Wednesday, July 27, 2011



No not that Laurie Halse Anderson YA golden bull. I'm talking about literally speaking. Any of you hate small talk as much as I do? I like to think of myself as introverted because of this. Listen, I don't want to know how your weekend was, what you're majoring, or even what your name is. And I certainly don't care if you care about those things in relation to me. I'll find all this shit out when I creep on your Facebook.

But maybe I just want to be called introverted, because that's what people call Cormac McCarthy and JD Salinger. Don't get me wrong, I'll run you down with my motormouth once we're comfy together, but getting to that point is rough for me. I don't really know how to make friends. This is why I like drinking. I love going to parties, getting tipsy, and mingling with folks about interesting subjects. That whole introductory phase is such nonsense.

So maybe I'm just weird?

Whatever I am, don't ask me how my summer was or what I did. What? You want a list? Let's just take a shot of cheap vodka and work our way past the bullshit and to who you accidentally did the deed with and/or what episode of Six Feet Under made you cry the Nile.

BTW, I'm not an alcoholic. Trust me, I've been analysed. Twice. Goddess Chelsea Handler once said this: "I went out with a guy who once told me I didn't need to drink to make myself more fun to be around. I told him, 'I'm drinking so that you're more fun to be around.'"

That's basically me, but with the whole fucking universe instead of one guy. Does that make me narcissistic? At least I'm not an alcoholic. I have papers if you need proof.

Anyway, I know this is supposed to be a book blog and I'm the all time worst book blogger on Blogger, because all I ever do is ramble about myself, BUT I just recently finished Foxfire by Joyce Carol Oates and it was <3. I should have a review up soon!

Sorry if the breaks between posts have been too long for you bated followers. I just got some financial info from Hiram College. Every time they email me about money owed, my foot twitches to find the rib-cage of some innocent terrier.

Until then, bow down to

PS: I'm not Michael Vicks. The terrier is Hiram's mascot. Off color humor, yeah yeah yeah.

Thanks for reading!

Friday, July 22, 2011

Follow Friday!


Another Follow Friday! At too early an hour! I'm up at 6:31 AM, because I plan on going with one of my girls to babysit. Gross, babies. Gross, sitting on them. Why would I do such a thing? Because Baby's house is air conditioned and it's close to one hundred degress Fahrenheit here! I don't know what that is in not American, but everything is sticky, sweaty, and salty. I need a break.

Q. Name 3 authors that you would love to sit down and spend an hour or a meal with just talking about either their books or get advice on writing from?

I would never eat with any authors, because I don't eat in general. Just kidding. Little dietary humor. Not funny? Sorry, early. 

I would love to sit down with anybody that would be interested in introducing me to their agent and/or giving my book a blurb.

For realz, probably Truman Capote, Cormac McCarthy, and Joyce Carol Oates. I'd as Capote about the glamour of being an author, McCarthy on isolation, and Oates on proliferation. I'd also love to chat with Chuck Palahniuk, Flannery O'Connor, Scott Heim, William Faulkner (you just call him Faulkner), John Steinbeck, and Jeffrey Eugenides.

Comment, follow, and I'll stop by your place!

Thanks for reading,

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Accio, Childhood (More Harry Potter)


Spoiler Alert.

My time with Harry Potter is strange. I'm not an obsessive fan and mostly if you ask me about the series, I'll mumble something about it being fine story telling, but lacking in language. I stick to that statement even at times like these. These times are the times that Harry finds me. It's often in July or November, maybe December now and again. It's whenever a new book or film arrives. It was in elementary school, middle school, high school, and college. He swoops in on his Nimbus 2000 Firebolt to prove time after time that his magic is not just in wands and potions, but in nostalgia and an unfailing ability to transfigure me back to childhood. I become a ravenous fan in these periods and although my hunger wanes with time, there's always a reprisal whenever he comes back.

What's sad is this: the "it's" are now "it was." Harry will not come looking for me again. He himself is now a piece of nostalgia, just memory.

