Mr Darcy he's not...

I confessed my love for Holmes on Homes today to a co-worker. THAT'S my kinda dreamboat. Give me a master at what he does over a pretty Mario Lopez type any day. I think I horrified her.

Along those same lines, Jack Reacher may be my new literary husband (Sorry, Atticus Kodiak). Jack Reacher doesn't believe in laundry. My heart went pitter pat.

I heart cheap, mass market fiction and strong, capable men. Who don't believe in laundry.

I wish you could see her...

I HAVE to figure out how to post cell phone video.

Because there are few things better than Little O with her newest obsession...

She does the sprinkler. All Damn day.

hi-larious.

She's also reading Ramona Quimby, Age 8 to herself. In Kindergarten.(!)

weighing close to a thousand pounds...

Ah, Sayre, where is Operation Lose That Ass when I need it?

I'm trying to cook at home again. We've been baaaaad about going out. But right now with Miss Priss and her Tee Ball and The senior O and his wrestling, I'm not HOME to cook, and the Honey's new job necessitates early bedtimes. So If it's not almost done by six, we just need to go grab something. It's ugly, folks.

Senior O makes it sound like he's almost through with high school instead of about to start it. Elder O?

Little O has finally, at long last, embraced bedtime. I have resisted bedtime stories, holding them out as a carrot to lure her into her own room. Baby, tonight was the last chapter of Little House in the Big Woods. YAY! As a bookseller, can I tell you how long I have waited for these nights?

Big O had no kind of attention span for long stories. He is a rapid reader himself, sadly following in my voracious reading habits--I didn't mean to imply that he's not a reader. But at six? Not so much.

We have discovered a new bookstore. It's only open on Saturdays, and everything is a dollar. They run it out of an industrial park on the east side. Can I tell you, I would never have gone within six blocks of this place if I hadn't been staring at their sign, barely visible from the Starbuck's parking lot. Hmmm....you're a shifty serial killer, but you're lazy, and you want to lure me into the space where your 70's van is waiting? Okay, I'm in!

Actually, the Honey's sister had been telling me about it for weeks, but kept bailing on me when I called her to go. So I dragged the Honey with me a few weeks ago. It was sweet. Not fuzzy animals in Easter baskets sweet. Dude, where's my car? sweet. My eye only twitches a little that they stop at sorting by category---sort of. After that it's good luck, suckah!

But last weekend after we MISSED Big O wrestling in Modesto by minutes, and only because they wrestled out of weight class order--Little O and I went to see if we could find the next little house book. We came out with fifteen books. Three little house books and eleven American Girl books. By my calculations, that's about what we would have spent on two American Girl books at B&N.

With the Honey's new improved early bed times, Miss Priss reads to her daddy until he falls asleep. She reads him American Girl stories. Daddy, meet Felicity. :)

Do Books (and Christmas Ornaments) scream?

My heart, she hurt when I threw the ick covered box into the dumpster when we moved.

In large part it was very liberating to throw out a lot of useless shit that had accumulated in the course of ten years in this town. But what a mistake it was to ever put anything into that back shed, where, as it turned out, cretins and critters ruled.

Anything of any possible monetary value was stolen, so many times that I stopped putting locks on the door. We used a What Would Jesus Do bracelet to keep it closed, but the thugs never really got the irony. Eventually all that was left was the Christmas box from hell, waaay too much stuff from the house to ever be used in our tiny duplex, and heavier than cement shoes to try to move--so I never did. Shall we talk about the books? Oh my dear lord, my books. The thugs saw no value in my books, and again, just not a lot of space to store things, so they stayed in the shed.

When it came time to move, I couldn't even look at the Christmas things that had been chewed and, um, otherwise touched by mother nature. I had the Honey's best friend, Tim, just load it into a trip for the dump. If I had not used it or seen it in 5 years, would I really miss it? I do. I find myself hunting for decorations I loved, that are lost--was it in that box, or did I let the Ex have it? Dammit.

