*something clever to do with debbie downer*

I'm in a terrible mood today, bloggers. Terrible. One could say I just shouldn't update, but then I wouldn't be updating on LEAP DAY, which cannot be. But this is currently the case, only I just realized I DON'T HAVE COFFEE, which will be remedied.

So then all my post ideas were me being pissed off. First there was one about Charlotte Bronte's new story coming to light and why this WASN'T good news, because it was pre-The Professor, and I don't know if you've read The Professor, but it sucks. Plus the story's going to be translated from bad French and was an exercise for her tutor and is about a rat. I do not consider any of these factors reason for excitement.

So that's part 1 of me being a killjoy. Part 2 was when I started going through old unfinished posts to see if I had any happy ones I could just use now, but no, the reason I didn't post them was because I started typing them and then decided they were too angry. The most likely candidate was one from January when everyone was posting about Shakespeare. I don't care about Shakespeare. I go to his plays, sure. And I have a healthy interest in the Branagh/Thompson Much Ado, but only because THEY ARE PERFECT. But actual Shakespeare, reading him? Do not care/doesn't do it for me/find posts about him boring.

And then there's Chime, which I just started reading and have highlighted almost the entirety of the first 20 pages with "ARE YOU KIDDING ME" because every single line reminds me of Goth Girl from South Park.  

Suffice it to say, I should have no interactions with human beings today. Did I mention I'm a receptionist? So that's going well.

But we're almost done with February! And I'm going to get coffee!

But for serious, that Bronte thing is not going to be good.

Book Hoarding Tendencies

Why, hello. I hope you all had splendid weekends. I went to a concert by this lady on the right here. Emilie Autumn's use of Victoriana draws me in, but then most else about her makes me go "AHHH I DO NOT BELONG HERE." So that was a fun concert. But she uses a HARPSICHORD in her music. And she has a song called 'Shalott.' And 'Thank God I'm Pretty' (both of which are excellent).

Anyway. I name her because almost no one I know knows her music, and it's good enough to hear. I know that's a ringing endorsement. Just go with it.

I have a dream. That dream is to have two shelves worth of books, all tasteful-looking and carefully chosen to reflect me being awesome. The shelves will have been crafted by a local artisan, possibly with inlaid carvings of some of my favorite scenes from literature. Instead, I have a sagging white bookcase from Target with random books I picked up at library sales/used bookstores stacked two deep with other books piled on top of them.

Part of this is due to me being a low-level hoarder. I used to have a bottle "collection" which consisted of six bottles that sat on the floor of my bedroom. I kept them for about two years until I started watching Hoarders and it freaked me out so much I immediately threw them away. Because they were bottles. The only time a bottle should be kept is maybe if it was used in the 16th century by Queen Elizabeth to send a message that she was being held captive on a desert island by Altan Khan, ruler of Mongolia, and would someone please come rescue her? But as that did not happen, if you have an empty bottle, please recycle it.

Some of my books I keep for nostalgic purposes (I am never, ever getting rid of my ripped up $4.95 Bantam Classics copy of Jane Eyre, because that particular copy was LOVED by my 16-year-old self), a lot of them I have not read, and the others I enjoyed even the slightest bit and do not want to get rid of because what if I someday want to re-read them? WHAT IF.

So. How does one narrow down one's library? Rent a storage unit? This seems extreme for the average lazy person (see: moi). Maybe just get a friend to come over and be mean. 

Friend: "Why do you need the third Percy Jackson book?"

Me: "Oh, well...it had a part I really liked and I thought someday if I wanted to look at it again, it'd be nice to have handy."

Friend: "Have you ever done this?"

Me: "No."

Friend: "You bought this when?"
Me: "Three years ago."

That's how probably 2/3 of the books would go. I'd also need a friend who isn't particularly attached to books, so none of my stellar arguments like "But I REALLY like the cover on that one" would work on them.

Dear Books: I will rid myself of half of you by year's end. Oh yes. This will happen. Because I refuse to move all of you someday. You're too heavy.

Sunday: Follow that Blog

This is a probably one-time feature, but I have to create it, because HOW DOES THE BLOG 'BAD LIONS' ONLY HAVE SEVEN FOLLOWERS?