So I had been preparing myself for HP n Da Deathly Hallows all week by watching the previous films and reminiscing of my childhood years spent sprawled on the floor munching away at the books. It's all very rushing to me, like I'm in a fast car... or a train... express train... HOGWARTS EXPRESS *bursts into tears*

And then the car halted and I broke my nose on the dashboard when the credits rolled.

So yeah, I cried a bit. A lot. I guess I'll just run down the major waterworks:
- The title card. It was the last one. Ever.
- When those horrible Goblins rattled at the sun deprived dragon and then again when the dragon smelled fresh air and then again when it escaped to the sky. I really felt for that thing.
- Any time McGonagall looked at the camera. Her eyes were so tired and brimming.
- When Snape told Harry to take his tears. TAKE MINE TOO, HARRY!
- The Prince's Tale. As if I even need to explain.
- Harry accepting his fate.
- Harry closing his eyes.

I guess that doesn't seem like all that much, but shut up. I sniffled. Yeah, sniffled. With my nose. More of a snort snotty sniff. It upset the man next to me, but I didn't care. Through half the film this dude was making origami or something with his popcorn bag, because you just can't make as much noise with a bag as he did by simply putting  your hand in it. He also smelled like nicotine. AND HAD AN UNKEMPT BEARD.

I found this HP survey online and decided to give it a whirl, just to share some of my thoughts on the series as a whole. And I need some closure.

Favorite Book in the Series
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince or Deathly Hallows or Order of the Phoenix.
Least Favorite Book in the Series
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets? 
Favorite Character
Harry Potter. Sorry if that isn't original. Hermione is my main bitch. Ron also. And everyone else except Luna. She was obnoxious and said things at inappropriate times. I hated Draco too. Maybe I just don't like fair skinned blondes? I wish I had that complexion. It must be jealousy. And that can't be right, because I love Hedwig. 
Favorite Villain
<3 Bellatrix <3
Saddest Moment
The Prince's Tale. Book and film.
Favorite Professor
Minerva McGonagall
Least Favorite Professor
That douche from Chamber of Secrets.
Favorite Subject
Defense Against the Dark Arts 
Least Favorite Subject
Muggle Studies sounded too much like real life.
Favorite Shop in Diagon Alley
The one with Hedwig.
Most Handsome Character
Ron or Harry or Draco. None of the others were all that fetching. FILCH.
Most Beautiful Character
Most Missed Dead Character
Sirius or Hedwig.
Favorite Book Cover
Ew, I love them for nostalgic purposes, but they're all kind of tacky. I guess POA.
Favorite Tri-Wizard Tournament Challenge
Dragons. The maze reminded me of The Shining.
Rate the Houses From Most to Least Favorite
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin. I hate people that think it's cool to like Slytherin. No. Slytherin is comprised of assholes and cowards. 
Favorite Animagus
Favorite Unforgivable Curse
Avada Kadavera, duh.
Favorite Horcrux
Favorite Deathly Hallow
The invisibility cloak. Didn't you read that story in Beetle the Bard? That bro was the most clever.
Funniest Moment
Harry said some sassy things that made me chuckle.
Most Emotional Moment
The Prince's Tale? Can I say that again?
Aspired Quidditch Position
None. No sports. Not even magic ones.
Favorite Patronus
Snape's doe. *cries again*
What You Think Your Patronus Would Be
Favorite Dursley
Petunia. I like a good betch.
Favorite Wand
Dragon heart-string or something.
Favorite Magical Ability
Transfiguration would be fun.
Favorite Death Eater
Favorite Portrait
The fat lady.
Favorite Spell
Expecto Patronum is always so pretty and bright.

Oh, the end of an era.
You cryin', followers? Tell me about it in the comments. Or tell me what you thought of the film, the books, the end of it all.
Thanks for reading,

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Being Responsible Only Not (Harry Potter Harry Potter Harry Potter)


I have earned a decent amount of $$$ this past summer. I plan to spend it on school books and loans and paying for various fees I accumulated for being boisterous a trip to Toronto with two of my girls! Isn't that exciting? Three nights in a city where the drinking age is 19. We're taking a megabus there and staying in a hostel.

