A few weeks ago, I used my first-ever hashtag on Facebook. Only a few people knew what #hisandhearse meant at the time, but now that the major pieces of the plan are in place, we're excited to reveal our plans for this summer.
Here's the short version: Earlier this spring, Aaron and I started discussing the idea of a summer road trip. We needed to find a the right kind of vehicle (versatile, affordable, comfortable) to take the kind of trip we had in mind. We bought a used hearse that we're taking on a 7,000-mile road trip from Michigan to California and back, with stops to across the country to visit National Parks and see friends and family along the way. I came up with #hisandhearse as a way for people to follow along with our adventures, since we like to take pictures and tell stories.
For me, the trip is more than just a fun way to spend part of my summer with my husband. For me, traveling by hearse is a symbolic way to celebrate surviving a very difficult year.
Last July, my parents were in a single-car accident on a country road. Dad was rescued, but has endured a few surgeries to repair a badly broken ankle and foot. Mom died in the helicopter on the way to the hospital; nothing could be done to save her. Knowing that has not made the last 11 months easier for our family to adjust to losing Mom. She was only 58. I had spoken with her just an hour or two before the crash. I'm one of many who were just not ready to say goodbye to her.
Anyone who has lost someone close to them understands the magnitude of such a loss. It is only through the love and support of family, friends, and sometimes strangers that I'm finding ways to keep going through a life I sometimes don't recognize as my own because it is so irrevocably changed from the plans I had before. Imagine that we go through life as a rower in a boat: we face the part of the river we've already rowed, much like we are able to see the past but not the future. Mom's death was a waterfall. After it happened, I knew I was still on the same river, but the scenery had changed completely.
Grief is not gentle. It is raw. It makes you feel acutely aware of just how painfully alive you are, in part because of how fiercely you continue to love the one who is gone. Besides the expected sadness and crying, my grief manifested itself in other ways. I couldn't sleep or eat. I lashed out in anger and became easily frustrated at home and at work. I had unpredictable and terrifying panic attacks. At times, my grief was a black kaleidoscope, fracturing and darkening everything I saw. I had been visiting a counselor, but I still I sunk into depression by November and pretty much stayed there through February. I didn't want to leave the house or see anyone, and typically did so out of obligation or guilt, ducking out of things when I could and letting my calls go to voicemail as often as possible. Grief still complicates how I process my own emotions, and it can take longer for me to react or make decisions. I take medication now to help manage my emotions--something I fought for as long as I could, out of some misguided sense of shame about needing help.
With time (and with a lot of help), I've slowly started crawling back into the world a little bit. Being able to share my grief with others has been a tremendous source of healing, and words are inadequate to express my gratitude to everyone who has supported me and my family in ways big and small since Mom died. Thank you all so much. I know I have not been easy to be around these last few months, but it is because you have all been carrying me, or pulling me forward, that I've managed to figure out where I'm going.
Part of that equation, it seems, is travel. We did a little bit of traveling this spring, going to Ft. Lauderdale and Las Vegas for Aaron's work and Salt Lake City for a friend's wedding. Even though each trip was challenging, it sparked something in me that made me remember that there is a world out there, and it would be nice to actually interact with it and to see some more of it. Aaron started talking about taking a vacation together, maybe just us, an actual vacation (not a vacation tacked on to a conference, for example). We talked about possible road trip destinations. We caught a rerun of a few episodes of Ken Burns' The National Parks: America's Best Idea on PBS one night. I picked up a book about the National Parks at Goodwill, just in case.
And then, while sitting with friends both old and new in a hot tub in Park City, Utah, cocktails in hand and feeling giddy from the decadence of the situation and the effects of the altitude on our Midwestern bodies, we started talking about our idea to take a road trip that would somehow get us out to California. We had thought about flying out to Reno or San Diego or Sacramento, then renting a vehicle and driving back to Michigan--maybe an RV, maybe an SUV. Someone mentioned buying an old hearse, and we laughed a little, nervously.
But the idea stuck. We agreed that a hearse's noble history of transporting the dead was just that: the past. How wonderful that the deceased had been given one last smooth ride in a Cadillac. How wonderful that we would be able to give the vehicle a second life, with passengers who could actively appreciate it. We'd have the convenience of a camper, but the added flexibility to customize the back for sleeping and hauling our gear. In late May, we drove to Cincinnati and bought a white 1996 Cadillac Fleetwood hearse; the modifications on the interior have already begun.
This summer, Aaron and I will embark on the longest and most ambitious road trip we've been on in the 17 years we've been together. The trip, while important to us as an experience and as an opportunity to see new places together, really is a way to celebrate the end of a difficult year, and to honor Mom, who taught me that sometimes, the best thing you can do is just GO. Aaron and I started our relationship on a high school trip to Washington, D.C. because we switched seats on the bus and ended up next to each other. I was only on that trip because Mom said I could go--granted, she probably had no idea that she would be inadvertently setting up the meet-cute for her only daughter. Over the years, Aaron and I have reminisced about that bus trip as one of the best experiences of our lives, and we've long been grateful that both our moms were there for what turned out to be the beginning of our lives together. Since Mom's death, I'm even more grateful that she got to see the first 17 years of what's turning out to be a pretty decent story about the love two nerdy kids can have for each other.
I know I will grieve Mom for the rest of my life, because that's how it works when you love someone. I know there will be times the grief will feel as suffocating and intense as it did that night in the ER, and so many of the sleepless nights that followed. But I finally feel like I am ready to live more forcefully and deliberately than I have been able to since last July. I am ready to start making memories again. I am ready to haul my grief with me, to shoot it down the Interstate and drive it through this whole country, not because it will make it go away, but because I need to take it for a ride. I need to it see me enjoying life. I need grief to finally learn that it rides in the back. What better way than to strap it in for 7,000 miles and make it write postcards? What better way than to make it stare at snapshots of the lives not lost on July 29th?
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Book Report 3
Here's a post I should have done about a month ago, but there have been some ups and downs (quite a few downs, actually) that made me want to wallow and read but not write. Books have been a good companion these last few months. So, here are the books I read to close out 2012.
34. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
This was the first of my commute audiobooks, and it was an excellent choice because it kept me awake. Driving back and forth to Evansville (IL 13 to Harrisburg, then 45 through Eldorado, then 141/62 all the way to USI) didn't afford much scenic entertainment, and scanning through the radio stations got old fast. So what better way to spend 3 hours a day than wandering through a post-apocalyptic America with a non-descript father and son, referred to merely as "the man" and "the boy"?
Something terrible has happened. The earth has been ravaged and decimated. And all the reader can do is wander and starve with the two main characters, wondering when (and what) their next meal will be, whether the various evil factions will catch up with them, whether disease or a simple mistake will be the end of the father and son. Their anonymity makes the story universal: they could be any father and son. They could be your brother and his child, they could be your neighbor, your coworker, an acquaintance. A stranger.
I could call the book suspenseful, but the suspense was not about the events of the narrative so much as a quiet, all-consuming dread for the fate of the characters. I had no illusions about whether they would survive; it was more about the drama of not knowing exactly how or when they would die. But I wanted to know what would happen. Having the story read to me, though, meant I had a harder time anticipating the really devastating moments, like when the boy would ask, once again, whether or not he was going to die. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara, because there were days I couldn't stop myself from crying over the horrors of the book. I'd read it again, though.
35. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
This is a case where the title is simultaneously apt and lacking: the book recounts the true story of the murder of 4 members of the Clutter family of Holcomb, Kansas in 1959, a cold-blooded crime; however, at the same time, the phrase has become so cliche that it doesn't do justice to just how senseless the act was, or how cold the killers. The storytelling was disarming, in that it seemed so casual, so clearly fictionalized--I had to keep reminding myself that the events were real, that this was a real family brutally killed in the the night in their own home.
I've never read this kind of true-crime book, but I tend to watch these kinds of television shows and documentaries. Reading it was somehow worse; reading it before bed each night was probably incredibly foolish. I had some pretty gruesome murder nightmares, but they were in the same matter-of-fact style as the book, which was even more unsettling.
