“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland.”

But this is California. Central California, no less, which hasn’t seen snow since 1986 (or so J tells me.) But when I lived in Spokane we saw snow. First big, real snow of the season, I’d find a comfy place to hide out, usually in the english department building, curl up nice and warm, re-read James Joyce’s “The Dead” and watch the snow fall.

There’s no snow here, just sunshine and morning fog. But with a little help from WordPress, I present to you a snowy night and a little Mr. Joyce. Now all you need is a little solitude and a nice whiskey. Enjoy.

“Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly on the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crocked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last, upon all the living and the dead.”

James Joyce

Christmas light soup

That’s Jack’s name for it. I needed to make something healthy and fairly quick for dinner tonight, and grabbed a 28 ounce can of diced tomatoes, a 15 ounce can of white beans, a pack of frozen chopped spinach, 16 ounces of chicken broth and 1/2 cup of quinoa. Add about a teaspoon of thyme (because I add thyme to everything) and let cook till the quinoa’s done. Et voila! Christmas light soup.

Jack is obsessed with Christmas lights and sees them everywhere. In his defense, the soup is red, green and white.

Can we just go back to calling it “The day after Thanksgiving”?

Starting next week I’m going to have to get up at 3 a.m. to make it to work by 4, so NO WAY am I getting my ass out of bed early on a day off so that I can go get trampled by a surly mob.

Instead, I spent the so-called “black friday” cleaning out my closet and kitchen, yielding 5 bags to go to Goodwill and friends. I think I’ll make it an anual event.

Yeah, I hated cataloging class anyway…

Good thing I only have two more weeks to go before I complete my MLIS (Master of Library and Information Science, fyi).

If Drexel saw this they'd kick me out of school.

Surely REAL library students aren’t supposed to group their books by color? What happened to Dewey, or Library of Congress? Um, alphabetical?

The funny thing about this is that I got the idea from my friend L, who mentioned once a while ago that her sister M organized her books this way. I scoffed, rather, pompous- and self-righteous -ly. Big mistake. In the first place, NEVER criticize L’s sister in front of her; L is tiny but she’s got freakish mutant strength and is the scariest MFN size 2 I’ve ever met. She pointed out, in a very acidic tone, that you always remember the color of the book you’re searching for, and organizing them by color helps you find books faster and easier.

Damned if she wasn’t right. Originally my intent was, oh three years ago, to completely catalog all of my books when I went into labor. In the birthing class they told us to have a project since labor can last days before you actually deliver. Something detailed to get your mind off of the prospect of pain, that sort of thing. I was thrilled! I’d finally get my books organized! And then….I didn’t have labor, so the project got put off till my next vacation (which actually wasn’t for over a year and a half). At that point I spent the entire week trying to decide between Dewey and LOC. My husband wanted LOC, and it seemed the best, but I didn’t quite agree with some of the categories. Yes, these are the things I worry about. Once again, the books went unorganized, I couldn’t find my copy of Dune when I wanted it, and the whole thing was just stressing me out.

Finally I got fed up, remembered L’s words about color, and broke down and did it. My husband was not happy. He said arranging books by color was for people who a. bought books as decor and b. didn’t read their books. I think he was embarrassed. Truth be told, I’m a little embarrassed, but at least I can find my damn books when I want them. And, strangely enough, the bookshelf no longer stresses me out, but is rather soothing. Sue me, I like order.

Post Script. Sorry, but photo cuts out the exciting “white”, “beige” and “brown” groups. Your loss.

Post Post Script. L is probably reading this and cringing that the books aren’t in ROYGBV order.

Let’s just agree…

…to banish the psuedo-word  “foodie”, shall we? It’s pretentious as all hell. If you are pathetic enough to refer to yourself with this moniker (which, unfortunately, I’ve actually heard people do), you should probably know that we, that is all of humanity, think you’re just a jerk who likes to pay too much for your groceries. Congratulations! You know who Alice Waters is! You’ve read “In defense of food” ! I don’t object to eating healthily,  to knowing where your food comes from, to taking time to cook and eat with family and friends. I do object to food being a status symbol.

Get over yourself. It’s food. You buy it, you cook it, you eat it. If food has become the sole measure of your self-esteem, or the marker of what sets you apart from others, you’ve got a problem.

A summer night at the State Fair

What is it about the state fair that makes me think of high school…but in a good way? Walking in last night, enjoying the warm night air and the smell of popcorn, it hit me – that feeling that I was 17 again.  All I needed was some Johnson’s Baby Lotion, Bonne Bell Lip Smackers (Dr. Pepper flavor) and the Seventeen Magazine back-to-school issue.