I quote from its first post:  

Especially in medieval to renaissance work, it always seems like most painters had never even seen a cat before, let alone a lion. Most of the time, it seemed like they were painting based on a description they got in the pub, from someone who knew someone whose cousin once slept with a girl who had seen a lion. From there, they did the best they could.

The lion: art’s great guessing game.

Thus, out of peer pressure, this blog was born.

Please enjoy the man/bear/pigs that follow. 

Bad Lions

RIGHT? It's amazing. I recommend every post. People in the past didn't know shit about lions. Bless this blog-runner and her important work.

Attachments: Prepare Yourself for Enthusiasm

Before proceeding any further, you have to be aware that I read books for humor, character development and love stories. I don't really care about anything else. Oh! Good writing. That's kind of implied, but this is why I don't just read romance novels.

This book has ALL THOSE THINGS.

Plus the fun format of emails for about half of it.

Ok, so Lincoln is the new nightshift IT guy for a Nebraska newspaper, meaning he reads emails flagged for inappropriate workplace language and then sends the offenders a warning. Plus I think he does some other IT-y type things, but this is not important.

Two women's emails keep being flagged, but they are so hilarious and heartwarming that he keeps not sending them a warning. And then...then shenanigans happen, i.e. he falls in love with one of them. And NO MORE PLOT. Because it unfolds in a delightful fashion and I love it so. 

I started out being like "ha-hah! this novel is so amusing" and then it turned into "YOU TWO KISS NOW."

This book was unputdownable for me. At lunch — "I have an hour; I'll read for half of it — ok, 45 minutes — ok, I'll eat after work," while showering (don't ask — it's a thing from childhood I've recently revived, possibly in an attempt to relive those halcyon days) — "'Self! You are wasting water and hastening the ruination of the planet!' 'But WHAT HAPPENS NEXT??'", and on the El — "Right. My stop is next. Just a...few...more...words—" *has to shove book in bag and move it to get out before the doors close*

Beth and Jennifer -- the women -- are fantastic. I'd say I want them to be my best friends, but that would do disservice to my RL best friend (I mentioned she drove with me to the Abraham Lincoln museum for my birthday, right?). But STILL they should be for reals people and we should all hang out and write amusing emails to each other. 

Examples of Beth and Jennifer being people you would want to know:

<<Beth to Jennifer>> And when she told us her wedding song -- of course, they've already picked their wedding song, and of course it's 'What a Wonderful World' by Louis Armstrong -- I said that choosing that song is the sonic equivalent of buying picture frames and never replacing the photos of the models.

----

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I was at the mall last night, walking around by myself, trying not to spend money, trying not to think about a delicious Cinnabon...and I found myself walking by the Baby Gap. I've never been in a Baby Gap. So, I decided to duck in. On a lark.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Right. On a lark. I'm familiar with those.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than...I don't know, more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. 

Try not to love them. You will fail.

Giant kudos to Raych for recommending this. And equally giant kudos to Rainbow Rowell for not only writing an awesome book, but ALSO BEING AMUSING ON TWITTER. For I had made fun of her liking Twilight, and she was hilarious in response. Authors on twitter: Please be funny and do not just constantly promote your books.

Where My Girls At?

Just so you're all aware, moderating comments is not my choice. My blog is not so over-run with companies wishing to force their unwanted advertising on my comment section that I feel the need to do this. It really just creates more work for me ("work" = clicking 'approve' on the comment). But Intense Debate is being wonky, and despite my having written them a stern note apprising them of the situation and wishing for a swift but peaceful resolution, they seem not to have fixed it. Yet. But in the very near future, the moderated comment Walls of Jericho will come tumbling down, and you will instantly be able to see your comment in all its glory without any approval by me necessary. One can only hope.

Are you all aware of the tumblr Better Book Titles? Because you should be:

Which brings me to today's topic. Which I've just now decided will be women in contemporary literature. There're all these strong female characters in literature from the 19th century, and, partially because I don't read a lot of contemporary books that aren't written for 12-year-olds, I'm having a hard time thinking of modern day parallels (and no, Gone With the Wind is too old and doesn't count -- let's go from 1960-now).

Part of the problem seems to lie in the unfortunate fact that most of the latter half of the 20th century has been dominated by dude authors. Like, to a weird degree. I mean, you've got Harper Lee's one book. That's good. The Modern Library's 100 Best Novels list doesn't have a woman until no. 15 (Woolf, obviously, who doesn't fit in the post-1960 group) and another doesn't appear until Wharton at no. 58. The ONLY woman who does fit is Muriel Spark at 76 with The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (which I'm not a huge fan of, but this is incidental).

