The unreadables

In keeping with my previous post about which books I cleared out for the new year, here’s a post hoc rationale from ABE Books, where I alternate my book-buying dollars when not direct-depositing to Amazon. The reasons are interesting to me.

Number 1 is tied to number 5; “classics” are pretty much automatic “shoulds”. And frequently with number 4. Enormous isn’t automatically a show-stopper for me, although combining “enormous” with “novel” turns me off. I have no problem whatsoever with ponderous tomes of history or biography—although the current trend of having end notes instead of footnotes drives me nuts.

I've been told I'm the only person in the history of the world to take a thick history hardback to read on the beach in Saint Martin. Not sure about that, but my idea of an airplane read is more Dante than Dan Brown.

Number 3 isn’t too much of an influencer for me. I do get interested in a book after reading a review in the WSJ, Washington Post or LA Times, but lately I’ve taken to seeing if the library has them and going that route. I will admit that I have returned several I pursued in the past year without finishing them, so that was definitely beneficial to my budget and shelf space.

Number 6—okay, so my stack has kind of imitated Topsy. I’ve got about nine waiting now, including Joe Queenan’s memoir about life with his abusive father. I know it’ll be well written; I just have to steel myself to get into it. Right now I’m delving into La Bella Lingua, with The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society—both Christmas gifts. The former is, as you would deduce, about Italian; the latter an epistolary novel. Then there’s Leslie Caron’s memoir and The Blackout Book…well, you get the drift

I just have to keep away from the book review pages and work assiduously on my stack.

Numbers 7 and 10 aren’t applicable; I don’t spend a whole lot of time in actual shops any more (except on Charing Cross Road in London), nor do I know anyone who works in one.

Also, since I’m not in class or a reading club, I don’t have to worry about number 9.

As for number 8, well—while knowing someone’s a good writer helps filter the purchase, it’s the subject matter that usually entices.

And since most of these reasons are clearly geared to fiction, they’re all a big N/A, since I find a lot of the stuff annoying and the ones I do like (detective stories) I usually get from the library.

I will say that when I was clearing out last week the biggest pile of discards were novels. probably 80% were “never going to read again”; the rest were “oh, pooh—life’s to short to even think about this one.”

It’s quite liberating, actually.

God help us

Ah, Jesus, Mary and Joseph—a new blasphemy law has gone into effect this week in Ireland. If reports of its provisions are accurate it’s hard to find anything more open to challenges, litigation and outrage than this crack-brained thing.

It seems “anything abusive” to any religion can put you in line for hefty fines. That covers a lot of territory. Just think: the usual Muslims affronted by pretty much everything, fundamentalist Christians waxing wrath over anything that doesn’t conform to the sections of the Bible they endorse, Druids rising up over anti-tree remarks, Haredim pissed off at anyone working on the Sabbath, and me—I think anyone who even mentions the concept of animal sacrifice should be removed from the gene pool immediately; forget any poxy fine.

How on earth is anyone not going to be fined $35K for something with a law like that? Libraries have got to be in for torching—even in that most Catholic of countries. (Sean O’Casey and Brendan Behan alone are on the hit list. And forget James Joyce.) For certain sure, no stand-up comic is going to survive the first five minutes of a gig.

Thank God for the atheists—specifically, the Atheist Ireland group. They’ve published a New Year’s starter list of blasphemous quotations to get everyone’s bile flowing. The vast preponderance of their quotes are Christian focused; probably had to draw the line at some number people would actually, you know, read.

We’ll have to see how this plays out. I’d like to keep track of how many people are charged under the law, but I don’t think anyone has that much time available to waste.

Except apparently the Irish government.

Can I call them putzes without risking a year’s worth of mortgage payments? What if I call them religiously-stunted putzes?

New year clear-out

It being the new year and all (new decade, as the media would have us believe), I decided it was time to do a bit of a clean-out.

I’ve been culling clothes I haven’t worn for years, as well as ones that I can’t hold up without suspenders. We’re talking several mid-sized moving cartons of those.

There’s also a lot of linens and kitchenware. Again—stuff I haven’t used since long before I moved West.

But also books. Went through the collection & culled about 200-250. While 250 is about 5% of the whole, it did open space for any volumes I find I can't live without in 2010.

The fiction was the easiest; a lot of stuff I’m not going to either read or reread—The Raj Quartet, Conrad, Tolstoy, Miller’s Tropics, Twain, even Joe Wambaugh. To tell you the truth, it doesn't really hurt to let go of fiction; it represents less than 25% of my collection anyhow.

Also, I took a machete to my detective fiction, which is a bit of a first. Cleared out PD James, Reginald Hill, Elizabeth George and some others. Kept Allingham, Christie, Marsh, Crispin, Sayers, Tey and Hillerman. Those I can read again.

A bunch of business and technology went too, including my C programming texts. Does anyone even use C anymore?

I culled all the museum art books I got for being a member of the Smithsonian; but kept all the photography, fashion, architecture and arts books.

Several cookery books went, although I couldn’t part with Julia Child, the Great Meals in Minutes series (even the “minutes” is a gross underestimate of the actual time required) or the books from World War II.

