Book Recommendations

If I were to recommend one book, to a sci-fan, what would it be? Hmm...

This isn't an easy question. It's a fun question, but not easy. I've thought about what I've read so far this year, and what I've read last year, and stared at our bookshelves, and tried to remember what I have on the shelves in Eugene. But what I like others don't necessarily like, and what I like or want to read changes on my mood. That's why I don't answer favorite book/movie/TV/song questions with just one choice. My mood will determine what I want, so I name a series of things, at least one of which will fit my mood at any given time.

So...someone who enjoyed The Hunger Games enough to read them twice wants a suggestion. I can't suggest just one book, but I can suggest a series. John Marsden's Tomorrow series isn't exactly sci-fi (neither is The Hunger Games), but there are some similarities. Both are YA lit, with strong female protagonists about the same age (16-17ish). I really enjoyed the 7 books of the Tomorrow series, and the follow-up trilogy The Ellie Chronicles. 

The basic summation of the series is fairly straightforward. Whilst on a camping trip, a group of Aussie teenagers hear fighter jets flying over. When they go back home a few days later, they discover that an unnamed Asian country has invaded and nearly everyone they know has been put in internment camps or killed. So they fight back, and try to rescue their friends and family (and themselves). Roughly speaking, that's the overarching plot of the Tomorrow series, whilst the plots of The Ellie Chronicles deal with the aftermath.

One other book I would recommend--as I do to everyone--is Pat Frank's Alas, Babylon. It's very dated now, but it's one of the finest post-apocalyptic novels ever written. I cannot stress enough how much I love this book. Everyone I know who has read it also loves it. That's not to say that everyone loves it, but I think it's a must-read.

So Ms. Hadar, see if you can find yourself a copy of Tomorrow, When the War Began. I really enjoyed it and the rest of the series, so I hope you do, too.

There...

As I so often do, I apologize for not posting sooner.  Between jet lag and the holidays--and our anniversary tomorrow--I've been swamped.  But for now, we'll start with going out there.

The first snag Adam and I hit was his ESTA.  For those who don't know, the ESTA replaces the green card that used to get stapled into the passports (and then removed upon leaving) of "ferriners" from visa waiver countries (aka those who are less "ferrin"--or more white--than other "ferriners").  In all their stupidity, the US has started charging for $14 for ESTA--$4 admin and $10 "tourist tax."  Most people pay it without a second thought (don't have it, can't enter), but I think it's ridiculous.  Regardless, we knew that, and so Adam made a point of renewing his ESTA (good for 2 years) just before the charges came in.  Therefore, we knew that it would be good for this year's trip.  But just in case, Adam decided to check the ESTA status about 18 hours before we flew.  Sidenote: you're supposed to apply at least 72 hours in advance.

Problem.  Adam tried to access it online using his name and passport number.  System can't find him.  Tried to access it using the number I copied down.  Can't find it.  Tried multiple times, multiple ways.  Either can't find it, or more worrying, it's invalid.  Well shit.

Finally, I tried a different tact.  See, I knew they might want proof at the airport that he had ESTA, so I copied down the number from the copy he wrote down, and chucked it in the passport case.  That's the copy he used, after not bothering to check my copy against his (which I asked him to do for this very reason).  So when everything else is failing, I went digging around on my computer for a copy of his ESTA number, which I found in our flight stuff from last year (and proof why never deleting travel files is good).  Tried the correct number, and he's all happy to travel.  But the ESTA website still sucks, since searching via name and passport number said he didn't exist (those were correct in system and he was copying it from his passport).

Our next snag was not a snag.  It was a lovely, if not very restful, night at the Radisson Blu hotel in Manchester Airport.  Cue commercial here, but we love the place.  It's not cheap--the cheapest is about £70 a night--but it's clean, big, clean, nice, clean, in the airport, and clean.  There's nothing like sleeping in an airport for convenience for those flights at stupid o'clock, but unlike racking out on (or under) benches or on the floor, this is an actual hotel, with heated bathroom floors (seriously), nice big beds, big rooms, TV, and privacy.  We talked about someplace cheaper, but decided that the Radisson couldn't be beat for knowing what we were getting (clean and less than 1% chance of death, rape, mugging, or bedbugs) and likelihood of making the flights (very high).