I could not bring myself to have Tim take the two boxes of books. I salvaged the fairy tales, but the box of books that smelled like cinnamon and sugar and sweet, sweet lasagna were doomed. They had been "visited" so thoroughly that I would never have brought them into my kitchen. So I sucked it up and tossed that box into the dumpster I had gotten for just such decisions.

Of course the fucking box burst open and all of my babies were exposed, staring at me as I abandoned them to larger critters and more destruction. I almost dove back in for my Cookwise, by Shirley Corriher. I mean literally, it had me hopped up on the edge, teetering, about to save at least ONE of my fortune in books, purchased with a discount I'll never have again. The guy pulling around the corner in his bass-thumping Honda snapped me out of it, and I hopped back down and walked away. Their tiny booky screams were only in my head. (right?)

I'm not so much a cook as I am a baker...Shirley is releasing Bakewise this year. I can hear it calling to me. Do I really envision spending money I could spend on Sci-Fi on a baking book, when I already own so many? Probably not. Probably. Not. I think.

Mmmmmm...books

Who was I kidding? This was never going to be the year I dove into NaNoWriMo. Facebook scrabble keeps me from blogging, let alone devoting hours each night to typing. Are we sure we couldn't move it to January? Seriously, I've got NOTHING in January.


The true death knell of my NaNoWriMo delusion, though, was a fabulous bag of hand me down books from SQT at the Fantasy and Sci-Fi Lovin' Blog.

The first one I dove into was this:

I reallly enjoyed the premise of the book, that aliens have come to earth but want an agent to make them palatable to the human race. It's a clever book and I would have sold the bejeebus out of it, were I still selling books instead of trash. My only complaint, and I'm not even sure that it IS a complaint, was that the cussing seemed a little over the top sometimes. That's a funny statement coming from me, because away from my kids I have the mouth of a gutter rat, but at times it seemed a little forced or over the top. I think what I was reading is an advanced copy, so maybe an editor got out a red pencil and cut out a few...I can't pinpoint why they caught me, because if ever there were an occasion for a high stress vocabulary, meeting a sentient sewer scented jello shooter would do it, but it got to the point that it pulled me out of the story for a minute. I dunno, The book was phenomenal and I can't wait for the next one out of the bag...

Did you ever read...

I was describing a book, a futuristic (Hard?) sci-fi novel that I read many moons ago, where pretty much all computer functions, worldwide, were performed by the giant corporation Win-Disney, or microsoft-disney or something like that.



ARGH!

Bill and Walt had taken over the world, and I don't remember being especially fond of the book, but what was it? Who wrote it?

I will spend days trying to figure this out...

Dear Daniel-

Your haircut sucks ass.

If you were not so busy trying to get your suck-ass hair to follow the traditional comb over pattern favored by middle aged men in the seventies, you might have heard me when I told you I had an EXCHANGE. Your temper-tantrum sighing fit and repeatedly asking me if I had a reciept was not endearing in the least. If you had left your stupid "edgy" hair alone while greeting me, perhaps made eye contact, or even (gasp) attempted something close to conversation, you might have had MORE time to play with your hair at the end of the transaction, instead of having to call for a manager to void out your fuck up.
I don't have the patience for girls playing with their locks while I am trying to conduct business, and my experiences with male grooming in the service industry lately almost make me appreciate the time and attention you spent on your hair.

Oh, but that's right, your haircut sucks ass. Big hairy donkey balls, boy.

Just like your customer service.

cc: Border's Bookstore.

It's about the Spirit of the law, not the letter. Right??

Here's my Supa-star, holding her glove, rather than wearing it. But she IS implementing the step-and-throw combo we've worked on all season. She just likes it to be in slow motion, so she's sure everyone is watching her.

Here she's making her stately progression towards first. A Princess doesn't really RUN, you see...

I have decided that since you cannot see her face, it doesn't count as posting an actual photo of her. In fact, this is not my child AT ALL.

My girl is so freaking cute that it KILLS me not to post photos. It causes me actual physical pain. She is THAT cute.