In fact, the one category I couldn’t touch was history—four bookcases of those, and every one absolutely necessary. A girl’s gotta know her limitations.

If you’re thinking about thinning your collection, here are some suggestions from those with strong connections to books. I read them after I was done updating my inventory, but they may prove helpful to you.

Now my problem is finding a charity here that will actually come out to collect donations instead of expecting you to deliver to them.

Staff of life

It’s with great sadness that I report the WSJ’s wine columnists, Dorothy J. Gaiter Brecher and John Brecher, are hanging up their little tasting cups.

They don’t say why, but they do go out on a high: their list of delicious finds in 2009.

They also leave us with some wine resolutions for 2010. I especially like #3, take a wine trip. After spending two weeks in France—with wine not the focus, yet still playing a great part—I heartily recommend spending at least a day in pursuit of a wine adventure.

On the above-mentioned trip, I had lunch at a café across from the Tour Saint Jacques, what’s left of the church that was the official starting point for medieval pilgrims bound for Santiago de Compostela. On my original trip 30 years ago, I’d stumbled onto the tower accidentally, then made sure to tag it on my way out to Santiago on my bicycle.

On two subsequent trips I found it again without intending to, & each time had a coffee in this café, so I wanted to reconnect this time.

It was a grey, rainy, cold Sunday afternoon, a good day to be inside watching the world. A good day for onion soup. An excellent day for Champagne.

So that's what I had for lunch.

That’s one of the things I love about France. It’s always time for Champagne.

(I did have the soup, too, in case anyone’s concerned.)

So my idea of heaven would be a week in Champagne, trying all types of Champagne; possibly with some food to accompany it, too.

It'll help me weather the loss of Dorothy and John.

Christmas 2009

I decided I didn’t want to spend Christmas in Seattle—for too many reasons to count up, actually. So I joined family and friends in the Palm Springs area.

I flew yesterday, Christmas Day. I’m assuming that the reason both legs of the journey were jammed was that all airlines have cut back on numbers of flights, and of course are flying those crappy smaller craft. (I once flew DC to LA on Christmas day on a DC10; you could have held World War III there & no one would have got hurt. It was wonderful.)

And Alaska Air has achieved what I had thought to be impossible: they’re worse than United when it comes to passenger experience.

For one thing, that “passengers may take aboard one bag to fit in the overhead bin and one other to fit under the seat in front” thing is obviously pro forma. People were hauling on board steamer trunks, practically, and the staff didn’t do anything. When they start announcing that if you’re seated in the last eight rows of the plane, all the overhead bins are already full, so you should just cram your stuff in any place you find open, you know that things are bad.

(Basically, they’re admitting that people are ignoring that “regulation” wholesale with great success, so you’re a chump if you actually adhere to it. And that “carry-on bags must fit into this space” contraption at the gates is a complete waste of space.)

There was more, but you get the drift.

Still, I made it and got home, had a great Christmas dinner of lamb, sautéed squash and watercress and mint salad, and a good old catch-up conversation.

Today we went hiking in a riverbed, in scenery much different from the PNW. (As illustrated by these two pix.)

Soaking in Seattle

Whitewater foliage

Following the hike (my best friend and I were so involved in catching up that we overshot the visitors' center and ended up practically in Cabo San Lucas before we realized) there was a lovely picnic.

Tomorrow we're off to an old-time spa, served by actual hot springs, where the mob used to come in the 30s and 40s. I have a much-needed shiatsu massage lined up for me, and a thorough soak in the thermal waters.

So—flights aside—I hope your holiday was as good as mine.

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it

This comes to me courtesy of a connection of a connection with a DOT MIL email address, so make of it what you will.

I only hope it doesn’t delay the Merry One on his appointed rounds tonight.

As it is, I don’t know how he’s going to mange to get my prezzies to me, since—while I do have a fireplace—it doesn’t have a, you know, chimney. But then, I’m not sure how I rate on the naughty-nice scale this year. So maybe I don’t care.

(But who’ll eat the double-chocolate brownies I’m putting out, with 1% milk?)

Moscow Cat Theatre

I came upon this video, which cracked me up, even though I’m not wild about trained animal acts.

But since I passed on the dogs-decorating-the-Christmas-tree video last week, I might as well give cats equal time.

Enjoy.

Mit brennender Sorge

Troubling news that reinforces the notion that the Holy See grows more clueless with every passing pope: Benedict XVI is fast-tracking canonization for John Paul II & Pius XII.

Coming in the same week as the theft of the Arbeit Macht Frei sign over the main entrance to Auschwitz, it’s a heavy blow to people of good will everywhere, who’d like to think this is a Season of at least the Semblance of Light for the People of the Book.

Frankly, I’m not that wild about the idea of Saint John Paul II, even though he’s got about the best press of any pope since the Apostle Peter. Despite his well-cultivated global outreach and all those trips, John Paul’s papacy was pretty much dedicated to maintaining the status quo of the Church, including the policies of repressing women and covering up for pedophile priests.

Might as well canonize Alexander V.

