Thursday, March 29, 2007

Read, Red, Read

Alrighty, then, on a lighter note, let's talk about books. I know that this blog gets all the traffic of Highway 50 through northern Nevada but I will still challenge the lonely and confused that wander here to tell us the last 6 books that you have read, including the one you are reading now. You can include as much or as little info as you wish. I picked 6 because it's not 5 and it's not 10 (my blog-I get to make the rules). Here goes:

1. Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln by Doris Kearns Goodwin (non-fiction) - I'm just reading this to suck up to Anne Altman.

2. Lisey's Story by Stephen King (fiction)

3. The Afghan by Frederick Forsythe (fiction) - Hint-not about a blanket for you knitting fans.

4. The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (non-fiction) - Anyone that lives in Chicago should read this book.

5. Jesus, Elvis and Coca-Cola by Kinky Freidman (fiction, I think but with Kinky, you never know)

6. We were Soldiers Once...And Young by Hal Moore (non-fiction) - I have a morbid fascination with the Vietnam war, having come very close to getting a free trip there in 1967.

So, whats about you? This is not a tag, just a way to have some fun, for me anyway.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The Unfinished Book

I was looking at another blog today (Family Tree Junkie-try it, you'll like it) and the question came up about your feelings on the loss of your parents. It started me thinking about death in general and what symbolizes death. We see many symbols like skulls, The Grim Reaper, tombstones, etc. For me, I always see an book, laying on a bedroom nightstand. The reader's place is bookmarked but the book will never be finished because the reader is dead.I probably get this image because both of my parents were readers, my mother more than my dad. When they died, they both left books on the nightstand, unfinished. I often wondered if one of their last thoughts was about the book - what was going on in it, what would happen to the protagonist, how would the story end. I read a lot also and I can't help wondering what book will be left on my nightstand when I die.

On a metaphorical level, I guess we can look at our lives as books. Some are long, some are short, some so short that the story was barely started before the book ended. I think I am feeling sad today about short books because there has been a rash of meaningless car crash deaths involving teens around here lately. Also, there was a story in the newspaper today about the psycho that invaded Platte Canyon High School in the small town of Bailey, CO on September 27, 2006. He held seven female students hostage, sexually molested them, then shot 16 year-old Emily Keyes in the head before killing himself while police broke in, trying to rescue the girls. Emily died while being transported to the hospital by helicopter.

During the crisis, Emily sent a text message on her cell phone to her parents - " I love you guys". Emily's book was far too short.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Slow Boarding, Not Snow Boarding

As those of you who ever fly know, the airlines who have more than class of service usually let the first class passengers board first. Makes perfect sense. They are the ones in the front of the plane so, on most flights (737s, A319s and A320s), you have to get around them to get to your seat. Almost invariably, there is one clown standing in the middle of the aisle, trying to take his coat off and put up his carry-on luggage (usually consisting of a steamer trunk) while carrying on a heated cellphone conversation with one of his minions. You know it is a minion because sentences like, "This had better get done today or else" or "I can't believe you haven't completed that project yet" fly like spittle from his taunt lips. These words also are meant to let you know how important he is and that you had best not try to uproot him so you can get your measly shit put up and sit down.

Guess what, dweeb. You are not important. You are just another asshole. You are just another selfish, self-absorbed asshole who can be replaced in whatever function you perform in about 20 minutes. And that's if you die on a Sunday. The flight attendents may be afraid of you but we know who you are. So next time, plop your fat ass down in your seat and curse your peons from there. And do it quietly as we don't want to listen to your bullshit, either.