow do these people like sherry. They drink sherry like kool-aid. I thought wine was more common than sherry, but according to Jan Karon I AM WRONG. Also lines like "That ol' arth'r' is giin' s' bad, I cain't hardly git down, much less up. Pretty soon, you'uns 'll jus' have to stand me aginst th' wall" pop up frequently. If this deters you, stop now.

She started writing this as a newspaper serial, which is evident: each chapter reads like an episode in the Andy Griffith show, which is more or less what it is. It's an entertaining, quaint, light read. If you're looking for clean, Christian escapism, this is the book for you. And it's a good summer read, if you want to read a light-hearted book that's going to make you hungry (man the descriptions of food), have funny characters, be easy to pick up and put down, and reinforce your christian values. Otherwise, move along.
abigailnicole: (books)


I work in a library all summer, and while I was cleaning my bookshelves found lots of books I have but haven't read. shame on me, right? So this summer I'm going to try to read only books I own or can get from my library. And I'd like to review them. So have some of that.

I bought Fragile Things at Octavia Books, where you should go and buy books. I love Neil Gaiman, but this made me realize that I like his long fiction more than his short. To be fair, I think this is because I write short fiction--I cannot usually do long, intricate, plotted works well. To come up with the details, put together the action, dialogue, details, and plot in a meaningful way--well, in novel length? And not have parts of it be extraneous, to have it be clever and put together? It's something that eludes me. And Neil did it so well in American Gods. To a lesser extent in Sandman and Anansi Boys, which I appreciated less, but in American Gods it was just perfect. To do that takes a lot of work, a lot of planning into your writing, which just isn't there in short stories. And I can write short stories. It's what I do. So I do like them, and I enjoyed them, but I'm not awed by them like his long works.

And some of these stories, like "Bitter Grounds", the Scarlet's Walk stories, reminded me of things I had written. The ones that fascinated me, as always, are the novel concepts--"A Study in Emerald" and "The Problem with Susan" for the sheer "He's really writing this!" factor, "Other People" and "In The End" for their brevity and inventiveness, and "Sunbird" was just delightful and charming. "Forbidden Brides" failed to amuse me. I'm not the target audience, I suspect. Some were straight-up horror, "Closing Time" and "October In The Chair" and "Feeders and Eaters". I still believe one of my favorites is How To Talk To Girls at Parties with that right balance of uncertainty at the end to make you feel uneasy. Have a read, then see if you want to check out the whole thing from your local library.

And if they don't have it, you can request it. Trust me, I know.
abigailnicole: (Default)


oh yesterday, yesterday I went to Big Lots with my mother and I got cheap mohair and peppermint facewash but the music. Big Lots was playing music, nice indie quiet music, Feist and Jason Isbell who I have discovered because I was sensible enough to twitter the lyrics and now have downloaded Seven Mile Island. I wish I did that to all the songs they played that I didn't know. I should live at Big Lots if they play music like this all the time.

I am crocheting a shawl, hopefully I will be done soon and you can see it. I bought yarn so now I must knit to get rid of it. I must make a shawl, a sweater, a shrug, and a hat. Presto!

I also spent the fourth of july playing dominoes as it rained out our fireworks. We played all thirteen rounds, I tied with my father.
abigailnicole: (happy)


last night was a good night. I went to bed at 10, the result of sleeping only five hours the night before, and had an awful dream. Woke up at 4, called JR and talked to him until 6, which I really needed to do and made me happy. Went back to sleep at 6 and slept until now (ten) and had a wonderful dream about a book Amanda Palmer and Neil Gaiman (MY FAVORITE CELEBRITY COUPLE) had written together which was part dictionary, part autobiography, part movie. Yeah, my dreams are just THAT AWESOME. and I think this one actually took the elements of the first dream--ie the house, setting, etc--but instead of a terrifying child molester and a dog there were AMANDA PALMER AND NEIL GAIMAN. my favorite people are dating I still can't get over it.

also I'M DATING. Talking to him or not talking to him, having a good conversation versus a bad conversation, can make me feel good or bad about myself for days. Today is a good day. I'm not sure if it's good or bad that my happiness is dependent? But the good days are very good days and the bad days are awful bad days.

waking up at ten am, getting ten hours of sleep, is awesome. In a while I'm going to go make eggs in a basket and then go to work and we're painting. Yesterday we did, with 2-5 year olds, fingerpaint, painting with bouncy balls (interesting), watercolors, spin painting (my station), and easel paintings (some of which turned out surprisingly good. One kid covered the entire canvas with a mixture of all colors, which looked like a abstract painting of an event done by an art student). Today we're doing it with 6-10 year olds. I'm actually excited today. Yesterday I was just tired.