36. The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
My next audiobook selection was a lush gothic suspense story with quite a bit of book-love in it. A bookseller's daughter and novice biographer gets the chance to hear the life story of a famous and reclusive author, who has a history of lying about her past. The book unfolded with a satisfying number of plot twists and haunting (but not quite ghostly) elements, and some really beautiful language that helped me get through some of the grayer days of my drive.
37. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
I'll admit it: I'm a bad English major, because I had never read Frankenstein before. I was fascinated by the concept, and how a young writer in the 19th century would explain a reassembled, reanimated corpse. But I'm an even worse English major because I was so bored with it. I understood the reason behind the epistolary form, but reading it was tedious and drawn out. I frequently fell asleep after reading only a few pages. I struggled to keep going. And although I read 3/4 of this admittedly short book, I didn't finish. If anything, though, it helped me understand what might make high school students permanently turn away from reading: if everything they read are canonical classics from the 19th and early 20th centuries, of course they're going to assume that books are full of antiquated, stilted language--that books are boring. That books can offer them nothing.
38. The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak
If anyone is looking for a young adult book that's not sci-fi/fantasy and has some historical elements to it, I'd definitely recommend this one. Set in Nazi Germany and narrated by Death himself, the book follows Liesel Meminger through early adolescence. In addition to the larger turbulence of the war, the story shows Liesel becoming an orphan, learning to read, dealing with school, and beginning to ask questions about humanity on both a small scale and in a broader sense. I expected it to be emotionally charged, since it takes place during WWII, but I didn't expect it to be so funny at times. Liesel's relationship with her best friend, a boy named Rudy, is both endearing and tragic. I think this one deserves a place alongside the Diary of Anne Frank in terms of teaching middle schoolers about life during WWII.
39. My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler
After reading/listening to so much "heavy" material, I needed something lighter--something that wouldn't give me nightmares. It was 25 cents at the Carbondale Public Library book sale, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. But here's the thing: I don't find Chelsea Handler particularly funny. I've only seen her a handful of times in various contexts on TV, and I've never been too impressed with her brand of humor. While I did laugh from time to time while reading the ridiculous descriptions of her sexcapades, I also felt like I must be a slut-shaming prude or something for thinking she's basically a crass, attention-starved bag of sadness. I kept mentally saying to her: You have a lot of unapologetic one night stands. I get it. Good for you, if that's what you're after. I can't relate too much. Where's the funny? At least I never have to read it again. Anyone want a book? FREE!
40. American Gods by Neil Gaiman
I probably should have checked out the print version of this, rather than trying to listen to the audiobook, because I got through barely half of it before I had to turn it back in, and I couldn't renew it because it came from an out-of-system library. I think it was something like 19 discs! It's a slow starter, in that the first quarter of the book is so expository and boring. Things were just starting to get interesting and weird when I had to return it. The other issue with this is I love mythology and the idea of cultural archetypes passed down through fantasy stories, but there were so many things I wanted to look up while listening, but couldn't because I was driving. I couldn't even take notes. I have a feeling when I do read it, there will be a lot of marginalia and notetaking. The back stories supporting the larger story were fascinating, and I want to know where it all ended up. Too bad it coincided with a really busy time in the semester.
41. The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
I tend to love books about books, reading, writing, libraries, storytelling...you get the picture. One of the big ideas from this one was that if a book has a reader, the author and the story lives on. The main story is that of a young boy, Daniel, who "adopts" a book by an obscure author named Julian Carax. Daniel sets out to learn a great deal about the writer and his life, and ends up becoming dangerously entangled in searching for the truth. The story-within-the-story unfolds as Daniel gets snippets of information about the Carax however he can. The execution of this, however, is quite melodramatic--verging on the kinds of plot devices soap operas use. It didn't help that the audiobook featured schmaltzy piano interludes under some of the narration, which caused me to roll my eyes strenuously. Some of the plot twists felt downright cheap, the whole art imitating life imitating art imitating life, because Daniel's life choices/consequences often repeat or mirror those of Carax, and Carax based his book on his own life. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, but it probably would have been better on the page than in the ear.
42. The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory
Yup, I still get a kick out of hating on Henry VIII and how he was basically a megalomaniac jerk. Gregory's writing isn't great, but it's passable enough that the book was entertaining (and a relatively quick read). I don't know how historically accurate it is in terms of the small details, but that's not why I read it in the first place.
43. Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? And Other Concerns by Mindy Kaling
I drove to Kansas City for Thanksgiving with my parents and younger brother (Aaron stayed in Illinois because he had to work), so I wanted to make sure I had plenty of entertainment for the hundreds of miles I'd be driving. And I'm glad I chose to listen to this one before I listened to Tina Fey's book, because otherwise I would have been so much more disappointed with Kaling.
A little back story: we watch The Office. We like it quite a bit--to the point where certain bits or jokes or snippets of dialogue have lodged in our brains, but not to the level of frequently quoting to it/referring to it. We enjoy the show, but it's hard to tell how much of it is due to any of Kaling's contributions as a writer or performer. Thus, I went into the experience of listening to Kaling's book expecting there to be funny moments, but not necessarily laugh-out-loud-funny.
While I did enjoy hearing her talk about her path to television writing and comedy, as well as he experiences in the industry, it also felt like she was trying really hard to live up to the hype and not quite doing it. It was good, but not great--like when you run out of everything bagels and have to eat plain instead. And Mindy Kaling knows this: the introduction to her audiobook acknowledges that Tina Fey is ultimately more awesome. But you know what? That's okay. Like her character on The Office, I think she likes to hear herself talk, so I'm sure she thought the book was witty and hilarious.
44. Bossypants by Tina Fey
I think I listened to this audiobook three times all the way through. I had to pause it at times to laugh, once with the horrified thought that I was going to pee my pants because I was laughing so hard. Tina Fey is a hilarious human being, and I have loved her since she started on SNL doing Weekend Update. She's witty, wise, nerdy, and real. I'd pay full price for this book (and I never, ever pay full price for books). And Mindy Kaling was so right to downplay the hilarity of her own book in comparison to Tina Fey's; what Kaling should have said, though, is that she basically used Tina Fey's book as an outline for her own, without having the substance or life experience to back it up. Tina Fey needs to write more books (and stop doing things like Baby Mama--you're better than that, Tina Fey!).
45. Wicked by Gregory Maguire
I don't know how many times I've read this book since buying it for $2 at a yard sale in 2005, but it was so worth it. And this time, I was re-reading it because I finally managed to pick up the sequel, Son of a Witch, at a thrift store while I was in Kansas City. I read a few pages of the sequel and realized I probably should go back to the beginning, since it had been awhile since my last reading of Wicked. It holds up. I think it helps if you spent your childhood feeling terrified of the Wicked Witch of the West by intrigued by her capacity for evil (and bewildered by her aversion to water).
34. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
This was the first of my commute audiobooks, and it was an excellent choice because it kept me awake. Driving back and forth to Evansville (IL 13 to Harrisburg, then 45 through Eldorado, then 141/62 all the way to USI) didn't afford much scenic entertainment, and scanning through the radio stations got old fast. So what better way to spend 3 hours a day than wandering through a post-apocalyptic America with a non-descript father and son, referred to merely as "the man" and "the boy"?
Something terrible has happened. The earth has been ravaged and decimated. And all the reader can do is wander and starve with the two main characters, wondering when (and what) their next meal will be, whether the various evil factions will catch up with them, whether disease or a simple mistake will be the end of the father and son. Their anonymity makes the story universal: they could be any father and son. They could be your brother and his child, they could be your neighbor, your coworker, an acquaintance. A stranger.
I could call the book suspenseful, but the suspense was not about the events of the narrative so much as a quiet, all-consuming dread for the fate of the characters. I had no illusions about whether they would survive; it was more about the drama of not knowing exactly how or when they would die. But I wanted to know what would happen. Having the story read to me, though, meant I had a harder time anticipating the really devastating moments, like when the boy would ask, once again, whether or not he was going to die. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara, because there were days I couldn't stop myself from crying over the horrors of the book. I'd read it again, though.
35. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote
This is a case where the title is simultaneously apt and lacking: the book recounts the true story of the murder of 4 members of the Clutter family of Holcomb, Kansas in 1959, a cold-blooded crime; however, at the same time, the phrase has become so cliche that it doesn't do justice to just how senseless the act was, or how cold the killers. The storytelling was disarming, in that it seemed so casual, so clearly fictionalized--I had to keep reminding myself that the events were real, that this was a real family brutally killed in the the night in their own home.
I've never read this kind of true-crime book, but I tend to watch these kinds of television shows and documentaries. Reading it was somehow worse; reading it before bed each night was probably incredibly foolish. I had some pretty gruesome murder nightmares, but they were in the same matter-of-fact style as the book, which was even more unsettling.
36. The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
My next audiobook selection was a lush gothic suspense story with quite a bit of book-love in it. A bookseller's daughter and novice biographer gets the chance to hear the life story of a famous and reclusive author, who has a history of lying about her past. The book unfolded with a satisfying number of plot twists and haunting (but not quite ghostly) elements, and some really beautiful language that helped me get through some of the grayer days of my drive.
37. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
I'll admit it: I'm a bad English major, because I had never read Frankenstein before. I was fascinated by the concept, and how a young writer in the 19th century would explain a reassembled, reanimated corpse. But I'm an even worse English major because I was so bored with it. I understood the reason behind the epistolary form, but reading it was tedious and drawn out. I frequently fell asleep after reading only a few pages. I struggled to keep going. And although I read 3/4 of this admittedly short book, I didn't finish. If anything, though, it helped me understand what might make high school students permanently turn away from reading: if everything they read are canonical classics from the 19th and early 20th centuries, of course they're going to assume that books are full of antiquated, stilted language--that books are boring. That books can offer them nothing.
38. The Book Thief by Markus Zuzak
If anyone is looking for a young adult book that's not sci-fi/fantasy and has some historical elements to it, I'd definitely recommend this one. Set in Nazi Germany and narrated by Death himself, the book follows Liesel Meminger through early adolescence. In addition to the larger turbulence of the war, the story shows Liesel becoming an orphan, learning to read, dealing with school, and beginning to ask questions about humanity on both a small scale and in a broader sense. I expected it to be emotionally charged, since it takes place during WWII, but I didn't expect it to be so funny at times. Liesel's relationship with her best friend, a boy named Rudy, is both endearing and tragic. I think this one deserves a place alongside the Diary of Anne Frank in terms of teaching middle schoolers about life during WWII.
39. My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler
After reading/listening to so much "heavy" material, I needed something lighter--something that wouldn't give me nightmares. It was 25 cents at the Carbondale Public Library book sale, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. But here's the thing: I don't find Chelsea Handler particularly funny. I've only seen her a handful of times in various contexts on TV, and I've never been too impressed with her brand of humor. While I did laugh from time to time while reading the ridiculous descriptions of her sexcapades, I also felt like I must be a slut-shaming prude or something for thinking she's basically a crass, attention-starved bag of sadness. I kept mentally saying to her: You have a lot of unapologetic one night stands. I get it. Good for you, if that's what you're after. I can't relate too much. Where's the funny? At least I never have to read it again. Anyone want a book? FREE!
40. American Gods by Neil Gaiman
I probably should have checked out the print version of this, rather than trying to listen to the audiobook, because I got through barely half of it before I had to turn it back in, and I couldn't renew it because it came from an out-of-system library. I think it was something like 19 discs! It's a slow starter, in that the first quarter of the book is so expository and boring. Things were just starting to get interesting and weird when I had to return it. The other issue with this is I love mythology and the idea of cultural archetypes passed down through fantasy stories, but there were so many things I wanted to look up while listening, but couldn't because I was driving. I couldn't even take notes. I have a feeling when I do read it, there will be a lot of marginalia and notetaking. The back stories supporting the larger story were fascinating, and I want to know where it all ended up. Too bad it coincided with a really busy time in the semester.
41. The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
I tend to love books about books, reading, writing, libraries, storytelling...you get the picture. One of the big ideas from this one was that if a book has a reader, the author and the story lives on. The main story is that of a young boy, Daniel, who "adopts" a book by an obscure author named Julian Carax. Daniel sets out to learn a great deal about the writer and his life, and ends up becoming dangerously entangled in searching for the truth. The story-within-the-story unfolds as Daniel gets snippets of information about the Carax however he can. The execution of this, however, is quite melodramatic--verging on the kinds of plot devices soap operas use. It didn't help that the audiobook featured schmaltzy piano interludes under some of the narration, which caused me to roll my eyes strenuously. Some of the plot twists felt downright cheap, the whole art imitating life imitating art imitating life, because Daniel's life choices/consequences often repeat or mirror those of Carax, and Carax based his book on his own life. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it, but it probably would have been better on the page than in the ear.
42. The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory
Yup, I still get a kick out of hating on Henry VIII and how he was basically a megalomaniac jerk. Gregory's writing isn't great, but it's passable enough that the book was entertaining (and a relatively quick read). I don't know how historically accurate it is in terms of the small details, but that's not why I read it in the first place.
43. Is Everyone Hanging out Without Me? And Other Concerns by Mindy Kaling
I drove to Kansas City for Thanksgiving with my parents and younger brother (Aaron stayed in Illinois because he had to work), so I wanted to make sure I had plenty of entertainment for the hundreds of miles I'd be driving. And I'm glad I chose to listen to this one before I listened to Tina Fey's book, because otherwise I would have been so much more disappointed with Kaling.
A little back story: we watch The Office. We like it quite a bit--to the point where certain bits or jokes or snippets of dialogue have lodged in our brains, but not to the level of frequently quoting to it/referring to it. We enjoy the show, but it's hard to tell how much of it is due to any of Kaling's contributions as a writer or performer. Thus, I went into the experience of listening to Kaling's book expecting there to be funny moments, but not necessarily laugh-out-loud-funny.
While I did enjoy hearing her talk about her path to television writing and comedy, as well as he experiences in the industry, it also felt like she was trying really hard to live up to the hype and not quite doing it. It was good, but not great--like when you run out of everything bagels and have to eat plain instead. And Mindy Kaling knows this: the introduction to her audiobook acknowledges that Tina Fey is ultimately more awesome. But you know what? That's okay. Like her character on The Office, I think she likes to hear herself talk, so I'm sure she thought the book was witty and hilarious.
44. Bossypants by Tina Fey
I think I listened to this audiobook three times all the way through. I had to pause it at times to laugh, once with the horrified thought that I was going to pee my pants because I was laughing so hard. Tina Fey is a hilarious human being, and I have loved her since she started on SNL doing Weekend Update. She's witty, wise, nerdy, and real. I'd pay full price for this book (and I never, ever pay full price for books). And Mindy Kaling was so right to downplay the hilarity of her own book in comparison to Tina Fey's; what Kaling should have said, though, is that she basically used Tina Fey's book as an outline for her own, without having the substance or life experience to back it up. Tina Fey needs to write more books (and stop doing things like Baby Mama--you're better than that, Tina Fey!).
45. Wicked by Gregory Maguire
I don't know how many times I've read this book since buying it for $2 at a yard sale in 2005, but it was so worth it. And this time, I was re-reading it because I finally managed to pick up the sequel, Son of a Witch, at a thrift store while I was in Kansas City. I read a few pages of the sequel and realized I probably should go back to the beginning, since it had been awhile since my last reading of Wicked. It holds up. I think it helps if you spent your childhood feeling terrified of the Wicked Witch of the West by intrigued by her capacity for evil (and bewildered by her aversion to water).
Monday, September 17, 2012
Shut Your Mouth
Aaron and I have different philosophies when it comes to maintaining our respective Facebook friend lists. He keeps his trim, between 100 and 200 people; he cleans up his list every few months or so, eliminating people he doesn't interact with frequently. He also seems to be in a relatively constant state of annoyance with the whole idea of Facebook and grumbles about its very existence.