Checking in was a snag, however.  I think the Continental staff at Manchester was either all brand-spanking-new, or else they got yelled at recently, because we had the most anal-retentive, "but this is what the form says and I must fill out the form" staff I've ever seen.  The security questions guy in line I thought was going to subdue me for the police when he asked if I had anything that could be classed as weapons and I said my keys.  Then we get up to the counter, and because Adam isn't a citizen/visa holder, they need an address for him for the first night.  Normally, the hotel name and city is enough, but not for this lady.  Nor was my parents' address enough.  No, she had to have the hotel for that night.  That is not what she ultimately got, and had we taken a bump (more on that later) we wouldn't have even been in the same time zone.  So after she went all bitchy on me and I went all bitchy back, and they don't have internet, so I had to pay on my phone to use it (which is why I was all bitchy) I gave her the Napa hotel address because I knew where to find that, rather than from a website I'd not been to before.  And when she said in a nasty voice "Is this where you're staying tonight?" I said back, just as nasty, "Yes."  Next time, Adam/I is either lying or making it up.  On the west coast, zip codes all start with a 9, so just give them five numbers starting with a 9 and everyone is good.

Until we got to Newark, all was fine.  Boring, cattle class, and shitty, but fine.  Newark, however, doesn't appear to have any bathrooms.  Adam decided he didn't want to use the first one we saw off the plane, because everyone uses that one.  Turns out in Newark that's because it's the only one.  So we hopped in line for passport control.  His line, not mine, because, well, we feel it's safer.  About 35 minutes later (Adam still hasn't peed, despite there being a loo next to the insanely long border control line that people were hopping out of line to use then hopping back in--something that works well when travelling with others) we finally made it to the front of the line, where our guy then proceeded to go take a leak for about 5 minutes.  Hey, when you gotta pee you gotta pee.  Then the two men right in front of us created a hold-up.  Not sure why, but the one guy's answer to all questions was "yes, I know him."  Didn't matter the question, that was the answer, and presumably all the English he spoke (or for those who know about a previous trip of mine "train come every 10 minutes").  So he got hauled off to a separate room, presumably to find someone who spoke whatever language it was he spoke--I didn't recognize the passport.  Then the guy had to log the thing.  Then Adam and I got called up.  First words we hear?  "Why are you here?"  So I explain that while I'm a citizen, Adam's not.  "Yeah, but why are you here?  You're a citizen.  Take him through your line--you shouldn't have to wait."  He barely looked at my passport, he barely biometric'd Adam--a thumb and a finger, instead of all 10 fingers/thumbs, and we're through.

And still no bathrooms.

Finally, we got the luggage, cleared customs, rechecked the luggage, and eventually found a bathroom.  Or maybe we got lost trying to go through Newark's insanely bad security set-up first.  I can't remember, but two things come to mind.  First, pee when you see a loo in Newark, because you may never see one again, and second, don't go through Newark, because the security set-up there may even be worse than O'Hare, and O'Hare's used to be the worst I'd ever seen (unless it's changed since 2006, it was in no way able to handle the amount of people who need to go through it, and it backs up into the escalators so you nearly die trying to get off).

Eventually though, Adam peed, I probably peed, and we found our gate.  Where we were informed that our scheduled plane was no longer available (don't know why, but I'm guessing it was late or not coming in at all), so they crammed us into a significantly smaller plane.  As in something like 25 seats smaller.  They needed to bump 25 people--I'm betting that flight was also oversold, a practice that I'm rapidly thinking should be banned, though it did prove to be beneficial for us (as will be documented in "...and Back Again.").  Regardless of what was really going on, they were offering hotel, 2-4 food vouchers a person (depending on the number of meals between then and the new flight), and $700 a head for people to take later flights.  For 25 people.  Because that's what happens when you oversell flights and everyone turns up to take the flight.  Instead of making money, you have to spend $17,500, plus hotel and food.  Only 5 people took the bump that I know of though, so no idea what happened to the other 20 people who didn't get on the flight (we checked in about 30 hours before that flight so they couldn't bump us as being the last to check in).

