Beard

Thanks to comrade in beardedness Michael Eades (a.k.a. Mackle), for posting a quote I sent him to the Whiskerino Tumblr.

Looking forward to reliving the excitement November 1st.

Classics Of Love

I believe this deserves a post…

Jesse Michaels, former lead singer of Operation Ivy and Common Rider, has formed a new band. Check out Classics Of Love. Their EP is coming out in June on Asian Man (maybe my favorite record label from high school). Stoked!

Freckle Juice

Freckle Juice might be cheating, considering it took less than twenty minutes to read. I wanted to find something by Judy Blume to request from the library, and even though this book was thinner than a magazine, I’d already gone to the trouble and didn’t feel like returning it. 

I’ll justify my decision to include F.J. on grounds taking into consideration the lengthiness of the last one.

This was a re-read I read once as a tiny guy—third grade maybe. It’s about a boy who gets tricked into drinking a recipe so he can grow freckles. It was no more elaborate than I remembered.

Maybe we’ll try another Judy Blume one before the year is over—one that was written for slightly older readers. Or maybe really old readers—anybody recommend any of her adult fiction? 

This was #18, assuming no one objects.

Deadeye Dick

Kurt Vonnegut’s Deadeye Dick is a fable-like story featuring an emotionless antihero. An accidental murder occurs where this young boy shoots a rifle out the window, killing a lady vaccuming in the neighborhood. His father takes the blame, and for the rest of the boy’s life he walks around feeling like a miserable idiot. 

If that doesn’t sound enticing, remember the novel was written by a man that manages to repeatedly craft moving and enjoyable stories from the most unlikeable characters and settings possible. I wouldn’t call it one of his best, but even Kurt’s worst would be better than what most authors are capable of.

Lying within the pages of D.D. are piles of jokes exposing the most dreadful things about society. There’s also cooking recipes, occasional transitions where the book turns into a play, and to top it all off, Hitler’s* a minor character! (*If only as a painter during his art school days). Vonnegut is always thought-provoking and fun, and this one wasn’t an exception.

This was #17 in my attempt to read a book a week in 2009. I’ve suddenly found a big selection of more stuff. Currently trying to decide what’ll come next.

Hanging on the Telephone

Vodka Movie

Boy Proof

Cecil Castellucci’s Boy Proof was a fun, quick read, about a determinedly friendless high school girl who loves sci-fi movies. Everyone in the book loves science fiction actually, apart from one or two characters. This was very strange, but accepted fairly easily. It took me a while to get into the protagonist, but I eventually found myself rooting for her. And I liked the dude she was crushing on from the get-go.

Details vague enough? I snuck #16 into my apartment before Carrie a.k.a. Juanita had to give it away. (I’m sorry to the winner, since the cover and pages might’ve gotten dog-eared a little.)

Glad we’re picking up speed. Now that the project’s press packets and web stuff are all done, I should have more time set aside. That’s assuming I don’t spend it participating in other extra-curriculars. Got a few more books ready to go.

My Life and Hard Times

Another teensy required reading book to pass the time. I picked it up feeling I needed to learn about this man who writes and draws poor illustrations. He seems to be referenced everywhere, all the time. A classic humorist, people say. A copy was already on my shelf, skinny and hiding. Lynne Truss mentioned the guy maybe three times—some fights he had with corresponding linguists, in particular.

Maybe I missed something here. It was OK. Didn’t do it for me. Just didn’t care. I imagine James Thurber having a profound influence on the later writings of Woody Allen, which I much prefer. In those instances, the world’s shortest biography did shine. The last chapter was terrific. And then it was over.

Here’s a sentence I liked:

Probably no one man should have as many dogs in his life as I have had, but there was more pleasure than distress in them for me except in the case of an Airedale named Muggs.

This was strangely relevant to me:

Her mother loved the name Juanita so dearly that she worked the first part of it into the names of all her daughters — they were (in addition to a Juanita) Juanemma, Juanhelen, and Juangrace.

Interesting things you can learn by reading the back cover:

He died within a year of Faulkner and Hemingway.

He talks “largely about small matters and smally about great affairs.”

Not sure what’s coming next. Some YA, maybe. Now taking suggestions.