I am more of a friend hoarder: if I've had more than passing contact with you, or we were at one time friends, you're probably on my friends list. If we're related, you're there. If we went to school together, had a class together, or worked together (or if you worked with Aaron), you're there. If you're friends with one or both of my parents and have managed to figure out the Facebook, you're probably on my list. This isn't to say I have a lot of friends, or that I'm outgoing. I just don't see much harm in adding people that, for one reason or another, were part of my life at one time.
Some of my Facebook friends are people I met ONCE, at a party or through mutual friends. Others are people that I happened to sit next to in a lecture hall (Hi, Lindsay!) or met in a theory course, and I have grown to know them better in the intervening years, through Facebook, than I did while we were in the class together. And I think that's kind of awesome.
But having more Facebook friends means that there's more of Facebook to consume: more stories in your feed, more pithy quotes, more images, more links to interesting (or frightening) websites, etc. In an election year, that has the potential to ruin your entire image of a person. I find myself asking Oh my, how did I not know this about you? or Really? That's how you feel? Because I remember you being far less hateful when we were friends in sixth grade.
I've often heard that if you want to ruin a dinner party (or a friendship), bring up politics or religion. I always thought that admonition required a certain level of mistrust for the maturity level of the conversing parties, because COME ON, WE'RE ALL ADULTS HERE. But an election-year Facebook newsfeed, overflowing with the ideas of the people I have chosen to associate with, makes me reconsider.
Recently, I unfriended someone after I couldn't stand his incessant, hateful, bigotry-laden political posts on Facebook. It wasn't that I couldn't handle seeing the views of someone I disagreed with--it was more that there was active disrespect, the hands on the hips stance of "This is how I feel, and I'm right, and you're stupid if you think otherwise." I grew tired of this person calling me (and unseen others like me) a moron for disagreeing, before I even had a chance to formulate a response. Did I believe I was a moron? No. But I also felt like he wasn't interested in a conversation with someone like me, so there was no point in remaining Facebook friends with him. He can keep having his screaming match with the world somewhere else--but not on my newsfeed.
I've become more mindful of my own political posts on Facebook. While I don't want to actively disrespect people who have chosen to include me among their "friends," I'm also quite passionate about a number of subjects and I'd really like to share my ideas and start a conversation. That's the key to it--I want a conversation. I can do without the one-sided, mean-spirited bullying, the name-calling, the moral and intellectual superiority complexes that come with voting a certain way or supporting a certain party or candidate. I want to talk about actual issues and ideas, not rehash talking points or shout at each other.
Facebook doesn't always foster that, though, because it feels safe and anonymous (even though your name is attached to it). The screen adds distance, but not necessarily perspective. People (and I'm talking about grown adults, many of whom have attended college or grad school and who know how to use their critical thinking skills) don't always think of the arguments they are making about themselves by posting, sharing, or commenting on something, because a series of mouse clicks or screen taps or keystrokes makes it so easy to megaphone your ideas, unbidden, into the world. Being able to click that you "Like" something is easy; being able to rationally explain why you like it takes work.
I'm not saying I want people to censor themselves, because it would be selfish and unrealistic for me to even suggest something like that. I'm not saying I want it to stop. I also acknowledge that by logging into Facebook, I bring it upon myself. That's okay.
I also figure that most of my friends (Facebook and otherwise) already have a pretty good idea of my political leanings, either from conversations we've had or articles I've shared or comments I've made. I guess I just don't always trust myself to be above the self-righteous sniping I see on every comments section of every article I read online. So, I hesitate before sharing. I don't share 90% of the things I'd like to, and part of me feels like I'm cheating myself out of a real conversation.
The ease of using Facebook (and Twitter, which I am not part of and probably won't join unless forced) as a personal soapbox has made the world a little smaller, but also a little uglier. We all have political opinions, as well as deeply held personal values, that might seem ridiculous or offensive to other people. It's the seeming anonymity of social networking that turns what used to be an inner monologue or a face-to-face conversation into a deluge of publicly shared information.
That's what makes Facebook entertaining and addictive, but also dangerous: we are able to carve out an online self, represented through words and images, with quite a bit of power over selecting these details. It can be done with care, but I can also be come an exercise in self-congratulatory aggrandizement. Our ideas are out there, instantly, and people we know (or don't know) can interact with them. This might lead to some feelings of self-importance: My ideas are out there. My ideas matter. My opinion matters. All the time. (And yes, I realize the irony of saying this via the personal blog I have maintained since January, writing about the things that matter to me, and which I post links for on Facebook. I'm holding a mirror up to myself with this one.)
What's my point? Keep posting, keep sharing, put your ideas out there--but also be willing to talk to each other, with respect and civility. Be open to the ideas of others. Know that your way isn't the only way, it's not necessarily the right way, and even if it is, things might not turn out that way.
I am more of a friend hoarder: if I've had more than passing contact with you, or we were at one time friends, you're probably on my friends list. If we're related, you're there. If we went to school together, had a class together, or worked together (or if you worked with Aaron), you're there. If you're friends with one or both of my parents and have managed to figure out the Facebook, you're probably on my list. This isn't to say I have a lot of friends, or that I'm outgoing. I just don't see much harm in adding people that, for one reason or another, were part of my life at one time.
Some of my Facebook friends are people I met ONCE, at a party or through mutual friends. Others are people that I happened to sit next to in a lecture hall (Hi, Lindsay!) or met in a theory course, and I have grown to know them better in the intervening years, through Facebook, than I did while we were in the class together. And I think that's kind of awesome.
But having more Facebook friends means that there's more of Facebook to consume: more stories in your feed, more pithy quotes, more images, more links to interesting (or frightening) websites, etc. In an election year, that has the potential to ruin your entire image of a person. I find myself asking Oh my, how did I not know this about you? or Really? That's how you feel? Because I remember you being far less hateful when we were friends in sixth grade.
I've often heard that if you want to ruin a dinner party (or a friendship), bring up politics or religion. I always thought that admonition required a certain level of mistrust for the maturity level of the conversing parties, because COME ON, WE'RE ALL ADULTS HERE. But an election-year Facebook newsfeed, overflowing with the ideas of the people I have chosen to associate with, makes me reconsider.
Recently, I unfriended someone after I couldn't stand his incessant, hateful, bigotry-laden political posts on Facebook. It wasn't that I couldn't handle seeing the views of someone I disagreed with--it was more that there was active disrespect, the hands on the hips stance of "This is how I feel, and I'm right, and you're stupid if you think otherwise." I grew tired of this person calling me (and unseen others like me) a moron for disagreeing, before I even had a chance to formulate a response. Did I believe I was a moron? No. But I also felt like he wasn't interested in a conversation with someone like me, so there was no point in remaining Facebook friends with him. He can keep having his screaming match with the world somewhere else--but not on my newsfeed.
I've become more mindful of my own political posts on Facebook. While I don't want to actively disrespect people who have chosen to include me among their "friends," I'm also quite passionate about a number of subjects and I'd really like to share my ideas and start a conversation. That's the key to it--I want a conversation. I can do without the one-sided, mean-spirited bullying, the name-calling, the moral and intellectual superiority complexes that come with voting a certain way or supporting a certain party or candidate. I want to talk about actual issues and ideas, not rehash talking points or shout at each other.
Facebook doesn't always foster that, though, because it feels safe and anonymous (even though your name is attached to it). The screen adds distance, but not necessarily perspective. People (and I'm talking about grown adults, many of whom have attended college or grad school and who know how to use their critical thinking skills) don't always think of the arguments they are making about themselves by posting, sharing, or commenting on something, because a series of mouse clicks or screen taps or keystrokes makes it so easy to megaphone your ideas, unbidden, into the world. Being able to click that you "Like" something is easy; being able to rationally explain why you like it takes work.
I'm not saying I want people to censor themselves, because it would be selfish and unrealistic for me to even suggest something like that. I'm not saying I want it to stop. I also acknowledge that by logging into Facebook, I bring it upon myself. That's okay.