That flight was horrible.  Seat-back entertainment, at $7.99 for the flight.  And people pay it!  Idiots.  We're charged more and more, given less and less, and expected to thank them for the chance to pay for things that should be part of the ticket.  While I don't think entertainment is necessary, I should get to take a bag with me for free--since that's part of travelling, when it gets right down to it--and be fed at least a token meal for free. Instead, they charge a quarter to a sixth of what cable costs a month (unless you have a stupidly expensive cable/satellite package) for a few hours, cram you in as tightly as possible, and give you a tiny little box of food for a huge amount of money.  Adam and I watched (without sound) the entertainment of the people in front of us who paid (idiots), and starved.  We starved because all our food went into the hold when they had to gate-check all the rolling bags because people no longer check luggage because it costs money (if they have to gate-check it, it's free to the passenger, because it's allowed on board normally).

Ranting done, but that was one of the absolute worst flights I've been on in a long time, and I flew not long after 9/11, 7/7, and the debacle that restricted liquids to 3 oz.  But thankfully, when we landed in SFO, Mom and Dad met us, and then proceeded to take us to an In-n-Out Burger for our collective first In-n-Out experience.  We all enjoyed it well enough, but I think I prefer Sonic Burger (which I've also only eaten at once).

I will endeavor to write about Napa and Eugene at some point, but the next time I get around to the blog will be for our return trip, because that was less horrible (in most ways) and much more lucrative.  Also much longer, but did I mention it was more lucrative?

Girls, diets, books, authors, and responsibility.

Something I will very rarely do, but this is a cross-posting from the Girl Museum Blog.

Let me preface this by saying that I am a writer myself, and I don't believe in censorship, but in the freedom to write what you wish.  Writers write for many reasons: because we're obsessed with it, because we want fame and notoriety, because we need a paycheck.  Every writer has their own reason.  And in this age of blogs and other forms of self-publishing, it's not that difficult to get your work out there (and even make some money or a name for yourself), even if none of the big publishing houses choose to pick up your work.  But Paul Kramer did get picked up by a publishing house, and it's caused quite a stir.

Kramer wrote Maggie Goes on a Diet, which is about a 14 year old "chubby" girl who is constantly being teased and bullied by her classmates for being overweight.  To try and make herself feel better, she raids the refrigerator, but ultimately goes on a diet and starts exercising.  As she becomes thin, she also becomes popular, and the star of the soccer team.  Maggie Goes on a Diet will be released in mid-October.

I believe that writers--as well as anyone else--have the right to say what they want.  However--to quote from Aaron Sorkin's screenplay, The American President

You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country can't just be a flag; the symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest.

In short, true freedom of speech means that not only do you have the right to say what you wish, but you also must allow others the right to say what they wish.  This includes their right to criticise your work.

When I write these blog posts, I try very hard to present a balanced viewpoint.  I try to see all sides of the argument, and present multiple sides; I know that very few issues are actually black and white.  To use the previous post (written by Junior Girl Miriam Musco), "Poledancing for fitness" as an example, I can absolutely see why people are outraged.  For better or for worse, pole dancing has become linked with strippers and sex, and we don't want to associate that with young girls.  On the other hand, though, it doesn't have to be associated with stripping/sex, but if I think that it is, I assume you think it is, and so  I assume everyone associates it, and everyone does.  Now they think that a girl who pole dances is a slut/stripper/tease/prostitute/daughter of irresponsible parents, because of the bandwagon effect that society has.  I think pole dancing can be an excellent fitness routine, and fun.  I think it's completely fine that girls be allowed to try it, but I also think that perhaps a) the studio shouldn't have posted pictures of the girls and b) maybe now is the time for the parents of those girls to explain why society thinks girls learning to pole dance is inappropriate.  And hey, maybe some minds can even be changed in the process.

