The Next Dark Age
We're in it Now
Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides
Book 23
I am not under the impression it happens very often: author writes a really great first novel and then follows it up with a bloody brilliant second novel. But there it is.
The Virgin Suicides was sort of a mystery/coming of age novel with a twist. Middlesex is a modern American epic. You may have heard of it – the novel with the hermaphrodite. But it is also ask the question, “where did I come from?” So we have the grandparent’s immigrant story and so on through the decades. I remember thinking near the beginning that it was really two different novels. The immigrant experience and the story of a little girl growing into a young man. Somehow Eugenides ties it together in a way that works.
There is some historical stuff in there to add flavor and context: war in Turkey leading to emigration, riots in Detroit. I found it interesting that the narrator, Cal, observed the racism of her family but doesn’t seem to be bothered by the old world ethnicity of her family. This really tells me that I had too much fun with My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
Anyway, it was awesome. And a final note on the audio book: it was read by Kristoffer Tabori, who absolutely rocked the voices and accents.
About the Hair
It flummoxes some folks to learn that – as spa-di-da as I am with regular facials – I will go to the place in the mall to have my hair cut and colored. So here is the story:
There is nothing to cutting my hair. It is bone-straight and baby fine. I could almost manage it myself. Color, however, is a pain. I have paid to have my hair colored since I went through the agony of growing out the black dye I had been putting on it through college. (And maybe a couple of years after.) And particularly since I redid my bathroom and decided I like not having dye splattered all over the walls.
After Sue, the lady that ushered me through said agony, moved to Arizona, I was on my own. I think I went to every salon in two counties and always left unhappy. I once even returned to a salon the next day to ask that they fix it.
When I walked into this place in the mall, the guy (it was a guy!) sat me down and listened to my whiny little story about one that was too dark and too red and one that was too light and too brassy and I want to match my skin and I don’t want to be dull…
“Don’t worry, I ‘ve got it,” he said.
And he totally did. He mixed two different shades and two different highlights and it came out just right. He told me the formula and wrote it down on a card for the next time that I came.
I was so confident. There was a formula. A secret combination. I knew what it was! I could speak the language! I wasn’t going to be tied to any one salon or any one stylist because I had a formula for my hair color.
Not so much. Different salons use different product lines and they don’t call the colors by the same combinations. And even then, you might land with a stylist that says, “I know what you are talking about, but that isn’t what your color is now.” Seriously.
And I still don’t entirely trust my own instincts.
Every time I go to the place in the mall, I leave with the color I want. Every time I don’t, I am disappointed. Or angry.
The moral of the story is, as my dad said: You are the client.
He was talking about the dentist, but it is a useful mantra when paying for a wide variety of services where you have to put your trust in a professional. Doctor, dentist, mechanic, aesthetician, veterinarian, contractor, financial planner. These, to me, are important long term relationships.
Welcome to the Monkey House, by Kurt Vonnegut
Book 22
Sci Fi is not my favorite genre, and I really do not enjoy stories of dystopian societies. So I was not thrilled when Vonnegut’s book of short stories popped up as the pick in my book club.
There were a lot of stories of dystopian societies.
However, there were also stories of human connections and discovery and self-discovery. And some of these things could even be found in the stories of dystopian societies.
My two favorites were The Foster Portfolio, a story about a man that doesn’t want his wife to know he has inherited a fortune; and the Manned Missiles, an exchange of letters between two fathers that have lost their sons in the Cold War Space Race.
In the Car
This is Fiona after we picked them up from Doggie Do Rite:
And Gibbs:
New Collars
Thursday afternoon, I parked my car and went in to Doggie Do Rite to renew my package for the dogs. I spoke briefly with Kelly, who said that Fiona plays with Gibbs and has made a couple of other friends. But she may not every be the little social butterfly that Gibbs is. That is fine with me.
I stepped outside to wait for the dogs to be brought out. Another lady had pulled up and popped the hatch on her car, waiting for her dogs. Gibbs and Fiona came out.
Gibbs went barky-crazy at her, slipped his collar and jumped into her car. And do you know what Fiona did? Do you know what Fiona did?!
She jumped in with him.
I ordered the dogs out of the car and over to my car. Didn’t even bother trying to put Gibbs collar back on – he jumped right in. I could hear the staff laughing and I cannot recall the last time I was so embarrassed.
I had been thinking about new collars, anyway, because the ones with the plastic clasp seem like they could pop pretty easily with the way my dogs wrestle. (In fact, I suspect that Gibbs was able to slip his collar because Fiona had loosened it with all of the grabbing and pulling that she does.) So I took both dogs to Wags on Willow to see what we could find.