Did I mention that I signed up to be team parent, and that I have no idea what that means? I took down names for snack, and I am faking cheesy gifts for the coach and his assistant. Was there supposed to be more to it? Oh, well....one more game to go.

********************************

More amazing Meme Madness Later this week, kids!

On the book front?
Nora, Nora, Nora.
You don't have to put recipies at the end. It makes you seem very needy, and you are the bestselling women's fiction/smut/romance author EVER. You have to have outsold Danielle Steel years ago. Quite frankly, you're better than that. If you have a crazy gun toting granny who sets funeral homes on fire in your next book, I may have to break up with you. It was a great book except for that bit at the end.

xoxo,

Jen

Insane Meme Weekend, part 1

One of the Reader MEMEs. I copied and pasted from a blog into Word one day and have just dusted it off and answered. If I stole it from you, I apologize.

Hardback or trade paperback or mass market paperback?

Just like it says in my profile, I love cheap mass market fiction! One handed reading, no sharp corners or stupid dustcovers. Portable and practical.

Amazon or brick and mortar? Um, Hi, former bookseller. I need to touch, and I really really need to scan the shelves looking for something to catch my eye. I miss bookstores. I will totally hunt down sequels online, though!

Barnes & Noble or Borders? Barnes and Noble – I worked for them for more than a decade. I miss them still.

Bookmark or dog-ear? Hahahhahaha. Dog-ear. Books are consumed at my house. Then they are passed on!

Alphabetize by author or alphabetize by title or random? Author if I were that anal. Again, books are meant to be passed on.

Keep, throw away, or sell? Give away. I pass it on because I loved it, or smut because I am embarrassed to be caught with it. I buy several copies of a book that I love, because I give it away, then find another copy at the used bookstore, and buy it to pass on again. I have re-re-re-purchased several books.

Keep dustjacket or toss it? MMMM…keep it. Toss it…keep it.

Read with dustjacket or remove it? I like my books naked. I do not fuss with books. Do not lend me a book you love and treasure. I get down and dirty with my books.

Short story or novel? Full Length Novel, thank you. I read waaaaay too fast to have the patience for short stories. I want something to engage me for at least a couple of hours.

Collection (short stories by same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)? I kind of think collections are good for Erotica and not much else. I guess it depends. See my answer above, but I like finding new authors…

Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket? Potter. Can I say also that I …enjoyed the Golden Compass when it came out, and WANTED another one, read the first three, I think (are there more now?). But I am not sure that I ADORE the Golden Compass, or think it deserves the hype it’s getting. There were some elements that rendered it kind of Madeleine L’Engle for me. Concepts almost too off kilter, but you like the characters so you persevere. Does that make sense? Did any one else get that sensation?

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks? When it’s over. I have to be truly exhausted to stop in the middle. Or my real life interferes and wants to be fed or changed. Is it bad that I was actually referring to the Honey?

It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”? Once upon a time is more likely to be fantasy or smut, so definitely Once upon a time. I have enough dark and stormy nights in real life.

Buy or Borrow? Buy. Then pass it on.

New or used? I don’t care. A book is a book. But no library books, I never return them on time.

Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation or browse? Hours spent browsing is the beginning of my perfect day. With the advent of the freaking Thomas table, I see very little of the rest of the store, though.

Tidy ending or cliffhanger? Wrap it up for me! When Stephanie Plum left you hangin’ between Ranger and Morelli I though I was going to have to hunt Janet down and smack her. Whew!

Morning reading, afternoon reading or nighttime reading? Yes. You forgot mid-morning, late afternoon, early evening, and butt crack of dawn why can’t I sleep.

Stand-alone or series? A series gives me something to look forward to. A stand alone is so deliciously tidy…mmmm.

Favorite series? Hmmm… that’s tough. I don’t know that I could choose ONE.