Now listen, I saw those movies. Those Hostel movies. They were pretty sub-par, but that kinda thing could really go down. So I'm going to pack a chainsaw or something. Just to be safe.

Anyway, I guess my time at KFC and stuffing fliers into doors really was worth it. Who knows how I'll ever pay for school and who cares? Well, I do, but not right now. I actually should have enough for the trip and for fall semester books so I'm not being too willy-nilly.


Also, the new last Harry Potter flick comes out Friday, but I'll be seeing it on $5 Tuesday. I'm wary. This is the end of an era. As if I need another reminder that I am no longer a child...

So I have been watching all the other movies in preparation. I read the books way back when and while I was enchanted and mystified and found a home away from home blah blah blah, I was mostly annoyed with her uses of telling and not showing. Still love em, still have em lined up on my shelf in hardcover, but I'm not all Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets to Rowling's Tom Riddle.

So I watched the first two so far. The best part was in the second one when Ginny asked Mrs. Weasley where her jumper was and Mrs. Weasly said she saw it on the cat. I laughed for like five minutes.

Not that huge a fan of the first two flicks. They're fine adaptations, but as films they tend to drag. I love Prisoner of Azkaban and Order of the Phoenix, which are quite the opposite. Lousy adaptations, but well made films. I'll take the latter over the former as I always feel film and book are vastly different mediums and should never try and emulate the other, but take the same story and represent it in a way that works best for itself. Men with baby heads is a startling image on page, but would be silly on film.

So what do you think of Toronto? Favorite Harry Potter book/movie? Least? Let me know! I have to say my favorite book is probably Half-Blood Prince. Love all the Voldey back story. Deathly Hallows was great too due to all the epic. And Order of the Phoenix would be up there as well if Harry hadn't been so ragin' on hormones, testosterone, and teenage angst. I don't remember being that angry when I started to like girls. Well, that never really happened, but well whatever.

Thanks for reading,

Saturday, July 9, 2011



Today was a good day if not poignant. That is my favorite word. "Poignant." And "undulate."

Me and two of my girls made like old times. We put cheap wine into water bottles and walked in the dusk around our their hometown. We found this construction tunnel thing. It was like a drain pipe, but there was nothing for it to drain. It was just sitting in the middle of some baseball diamond waiting to be put to use. Good thing we showed up. We took sexual pictures on it, practiced jumping on it like a horse (that almost hurt my man goods), attempted cartwheels across it, and then we crawled inside of it. I don't know if it was a construction tunnel. Curled up in there, it felt to me like a womb.

There was this orange setting sun hanging over our whole night. The only thing is that it wasn't a sun. It was a streetlamp, but we all thought it was the sun.

Then I went home and read and decided it would be okay to love someone else.

Thanks for reading,

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Friendly Book Post After Sassy Casey Anthony Post


Just found a new way to snatch some more loves. Is it weird that I call you that? Are you creeped? Is this why you don't comment? I could say "Like You Like a Friends," but it's just not the same. I'm not really in love with you. I will not sneak up in your hedges and peer in your windows. I will not snatch your child and blame it on my nanny. I don't have one, but since when does that matter?

Today I am participating in Teen Fiction Centre's Weekly Book Blog Bonanza. Almost like a Book Blog Banana, but with less potassium. Clicky:

This week's question: "Who is your favourite book character and why?"
English American translation: Who is your favorite book character and why?"

This question is not happening. Sorry. I like too many. So you're all going to have to deal with hearing a few of my favourites favorites.

Holden Caulfield from Catcher in the Rye
I really do like Holden and have never understood the idea that he is some vain narcissistic pessimist. The guy wants to save children from losing their innocence for crying out loud! I really jelled with his voice. It was all relative, I could hear myself. I admire his desperation to keep from going from the rye, to keep frank and honest and to restrain from that type of bloated affection we associate with sincerity. He's a crazy kid, but I love him.