I don't think controversy that surrounds Maggie Goes on a Diet is any different.  There is a good message in the book: eating healthy and getting exercise helps build self-esteem.  But it seems to be lost behind the message that if you're a girl,  being fat is bad because it makes you unpopular, while being thin makes you popular.  I think that girls should be encouraged to eat healthy and get exercise--I think all of society should be encouraged to do that!  But I can't sit back and watch a middle-aged man (who's a little "chubby" himself) essentially tell girls that fatties aren't cool.  Girls are so prone to eating disorders at his targeted reading age (grade and middle school), and it doesn't take much to push them over the edge, potentially causing life-long self-esteem, health, and body issues.  Additionally, there are some thoughts that restrictive pre-pubescent dieting can restrict normal growth.  But parents are responsible for teaching and setting healthy diets and activities for overall well-being, not for popularity's sake.

I won't argue that writers have a responsibility to society.  At best it's a disingenuous argument, and at worst, censorship gets involved.  While those in the limelight, be they politicians, actors, writers, or the generic "celebrity," are scrutinized, and often held to a higher standard simply because they're famous, I don't think it's fair.  I'd like to see everyone set a better example, and I'd love it if those in the limelight did adhere to the highest possible standards, but it's not going to happen.  Part of the peril of fame is that people scrutinize and criticize your actions.  And when unhealthy messages are being sent to the most vulnerable among us, I think we have every right to stand up and say something.

For a video about Paul Kramer's Maggie Goes on a Diet, which includes some of the text (which, as a writer, I think is hokey and not very good, but that's a different issue), click here.

-Katie Weidmann

Junior Girl

Girl Museum Inc.

The most haunting thing I've seen in a while

If you don't watch House this clip may not seem as awesome, but I watched this episode (Season 7, Episode 15: Bombshells) yesterday afternoon, and this clip has been haunting me ever since.  Everything about it is amazing to me: the costumes, the coreography, the singing (but then I've always been slightly in love with Hugh Laurie--and Stephen Fry, to be fair, since I've always thought of them as a pair), the way the sequence related to the rest of the espisode, and so on.  If anyone truly cared, I could analyze it in depth for ages, but that's the sort of thing best done with friends and beer.  Or wine, I suppose.  Regardless, I thought Bombshells was the best episode of House this season, and if not in the last two seasons, it's certainly a contender.

EDIT:  NBC Universal sucks, and "blocked this video on the grounds of copyright."  I can get you the audio of Hugh Laurie and crew singing, but no longer the haunting video, so that's lame.  While I understand and mostly agree with copyright, I'm not sure I can see how having this single, totally awesome clip hurts NBC in any way.  Entire episode?  Definitely remove it.  One clip?  Why bother?

Iceland Part II

So last we left off, Adam and I were being screamed at to not use camera flashes.  We got back to the hotel about 12:30, and after a leisurely lie-in, we went back out and explored Reykjavik some more.  This was actually a repeat of Tuesday, and we repeated it again on Friday.  The highlight of the exploring at this point (though it was a web exploration before we left) was supper that night.  We planned on one really nice meal for the trip (we actually ended up with two, which was my fault), and Wednesday's meal was scheduled for Lækjarbrekka--pronunciation is on you to figure out.  The website is here, and we decided to go with the prix fixé menu.  These were three course feasts, and while expensive, a good deal, although wine was not included.  Which, by the way, the house red is quite nice--this was good, because none of the wine was cheap (including the house red), and the price made us both cringe.