Also I'm knitting a Moebius, which is BLOWING MY MIND, in the colors of my LJ theme. This might be an awful idea. We'll find out.

My brother leaves for Ichthus today. I would have liked to have gone? But going now is never going to be the same as going when I went, it will never be the same camaraderie and drama and frankly the same bands (no Relient K, no Newsboys, no Switchfoot, the three christian bands I like, and instead a bunch that I just DON'T like [Christian music goes through phases....long story]) also frankly the same weather. My Ichthus is the ichthus of bad weather, of one year of evacuations, one year of floods, one year of tornadoes, one year of snow, another year of tornadoes, and more evacuations in the middle of Relient K (boo). If I went now, it'd just be me, and Sara acting as adults around a bunch of boys from high school. And you now, that's fine if they're the soccer team, but it's the new soccer team, I didn't spend four years building bonds of trust with this soccer team and consequently it's just a bunch of people who like to kick a ball around. Thus is graduating, I suppose. I'll be working instead.

I'm really an adult now. Big change from when I started this journal almost six years ago.

Time to go make breakfast and go to work. Really super an adult now.
abigailnicole: (bad day)
the ladies at the library are so nice. They're constantly offering me food, candy bars, pizza, ice cream. Today I said no to ice cream (I usually don't partake in the snacking) and they were so shocked. "No to free ice cream?" she said. More bad places to be lactose intolerant.

Eventually I will get tested for this and have real proof that I am, not just this supspicion where, oh, yeah, eating cheese and Yougurt makes me sick.

Human Croquet was lyrical and awful. And awful, and awful, and awful. If you like that sort of thing (rape, child rape, incest, murder, madness, death, unexplained plot, convulted incestual family history, prostitution, several different realities), go for it.

It's sunny. Grandmom's almanac says it will rain all summer and now whenever the sun comes out I feel betrayed. Like I've been promised nonstop thunderstorms, how dare the clouds break for a few hours. This morning it stormed so that the power and telephones went out. Also grandmom cut my hair.

I'm writing a long-winded letter to Hannah, Amanda, John Max, and Michael Winn....just the entire party, really. I'm going to mail it to them while they're all at VAMPY (not Michael Winn). It's written in a promotional packet of a paper salesman, so the paper is top notch linen and all different colors.

I want to make an almanac for 2012, all hand-written in one of these little empty paper salesman books, with horoscopes and forecasts and poems and love potions and weather and what to plant when and short fiction and drawings by Hannah Kagan Moore. It will be my almanac for the last year of the world, if you believe that kind of stuff. The weather's been all muggy and cloudy and rainy, thick clouds that drift under the peaks of the mountains. It reminds me of Princess Mononoke. My grandmother says it's "weather for the end of days."
abigailnicole: (knitting)

I need a haircut


...

UP was just sad, guys.. I cried three times. It's not uplifting, like the other Pixar movies? Well, it's UP-lifting (har, har) but it was just terribly sad. In a way it's awful because so many bad things happened to Carl, and he just has to take it. There's nothing he can do to fight it, he just has to move on and live his life among people who don't even know or understand what he's going through. And Russel not having a dad wasn't the worst part, the wrost part was that this wasn't even a big deal, that it didn't even get the full story or any big explanation because this happens to so many kids that we already know how it ends. This movie was 80% sad.

...


spending time with my brother....I really didn't miss this as much as I thought I did.

...

The pollen is out again, dry yellow dust on my car that I can push off with the windshield wipers. It sits on the surface of the lake, too. I feel like my whole head's been put through a wringer, smushing up my face and compressing all my sinuses. I get headaches...plants are stupidly overproductive in southeastern KY. Reproduce less, plants. What's up with that.

...


guys I got this far and I am OUT OF YARN. so angry. ANGRY. GRRRR. I asked mom to get me some more but I really hope they have the same color! Or else I'll frog it and start the ribbing earlier and have a short sweater. I guess I could rip it out and have quarter-length sleeves or something awful like that. But I don't wanna do that.

...

Reading Human Croquet. It's all musical lyrical witty unique. I can't tell if I really like the writing style or just think it's really annoying, can't tell if the narrator is clever or just self-pitying and obnoxious.

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Nicole

March 2013

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