To be fair, others have criticized this list for the same reason, so maybe I'm using the wrong list. But the fact remains that in the decades following what were supposedly huge leaps in cultural feminism, we have few standout female characters. The best one in recent decades is Hermione Granger (I'm equating 'best' here with 'most influential in a positive way'), but she's written for pre-teens/teenagers. Which is excellent!...for the next generation. There has actually been a series of strong female characters in YA in recent years, including Annabeth Chase in the Percy Jackson series and, of course, Katniss Everdeen in Hunger Games.

But I've read little of the period of literature I'm currently criticizing, so it's possible I'm full of it. But I don't think I am. My ear is finely attuned to the strains, however distant, of a kickass female character. If you have examples, preferably from non-bad books (if any of you mention The Help...), that would be swell. I'm thinking of characters like Francie Nolan, Hester Prynne, the aforementioned Scarlett O'Hara and yes FINE, insanely cliched Elizabeth Bennet.

To conclude:

Today Makes Me Want to Watch The Princess and the Frog

You know what? God bless our weirdo mishmash of a country (assuming you live in America -- if not, bless your weirdo country too). What is today? Mardi Gras. Ok, that's French, gotcha. And we speak English, but we're ok with that. How do we celebrate it? By eating paczkis. Which are...Polish? Right. Fine then.

Oh. This article has now made me think this is perhaps because I live in Chicago, Land of Polish People (outside Poland). In any case, I am currently eating one of these:

"All shall love me and despair over my many calories!"

In sadder news, due to traveling plans that were finalized yesterday, I am NOT going to BEA. Now before you launch a massive protest, know that I am instead going to Canada, and therefore am being punished enough.

No, for reals, my friend is flying me out to Toronto for my birthday because she lives there, and we shall...do Canadian things, I don't know what yet because I am an American and know nothing about Canada. And I only have SO many vacation days, so something had to be sacrificed, and that something was BEA. But come to Chicago, book bloggers! Come and we will eat things!

Otherly, I had completely forgotten I had Attachments by Rainbow Rowell checked out from the library until I saw it was due back today and I am unable to renew it because someone else requested it. Sorry, sir or ma'am, but you're not getting this until I've finished it. I'll somehow handle the 20 cents a day. Also this book is really good and should be read.

May you have more fun today than this dog

Woman in White Readalong-in-April Sign-Up

 Were you all PERFECTLY aware that The Woman in White doesn't involve a ghost?? Here I've been thinking that this WHOLE time and I suddenly thought 'wait...what if it doesn't. Then in April you will be most disappointed indeed." And no! Not a single ghost in that whole giant book! So much sadness.

Nooooo no ghosts

In my defense, there's a for reals (fine, "for reals") ghost called the White Lady. And then there's the book The Woman in Black. Which is about a ghost. So I don't think my expectations were unreasonable. Just in case anyone else had my totally rational reaction, here is the button/graphic/whatever for the readalong (which is April 2-30):

So now I'm just looking with suspicion at this book, because my expectations for it have been dashed and all I know is it's by Wilkie Collins, and that he was kind of nutty. He also had a GIANT forehead. I'm attributing all these things to him being named 'Wilkie,' because that's just silly, that is.

To conclude, here is the Mr. Linky:

April 9th - Preface through Chapter XV, The End of Hartright's Narrative

April 16th - Beginning of Vincent Gilmore's Narrative through Chapter IX in The Second Epoch

April 23rd - Chapter X, Second Epoch through Chapter X, Third Epoch

April 30th - Finish

"Illinois Nazis." "I hate Illinois Nazis."

SO. Last week I believe there was something of a brouhaha over getting to know bloggers. It involved tagging people and so forth, and pretty much everyone I would've tagged was ALREADY tagged, plus I hate tagging, so I eschewed that post, despite there being some lovely questions asked. And now I'm just going to tell you some random items, because personally, I'm very nosy and like to know things about people.

1. Hi. My name's Alice and I sing opera. Or 'am in the process of becoming an opera singer.' Yes. That. Opera is swell and my favorite. I rarely discuss it here because 1) book blog and 2) it tends to bore people because they don't bother to learn anything about it and instead think 'oh. Opera. That's boring.'