I also figure that most of my friends (Facebook and otherwise) already have a pretty good idea of my political leanings, either from conversations we've had or articles I've shared or comments I've made. I guess I just don't always trust myself to be above the self-righteous sniping I see on every comments section of every article I read online. So, I hesitate before sharing. I don't share 90% of the things I'd like to, and part of me feels like I'm cheating myself out of a real conversation.
The ease of using Facebook (and Twitter, which I am not part of and probably won't join unless forced) as a personal soapbox has made the world a little smaller, but also a little uglier. We all have political opinions, as well as deeply held personal values, that might seem ridiculous or offensive to other people. It's the seeming anonymity of social networking that turns what used to be an inner monologue or a face-to-face conversation into a deluge of publicly shared information.
That's what makes Facebook entertaining and addictive, but also dangerous: we are able to carve out an online self, represented through words and images, with quite a bit of power over selecting these details. It can be done with care, but I can also be come an exercise in self-congratulatory aggrandizement. Our ideas are out there, instantly, and people we know (or don't know) can interact with them. This might lead to some feelings of self-importance: My ideas are out there. My ideas matter. My opinion matters. All the time. (And yes, I realize the irony of saying this via the personal blog I have maintained since January, writing about the things that matter to me, and which I post links for on Facebook. I'm holding a mirror up to myself with this one.)
What's my point? Keep posting, keep sharing, put your ideas out there--but also be willing to talk to each other, with respect and civility. Be open to the ideas of others. Know that your way isn't the only way, it's not necessarily the right way, and even if it is, things might not turn out that way.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Book Report 2
I know I haven't written in a long time. And that I haven't even finished my posts about India. And that I've written almost nothing about what we've done this summer. And that I haven't said how my new job is going. Those posts are coming. Eventually. But for now, I think I can manage a post about the books I've read since April's book report post.
17. The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
I first encountered Donna Tartt's work when I picked up The Secret History at (surprise!) a library book sale back when we were living in Mt. Pleasant. Since The Secret History still reigns as one of my favorite books ever, I thought I would give The Little Friend a try. The book started with so much promise: it seemed to offer insight into one family's struggles to deal with the aftermath of a horrible tragedy (the death of a child); plus, it was set in rural Mississippi in the late 1960's/early 1970's, so there was a lot of compelling cultural context available.
I felt I really got to know the main character, Harriet, and her best friend Hely; I felt like I saw what their summer was like in Mississippi. I appreciated how the plot reflected the mindset and thought processes of a moody adolescent girl desperately trying to understand the horrible thing that happened to her family. Tartt's writing was just as imaginative and captivating as I remembered it on a sentence-by-sentence level; at the same time, though, the book was bulky with detail and description that didn't do much to move the plot along.
There were some suspenseful moments that nearly shivered me out of my skin, but mostly because there were so many snakes in the book. Crates of them. Nests of them. Slithery, bitey, poisonous snakes. I had a few nightmares about snakes and drowning from this one. A book like this might be better as an audiobook on a long drive--provided you aren't driving through Mississippi.
18. Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn
Paul Schramm recommended this one to me, and I am so glad I took his suggestion. It's a clever, quick read that demonstrates the importance of having the means and freedom to communicate. The fictional government of the book outlaws the use of specific letters as they fall off the plinth of a statue, taking their falling as a divine proclamation that the letters should no longer be used. The tale is told in letters and messages between several characters, the content of which become increasingly restricted as more letters fall. It's an allegory for the kind of oppression that seems innocuous or just inconvenient at first but soon escalates beyond reason (think Patriot Act or religious dogma). I enjoyed it immensely, thanks to my resentment at government meddling as well as my love of language.
19.-21. The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman
(The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass)
I read The Golden Compass soon after the movie was released, so my initial interpretation of the series was skewed by that. I was anticipating an adventure with realistic but supernatural characters, and I thought it would skew slightly younger in the young adult range. The books, however, are deeper and darker than the movie version suggested, which I really appreciated.
I was in middle/high school when this series was released, and I honestly don't know if I could have handled reading them at that time because of my seriously conflicted feelings towards religion. The books enact the kind of serious critique of religious dogma my teenage mind was desperately trying to articulate and sort out. Add some talking animals, witches, inter-dimensional travel, and theoretical physics, and you get a not necessarily fun but definitely compelling series.
22. The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown
Yeah, sometimes I need to read predictable and formulaic pulp. I will not apologize for it. I just wish professor Robert Langdon (the Tom Hanks character) didn't like to hear himself talk so much, because seriously: dude likes to lecture. He needs to be part of Pedants Anonymous--except that will never exist, because pedants like you to acknowledge their credentials so much.
There's some suspense. There's a creepy villain. There's dismemberment. There's a secret society. There's a pretty girl with her life in danger. Ho hum. It was good bedtime reading because it doesn't take much brain power.
23. Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster
This is an instance where a book's subtitle really sums up what it's about: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass,Or, Why You Should Never Carry A Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office. It's a memoir. And even though this woman is supremely bitchy and unlikable, and I found myself reacting out loud every few pages to express disgust with something she had said or done, I still enjoyed it because it was that funny. Some of the humor comes from schadenfreude, it's true, but that's totally excusable in this case. I get so annoyed with ostentatious displays of wealth and people who seriously believe that their money makes them better than everyone else, so it was nice to see one of these women suffer. Although...she got a book published, so I expect things are looking up for her again.
24. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
In the library of my brain, there is a section of required reading for English majors. These shelves are crammed with so-called classics that every self-respecting book nerd or literature lover is supposed to not only have read, but read outside of a classroom setting for pleasure. When I go to this section of my brain, I see disappointment: the English-major staples that I haven't read (Tolstoy and Steinbeck and Joyce), started reading and couldn't finish (Austen), or read all the way through and hated (I've given The Great Gatsby at least five chances and I still hate it).
But To Kill a Mockingbird is on the "You should read this book more often" shelf, because it really is that good. It's rare to find a book that examines race, class, regional culture, family dynamics, and childhood so deftly, and without coming off as sanctimonious or pandering. But it does.
25. and 26. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Because sometimes, you need to re-read the Harry Potter books for the millionth time. Usually, I re-read the entire series from start to finish, and I've done that since before the fourth book was released. This means, however, that I've read the first three or four books quite a few times, and the last three only a handful. I watched the last three movies, then read the last two books again, and it actually changed how I felt about the screen version of the series--I felt less cheated by the movies than I had previously done, because I realized that there was no way they could equal what I had built up in my mind from reading the books. Basically, I finally let myself view them as a separate beast altogether.
27. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
The last time I read these books, I was in eighth or ninth grade. My memory had softened the weirdness of the books somewhat, so that in reading them again I was able to be shocked or startled by the behavior of the characters, the way they spoke to each other, and the violence of some of the plot.
28. World War Z byMax Brooks
Really, really good. It didn't focus too much on the zombies, but rather on how the world dealt with the outbreak and aftermath, which I found fascinating.The greatest success of this book was the way the author made it all seem so plausible. From the beginning, you're forced to accept the premise, and through the first-hand accounts, you see it as a global event that happened.
29. Forrest Gump by Winston Groom
One of the rare instances in which I will say the movie is much, much better than the book. Some of the basic plot elements and a few snippets of dialogue are preserved from page to screen, and for good reason: that's all that was worth taking. The Forrest of the book is an aggressive simpleton rather than a guileless one. There's no charm to the book--it's a series of wild stunts rather than an engaging plot. I think what bothered me most was how racist Forrest was, and that the author's point in doing so was totally obvious: it's somewhat okay for Forrest to hold those views because he's an idiot, but what's your excuse?
