“Hey, Jane. I baked you a cake to represent our love. It’s burnt, but that’s just because you’re a hottie from Hottingham.”
For AT&T cellphones or something. I love that little dork, slathering impossibly pink frosting on that charred and lumpen cake. Hahahahaha.
Sheila tagged me with this, oh, about 87 years ago. So even though, in the vast yawn of time since then, I have become a bony withered crone and MB’s entire body has become scrotum; even though we tell each other to rage, rage, against the dying of the light; still, we persevere and faithfully do me-me’s with what’s left of our wits.
Which book do you irrationally cringe away from reading, despite seeing only positive reviews?
Oh, what’s that one? The Ya-Ya Jumpy Girls? That one. Wait. I have to Google the actual name. Okay. Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I actually don’t know if it got good reviews — literary reviews — I just know that for a while there, it seemed like every woman I know or didn’t know or didn’t want to know kept gushing about this book. “Ohhh …. you gotta read the Ya-Ya Sisterhood! You just have to!” Uhm, no, thank you. I don’t even care what it’s about. It’s the title and the vibe I get from it. I couldn’t carry a book around with that cloying title and still respect myself. Frankly, I’m afraid of the braidable armpit hair I would instantly sprout just from touching it. I’m terrified that reading even one little word would transport me immediately to a parallel universe where I’m a womyn’s studies professor in kooky toe socks and Birkenstocks. No. Gross. Get away, ya-ya jumpy girls! If that means I’m out of the sisterhood, so be it.
If you could bring three characters to life for a social event (afternoon tea, a night of clubbing, perhaps a world cruise), who would they be and what would the event be?
Is this about them interacting with each other or am I involved in the event, too? I guess I can choose whatever I want here, right? Why is this one hard for me, suddenly? Well, let’s start with Jean Valjean because, well, I love him. I experienced him relatively young — 14? — and so he lingers in my heart even how. Mr. Rochester, Jane Eyre, gotta say him. And into our nice little tea — because I just decided it would be a nice little tea — I’ll throw Sugar from The Crimson Petal and the White, the literate prostitute and closet writer with the golden-orange hair and the peeling tree bark skin condition All the uptight Victorian men go crazy for her — for her oddball beauty and her mad skillz, both conversationally and otherwise. Let’s introduce her to Jean Valjean and Mr. Rochester! And because I can be very shy when I feel intimidated — which I do, a little bit, by each of these characters — I’d be a fly on the wall or watch on hidden camera or something slightly less stalker sounding. And I’m not trying to dupe Valjean or Mr. Rochester by throwing in Sugar; I suspect they might not even know her profession. She is well-educated (self) and is lithe and elegant; she looks like a proper lady. Or at least she can. And she’d be wearing lovely gloves to cover her intricately cracked, but graceful, hands. There’d be interesting conversation if her profession isn’t revealed. Maybe more interesting conversation if it is.
(Borrowing shamelessly from the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde): you are told you can’t die until you read the most boring novel on the planet. While this immortality is great for awhile, eventually you realise it’s past time to die. Which book would you expect to get you a nice grave?
Oh, no contest. The Bridges of Madison County. A truly deadly book but a great movie, thanks to Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep and editing that rightly mutilated the dialog past recognition. “I’M the last cowboy!” SHUT UP. If I die, I’m taking you with me, asswipe.
Come on, we’ve all been there. Which book have you pretended, or at least hinted, that you’ve read, when in fact you’ve been nowhere near it?
War and Peace.
As an addition to the last question, has there been a book that you really thought you had read, only to realise when you read a review about it/go to ‘reread’ it that you haven’t? Which book?
Can’t think of one, really.
You’re interviewing for the post of Official Book Advisor to some VIP (who’s not a big reader). What’s the first book you’d recommend and why? (if you feel like you’d have to know the person, go ahead of personalise the VIP)
Let’s see. Someone who’s not a big reader — to get them more interested in reading? Uhm, how about The Princess Bride by my crush man William Goldman? It’s fun, witty, swashbuckling, a fast read. What’s not to love? I think it’s a surefire winner. Unless the person is a total drip.
Oooh, another one ….. To Kill a Mockingbird.
A good fairy comes and grants you one wish: you will have perfect reading comprehension in the foreign language of your choice. Which language do you go with?
Russian — Tolstoy, Dostoevsky
French — mainly to read Les Miserables in the original
Greek — New Testament
A mischievious fairy comes and says that you must choose one book that you will reread once a year for the rest of your life (you can read other books as well). Which book would you pick?