2. I live in Chicago and have lived in Illinois since I was four. Illinois is awesome, but very very flat due to a glacier coming through here in the last Ice Age. I learned this in a Geology class I took at the University of Illinois, where I majored in Comparative Literature. All my favorite professors had PhDs in Complit, because it is the best. Also, if you live in Illinois, you feel a certain proprietary claim on Abraham Lincoln. We know he was born in Kentucky, but he hated it and chose to live here, because it is spiffier.

3. For my 21st birthday, I went to the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois with my best friend. It was swell. It's also where I picked up my twitter handle 'flubdubs', from Lincoln saying to Mary Todd that he wouldn't ask Congress to approve a bill asking for extra money for "flub-dubs for this damned old house, when the soldiers cannot have blankets!" I thought 'flubdubs' was hilarious, because it is.

4. I've wanted to have the job title 'cryptozoologist' without having to work for it since high school. My favorites are the Jersey Devil, the Thunderbird, and the Mothman. This is a kickass website explaining why the Mothman might have BEEN a Thunderbird. Be still my heart.

5. I've eaten hummus almost every day for about four years now. People said I would get tired of it two years in. This has not yet happened. As a result, I get a bit stupidly condescending when other people say they love hummus. 

6. I didn't listen to pop music until I was about 15, at which point I stuck with Britney Spears, boy bands and No Doubt. Before that, it was solely opera and musicals. Therefore I have something of a giant gap in my musical education and I delight in people telling me Important Albums I Should Not Miss, as in all likelihood I haven't heard them (ex: last year I heard Fleetwood Mac for the first time).

7. Red wanted good tumblrs. Here they are: The Lamps of Downton Abbey, Geek Feed, Downton Pawnee, Beautiful Portals, WTF Fanfiction, Hungover Owls, Suri's Burn Book, Guinea Pigs With Hats, Lemon Clan, Texts from Bennett. I could go on.

8. Chicago is right on Lake Michigan. Lake Michigan is HUGE and looks like the ocean. In the summer, I like to go to a park right next to Navy Pier (this is a tourist trap where you can get Auntie Anne's pretzels and where Chicago Shakespeare Theater is for some reason located), watch the boats owned by people who live in the Gold Coast, and read.

9. I speak semi-fluent French because of my major, and spent five weeks in Avignon (which sucks. Avignon sucks). I was 21, it was my first time away from home for any substantial length of time, my host family didn't speak English, and I cried every day for about the first two weeks. The nice thing about medieval towns is that there are 800-year-old churches that are constantly open, and you can go sit in them, cry about your loneliness and then feel rather poetic about the whole situation.

10. I have three brothers, and our main source of bonding is Wayne's World. We don't discuss emotions, but we quote things, and this is how we relate. "A gun rack? I don't even own a gun, let alone many guns that would necessitate an entire rack."

That's it. No books. You know I like books, or at least tolerate them. To conclude, here's an example of amazing sticker placement:

Nick & Norah & Library Addiction

At the Library Yesterday:

Me: Hokay self, you're going to go in, get sheet music and leave. You are NOT allowed to check out anymore books.
Me: Okay, I can do that.
*gets sheet music, heads down escalator to 7th floor on way to 3rd to exit the library*
Me: Oh heyyyy, the 7th floor. I'm just gonna stop here a sec and check out the newly returned fiction.
Me: NO! You are NOT allowed!
Me: I have LOTS of time, thank you, and I'm just gonna look to see if there's stuff I want to get later.
Me: ....fine. But then you have to finish reading Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist.
Me: Fine.
*browses*
Me: Hey, there're two Emma Donoghue books here! And--oh look, The Collector by John Fowles. You've been meaning to read that.
Me: NO! Get away! Why can't you ever just get music and go!
Me: But...checking out this Donoghue short story collection and this book by Fowles will make you happy.
Me: *look of despair* But--I....*hangs head* You're right. Let's get them.

And so goes basically every trip to the library.

Instead of reading Nick & Norah last night, I think I watched South Park and passed out around 11 [note to my parents who read this: 'passed out' is my euphemism for 'drifted slowly and serenely off to sleep without the aid of any narcotic]. And speaking of narcotics, how hilarious is this?: 

'Pretty hilarious' is the answer

So, similar to Will Grayson, Will Grayson, Nick & Norah is by two authors, each writing one POV character. And David Levithan wrote half of each of those books.