Favorite Children’s book? Secret Summer of LEB, Gone-Away Lake, Wilfrid Gordon MacDonald Partridge, and Julius, Baby of the World. (I would totally consider a Lilly Tattoo.) All of the James Herriott books. Conversations with a Pocket Gopher by Jack Schaeffer. Narnia. Farley Mowat. Three Investigators. Frog and Toad. Are you my Mother?

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard? Skellig was a YA book that I liked, but the next book by that author was awful. Genellan by Gier was Flipping fantastic (Sci-Fi) or Keeper by Greg Rucka.

Favorite books read last year? I was poor last year. OOOH! I think I found George RR Martin last year, so I’ll say those. My best Jen also keeps me stocked with her leftover Sookie Stackhouse novels, which I enjoy—even though vampires are outside of my usual tastes.

Favorite books of all time? What kind of BS question is that? That list would go on forever. Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver made me cry… um, At home in Mitford was a wonderfully peaceful book about nothing. I didn’t WANT to read anything for a while after that. All of the books listed above under Children’s. Sleeping Dogs by Thomas Perry.

Least Favorite book you finished last year? EWWWW, a Carole Higgins Clark someone gave me. Bad. Not my usual thing at all, but I was desperate, it was very.very.bad. . .

What are you reading right now? Just finished Valentine’s Rising by E. E. Knight. Wishing I had the fifth one.

What are you reading next? GRRRRRR. Little O carried off the Naomi Novik book I just got, Black Powder War, the third in the Temeraire series. You cannot scold a four year old into remembering where they left something. My fault for thinking it’s cute when she grabs my books and reads with her babies in her lap. (I don’t know WHO could have taught her that one. She has to have a Grown up book for that, not a little girl book.) oops.

Mmmm....books...

Let's start off with a statement, shall we?

I read Cheap, mass-market, escapist fiction. I don't read to further my edumacation, although that can happen along the way. I don't read so I can talk about it at my book club. (I've never seen a book club that covered what I read, and I don't play Magic the gathering or collect comics, so I'm not likely to find one.)

When I worked at the bookstore, there were certain types of customers that I would dread. They considered themselves hardcore readers, but they had exclusive relationships with their pet authors.

"Oh, I've read everything that Stephen King/Anne Rice/Dean Koontz/Danielle Steele has ever written. I don't bother with anyone else."

Excuse me? I would do bookselling gymnastics the first few years, trying to get that reader to recognize that there was a whole world of books, of BETTER books. I eventually came to accept that they just wanted to be knowledgeable about SOMETHING, and chose an author to latch on to. Nothing would make me walk away faster than to hear that you read one author to the exclusion of all others. I cannot imagine having missed out on so many great books over the years.

I sold books through the first (five?) years of Oprah's book club, too. That was a different set of issues-and every one of those books had issues. I read to escape, and the little O on a book is a sure sign to me that while it may be a compelling read, there sure isn't going to be a functional family or a happy ending. But she did get thousands of housewives reading for the first time since graduating high school.

My bookselling days are over, and I miss them. Matching someone with a great book and having them come back to me for recommendations, because I was soooo right about that one...good stuff. You just don't get that kind of interaction behind the spit shield. sigh.

So there are five books that I read in my frenzy of verbiage.

The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch.
The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss
His Majesty's Dragon and Throne of Jade
by Naomi Novik
and
Prayer at Rumayla by Charles Sheehan Miles.

Okay: quickie reviews, as I am pressed for time:

Lies was a good rollicking thief's tale, but I could have waited for paperback. I look forward to the next book.

Name of the Wind-so glad I got this one in hardback. It had a little more depth than Lies, and the gypsy/magician/retired fighter set up is unusual. I am eagerly awaiting the next hardbound release.

The Naomi Novik books are set in the Napoleonic wars, but with the slight historical change of adding dragons. I really enjoyed these and want the next book to be out in paperback NOW.

Prayer at Rumayla was a hard book for me. There is no escape in this novel of a soldier's return home after the first gulf war. It was a vivid portrait of the anger and sense of disconnection felt by a soldier trained to do unspeakable things, thrust back into the world he'd left behind. Great read, but definitely heartbreaking.