30. Pigtopia by Kitty Fitzgerald
I bought this from the Carbondale library book sale, mostly because the cover features an illustration of a young girl holding a pig. At first, I was afraid I couldn't get into the book because the narration seemed to be in a broken dialect that took great effort to decode, since I was reading before bed and my brain was already tired. Once I got through the first few chapters, I realized that the narration alternated between two characters: the subliterate pigman Jack Plum, and Holly Lock, the normal but awkward teenage girl he befriends. With some patience, I grew to love reading the Jack Plum chapters because they were almost poetic in the inventiveness of the language. I was conscious of the effort it took Fitzgerald to render Jack's voice, and she did so with unmistakeable style. Had the entire book taken place from Jack's perspective, it would have been a chore to read; Holly's chapters provided breaks but also served as a contrast to the way Jack's mind worked.
31. Stardust, 7-Eleven, Route 57, A&W, and So Forth by Patricia Lear
This was another Carbondale library book sale purchase, and I am sad to say that the title was the best part of this short story collection. The stories were absolutely boring, and not in a way that seemed intentional or for greater effect--it was just that nothing happened in them. I only finished out of stubbornness, so I could tell myself I had read it, given it a fair chance, and was disappointed not because I expected anything great but because I expected anything at all.
I'm glad I only paid 25 cents for the book. Perhaps there was one moment in one story that was worth the price.
32. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
I'm counting this as having been read, even though I listened to it as an audiobook on my Evansville commute. It's a strange book to listen to, driving alone through thick fog between Harrisburg and Eldorado and the long (and sparsely populated) stretch between route 45 and Mt. Vernon, Indiana. The book is so unapologetic, bleak, and lonely. I've long enjoyed post-apocalyptic stories because one of my frequent daydreams involves having the entire world to myself for a few days, a week, a month. What would it be like to be truly alone? Would your mind create noise to fill the absence of all that outer noise that comes from other people?
It was heartbreaking to imagine a young child having a constant awareness of his own mortality, and to imagine a father who's forced to fight for a life that holds little promise. The man and the boy remain nameless throughout the book, which hammered home the truth: that identity is so largely dependent upon belonging to a group and having a relationship with the human world. When that's gone, the self becomes an almost ridiculous idea.
The Road made me rethink my definitions of tragedy and horror. When large numbers of people are killed by disease or disaster, we think of it as a horrific event. We can count the dead and mourn them. It would seem that a global disease pandemic or large-scale environmental catastrophe or nuclear disaster would be the ultimate tragedy, but The Road proves otherwise: that the real horror could be surviving the event, left to figure out a reason for living when civilization is just a memory. The book was definitely worth the horrible nightmares I had.
33. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
Before I started reading this, I knew the basics: a 14-year-old girl is murdered; one of her suburban neighbors is a suspect; it takes place in the 1970s. All this I learned from seeing the trailer for the movie adaptation of the book a few years ago. What I missed, however, was the central idea that the the victim, Susie Salmon, is telling her story from her version of "heaven." I was instantly skeptical about how much I would enjoy reading it, based on the plot and the premise, because this could have gone horribly wrong. Instead, I found myself mostly buying into it. Sure, there are some cringe-inducing moments (particularly in how Susie's presence is made known among the living at times). I'd say I was engaged with the narrative 80% of the time, for the first 80% of the book. The last bit, however, went everywhere I hoped it wouldn't and became a bit too sentimental.
I am curious about how the movie version handles some aspects of the book, though, because it seems so internal, which doesn't always translate without a voice-over (and that often seems like a cop-out).
17. The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
I first encountered Donna Tartt's work when I picked up The Secret History at (surprise!) a library book sale back when we were living in Mt. Pleasant. Since The Secret History still reigns as one of my favorite books ever, I thought I would give The Little Friend a try. The book started with so much promise: it seemed to offer insight into one family's struggles to deal with the aftermath of a horrible tragedy (the death of a child); plus, it was set in rural Mississippi in the late 1960's/early 1970's, so there was a lot of compelling cultural context available.
I felt I really got to know the main character, Harriet, and her best friend Hely; I felt like I saw what their summer was like in Mississippi. I appreciated how the plot reflected the mindset and thought processes of a moody adolescent girl desperately trying to understand the horrible thing that happened to her family. Tartt's writing was just as imaginative and captivating as I remembered it on a sentence-by-sentence level; at the same time, though, the book was bulky with detail and description that didn't do much to move the plot along.
There were some suspenseful moments that nearly shivered me out of my skin, but mostly because there were so many snakes in the book. Crates of them. Nests of them. Slithery, bitey, poisonous snakes. I had a few nightmares about snakes and drowning from this one. A book like this might be better as an audiobook on a long drive--provided you aren't driving through Mississippi.
18. Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn
Paul Schramm recommended this one to me, and I am so glad I took his suggestion. It's a clever, quick read that demonstrates the importance of having the means and freedom to communicate. The fictional government of the book outlaws the use of specific letters as they fall off the plinth of a statue, taking their falling as a divine proclamation that the letters should no longer be used. The tale is told in letters and messages between several characters, the content of which become increasingly restricted as more letters fall. It's an allegory for the kind of oppression that seems innocuous or just inconvenient at first but soon escalates beyond reason (think Patriot Act or religious dogma). I enjoyed it immensely, thanks to my resentment at government meddling as well as my love of language.
19.-21. The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman
(The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass)
I read The Golden Compass soon after the movie was released, so my initial interpretation of the series was skewed by that. I was anticipating an adventure with realistic but supernatural characters, and I thought it would skew slightly younger in the young adult range. The books, however, are deeper and darker than the movie version suggested, which I really appreciated.
I was in middle/high school when this series was released, and I honestly don't know if I could have handled reading them at that time because of my seriously conflicted feelings towards religion. The books enact the kind of serious critique of religious dogma my teenage mind was desperately trying to articulate and sort out. Add some talking animals, witches, inter-dimensional travel, and theoretical physics, and you get a not necessarily fun but definitely compelling series.
22. The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown
Yeah, sometimes I need to read predictable and formulaic pulp. I will not apologize for it. I just wish professor Robert Langdon (the Tom Hanks character) didn't like to hear himself talk so much, because seriously: dude likes to lecture. He needs to be part of Pedants Anonymous--except that will never exist, because pedants like you to acknowledge their credentials so much.
There's some suspense. There's a creepy villain. There's dismemberment. There's a secret society. There's a pretty girl with her life in danger. Ho hum. It was good bedtime reading because it doesn't take much brain power.
23. Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster
This is an instance where a book's subtitle really sums up what it's about: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass,Or, Why You Should Never Carry A Prada Bag to the Unemployment Office. It's a memoir. And even though this woman is supremely bitchy and unlikable, and I found myself reacting out loud every few pages to express disgust with something she had said or done, I still enjoyed it because it was that funny. Some of the humor comes from schadenfreude, it's true, but that's totally excusable in this case. I get so annoyed with ostentatious displays of wealth and people who seriously believe that their money makes them better than everyone else, so it was nice to see one of these women suffer. Although...she got a book published, so I expect things are looking up for her again.
24. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
In the library of my brain, there is a section of required reading for English majors. These shelves are crammed with so-called classics that every self-respecting book nerd or literature lover is supposed to not only have read, but read outside of a classroom setting for pleasure. When I go to this section of my brain, I see disappointment: the English-major staples that I haven't read (Tolstoy and Steinbeck and Joyce), started reading and couldn't finish (Austen), or read all the way through and hated (I've given The Great Gatsby at least five chances and I still hate it).
But To Kill a Mockingbird is on the "You should read this book more often" shelf, because it really is that good. It's rare to find a book that examines race, class, regional culture, family dynamics, and childhood so deftly, and without coming off as sanctimonious or pandering. But it does.
25. and 26. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Because sometimes, you need to re-read the Harry Potter books for the millionth time. Usually, I re-read the entire series from start to finish, and I've done that since before the fourth book was released. This means, however, that I've read the first three or four books quite a few times, and the last three only a handful. I watched the last three movies, then read the last two books again, and it actually changed how I felt about the screen version of the series--I felt less cheated by the movies than I had previously done, because I realized that there was no way they could equal what I had built up in my mind from reading the books. Basically, I finally let myself view them as a separate beast altogether.
27. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
The last time I read these books, I was in eighth or ninth grade. My memory had softened the weirdness of the books somewhat, so that in reading them again I was able to be shocked or startled by the behavior of the characters, the way they spoke to each other, and the violence of some of the plot.
28. World War Z byMax Brooks
Really, really good. It didn't focus too much on the zombies, but rather on how the world dealt with the outbreak and aftermath, which I found fascinating.The greatest success of this book was the way the author made it all seem so plausible. From the beginning, you're forced to accept the premise, and through the first-hand accounts, you see it as a global event that happened.
29. Forrest Gump by Winston Groom
One of the rare instances in which I will say the movie is much, much better than the book. Some of the basic plot elements and a few snippets of dialogue are preserved from page to screen, and for good reason: that's all that was worth taking. The Forrest of the book is an aggressive simpleton rather than a guileless one. There's no charm to the book--it's a series of wild stunts rather than an engaging plot. I think what bothered me most was how racist Forrest was, and that the author's point in doing so was totally obvious: it's somewhat okay for Forrest to hold those views because he's an idiot, but what's your excuse?
30. Pigtopia by Kitty Fitzgerald
I bought this from the Carbondale library book sale, mostly because the cover features an illustration of a young girl holding a pig. At first, I was afraid I couldn't get into the book because the narration seemed to be in a broken dialect that took great effort to decode, since I was reading before bed and my brain was already tired. Once I got through the first few chapters, I realized that the narration alternated between two characters: the subliterate pigman Jack Plum, and Holly Lock, the normal but awkward teenage girl he befriends. With some patience, I grew to love reading the Jack Plum chapters because they were almost poetic in the inventiveness of the language. I was conscious of the effort it took Fitzgerald to render Jack's voice, and she did so with unmistakeable style. Had the entire book taken place from Jack's perspective, it would have been a chore to read; Holly's chapters provided breaks but also served as a contrast to the way Jack's mind worked.
31. Stardust, 7-Eleven, Route 57, A&W, and So Forth by Patricia Lear
This was another Carbondale library book sale purchase, and I am sad to say that the title was the best part of this short story collection. The stories were absolutely boring, and not in a way that seemed intentional or for greater effect--it was just that nothing happened in them. I only finished out of stubbornness, so I could tell myself I had read it, given it a fair chance, and was disappointed not because I expected anything great but because I expected anything at all.
I'm glad I only paid 25 cents for the book. Perhaps there was one moment in one story that was worth the price.
32. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
I'm counting this as having been read, even though I listened to it as an audiobook on my Evansville commute. It's a strange book to listen to, driving alone through thick fog between Harrisburg and Eldorado and the long (and sparsely populated) stretch between route 45 and Mt. Vernon, Indiana. The book is so unapologetic, bleak, and lonely. I've long enjoyed post-apocalyptic stories because one of my frequent daydreams involves having the entire world to myself for a few days, a week, a month. What would it be like to be truly alone? Would your mind create noise to fill the absence of all that outer noise that comes from other people?
It was heartbreaking to imagine a young child having a constant awareness of his own mortality, and to imagine a father who's forced to fight for a life that holds little promise. The man and the boy remain nameless throughout the book, which hammered home the truth: that identity is so largely dependent upon belonging to a group and having a relationship with the human world. When that's gone, the self becomes an almost ridiculous idea.
The Road made me rethink my definitions of tragedy and horror. When large numbers of people are killed by disease or disaster, we think of it as a horrific event. We can count the dead and mourn them. It would seem that a global disease pandemic or large-scale environmental catastrophe or nuclear disaster would be the ultimate tragedy, but The Road proves otherwise: that the real horror could be surviving the event, left to figure out a reason for living when civilization is just a memory. The book was definitely worth the horrible nightmares I had.
33. The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
Before I started reading this, I knew the basics: a 14-year-old girl is murdered; one of her suburban neighbors is a suspect; it takes place in the 1970s. All this I learned from seeing the trailer for the movie adaptation of the book a few years ago. What I missed, however, was the central idea that the the victim, Susie Salmon, is telling her story from her version of "heaven." I was instantly skeptical about how much I would enjoy reading it, based on the plot and the premise, because this could have gone horribly wrong. Instead, I found myself mostly buying into it. Sure, there are some cringe-inducing moments (particularly in how Susie's presence is made known among the living at times). I'd say I was engaged with the narrative 80% of the time, for the first 80% of the book. The last bit, however, went everywhere I hoped it wouldn't and became a bit too sentimental.
I am curious about how the movie version handles some aspects of the book, though, because it seems so internal, which doesn't always translate without a voice-over (and that often seems like a cop-out).
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Why We're Staying in Marion for Awhile
In my last post, I mentioned that I had a job interview. It turned out not to be an interview so much as a discussion of what I'd like to teach and when I'd be available to do so, given what was offered in the schedule. Thus, I decided to take a (part-time) adjunct teaching position at the University of Southern Indiana in Evansville. It's about 1.5-2 hours from Marion, but I'll be teaching my three classes on a Tuesday/Thursday schedule. I decided spending about eight hours per week in the car was worth getting some actual teaching experience, since all I really have are my years as a graduate assistant, which requires all the work of a real job but offers little of the prestige on the resume. Like I used to tell my students: they were real students receiving real grades, but I wasn't a real teacher.
What initially complicated but ultimately solidified my decision to accept the USI job was that Aaron was called for an interview at the NBC affiliate in Green Bay, Wisconsin the day we had my interview in Evansville. They seemed impressed with his resume and cover letter, and wanted to arrange to fly him up for an in-person interview after an hour-long phone conversation.
All signs, initially, pointed to YES. We would be further north, slightly closer to home, and in a cooler climate. The station was an up-market move and had just become the official station of the Green Bay Packers. It was corportate-owned, which could possibly mean higher pay. I think I may have been more excited than Aaron was about the whole thing. I started daydreaming about wearing sweaters and driving through blizzards. And eating a lot more cheese.
They flew him up to Green Bay (by way of Marion, St. Louis and Chicago) to tour the station, meet everyone, and get interviewed. Aaron's flight from Chicago to Green Bay was cancelled due to storms in Detroit, and while that caused a minor inconvenience on the way there, it was nothing to also having all of his return flights cancelled. But he got there, and met everyone. He toured. He saw Green Bay. He ate at Lambeau Field.
And when he came back home, he had about two days to make a decision. Ultimately, after talking to his coworkers here and discussing it with me, we decided to stick around southern Illinois for awhile longer because it wasn't a good fit. It may have looked great on paper, but the timing wasn't right and Aaron wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to what he's built up here.
Making decisions as a married couple is complicated. He may have been willing to take a job that wasn't quite what he wanted had I said that it was what I really wanted for us. We were willing to consider having him move to Wisconsin while I stayed behind in Marion until my semester of teaching at USI was over in December. Basically, married-couple-decisions are fraught with the notion that you're simultaneously one person and two people, and you have to somehow get your interests/wants/needs to align in such a way that if both people can't be happy, at least one or both won't be miserable, either.
So, we'll be sticking around here awhile longer. Aaron gets to keep the job he loves, and I get to try out being a "real" teacher. We don't know where we'll be a year from now, but up until a few weeks ago, we didn't know where we'd be by the end of July. I'll take this as progress.
What initially complicated but ultimately solidified my decision to accept the USI job was that Aaron was called for an interview at the NBC affiliate in Green Bay, Wisconsin the day we had my interview in Evansville. They seemed impressed with his resume and cover letter, and wanted to arrange to fly him up for an in-person interview after an hour-long phone conversation.
All signs, initially, pointed to YES. We would be further north, slightly closer to home, and in a cooler climate. The station was an up-market move and had just become the official station of the Green Bay Packers. It was corportate-owned, which could possibly mean higher pay. I think I may have been more excited than Aaron was about the whole thing. I started daydreaming about wearing sweaters and driving through blizzards. And eating a lot more cheese.