Lolita from Lolita
What a girl. There is something so intriguing about loving Lolita, because I feel like I shouldn't. She's a vapid, slutty tween that uses feigned innocence to manipulate her way to success. She's what Holden wants to keep children from becoming. Still, I can't help but be fascinated by her ability to pull this off. She's just a girl. The "success" she manipulates her way to is found in candy, records, and new clothes. She's a figure of purity strewn through the gutter and I can't help but eat away at any description of her. Her acid sass made me laugh  out loud.

Rosasharn from The Grapes of Wrath
I can't talk too much about Rosasharn as her becoming mirrors the entire point of John Steinbeck's classic. I will say this: she is one of, if not the best, transitional character to ever be put to print. Her metamorphosis is contagious; it encourages readers to find change within themselves.

Neil McCormick and Brian Lackey from Mysterious Skin
There were times during the book where I didn't really care for Neil all that much. He's reckless, conceited, and blind to everything whooshing around him. Ultimately, these are the same reasons why I like him so much. Neil is a superb cause and effect character. Brain works great with Neil and vice versa. Their polar opposite reactions turned the book into nicotine. The interwoven narrative makes experiencing Neil and Brian a constant compare and contrast. When it comes down to it, I just wanted to hug them both.

Owen Meany from A Prayer for Owen Meany
I love Owen, because I'm a sap. He's a dwarfish, shriveled boy who has every reason to hate the world, but instead he declares himself an instrument of God.

There's many more. But I want popcorn.

Thanks for reading,

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

The inevitable Casey Anderson tell-all is one manuscript you know won't end up getting... trunked.


I bet that was it. That headline was the one to do it. You're all going to stop following me, spread words of my obscenity, and maybe even hunt me down and find a mysterious nanny figure to drug me up. Well, calm down.

Listen, am I glad that whole trial is over with. The facts came down to a lack of evidence so they couldn't rule her guilty. It's that simple. Did she do it? Obviously. Can it be proven? No, which is why she's going to be spending next weekend drinking vodka and doing lines of coke at a big surprise party thrown by one of her personalities instead of making dice out of soap bars.

That headline is also very very very true. The Terminator's (ex?) wife was offered $15 million for a tell-all. She didn't even have to pen the thing and probably never will. Oh, it'll come out and she'll buy a new Porsche or maybe a Smith & Wesson 9mm semi-automatic, but it won't be written by her. She should probably invest in a dog or cat or something too.

Casey Anderson should not, because she would kill it the first time it gets in the way of her donning an American flag toga and swigging a bottle of moonshine.

I was at a Fourth of July shindig with the fam and all those old aunts of mine wanted to talk about was that damn Casey Anderson. Luckily, my aunts used to ride motorcycles in the 80s and had really big hair, so there was plenty of booze around. I took a swig/shot every time they mentioned her.

"I can't believe the way the defense is trying to handle that Casey Anderson," they said.

"Gulp," I said.

"I wonder what she'll get? Oh, we won't know for a while."

"Glug," I said.

Then I rambled something about nannies, but no one heard me so I played with the dog. That was actually a lot of fun, especially considering all the gulps and glugs.

Now those same aunts and company are blowing up Facebook with ill grammar such as this:

"Did those jurors seeing the same thing i am ---- ARE YOU KIDDING?!?!?!!?!!!!????"
"WTF is all I can say!!!! NO JUSTICE FOR CAYLEE!!!!!"
"Looks like GOD is going 2 have 2 bring justice to Caylee!!!"

And some have the audacity to say youth disrespects the English language.

Now they want me to turn my porch light on in memorial. They want me to put it on at nine o' clock. When it's dark out. Turn on my porch light at night? What a demonstration!

So what do you guys think about this whole thing? I don't deal well with crime giving way to celebrity. We all have financially secured this broad for the rest of her life. She just has to hire someone to write her book. Hey, I'm available.

Thanks for reading,

Sunday, July 3, 2011

In Praise, But Not in Too Much Praise, of a Fabulous Man: Truman Capote


Remember that time I said Cormac McCarthy is better than you and me and everyone else? Well, there's another fellow that's better too. I'm in the midst of reading one of his novels right now and while his writing is poignant and swell and clearly depicts figures of human existence and blah blah blah, I think the main reason he's so fabulous (sorry about using such a cliche gay boy word, but let's face it, it's an appropriate word) is because of his persona and routines.