I talk about this book all the time — ALL the dingdang time — but I could, and basically do, read What’s So Amazing About Grace? by Philip Yancey every year. It’s always around somewhere close where I have easy access to it. I can’t think of anyone who’s made the concept of grace more tangible, more accessible to me; who’s taken something that can seem so lofty or dusty or so far removed from modern life and brought it down to earth, pulled the veil back a bit, or just used images that resonate with me, all without robbing grace of its mystery. I feel like Philip Yancey did me a personal favor by writing this book. It’s something I need to hear, over and over. I basically implore everyone to read it.
I know that the book blogging community, and its various challenges, have pushed my reading borders. What’s one bookish thing you ‘discovered’ from book blogging (maybe a new genre, or author, or new appreciation for cover art-anything)?
Well, I read Geek Love on Sheila’s recommendation. And in the end, when you’re done, there are just things you can’t even talk about. The book just shakes you to your core. I feel like anyone who gets through that book — has an appreciation for it, love for it, I don’t even know what to call what you feel about it — is part of this strange Geek Love book club. You become a knower, not a talker. By that I mean, you could meet with the other members of this little club to discuss the book without discussing the book. Without anyone uttering a complete sentence. Someone could simply say, “Geek Love,” and the rest could just nod, knowing, just knowing, what the other person means. There’s so much weight to this book it can’t really be held or named or looked at in the light. It just can’t. You know things you just can’t mention.
That good fairy is back for one final visit. Now, she’s granting you your dream library! Describe it. Is everything leatherbound? Is it full of first edition hardcovers? Pristine trade paperbacks? Perhaps a few favourite authors have inscribed their works? Go ahead-let your imagination run free.
First, I think I’d like the library to be a loft — a nice-sized one, but not too cavernous and overwhelming. I like cozy and big rooms kinda make me uncomfortable. We’re under the eaves, so there’s that coziness. You’re nestled in my library. But you don’t have to heave yourself up a ladder; oh, no, there are stairs that hug the wall leading up to it. The beams are exposed wood, stained a rich color, as is the wood plank floor and the built-in bookshelves. There’s a large area rug on the floor. Maybe Persian? Indian? I need to shop for it still. On one wall, right in the middle of the bookshelves, there’s a fireplace with a crackling fire. The windows look out at some mountains — like ones that loom large in the deep dark middle of nowhere. Two corners under the eaves have huge cushy chairs with ottomans — one corner for me, one for MB, of course. There is a floor lamp in each corner for extra reading light, but — oh, here’s my favorite part! — each corner has a clear skylight above the cushy chair. You can read by natural light during most days. If if rains, you can lean your head back and just watch it patter against the window. If it snows, you watch it pile up in graceful silence. Maybe you fall asleep. Basically, we can sit in our respective corners, read in companionable silence, watch the rain, wave to each other, or still talk; we’re not TOO far away from each other. In the middle of the room, a large wooden table as a desk. Room for two, again. Room for our modest clutter. Room for us both to be writing, drawing, creating, drinking coffee, of course. Oh, and MB has a little cabinet for his cigars and pipes somewhere in our library loft. Another corner has one of those stands that holds quilts — do those have a special name? You know, the kind you see holding quilts in antique stores? Probably “quilt stand,” Tracey. Anyway, we have a variety of blankets hanging from it, always at our disposal, for whenever we want to seriously curl up. And nothing is country-craftsy here. It’s cozy and warm and elegant too. So basically, I might come home in the evening, calling in a mock-snooty voice, “Hullo? Where are you, Beloved?” Then he’d say in the same voice, between puffs on his pipe, “Up here, dahling. In our libary.” And we’d always say libary in private so as not to take ourselves too seriously.
Oh, this was a fun one! A great escape. Thanks, Sheila!
Have at it, anyone, everyone!
I can’t remember where I found this; it’s been sitting in my drafts for a while. A quiz to test how privileged you were/are.
Bold the true statements:
1. Father went to college.
2. Father finished college.
3. Mother went to college.
4. Mother finished college.
5. Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.
6. Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers. (What? I have no idea.)
7. Had more than 50 books in your childhood home.
8. Had more than 500 books in your childhood home.
9. Were read children’s books by a parent.
10. Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18.
11. Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18.
(FYI: piano, flute briefly, tennis lessons with white-shorted hottie Wayne Weatherall. I was 14 and deeply in love. He was 20-something and very tan. If it weren’t for the presence of my pesky brother, who took lessons with me, niggling little laws against such relationships, and my crippling 2-week bout of impetigo where my face had to be slathered in sheer yellow goo, I’m sure I’d be a white-shorted Tracey Weatherall even now.)