They flew him up to Green Bay (by way of Marion, St. Louis and Chicago) to tour the station, meet everyone, and get interviewed. Aaron's flight from Chicago to Green Bay was cancelled due to storms in Detroit, and while that caused a minor inconvenience on the way there, it was nothing to also having all of his return flights cancelled. But he got there, and met everyone. He toured. He saw Green Bay. He ate at Lambeau Field.
And when he came back home, he had about two days to make a decision. Ultimately, after talking to his coworkers here and discussing it with me, we decided to stick around southern Illinois for awhile longer because it wasn't a good fit. It may have looked great on paper, but the timing wasn't right and Aaron wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to what he's built up here.
Making decisions as a married couple is complicated. He may have been willing to take a job that wasn't quite what he wanted had I said that it was what I really wanted for us. We were willing to consider having him move to Wisconsin while I stayed behind in Marion until my semester of teaching at USI was over in December. Basically, married-couple-decisions are fraught with the notion that you're simultaneously one person and two people, and you have to somehow get your interests/wants/needs to align in such a way that if both people can't be happy, at least one or both won't be miserable, either.
So, we'll be sticking around here awhile longer. Aaron gets to keep the job he loves, and I get to try out being a "real" teacher. We don't know where we'll be a year from now, but up until a few weeks ago, we didn't know where we'd be by the end of July. I'll take this as progress.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Unhiatusing
You may (or may not) have noticed that I haven't written in awhile--over a month, actually. I haven't felt much like writing lately, which is kind of unfortunate, since that is what I do every day for my job (which actually might explain why I don't feel like writing).
I'll be honest: not much has been happening here. Aaron and I are still applying for jobs. We're both still getting rejections. I have an interview on Monday for a job I can't realistically take, since it's only part-time and it isn't local. I guess it will be practice, since I've done very few interviews in my life and eventually I will need one to go well enough that I get hired.
I've embarked on a small-scale self-improvement project, which means I'm trying to sit on my ass a little less and sweat a little more. I ride my exercise bike while watching documentaries on Netflix because it's too hot to do anything outside. I've only been exercising regularly for a week. I'm trying not to be too hard on myself, though.
Which brings me to my next point: the depressed funk I've been in for a few months hasn't yet lifted. I tried (and failed) to write a post about being depressed. I saw it as a way to help figure out just what the hell my problem is, but it's hard to write about depression without sounding pathetic and trite--and that made me feel worse, somehow. So I never finished the post, and I'm still depressed. Now that I have health insurance, I feel like I might actually have some options if I do choose some kind of treatment, which is a nice change.
I've been reading books. I've hung out with friends a few times. We had people over (a big deal, since we never do that). We went to the bar once or twice. We've driven around the backroads of southern Illinois, looking for nothing in particular and finding interesting stuff, anyway: waterfalls that have run dry, grazing cows in the middle of a wildlife refuge, a small cemetery, hiking trails through rock formations. This week, we even cooked a complete Thanksgiving dinner because we felt like it. We call home too seldom, and haven't visited since March.
Basically, nothing has been happening. Just life. I guess that's enough, though.
I'll be honest: not much has been happening here. Aaron and I are still applying for jobs. We're both still getting rejections. I have an interview on Monday for a job I can't realistically take, since it's only part-time and it isn't local. I guess it will be practice, since I've done very few interviews in my life and eventually I will need one to go well enough that I get hired.
I've embarked on a small-scale self-improvement project, which means I'm trying to sit on my ass a little less and sweat a little more. I ride my exercise bike while watching documentaries on Netflix because it's too hot to do anything outside. I've only been exercising regularly for a week. I'm trying not to be too hard on myself, though.
Which brings me to my next point: the depressed funk I've been in for a few months hasn't yet lifted. I tried (and failed) to write a post about being depressed. I saw it as a way to help figure out just what the hell my problem is, but it's hard to write about depression without sounding pathetic and trite--and that made me feel worse, somehow. So I never finished the post, and I'm still depressed. Now that I have health insurance, I feel like I might actually have some options if I do choose some kind of treatment, which is a nice change.
I've been reading books. I've hung out with friends a few times. We had people over (a big deal, since we never do that). We went to the bar once or twice. We've driven around the backroads of southern Illinois, looking for nothing in particular and finding interesting stuff, anyway: waterfalls that have run dry, grazing cows in the middle of a wildlife refuge, a small cemetery, hiking trails through rock formations. This week, we even cooked a complete Thanksgiving dinner because we felt like it. We call home too seldom, and haven't visited since March.
Basically, nothing has been happening. Just life. I guess that's enough, though.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Big Brother Tata
When I travel, I like to take notice of as many little details as I can, storing them up so I can get a sense of the place, and the people who live there. It doesn't matter where I'm traveling; I do this when I visit another town, another state, or another country. I look at what people are eating, what they wear, the gestures they use, whether or not couples hold hands in public--no detail is too mundane, and I am fascinated by all of it.
One thing we noticed throughout India was a brand name called Tata. We saw it on the bottled water, tea and coffee in our hotel rooms. It was on vehicles: cars, trucks, and buses. There were billboards for Tata's high speed Internet service in Hyderabad (for a really, really good price!). I had a sense that Tata was big, a corporate giant, when we saw their massive building complex in the area of Hyderabad called HITEC City, which also included complexes for pretty much any other technology company you can name.
But I didn't know how big Tata was until after we had come back to the U.S. and did a little Internet about their corporate holdings. Guys, Tata is HUGE. Tata is like Big Brother. Tata is going to take over the world.
Our hotel in Mumbai, the Taj, was not only owned by Tata--it was the company's first project, opening in 1902. Within the next few years, Tata branched out into a bunch of other industries, like education and steel and electricity. They now have 93 hotels in India and 16 around the world.
In Italy, I had always giggled at the tiny 3-wheeled "trucks" I saw hauling goods into the narrow alleys of Rome; I was a bit puzzled when I saw the same little trucks around Mumbai. As it turns out, Tata bought Piaggo (an Italian company) in 2008.
Reading the list of Tata's acquisitions and holdings is dizzying. They bought Tetley Tea in 2000. In 2004, they bought Daewoo Commercial Vehicles. They own the Boston Ritz Carlton. They bought Jaguar and Land Rover in 2008. Steel, chemicals, information technology, airlines, salt, financial services...you get the point.
Go to your local grocery store, to the coffee and tea aisle. Pick up a box of Tetley Tea or Eight O'Clock Coffee, and Tata's logo will be staring back at you from the side of the package.
Tata is watching you.
One thing we noticed throughout India was a brand name called Tata. We saw it on the bottled water, tea and coffee in our hotel rooms. It was on vehicles: cars, trucks, and buses. There were billboards for Tata's high speed Internet service in Hyderabad (for a really, really good price!). I had a sense that Tata was big, a corporate giant, when we saw their massive building complex in the area of Hyderabad called HITEC City, which also included complexes for pretty much any other technology company you can name.
But I didn't know how big Tata was until after we had come back to the U.S. and did a little Internet about their corporate holdings. Guys, Tata is HUGE. Tata is like Big Brother. Tata is going to take over the world.
Our hotel in Mumbai, the Taj, was not only owned by Tata--it was the company's first project, opening in 1902. Within the next few years, Tata branched out into a bunch of other industries, like education and steel and electricity. They now have 93 hotels in India and 16 around the world.
In Italy, I had always giggled at the tiny 3-wheeled "trucks" I saw hauling goods into the narrow alleys of Rome; I was a bit puzzled when I saw the same little trucks around Mumbai. As it turns out, Tata bought Piaggo (an Italian company) in 2008.
Reading the list of Tata's acquisitions and holdings is dizzying. They bought Tetley Tea in 2000. In 2004, they bought Daewoo Commercial Vehicles. They own the Boston Ritz Carlton. They bought Jaguar and Land Rover in 2008. Steel, chemicals, information technology, airlines, salt, financial services...you get the point.
Go to your local grocery store, to the coffee and tea aisle. Pick up a box of Tetley Tea or Eight O'Clock Coffee, and Tata's logo will be staring back at you from the side of the package.
Tata is watching you.
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