I had the Icelandic Langustine Feast which was slightly different than the website's menu.  The first course was creamy langustine soup with a taste of cognac and whipping cream, and it was absolutely divine.  Perfectly smooth, with the lovely sweetness of langustines, the warmth from the cognac, and the coolness from the cream.  Think of the best lobster bisque you've ever had, and this was probably better. My second course was langustine three ways: grilled in garlic butter (4 tails), which were beautifully flavoured, slightly crispy where they were grilled, and smooth and sweet and moist on the inside; tempura fried langustine chucks, which were delicious, but probably the weakest part of the meal; and chunks of langustine in saffron sauce.  I'm not a big fan of saffron usually; I don't know why, but I don't like the flavour.  This sauce, however, could make me change my mind.  And there was a load of it, so I was able to dunk my tempura langustine in it as well.  Third course was dessert, and that was an interesting concoction.  I adored the creativity, if I wasn't a big fan of the flavours.  Essentially, it was an ice cream torte: the bottom layer was solid dark chocolate, the middle layer was a blueberry sorbet (I don't really like blueberries), and the top layer was an anise ice cream (also don't really like anise).  The flavours all combined beautifully, however, and went very well with the strawberry coulis that was on the plate.  All in all, totally delish.

Adam had the Lamb Feast, which was also totally fabulous.  His first course was lamb carpaccio and smoked lamb with a crisp salad.  Choosing the better of the two lambs (smoked or carpaccio) was not possible--they were both excellent in their own ways.  His second course was roasted lamb with crispy roasted potatoes and a thyme sauce; simple, traditional preparation, and oh so tasty.  It was probably the best of everything we ate, and that's really saying something.  But his dessert was also to die for.  He had the chocolate special of the house, and it was three small chocolate dishes.  The first was a small ball of chocolate sorbet.  Again, simple, but the sweet and the chocolate were perfectly balanced, making for a rich, flavourful, but not heavy sorbet.  The second one was a tiny chocolate soufflé.  Again, simple and traditional, but soufflés do require some mastery, and this one was light and airy and moist, and rich, but not overpoweringly sweet.  The last of the three was the true masterpiece, however.  It was a white chocolate mousse.  I'm not a mousse fan, really, nor do I particularly like white chocolate.  I would have cheerfully beaten Adam to death for it all, however.  Perfectly smooth, a bit thin (which is probably what I liked it, but it also worked well to put a bit on the soufflé), and all the nice flavours that exist in white chocolate without the flavours that I associate with cheap tasting chocolate (as white chocolate so often does to me, even not-cheap white chocolate).

It was a delicious evening, even if I almost died in the restaurant; we (well, I) were somewhat overdressed, as I was wearing my little black dress and strappy heels.  The problem was the the snow had frozen into ice soles on my shoes, so I had no traction on the highly polished wood floor (until it all melted, probably leaving a large couple of puddles).  And we had problems getting the check, but we seemed to run into that elsewhere--though others didn't--so I'm not sure what the deal on that was.

On Thursday, we went out to the Blue Lagoon for the day.  It's a tourist spa, but it's very pretty and well worth a visit (but only once, I think).  Unless it's jammed packed with people, then it probably blows.  But we were there with maybe 200 other guests total, and not all of them were in the water at any given time.  It's also--at least when it's not busy--a very romantic locale.  Everyone spread out in the water, and though we were all pretty much in site of each other, we were more or less private, so there was lots of carrying each other and kissing and the like.  And then playing with the mud.  Then the in-pool bar opened...and Adam and I decided to leave (this was like 3 hours after we climbed in the water, however).  You could only drink around the bar, supposedly, though I stepped on plastic cups more than once in other areas.  We both kinda wanted the luxury of having a drink in the water, but a large, very loud contingent of older, hairy men--I think they might have been Greek, but I don't know; they were mostly speaking accented English--was gathered around the bar, and I didn't feel like dealing with their drunken behaviour (don't think they were actually drunk, however).  Other than that though, we had a good time playing with the muck at the bottom of the pool (equal parts gross and fun), smearing mud all over our faces (not the stuff from the bottom of the pool, though the idiot drunk guys used it--gross!), standing under the waterfall (not as awesome as claimed), and hanging out in the grotto steam room (fun cave, until the lifeguard stuck his head in.  Thankfully, we were not doing anything).  The naked showers here were overrated, and yet people still freaked out.  As an FYI, all public bathing in Iceland must be preceded by a naked shower.  Why?  Because they don't put chemicals in their pools, so they want you clean.  Freshly clean.  The locals will get pissed off if you don't do this.  And though there are no locals at the Blue Lagoon, the policy holds.  But all the showers practically were private cubicles.  Both Adam and I had a hard time finding open showers, and even those were semi-private.  And yet I still heard one girl (American/Canadian) bitch "Why?  I just showered this morning!"  My reason for showering first?  Slather their conditioner all over your hair and leave it in (yes, this probably violates the "clean rule" but is suggested to do): the water is super salty and will fry your hair.  Every time we went in to wee, I hit the showers and threw more conditioner in.