Truman Capote is his name as if you haven't already read the post header. Here he is at the apex of his cuteness:

Yeah yeah yeah I already posted this, but it's worth a double take. Also, I'm going to talk about it, so take a third look. Done? Okay. Hold on, I'm still looking. He's looking back at me. Not you. Me specifically. Alright. This photograph was taken by Harold Hama in 1947 for the jacket of Capote's novel Other Voices, Other Rooms. I'm reading that right now so don't talk about it in the comments. Apparently this photo caused a huge ruckus, good and bad. Andy Warhol, pop-art prince of the 1960s, instantly befriended Capote. Old women gasped and clamped their gloved hands over their grandchildren's eyes when passing book stores and the LA Times said Capote looked "as if he were dreamily contemplating some outrage against conventional morality."

Well, let's face it. He probably was. The year was 1947. Truman Capote was openly gay.

What's great is that he didn't do much to hide it. He was flamboyant and crass and basically me except he had a job at The New Yorker by age 17 and was contracted by big wig Random House to write his first novel in 1946 after his piece, "Miriam", won the O. Henry Award for best first published story.

I had to stop writing and take a gulp of my roman coke because I am currently furious with envy. Sorry if you're offended I drink. You probably understand. Planting petunias gets to a person. Also, I hope you have read my other entries, because I like using those inside jokes that only will be outside if you're familiar with my other posts.

Sorry, distracted. Anyone got some Adderall? Boy, if that Gay and Lesbian Review really does decide to check this out, they'll probably copy and paste a form rejection to be sent to my form rejection landfill email as fast as you can ask "Why the hell couldn't I be friends with Harper Lee?"

Well, guess who was friends with Harper Lee? Truman Capote, that's who. You remember Dill in To Kill a Mockingbird? He was based off Capote. Idabel, a fiesty and crass (word of the day) scoundrel in Other Voices, Other Rooms was based off Lee. The two grew up together in Alabama and Lee eventually helped a great deal in Capote's research for his creative non-fiction work, In Cold Blood. She's even part of the movie based on the book's research process entitled quite simply Capote. They're pictured together to the right to the right (Mom's been having a Beyonce day).

Capote was also friends with Carson McCullers, writer of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Only no he wasn't and this is why maybe I don't want to be Truman Capote, but just Nick Sawatsky.

"I don't care what anybody says about me as long as it isn't true."
— Truman Capote

Capote brought to the literary circle of the time an air of Hollywood exclusivity and glamour. He held the infamous Black and White Ball, an event so big that entire books were written about it. The thing is this: Capote treated the ball a type of narcissism. He dangled invites and ultimately snubbed a lot of former friends, including McCullers. It was from here that Capote spiraled. Sometime after In Cold Blood he stopped being a writer and started being a celebrity. He drank in excess, did too many hard drugs, and frequented talk shows. He was kind of like Lindsay Lohan, but jail and thievery wasn't as chic then as it is now.

Sadly, Capote died of liver cancer at just 59 years old.

I just splashed the remains of my roman coke in the sink to be dramatic, but then I realized no one was watching me and now my buzz is dull and this whole comment is in bad taste, but Capote would probably like it so I'm keeping it.

Ultimately, Capote only published three novel length works (Other Voices Other Rooms, The Grass Harp, and In Cold Blood) as well as the famous novella, Breakfast at Tiffany's. There were sprinkled short stories and anthologies throughout his career and a few manuscripts made it to shelves posthumously, but I still gotta sigh. I mean, he has his pal Harper Lee beat, but she was always notorious for writing manuscripts and trunking them as she felt they couldn't surpass Mockingbird. I don't see Capote having that problem. I feel like he became distracted by himself, but how can we be surprised? His first major reaction from the world was based in a photograph of himself.

So what's the verdict? You gonna hit up Half-Priced Books/Amazon/B&N/Whateva to check this cat out? Already fan? Let me know in the comments!