Here's one for ya...

the scandal of the starving baby
Originally uploaded by Djuliet.

File this under super-dorkfession, agonizing admission of my own idiocy, or AW CRAP. (Okay that may have been funnier with the original typo of aw carp)

Several months ago the link on my blog to Locus Magazine, the alpha and omega of sci-fi book news, geek central, was advertising for an administrative assistant. You must understand that books used to be my life. My life's work. I quit school because working in the bookstore was so much fun. I was lured away from books by filthy lucre (and not much, at that), and I have pined for books ever since. To have even a slight chance to work at a magazine dealing with (presumably) articulate and thinking beings, and have a job that did not involve a panic button and a plexiglass spit shield was too much to pass up. I did not care that it involved a commute to the bay area and, by extension, less money than I make now (how is that possible without a paper hat and a nametag?). They asked for a cover letter describing your interest in sci-fi. I think I tasted honey.

I agonized over that cover letter. It couldn't just be a list of books, but how to narrow it down? Who did they want me to like? What if I mentioned the author they hated? Should I 'fess up that I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't geek out if Raymond Feist or George R. R. Martin called? I finally got my letter down to the basic loves of my sci fi reading. I confessed, not my fear of hyperventilation faced with certain authors, but rather my absolute disinterest in Manga or old-school hard sci-fi. I thought they should know. If they hired me, it would become evident that certain names made my eyes roll back in my head.

I fretted over e-mailing it to them, worrying that I'd screw it up somehow, and reveal my dorkiness. I bit the bullet and I pressed the send button, and gave them every one of my e-mails so they could choose where to reply. Can you see it coming?

I got brave and told my mother that I had taken this huge daring step (for me) in applying for a dream job. I know I tell you all how close my mom and I are, and how I adore my parents and we have this perfect relationship. Let me now reveal that she is still my mother, and we have a very real relationship. Her response was, and I quote,

"Jenny, that's just stupid. Why would you apply for a job in the bay area. It can't pay very much, and you think you could commute?" blah blah blah. Fill in with more of the same. Thanks, mama-san. sigh.

But I faithfully checked my email accounts, and listened to the crickets chirp. I used the canned air on my keyboard so I would be ready to reply. In my cover letter I acknowledged that I might be too far away to commute, but that I'd like to discuss the possibility--damn! I shot myself down! I would like to thank Bre for listening patiently while I agonized back and forth about what I might have done wrong. She's very patient anyway, but that stuff HAD to get old.

Then it happened. The ad was taken down. My dream was over.

Life goes on. At least until you remember a thing called the answering machine, something gathering dust in the corner because it's always full of mortgage re-fi pitches that chap my renter's hide. Every once in a while I clear out the messages to make room for more re-fi con men, but it's a pain in the ass because you have to listen to each message. There are also a ton from my ex, telling Big O to pick up. Annoying to listen to him in person, let alone in memorex. Oh, and a message from Locus Magazine asking me to give them a call.

They called. I never checked my machine, it never occurred to me that they would CALL, when everything had been via computer up to that point. They.Called.Me.
And they hired someone else, without ever knowing that I was the one they really wanted and needed.

There is my deep dark Saturday Dorkfession. I will be a little old lady rocking myself in a corner, slapping my forehead, saying "Check your messages." Maybe I'll get the golden trash can award for a life's work in garbage. Maybe I'll snap and threaten to dump MY garbage on THEIR porch if they don't shut the hell up and listen to me. Locus Magazine called me and I was too dorky to check my messages. LOCUS MAGAZINE. Worst part? I can't tell my mom they called, 'cause then I'd have to fess up the rest.

I'm off to beat the concept into my children that they WILL go to college, they WILL NOT quit for a shite paycheck in a fun retail job.

AAAAH HA!