I HIGHLY enjoy the writing style of both of these books, but this one confused me because it would have the worst line and then kind of redeem it by a follow-up line. Example of terrible lines: "The streets are empty. I am empty. Or, no—I am full of pain. It’s my life that’s empty" and "Perhaps it’s only the vehicle that won’t start, but it feels like it’s my life that won’t start."

Teenagers, right? But then there're things like "I’m on a date with a good guy and I’ve given him more mixed signals than a dyslexic Morse code operator" and that's just good times with words right there.

Does anyone else scoff at what other Kindle users highlight? Because this I do a lot. I guess it's less forgivable in this instance because this book is probably mostly read by angsty teens in search of something deep, but: "I guess you don’t see the planets when you’re staring at the sun. You just get blinded." 200 highlights. And I am Judgey, the judge from Judgetown.

David Levithan has this kind of driving sentence that I really like, where it just pushes forward and forward. Lots of 'ands' but not in an annoying way.

I do totally want to see the movie after this, and -- oh, the plot? Nick and Norah are 17, don't know each other, at a club in NYC, and when Nick sees his ex-girlfriend there, he asks Norah to be his girlfriend for five minutes so he does not look lame. And the night kinda...goes on from there. For some reason, the movie flip-flops this and has Norah asking Nick to be her boyfriend, which I'm going to assume is not for some misogynist Hollywood reason (p.s. I totally think it's for a misogynist Hollywood reason).

Whatever, the book's 184 pages. Even if you don't like it, it won't be life-damaging. And as its title might indicate, there're a lot of music references. I have learned a new Beastie Boys song because of this book. Plus David Levithan is awesome. The end.

Cupidity, Interestingly Enough, Means 'Greed for Money or Possessions'

Oh my goodness, WHAT am I doing not updating on Valentine's Day? Meaning it's still early in the day, but I just realized I hadn't intended to post. RIDICULOUSNESS. Let us celebrate a day of listening to boy bands singing about how much they love you, girl.

May you too be accosted by a strange waltzing man in the forest

All right. We've gotta do it. Favorite couples in literature? I did a post on this WAY back in the day, but who wants to look back that far? Nobody, that's who. So these are couples that made me literally flail, regardless of the overall quality of the book:

Will Ladislaw/Dorothea Brooke, Middlemarch - I read this when I was 19 and I LOVE THEM. Dorothea Brooke is my gold standard for life. I love her. And they are awesome.

Lord Peter Wimsey/Harriet Vane - What do you MEAN you haven't read Dorothy L. Sayers's Lord Peter Wimsey series?? Get on that. It starts with Whose Body?, which isn't that great, but it SWIFTLY improves until becoming amazing. Lord Peter is an English lord in the '20s. He eventually meets detective novelist Harriet Vane, who's on trial for murder and he proposes to her the first time they meet. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

Paul/Helen, The Historian - I know the quality of this book is debatable, but I love them. They're all bookish and cute. I mean, Helen's a bit of a hardass, but a LOVABLE hardass. Plus I'm kind of into epistolary novels, not gonna lie, and this is all "I'm gonna read this journal/these letters from the past!" Huzzah.

Nan King/Florence Banner, Tipping the Velvet - I didn’t think I’d like Flo. But then it turned out she’s all into the labor movement and makes Nan a better person, whereas Kitty’s just an energy sucker. A really hot energy sucker, but an energy sucker nonetheless. And whatever, People Who Only Ship Nan/Kitty, Nan and Flo make out in a closet. That was the height of sexuality to my 14-year-old imagination, which I will now revert to for the purposes of this post (erm, not that I was 14 when I read Tipping the Velvet).

Adam Bede/Dinah Morris, Adam Bede - Okay, George Eliot is the Queen of 19th Century Fanfic. The main problem I had with Adam Bede is that Dinah disappears for a huge portion of it and it instead focuses on Hetty the Harlot. Who teaches us all a little something about not having sex with the upper class. But Georgey (as I call her in my head) pulls through in true fanfic style, which makes me love her.

Alfred/Sophronia Lammle, Our Mutual Friend - I'm almost positive Dickens doesn't want these two shipped, but I'm doing it anyway. They're minor characters in a book that causes great anger to rise in me when discussing it for too long, but I like them.

See how happy they look?

