Readers and Writers

Look how hard it is to follow through with this one simple task. I mean to tell you the title and author of every book I read this year. How tough is that? Pretty tough, apparently, because I finished The Used World last Sunday and here it is Friday and haven't even mentioned it yet. Anyway, it's by Haven Kimmel, who wrote A Girl Named Zippy. This one's better. I liked it a lot. Besides Christian fundamentalists and compassionate but illegal abortionists, there are also Hoosier lesbians and alcoholism. Yep. Something for everyone!

And yesterday I finished The Reader by Bernard Schlink. Apparently it's a Major Motion Picture. I can't imagine why. This was annoyingly boring, but I kept at it because Mike's mom lent it to me and I want to be able to talk to her about it. I kept hoping that it would perk up at some point. Its only saving grace is that it's short.

Ruth told me the book was depressing. I think the writing is depressing, not the topic. Schlink writes in a monotone. His chapters are all almost exactly the same length, as are his sentences. The blurb -- admittedly not the best source of truth -- says it's "A novel of emotional awakening that you'll never forget." Well, I guess I can't forget something I never knew ...

Or maybe I'm just a clod.

In any case, I don't recommend the book. If you want to see Kate Winslet and presumably Ralph Fiennes in the bathtub, then go see the movie. Or do movies still have naked women but not naked men?

Have you noticed that people are smoking cigarettes in movies again? I'm sorry for that. I wonder what I think I'm talking about here. It's been so long since I've seen a current movie, since I've been to a theater, that I can't even remember which movie it was.

Here's the trouble. Both Mittens and I spent all of Thursday just laid up in the house against the rain. Benji was with us for some of the time, but he didn't have any ideas, either. We were like criminals waiting at the hideout for the bag man. Or cops at a stakeout. We tried playing euchre but the overwhelming lack of opposable thumbs in the group was just too much. We threw the cards on the floor and looked for peanut butter.

This dejection -- and the rain -- has continued into this Friday morning. It's only five o'clock. Mittens is out on the cold screened porch looking for pieces of the lizard she separated yesterday, albeit listlessly.

Today there'll be some action, though. I have a massage at one and then I'll bring mini-flyers to Jan The Book Lady at Small Adventures, Gulfport's bookshop. Our writers' group will have its first meeting on Sunday, February 8. Mark that on your calendars.

My thanks to Angie for Following me unto the point of another robe. I wonder if we could get Nola Flamingo to add another picture. This one refuses to show. I believe Satch and Jetoff are still waffling. Mister Google doesn't make it easy, does he?