But it’s Pius XII, the pope who swapped the moral high ground for a continued lease on Vatican City during World War II, who makes a travesty of sainthood.

His apologists claim he was cultivating a delicate neutrality with the Nazis and fascists that enabled him to…well, I’m not sure. Mostly keep despotic hands off Church property and maintain its position of emitting a beacon of light in a black world. And they point to him sheltering Jews in religious properties in Rome after the Germans occupied Italy and started deportations.

Can you say: too little, too late?

I knew you could.

Like John Paul, Pius XII was more concerned with holding on to whatever power and prestige the Roman Catholic Church possessed than in showing real moral leadership. (Given that moral courage was never in greater need than during the Nazi era, the failure of Pius was all the more despicable.)

If they’re handing out sainthoods for that, can Newt Gingrich be far behind?

Bleak midwinter

Lest you think evil is dead, Polish police report that someone has stolen the iron sign over the main gate to Auschwitz. That would be the Arbeit Macht Frei (work makes you free) sign.

Sadly, it’s not difficult for me to imagine why someone might want to take it. In fact, the possibilities of creeps, anti-Semites, ignorant thrill-seekers, opportunists and others are really too abundant.

I just hope to God that the Polish authorities—who have their own challenges with their welcoming of the Holocaust when the Germans came—at least recognize the potential loss of tourist and investment zlotys if they don’t get this sign back and prosecute the thieves.

This is so much more than a property crime.

Friend me? I don't think so

Social networking media have a lot to answer for. They’re like entering a lunatic asylum & being engulfed by the inmates.

I created a Twitter profile about a year ago, solely so I could follow a colleague’s tweets. I’ve never posted so much as a syllable. (For one thing—imagine me being limited to 140 characters to express my thoughts. Not going to happen.) I’m not even sure I know how to log back in to my account.

So why is it that a couple of times a week I receive notifications announcing that Tami Someone or Peggy Whosis (always females) is now following me on Twitter?

Following what, exactly?

(I know, they’re hoping I’ll reciprocate & jack up their numbers. But that’s not going to happen, either.)

& then there’s Facebook…

It’s bad enough when people you worked with for a short time try to “friend” you. You can just hit the ignore button there & forget about it.

But the other day I received one of those chirpy messages from Facebook saying I had a message from [Guy I Used To Go Out With Just Out Of College]. Now, that relationship was pretty fractious, back & forth, forth & back; together tight & break up. Finally I put enough distance between us that I didn’t have to think about him any more.

At one point, about 15 years ago, he tracked me down in Virginia (through a brother-in-law who was way too free with handing out my contact number) & called. Evidently just to chat, because there didn’t seem to be any purpose in that conversation. He did, however, mention he’d been in Adult Children of Alcoholics (as well as a couple of “men’s groups”, which—because he was in them—were not in any way ridiculous).

After we hung up I pieced together the idea that he must be in some sort of 12-step program, & one of them is to make amends to the people you’ve hurt or treated badly. So I bunged off a card saying if that’s what he was doing, his behavior was no longer an issue for me.

Then didn’t hear from him until 2002, when I found his phone number in some old calendars. I called, just for ducks, & we reconnected, long-distance.

Well, that lasted a few months, until he took issue with a comment one of my other friends made to an email I’d mass-sent. There was some verbal flipping off between them (both suffering from testosterone poisoning), & then GIUTGOWJOOC turned on me, for somehow having a connection to “this clown”.

At that point I’d had enough. My last, emailed, words to him were, “Grow the hell up.” He replied but I never opened it; just filed it in the appropriate place.

So imagine my surprise to get that Facebook message from GIUTGOWJOOC, slugged “reestablish contact”: “Are you open to that? If not, I understand, and it’s okay.”

Well, where to begin?

First, I was shocked, because in 2003 he not only didn’t have cable TV, he was using a PC with DOS only, & certainly had no internet connection. (He had email via his employer.) He just used the computer for “writing” (& the less said about that, the better).

So, evidently he’s now moved onto the Information Superhighway in his 1957 Chevy—unless he’s still accessing via work.

Second, that whole “I understand & it’s okay” is typical of his arrogant, condescending belief that he’s somehow superior instead of stunted emotionally. This is his persona: he has much stronger relationships with animals than with humans. (Doesn’t much like men; keeps women at a distance. But animals? He holds true to them to death.)

So, no, he doesn’t understand & it’s completely immaterial to me whether he thinks it’s okay or not.

I looked at his profile, which he has open to the public (which says pretty much everything right there—he’s always had an unlisted phone number, but splashes himself all over Facebook?). Sunday he had 12 friends (one being his dog); today he has 13. So he’s basically just trying to build up his “friends”, even if they’re just electrons on a monitor.

& remember what I said about animals? He lists eight of them as living with him. In an 1100 sq ft two-bedroom/one-bath 1950s rancher, which hasn’t ever been updated.

Will I “reestablish contact”? Uh, no. Will I reply? I can’t think of anything that would completely convey my indifference to ever hearing from him.

I’m going to go wash my fingers, now. Because this has been a foray into the underside of social media & they feel slimy.