I went with this one from Kiss My Mutt:
It is made out of “durable nylon cording” and the braiding gives me lots of options for sizing. They didn’t have any red ones, so I had to go with the blue for Gibbs. I found a green one for Fiona. We went home and put them on. They look charming, and latched easily, but I am a bit worried that they won’t stand up to all of the rough play in my house. We shall see.
The Awakening, by Kate Chopin
Book 21
The Awakening is one of those 19th century “women trapped by the conventions of society” novels. This one was banned immediately upon publication, which I funny because it seems to lack the requisite smut. Which tells me that the puritanical idiots that think banning books is a good idea believe that the very concept of feeling trapped by convention will warp our fragile little minds.
Anyway. These novels never end well. I like this one better than most because it is short (read as: rather less melodramatic) and set in New Orleans.
But seriously, how many of the “classics” fall into this category? I have read them from three different countries off the top of my head (U.S., England and Russia) and am sure there are more. Oh! France.
“The Awakening” refers to a moment in time when our heroine realizes that she has been sleepwalking through her existence. So she stops doing the things she is “obligated” to do and does what she pleases. Paints, walks, visits friends. Whatever. There are, of course, men involved. But technically, there is no hanky panky.
There is an awesome moment when, with her husband in New York and her children visting Grandmere, Edna closes up her grand house and moves into the little cottage around the corner. Her husband writes two letters: one to his wife telling her that she is very foolish and what will the neighbors think? The other to the contractor telling him to gut and renovate the whole place. Such that the neighbors won’t think anything.
The ending is all too predictable. But a 19th century woman trapped by convention writing about a 19th century woman trapped by convention could hardly have finished it any other way.
Blankets 18 – 24
Wednesday night at Starbucks, I was sitting next to Christine – who can crochet anything. I asked a lady few chairs over about her yarn, but she didn’t hear me. Christine identified that brand and exact name. I thought that was cool, so I started pointing to other people’s yarns and she identified each one accurately. I told her that I wished I had her around to identify my yarn when I am blogging about completed blankets and have forgotten what I used.
The two solid read one had a brand of yarn I don’t remember, but the color was called “circus print”. The one with the footballs used Caron Simply Soft in Black and the pink one looks like Red Heart in Plum Pudding.
This was easier since they were licensed prints. The Superman was Red Heart’s Red. The Toy Story was Caron White and the Tiana was Red Heart Light Raspberry. So I brought seven finished to Starbucks night. And still haven’t finished the big, red one.
Walking the Bible, by Bruce Feiler
Book 20
Bruce Feiler has written several books about the Bible from a modern perspective and this is the first I have read. He thought it would be cool to visit the geographical places (that could be identified) in stories from the Old Testament. While mapping it out, he focused less on the sites that could be determined with (relative) certainty and more for the general places noted in the best stories. So..landmarks in Turkey, Egypt, Israel and Jordan.
The book was a bit heavy on Feiler’s spiritual journey. I remember his complaining that people who tried to find a scientific basis for things like the ten plagues of Egypt were missing the point. He said that if there is a scientific basis, it takes the magic out of it. The point is that God made it happen. So if there is a scientific basis, it means God didn’t make it happen?
I dunno, Dude.
He talked a lot about God’s covenant with the Jews and the different branches of Abraham’s line as the beginning of the modern religions. That was cool. I particularly appreciated the WTH moment he had with a Muslim companion over a difference in understanding regarding the fate of Moses. His observation was that the Jewish text and the Muslim text could not be talking about the same guy.
Overall, it was a decent read. But I’m not sure I am diving into the next one.
Fiona Update
While I was out of town, Fiona went to Doggie Do Rite with Gibbs two times. The report is that she doesn’t seem stressed out, and she isn’t causing trouble, but she isn’t really playing with the other dogs the way Gibbs does.
She sure plays with Gibbs, though.
She only wants to play with toys when Gibbs has them. First it was just tennis balls. Then she graduated to stuffed toys a in the previous Tug o’ War pic. Then the bones. And my mother said that while I was out of town, she had to let them outside one at a time to do their business or they would just start wrestling.
She is still very focused on her job as a herding dog. She cannot seem to relax when the birds are out, and we have to keep her on a leash for those couple of hours. She is also completely obsessed with a tree in the neighbors’ yard – the squirrels live there.
But she is doing better with “Come” and “Wait” and “Go to your place”. I just tried the “coupler”, the tool that links two dogs up to one leash for walking. She figured it out right away. Gibbs needs some practice.
She didn’t have any trouble with the storm last night. This is a relief since our last two were storm-phobic.
I guess we can call this progress.
What the Dogs Did While I Was Out of Town
Gibbs won. This round.
The Next Dark Age 