I’m so ashamed. Wait, no I’m not.

I finally got around to reading my copy of American Libraries Direct today (cleaning out my e-mail in-box – yeah, I get the American Library Association newsletter…wanna make something of it?). In it is a story that I just had to investigate further entitled, “How to know if you are reading a  bad book.” The VERY FIRST example was so clearly about my shameful literary obsession, see below “Quality, schmality”, I laughed hysterically, then gleefully ran to tell my husband J (who was probably thinking, “And she’s happy that other people also think her taste in books is crap?”)

Oh, but it gets better. Read the comments: in them one of my all-time favorite sci-fi novels (well, ok, pretty much the only real sci-fi novel I’ve ever read) gets trashed. And then another favorite author gets added to the list. Should I really be having this much fun having everything I love lambasted?

Quality, schmality

Over at Uneasy Rhetoric there’s a post about an NPR story “The Shelf of Constant Reproach” , and the author’s misgiving’s about the books on his shelf that sit mocking him…because he’s not read them.

I too have books that I’ve bought and just sit there waiting to be read. And there are books that, I’ll admit it, I keep because they make me look more intelligent than I really am (Bonjour Alexis De Tocqueville) Those don’t bother me. My secret is much darker and more twisted than that.

I have books I don’t put on my shelves because I’m embarrassed to own them.

Usually I’ll try to just get them from the library…that way I don’t have to worry about cost and storage. But lately, the really trashy novels I’ve been wanting to read have a wait-list a mile long (as in, 50 holds on 3 copies?), and damn it, I don’t want to wait that long. So I head to the Avid Reader or Borders and buy them. I’d buy them all at Avid Reader, but I’m too embarrassed even to special order the ones they don’t have. When I went to the Borders near where I work I silently prayed, “Please don’t come into my store and recognize me and say, ‘Hey, you’re the woman with the appalling taste in books!’”

Last year, about this time actually, on a week-long break from school, I picked up Twilight. I’d not read anything non-school related for a while. Library school had done that to me. Forest for the trees, or vice versa. I’d pretty much lost all enthusiasm for reading, because everytime I even looked at a book all I could see were the details of the book itself. But a friend at work, N, had read it and loved it, and I’d read a few librarian blogs that were talking about it, some hating it and some loving it, and I thought, what the heck, and jumped in. I loved it. As I was reading it I was realizing that it’s not terribly well written, but I DON’T CARE. The important thing is: I got completely wrapped up in the story, and managed, for a few hours, to forget everything else. And geez, that’s why I read. Quality, schmality.

I think there’s something to be said for trash literature. (And yes, the one’s man’s trash is another’s treasure could be inserted it, but that would be trite) Just because it’s not Shakespeare doesn’t mean it can’t take you someplace, or teach you something, or even, god forbid, afford you a moment of peace. I’m currently reading a series so impossibly trashy I hide the books from my husband so I don’t have to see him smirk, and because, well, I don’t want him to think less of me for liking this garbage. But “this garbage” has made me happy, and made me laugh, and in general made me all around more pleasant person to be around the past couple of weeks so it definitely has its uses.

I just won’t be putting it on the bookshelf.

Consensus

I need a consensus: buying cologne for your significant other – yes or no? Father’s day is coming up, and I’m thinking of buying come cologne for him. Something I would like to smell on him, and I have two in mind. But yes or no? Is it presumptuous (even after 20 years together), or sweet?

Ms. Bacall

Turner Classic Movies is doing a whole day of Howard Hawks’ films, and tonight they’re showing “The Big Sleep”. Yeah, I already own it on DVD but I can’t resist watching it when it’s on. I love Lauren Bacall and can get lost watching her in anything…or just listening to that voice.
My friend Z was the same way. Years ago when Z was visiting a friend she was invited to a fundraiser that the incomparable Ms. Bacall was attending. When she she got back I had to ask how it went and if she actually got to meet her. For the only time in her life, Z seemed abashed. Finally I dragged the story out of her: it turns out that she did meet Ms Bacall…by backing into her and stepping on her feet. Ms. Bacall rewarded her with the most withering look Z’s ever seen in her life.
The irony of this? Z herself has the most withering look I’VE ever seen in my life, and has been known to intimidate Oscar winners (ask me about the story of her and Daniel Day-Lewis in the Starbucks sometimes…it’s hilarious).
Now whenever I watch Bacall movies all I can think of is that lovely face glaring as some poor sap steps on her feet. And it always makes me laugh.
BTW: did you know that William Faulkner wrote the screenplay? Yeah, THAT William Faulkner.