Ads for the movie "Shooter" have been driving me crazy. I kept thinking it sounded like a Stephen Hunter book, but Shooter was not the title. Point of Impact. Had to google it.
mmmm, books....
I know I've said it before, but Greg Rucka writes a great story. I can never remember which one comes first--I think it's Keeper, the second one was Finder, and I always thought they should be reversed. The hero is a bodyguard named Atticus Kodiak. Rucka writes graphic novels, too, but if you read things like Shooter, I highly recommend Keeper. Ooooh, and Sleeping Dogs by Thomas Perry. It's hard to find the first one, Butcher's Boy (unless they are re-printing it by now), but Sleeping Dogs is another one of those books.

I remember books...lovely grey pages, cracking the spine, mmmmm...

I can have books again when my house is cleaner. Please note that I did not say clean. My house is never clean. I AM the crazy old lady with forty years worth of crap piled up. I was on Oprah recently. Okay, not ME, but my psychic twin (no, not CRSE, I apparently have another). Except that SHE works at a container store, and makes a living organizing other people. I'm not quite THAT hypocritical(?). Whatever that is...No, I have my papers at work in piles, and my house is the same. But higher. And with random crap thrown in. I have achieved in thirty-six years what it took my grandmother sixty-three years to do.
It's our first rental inspection tomorrow. Something new for our fair city, and my part of town is in the first wave. My co-worker is convinced that someone called and complained about me, and that is why I have been chosen. Since I saw tags on several other rental units in my neighborhood, I don't think that it's for that. We are pest free and pet free, so I am not sweating that so much, but it lurks in the back of my mind. It's the clothes that are killing me. I have more clothes in this house than we will ever need. I need to start throwing two away for each new item that I bring into the house.
Gah. What a way to spend a vacation. CLEANING. ugh.

HELP!

Do you read Sci-fi?

Help! Was there sex in Hitchhikers Guide? I want something new for my eleven year old, and I don't remember any, but it has been oh holy mother of dog twenty years since I read them. If he picks up Captain Underpants one more time, I may burn them all. He has also taken to reading My Side of the Mountain over and over again--this, I totally get. He can read Harry Potter with no real problems, and I think he would love Adams.
But is there sex? My dad handed me 1984 when I was in the fourth grade, and man, just because I COULD read it doesn't mean I was ready for it. I'd like to avoid doing that to Big O.

mmm....books

I was sent three Marian Keyes books by my dear friend Jen, and they were good in a lighthearted chicky sort of way. The third one that I read, Rachel's Holiday,was a little heavier. It dealt with an addict, and it was interesting to see the process and the behaviors of addiction. In an alternate universe, I could see that being me. I am, once again, very grateful to have never gotten sucked into a druggie life. Sadly, I have watched a few friends fall prey to their addictions, and they lost everything that they ever held dear.

But what got me started on all of this, was that one of the blogs I stop by, Still Life with Soup Can, has reading tastes pretty similar to my own, and now I know that there is a new Robin Hobb series (Yay!) and another of the books she's currently reading looks good, too.

Little O is NOT a good bookstore shopper. It's a cruel kind of torture to be so close to that many books, and be trapped at the Thomas table at Barnes & Noble. I have become that odd creature that I always shook my head sadly at, the supermarket buyer. The alternative is to do the flying scan as we quickly cruise the B&N aisles, looking for known authors, and grabbing what I hope is the beginning of a new series. No more unknown authors for me, unless I find them mentioned in a blog.

There are days that I miss working in the bookstore more than I can express. Challenging conversations about books and current affairs, trying to match a half remembered plot with a book I'd shelved maybe twice--great stuff! I never asked a politically incorrect question about someone else's parenting skills, when I dealt with bookstore customers. Honestly? I never even had an opportunity to until they moved the B&N into the mall. That's when the customer base began to slide--I blame it on the cafe' and the cushy chairs. All of my B. Dalton's were in malls, and people were still human beings. sigh.

Anyway, I have a Gift card for the mall with B&N in it, and now I'm trying to figure out a way to sneak over and spend it all on me. Mother of the year, that's me!