Charming to see Mr. and Mrs. Lammle taking leave so gracefully, and going down the stairs so lovingly and sweetly. Not quite so charming to see their smiling faces fall and brood as they dropped moodily into separate corners of their little carriage.

Sigh. They'll work it out. If I have to Thursday Next that shit, I'll do it.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

"Everybody gets a sculpture of their spirit animal"

Last night I saw The Vow (SO MANY EMOTIONS) and The Woman in Black (SO SCARY) and then came home and watched an episode of Bomb Girls (SO MUCH CANADIAN LESBIANISM). Ok, that isn't really true for the latter, but I have been promised this:

This is tumblr's fault, because there's a fuckyeahkateandbetty tumblr, and it posted pictures of ladies in period clothing, and so obviously I had to get on that train. *puts on train-riding hat*

Bookish update inDEED. Let's see. I am reading Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, because I like to challenge myself with literature that both pushes the envelope and makes me reconsider the basic tenets of life that I hold near and dear to my heart. I am not reading it because it is YA and therefore easy. That would be ridiculous.

Also Portia de Rossi's Unbearable Lightness, which I've just started, but is REALLY good. Julie from Contractually Obligated to Like Books and I are weirdly big fans of Better Off Ted, which is a show that isn't excellent, but we still like it a lot? I don't know. I cannot explain the Better Off Ted viewing experience. You're going to have to watch it. Anyway, Portia de Rossi is in it, AND in Arrested Development, which means she will be forever awesome. This book is so far demonstrating that she's also really intelligent and thoughtful.

Otherly, Julie just posted on Mindy Kaling's book, which reminded me I need to actually read that since I own it and so forth, and VALENTINE'S DAY is tomorrow. But today is Galentine's Day, so Happy Galentine's Day, book blogging ladies. I think I'll go buy myself chocolate at the Godiva downstairs. Because I've been to that Godiva on Valentine's Day, and that was an experience that should never happen again.

Lois Lowry Does Not Only Write About Sad Things

Hey, remember when we were all nine and read The Giver, because obviously we're all the same age and were assigned the same books in school? I remember that. So that was pretty much my entire exposure to Lois Lowry, and The Giver is not the most "up" of novels. 

But look at this book! The Willoughbys, written for people CONSIDERABLY younger than myself. It's about four children who deem themselves old-fashioned and have horrible parents, and then one day the parents decide to rid themselves of their children at the same time that the children decide to rid themselves of their parents. Which is not actually the main point of the book, but never mind. It's crazy-short, and you can probably read it in like an hour, but I highly enjoyed it because of lines like this:

"And then there are the two that I can't tell apart," Mrs. Willoughby went on. "The ones with the sweater." 

"The twins." 

"Yes, them. Why on earth do they look so much alike? It confuses people and isn't fair."

And one other, as I don't want to ruin all the hilarious bits:

"I think this would be easier if we were modern children," Tim said, "but we are old-fashioned. So our choices are limited. Jane?" 

"Yes?" Jane asked. She was on the floor, playing with the cat again. 

"I think you must develop a lingering disease and waste away, eventually dying a slow and painless death. We will all gather around your deathbed and you can murmur your last words. Like Beth in Little Women." 

Jane scowled. "I don't want to," she said.

So there's that book. There's also an EXTREMELY RANDOM reference in it to my hometown (Champaign, Illinois) which made me make a 'wtf?' face, because Champaign gets a lot of random references (ok, HAL says 'Urbana, Illinois' in 2001, but they're RIGHT next door to each other) and it's weird because while it's a swell town with a fine, upstanding university that I possibly attended, I wouldn't think it merited more random references than anywhere else.

My book on Prussia recently had this sentence: The royal officials appointed to administrative posts in the larger towns did not function as the imperious agents of a central policy bent on disempowering the urban elites. So yeah, I'm feeling a little suicidal regarding that book. But other than that, it's FRIDAY and tomorrow I am being a young 20something and going to brunch, which seems to be what young 20somethings in urban areas do, so that's all just spiffy. And then I shall work on a Doctor/River Song music vid set to a song from the Twilight: Breaking Dawn soundtrack. NO REGRETS IN LIFE. May you all have highly pleasant weekends.