12. The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively. (You mean people who dress like this? Again, what?)
13. Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18.
14. Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs.
15. Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs.
16. Went to a private high school.
17. Went to summer camp.
18. Had a private tutor before you turned 18.
19. Family vacations involved staying at hotels.
20. Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18.
21. Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them.
22. There was original art in your house when you were a child.
23. You and your family lived in a single-family house.
24. Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home.
25. You had your own room as a child.
26. You had a phone in your room before you turned 18.
27. Participated in a SAT/ACT prep course.
28. Had your own TV in your room in high school.
29. Owned a mutual fund or IRA in high school or college.
30. Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16.
31. Went on a cruise with your family.
32. Went on more than one cruise with your family.
33. Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up.
34. You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.
So … let’s see. There are 34 questions. I basically abstained on two. 12 bolds. I was/am 38% privileged. Woo-hoo! I have no idea what it all means, really, except that I guess it’s time for a shopping binge and a celebratory martini, dahling.
All right. I openly bear a grudge against the New England Patriots. (No one’s noticed, right?) They knocked us out of the running two years in a row and I want their collective butts to be kicked. But still ….. I got choked up just now during the National Anthem as the camera panned past the players and native son — and Patriots linebacker — Junior Seau had his hand over his heart and appeared to be tearing up. I just love his heart. If — uhm, when? — the Pats win this thing, I will be happy for Junior. Finally with his ring. Finally. Junior, I hope for you, even in the middle of my grudge. It’s complicated.
Also …… did anyone think, first, that Jordin Sparks looked uh-MAZING and, second, that she totally rocked that National Anthem? Not quite Whitney’s version, but I say a close second. Really. Her tone and control. Beautiful.
UPDATE: Sorry, Junior. Wow. Thank you, Fox, for not showing me his face at the end.
Well, I’m taking a break from blogging for a week or so. I’m going through a really rough time — and no, I’m not physically ill or anything and no, MB and I are not breaking up. Never! on that idea. Honestly, I’m just messed up right now — in my head, my heart — have been for a few months now, and I keep trying to write anything here — anything, any stupid ol’ piece of complete and utter CRAP — to cover up the truth. At some point, I may try to explain, but I’ve started many times and it all sounds so self-serving and self-pitying. I’m not capable of thinking straight enough right now to even put an explanation together. It shames me to say so, but there it is.
I’ll see you in a bit, okay?
Heath Ledger, on Saturday, January 19, 2008, in full Pagliacci regalia on the set of Terry Gilliam’s film, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus.
I just think something else happened here. They’re saying he had pneumonia. I just don’t think he killed himself. Can’t explain why, really. Can’t explain any of it at all.
Oh, Lord. My hometown.
Uhm, first, may I say I hate the new “in-depth profiles” on just random auditioners? I just don’t want to know them that well so early in the competition. No. I want to fingerpoint and laugh and laugh. At this point, I really don’t want to hear how gammy has the ‘heimer’s.
All right. I’m only gonna comment on people I find noteworthy — good or bad.
Or if I know someone. Yikes.
So …………
………… okey-dokey.
Thanks, San Diego!
R.I.P.
Heath Ledger
I don’t mean to be going on and on about this, but it’s The Big News in thesehere parts. So for anyone who’s remotely interested. Philip Rivers, Chargers’ QB, will have knee surgery this week. Recovery is expected to take 4 to 6 months. According to the San Diego Union-Tribune, he had “secret arthroscopic surgery Monday (ed. last Monday) to clean loose cartilage from his right knee and played all of Sunday’s AFC Championship Game with essentially no anterior cruciate ligament in the knee.”
Wow. That explains a few things, I think. Poor guy. Get better, Philip Rivers!
The Chargers’ whole game really was feisty.
Full details here.
An interview of my niece Piper conducted by my sister (her mother) a few years ago when Piper was 3.
“Pipey, is mommy funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is daddy funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is Brother #1 funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is Brother #2 funny?”
“Yeeah.”
“Is Pop-Pop funny?”
“Yeeah.”
“Is Nana funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is Uncle S funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is Aunt A funny?”
“Nooo.”
“Is Uncle Beloved funny?”
“Yeeah.”
“Is Tee Tee funny?
“Yeeah.”
Three-year-old Piper, just calling ’em as she sees ’em.