Steamy.

Could it be any more picturesque?

The not open pool bar (it opened later).

More picturesqueness, this time with added bridge over the pools.

More of the pools.

Still more pools (and now I'm getting really flippin' cold out of the water, so Adam's taking pics).

Outside the actual spa area.

And again.

Thursday night's supper was fish and chips.  Why?  Because while we may get fish and chips here in England, Iceland is well known for it's fish, and we wanted to try some there.  It was our weakest meal, probably, and was still tasty.  It was also super-organic.  We went to Icelandic Fish and Chips, where I had wolf fish (turns out it's on the edge of being endangered, so now I feel bad, but it was delicious--since it's eel, I'm not surprised I liked it--kinda like a combination of unagi and catfish.  Adam had cod, and garlic oven chips (they don't fry the potatoes there).  My chips were plain.  And actually, they were all more potato wedges, but it didn't really matter, because we got the skyronnaise sampler platter to dunk everything in.  Skyr is a traditional Icelandic cultured dairy product, similar to very thick yogurt.  They used skyr as the base to make a variety of sauces, including tartare, honey-mustard, mango, and five others.  Not all of the sauces were fabulous, but that was a taste preference thing, because Adam loved a couple I didn't, and vice versa.  But as good as everything was, it really was the weakest meal.  And it was tasty!

Afterwards, we stopped by the Ice Bar.  One of the other Girl Museum interns suggested it, and well, yeah.  It's a schtick.  But Adam and I spent some time chatting with a very nice bartender, and got these pictures.  Dad would be upset for the bottle of Jaeger.

At least it's cold enough.

The only photo of Adam and I.

Friday was, as I mentioned, another day of wandering around Reykjavik.  We hit another couple of museums--the first was the (free) photography museum on the top floor of the library.  Nothing exceptional, but great to kill some time.  Also, the exhibition on was of abandoned farmhouses and such, all taken fairly recently, which was a nice contrast to the turn-of-the-century farm photographs we saw at the National Museum of Iceland on Tuesday.  We also went to 871 +/- 2 Settlement Museum, which was really neat.  In the middle of Reykjavik a few years ago, construction began on a building and they found a Viking Longhouse, so they excavated it and turned it into a museum.  For something as small as it is (one room that surrounded the longhouse), we were there for nearly 2 hours.  It was really fascinating.  From there, we decided on an early meal, as we had to be up at the ass-crack of dawn (ok, about 5.5 hours before dawn) to catch our flight back home.  Sadly, our early meal plan didn't work out quite as planned, but we did eat at The Fish Company, which turned out to be even more money than Lækjarbrekka (which only cost us more because of the wine).  The Fish Company has received the "Best Restaurant in Reykjavik" award (or whatever), and the food was absolutely inspired.  A few reviews have claimed that it's too complicated or over the top, but I disagree.  It was complicated, but I thought it added layers and depth, as did Adam (and he's simple--take that how you will).  The premise is that each dish is inspired by a country and flavour from the region.  So for my starter I went to Norway and had (I've copy/pasted here) GREEN LIME rosmarin marinated BEEF & crispy GOAT ROLL with goat cheese snow, smoked tomato, raspberry jelly, cashew nut & mushroom foam.  Complicated sounding?  Absolutely, but the variety of flavours all worked wonderfully together, whichever mouthful you got.  It was amazing working my way through the dish.  Adam's wasn't quite as many flavours, but he went to Spain and had SERRANO mustard glazed PORK BELLY & GNOCCHIPASTA in creamy TIO PEPE sauce, black olive sand & rosemary marinated tomato.  Mostly he saw the words pork belly and spooged a little (Dad got him hooked on pork belly in Eugene).