Before I Go To Sleep: Getting Its Own Undeserved Post

All right. As is always the case, I have only a vague idea of what I'm going to say, but I'm gonna type some stuff out and by the end of this post, it will hopefully seem like something well-thought-out. Or at least have a hilarious picture (the latter is guaranteed).

After reading Raych's post on Before I Go To Sleep, I thought 'Hm. I like mysteries as much as the next fellow. What-ho, onward and so forth!' By which I mean I added it to my to-reads list on goodreads and then put it on my library Kindle queue.

For those unaware of its plot, this is BASICALLY it: a woman wakes up not knowing who she is, where she is, or who the dude in bed with her is. When she sees herself in the mirror, she's 20 years older than she expects to be. The dude is all "I'm Ben, I'm your husband, you had an accident and have 50 First Dates syndrome so you only remember before the accident and your brain resets itself every night when you sleep" (by the way, I fully admit that I love 50 First Dates -- judge away, judgeypants).

Ben goes to work, a doctor calls her and is all "I'm your doctor; we've been meeting secretly; let's meet today" and when they do he gives her a journal she's been keeping for a while, and -- and this is the part that always seem to get people, including me -- at the very beginning of the journal she finds that she's written "DON'T TRUST BEN."

Mysteries! Mysterious mysteries!

I confess a number of times I went "Wait, is that the solution? That's really lame. This better not turn into that kind of book." But rest assured it does NOT.

At the same time, this wasn't...that good. Meaning this will be no one's favorite book, unless that person is an idiot (or unless I like you, in which case your favorite book is stellar, as are you). Something about it just felt lacking, but at the same time, I read the last 200 pages in one go, and I NEVER do that. It's like 400 pages, depending on your edition, and kind of too long, but if you can skim it, I recommend doing that, because MYSTERIES. But also kind of lameness. 

And if you approach mysteries the way I do, you'll come up with like five theories and then when one is proven, go "A-HA!" and feel all smug, although really what else was the author supposed to do outside of those five options? Nothing, short of wizardry. So maybe he should be cut some slack. Maybe.

And for those who don't read this to hear about books, here's a pug dressed as Scarlett O'Hara:

No Birthday Hat for You, Dickens

Aw, you guys, it's Dickens' 200th birthday. Back when I tried harder on here, I wrote two posts concerning him. They are:

Dickens vs Austen Cage Match

Dickens and My Kind of Overblown Prejudice Against Him

Since I rarely go to linked posts, I'm going to assume you won't, so I can with impunity just repost a line or two from those. Namely, that Dickens’ particular brand of hypocritical asshattery came about because, despite his constant assertions of how wonderful the Victorian nuclear family can be, he leaves his wife in 1858 and takes up with – dear God – an actress. 

I love his books. I do. But he's one of many authors I would have zero interest in meeting. We could time travel back to Victorian days and you could say "Alice! By George [for we would be awesome and adapt to the language], Dickens is directly down the street! Let us go hear him expound upon matters and some such things!"

And I would say "If I wished to hear someone I don't respect speak, I would attend a Twilight convention. Let us forsake this idiotic plan of yours and find some eel pie for purchase." (hah, the British eat disgusting things)

I don't have all the facts about his domestic situation, but it PISSES ME OFF when he writes his heroines in such a way that if they have even a spark of humor, they have to be punished (*cough*BellaWilfer*cough*), and talks so much about how important it is that they are wives and mothers and then LEAVES HIS FAMILY. What I really wanted for this post was a gif of Molly Shannon on 30 Rock saying "Come here, you magnificent douchebag!" But I could not find it. What I DID find, however, was this, labeled "Polite Bears":

Happy 200th birthday, Dickens. I'm glad you wrote Bleak House.

Back, Having Painted With All the Colors of the Wind

The Presbyterian Woman Annual Retreat high has been somewhat tempered by my acquiring a migraine (at great personal cost. hah! puns). So as I lay here in my bed, helped not at all by ibuprofen and being extraordinarily bored by endless Facebook updates regarding the Super Bowl, I thought I'd update my book blog on — surprise! — something only vaguely book-related.

First off, look at this:

Calm and peaceful the retreat was! As one might expect. Hail, Wisconsin and so forth. I saw stars! I live in downtown Chicago; do you know the last time I saw stars? The answer would be NEVER. NEVER STARS. But thanks to the kickass app Star Walk, I went out into the freezing Wisconsin night last night, aimed my phone at the sky and said "A-HA! Castor and Pollux, I see you there by the moon!" Then I dragged an 80-year-old woman outside to look at them with me. And behold, it was magical.