"But I'm not a saint yet. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a drug addict. I'm homosexual. I'm a genius."
— Truman Capote

Thanks for reading,

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Our McCarthy, Who Aren't In Heaven, Hallow Be Thy Name


Look at all those followers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. That's a lot. Especially when I count each one individually. Mainly, I can thank the Follow Friday tradition for introducing my to all you cool cats, because it doubled my numbers. Unfortunately, I found out about it in a time of Plasma and not Plath, so sorry about dragging you all over here to read about books and finding money making schemes instead. Although understand this: you need money to buy books. And time to read them. Job = money and no time. No job, but finding dough in sketchy, relatively quick places = less money, but time. You can only follow this logic if you are a broke college kid. If you have an illegitimate child or have a nasty coke addiction, you should probably get a job. I don't recommend KFC.

So you wanna know about plasma? I'll tell ya about plasma. Me and a friend (one of the girls) hauled over to an inner city center and boy were our suburban boots shaking.

"I don't like the looks of that man wearing the doo wop," she said.
I agreed, but only said this: "That's a do-rag."

Anyway, we were in the wrong line and some guy in a Simpson's Spider-pig shirt directed us over to the check-in desk where a female dog (actually was not a canine, but I'm trying not to offend the petunia planters too much) eyeballed us up and down then ruffled her lips in some kind of horse laugh.

"No. No more new donors today. Too late," she said.

Well. Their website said the process takes 2-3 hours and we got there at 11:30ish and they close shop at 3:30. So how about you pay for my gas you bifocal buffoon. You know, she was wearing a lab coat too. She liked to pretend she was a doctor. I don't think she really is, but who knows. 

So now we have to go back during the week and I'm just so sick of plasma that I don't even want to keep you updated, but I will because I love all one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven. twelve. thirteen. fourteen. of you.

Something else traumatic happened to me. I watched The Notebook. Let me clear up something first. I LOATHE Nicholas Sparks. He is a narcissistic trout. I once read an interview where he had the gall to sniff his nose at Cormac McCarthy.

Reader warning: Okay, so I'm about to rant like no other. Watch out.

HOLD UP. Cormac McCarthy is better than you. Not Just Nicholas Sparks, but you. My loves, Cormac is better than you. He is better than me. He is better than pretty much anyone reading this blog. Who knows, maybe The Pope likes planting petunias and somehow wandered on over. You know what? Cormac's better than The Pope.

Cormac McCarthy and Nicholas Sparks are not even in the same profession. McCarthy writes Pulitzer Prize winning fiction and Sparks writes "books" that might be a prize at the local church carnival.

Anyway here's a quote from him on McCarthy taken from an interview with USA Today: "Horrible," he [Sparks] says, looking at Blood Meridian. "This is probably the most pulpy, overwrought, melodramatic cowboy vs. Indians story ever written." 

He was asked about it later on and said this: "That was a small snippet of a very long conversation. I was actually surprised he put that in. What would be your question? Look — The Crossing Guard? His early work? Very strong." 

What. What. What. The head bitch of melodrama wants to try and talk about Blood Meridian, one of the most crucial books of our time? He goes on to say he (Sparks) writes work akin to Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. 

Guess what? I bet Nicholas Sparks said "I'm currently writing a novel" a lot when he was drafting The Notebook, because he is a grade A douche-bag. I bet he says "alas" a lot too.

Also, McCarthy never even wrote a book called The Crossing Guard. The Crossing, yes, and it came out years after Blood Meridian.

I'm so angry I don't even know what I was talking about.

Oh yeah. I watched The Notebook. I liked one part. When he dangled from the Ferris Wheel and she pulled down his pants. I thought she was going to give him a blowjob. Then she didn't. So I didn't even like that part, just what was in my head.

I'm leaving you with a picture of Cormac McCarthy that you may feel free to print and use in your soon to be built McCarthy shrine. If you never read him I suggest The Road or No Country for Old Men to start off. I suggest you get a copy of any of Sparks books and use it as kindle (for a fire, not the robot thing taking over the publishing industry).

Thanks for reading, sorry for ranting,