For our mains Adam went to Madagascar for CACO BEAN fried MONKFISH & CHEEK with butterfried asparagus, smoked parsnip, parsnip milk, oregano polenta & chocolate cinnamon sauce.  I had the Iceland selection (aka fresh fish of the day) which included salmon and the same chocolate cinnamon sauce (reminiscent of a mole) that Adam had.  Amongst other flavours.  Mine also had langustine (I just realized that I think I'm using the Icelandic spelling).  It seemed to have elements from a variety of other plates, which suited me fine, because the flavours still all blended beautifully.

After having gorged ourselves on all that, we decided to split a dessert, and went to Italy for NUTELLA real TIRAMISU with nutella chocolate cream, coffee toffee sauce & STRACCIATELLA ice cream.  Which was super-rich, especially after all the rich food we'd already had.  It was tasty, but the weakest part of the meal.  It also went to prove that when presented with 500 different people, you'll be presented with 500 different, all authentic, tiramisu recipes.  For all the claims of nutella flavouring in the tiramisu, it was not overpowering, so I think Dad (who thinks tiramisu should be basic and not flavoured with orange or other crap, just coffee) might have even approved.

After that incredibly tasty, expensive meal, Adam and I decided to stagger back to the hotel, so we could pack our crap up, shower, and go to bed early (hahaha) so we could catch our early flight back to reality.  Given that reality was cold, windy, and rainy, we would have preferred to stay in Iceland, where it may have been cold and windy, but it was snowing and pretty, so that was ok.

In all seriousness though, you should go to Iceland.  I know Katie and Doug are going over spring break, but you should go too.  It was beautiful, tasty, filled with fabulous people, and quite possibly is the ideal place to live, provided you can handle very very short days contrasted with 24 hours of sun.

Iceland

We've been back for a week now, and so some of the magic has worn off, as is the case when reality and jobs so rudely intrude.  Still--and perhaps especially because of the weather--we keep thinking longingly of that lovely little island.

The sun had not yet risen over Reykjavik.  It was about 10am.

Our flight left Manchester a little after 11:30am on Monday, with a stop in Glasgow before continuing on to Keflavik, where the international airport is (about 50km/31mi from Reykjavik.  Despite some people's complaints, this is not that far.  Heathrow is an hour by tube from central London, SeaTac is in Burien, which is still a good 15-20 minutes south of Seattle, and so forth).  We hit our first snag before we even got to Glasgow; Adam had the window seat--he whines less that way--and so he saw why we suddenly slammed on the brakes in mid-air.  Apparently there was another plane there.  I have no notion if our pilot, their pilot, or ground control screwed up, but yeah, slamming on the breaks in mid-air does not make a happy Katie.  The cockpit (probably wisely) never said anything.  I rather doubt most people saw the other plane--I didn't.  Other than that, the flight was uneventful, and that plane had seatback entertainment systems.  Not bad for a flight that took about 4 hours, including stops.