My church, coupled with another church, does this retreat every year. I usually go with some kind of reading aspirations, and then instead end up drunk, talking about young adult lit at 1 in the morning with some 40-year-olds. One of them was 50 pages from the end of The Hunger Games series, went to read it before falling asleep, and the next morning at breakfast stopped me while I was holding my tray and just said "I finished it." To which I could only respond "I'M SORRY I COULDN'T TELL YOU."

Anyway. I got in touch with nature. I hugged a tree. And I have this picture, which I think makes me look like I'm about to share why YOU should play a part in saving our wetlands:

"Oh hey. Didn't see you there."

I decided (...again) to be less judgey as a person, but before that happened, everyone had to fill out posters with information about themselves, and on it was 'Favorite Book.' Our seminary assistant Maureen and I walked around, reading people's, and in response to me judging everyone's books, Maureen said "I'm gonna find yours and change it to Twilight."

Well-played, madam. Well-played.

Wisconsining! Also 18th Century Stuff.

This is perhaps a needless post, but I wouldn't have updated today without it, so look! More internetness to read. 

I am going away!...for the weekend. Meaning the time of the annual Presbyterian Women Church Retreat in Wisconsin is here, which is where I put my phone in airplane mode for two days and go stare at a lake and do hippie activities with about 40 middle-aged women. It is delightful. I am off today and back Sunday afternoon, and taking with me Rules of Civility and the Kindle app on my phone (which I hope only to use if worship/sharing time gets too touchy-feely and I wish to distance myself).

Speaking of apps, after years of waiting, I haveth obtainethed an iPhone and would like app suggestions, because there are TOO MANY to wade through. I'm in thrall to a time-wasting game called TinyZoo (I have giant ground sloths in my zoo!), and I just got StarWalk, because I plan on spending time this weekend staring at the sky and Contemplating the Smallness of Man and the Vastness of All Else, but otherwise? Not much.

To make up for my poetry-hating of yesterday, I will state that I do love some poetry. Some. And specifically, that of Alexander Pope. Speaking of which, back in the college day, my Early 18th C English Lit prof sent the class The Rape of the Lock in pdf format, I saved it to my desktop, and only when my friend stared at my screen in horror did I realize the file name was Pope_Rape (oh good Lord, who knows what that's going to bring to my blog).

The poem was a joke as, similar to now, in the 18th c. being hilarious was way preferable to being sincere. There had been a scandal, because Arabella Fermor's suitor cut off a lock of her hair WITHOUT HER PERMISSION. So Pope wrote a mock-heroic poem and it's great.

Have a FANTASTIC next couple of days, all. I'm out of here in a few hours.

Why the Romantics Piss Me Off

I've had a stormy relationship with the Romantics (which is a hilarious joke if you think about it). Mostly, I hate them. Every now and then they'll write something and I'll think 'Oh, now that's pretty,' but overall they're a bunch of emo 20somethings who need to get over how much they like to FEEL. If I want to read about young people weeping over how much they love something, I'll go look at Tumblr (Tumblr is comprised almost entirely of teenage girls writing that 'seriously you guys, my keyboard is covered in tears -- emma watson looked SO pretty tonight'). Because honestly, I'd prefer that to some 25-year-old man crying because a mountain is really really big.

What set this off was seeing this picture of Thomas Chatterton:

Ew.

He's apparently considered the first English Romantic poet. He, of course, committed suicide (it was maybe an accident) at age 17.  Of course. But look at that picture! Look at it! Can you BLAME the Victorians for reacting against this? No! Upright posture, social strictures, restrictive clothing, please. No loafing about, lounging against messy desks in your loose robe with probably rotting food on that cabinet behind you. That sort of character shall be made fun of (why hello, Harold Skimpole, Child of Nature). 

My French poetry TA said I was heartless, but WHO cries at Sylvan Learning Center commercials? I think I've made my point. No, I just don't like self-centered emotional idiots who take their feelings much too seriously. And that is practically ALL the Romantics. I make some allowances for Keats, because aw, Keats.

Did the Enlightenment need a giant reactionary movement to get things a little less focused on rationality? Yeah, probably. Too bad it had to come in the form of overcome young men writing about the beauty of a swallow and then shooting themselves.