Kevlavik airport is very Scandinavian; clean, nice, pretty.  It is, however, an airport, so we got out of there as fast as we could, and hopped on the FlyBus (an expensive, but useful service that also runs in Dublin and other various airports; buy round-trip tickets in advance) into Reykjavik, where we got dropped off at our hotel.  Our hotel, by the way, was the old international terminal when the international airport was in Reykjavik.  IcelandAir still owns it (they've got the tourist industry by the balls in Iceland, with some help from Reykjavik Excursions).  It wasn't as bad as it sounds, but if you know that, you can see that it used to be something else--something crappy.  Also: the star definitions for hotels in Iceland are not perhaps what you're used to in the States.  The IcelandAir Hotel Loftleidir is considered 4 stars, but, well...regardless, it was clean and nice.  It was also backed onto the runway for the domestic airport (not a problem, never heard a plane inside), and about a 20 minute walk from the centre of Reykjavik, but they run shuttles throughout the day (to and from, though the ones back to the hotel were never at a convenient time for us), and walking is healthy, provided you can find a way across the busy roads (pedestrian bridges).  Or, as was the case on our last night, find the path at all (lots of snow).

IcelandAir Offices, as viewed from our hotel room.

So our first night we got to the room, dropped our stuff, and decided we were hungry.  Adam went through our hand LonelyPlanet Iceland, and decided he wanted to eat at Santa Maria.  Yes, that's right.  We flew to Iceland to have Mexican food.  And by God, it was good!  Adam is addicted to burritos, and though I don't generally like mole, I had the enchiladas mole, and it was fabulous.  The nachos were suitably American and tasty, and the chocolate cake we split for dessert was to die for.  We were soaked on the walk back, but we did meander a bit through the area around the church, and it was lovely (minus the rain).  Then we slogged back to the hotel, and to bed.

Yes, those are two separate beds, with two separate duvets, and a weird thingy over the foot.

This seems to be the norm for hotels, from what I can tell.

Clearly, they do not wish to encourage intimacy.

Tuesday we decided to explore Reykjavik.  So we went to the church (Lutheran), went to the top of its tower (freaky with all the wind), visted an art museum (skip that one), and generally just wandered around and shopped--I got a hat, and Mom did not get a lovely cloak for her birthday, because it was approximately eleventy million dollars (or 30,000 ISK).  We also ate Big Boats, which I think is the slightly bizarre translation for subs.  Or maybe it was just that sandwich bar.  Regardless, they weren't quite a foot long, but they were certainly delicous, and everyone in the itty-bitty stand thing seemed to be local laborers.  The bread was soft on the outside, lightly toasted on the inside, and mine was filled with beef and grilled onions and sauce and general goodness. Adam's was the same, but with lamb and cooked red cabbage.  Definitely worth a visit for lunch, and a good bargain (comparitively) for 1100ISK each (including a drink).  The museum was the low point; Reykjavik has an art museum divided over three sites, and this one was pants.  It featured Erro, whose work it turns out I don't really like, and some travel art, installations, and a weird travel video thing that was just kinda creepy.  That was at the Hafnarhús, and I would totally give it a miss.  Maybe with different exhibitions it would be better, but I think Erro is a permanent exhibition, and the building was awkward for an art museum.

I did not take this picture.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

This one either.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

Or this one.

http://www.sacred-destinations.com/iceland/reykjavik-hallgrimskirkja

I did take this one, which is why it's blurry.

And why this one is dark.

Tuesday night was the Northern Lights tour.  Absolutely worth doing, but I would suggest trying to schedule that with a smaller tour (SuperJeep maybe?) if possible.  The good thing about Reykjavik Excursions is that they seem to have a bunch of different options of places to go, and people who call in and tell them if the skies are clear and such.  We did actually see the Northern Lights, and despite what Adam claims, it was not some dude in a helicopter shining a green light on some clouds.  We even got some pictures of the Northern Lights.

Point-and-shoot digital cameras don't have long exposures.

Aren't they pretty?

This is not what we saw.

The funniest--and most obnoxious bit--about the tour was the crew of people screaming "no flash" every time someone used a flash (accidentally at first).  They kept doing it, so I think people started intentionally using their flashes.  Adam and I would have, except my camera died out there.  We don't know if they were part of our tour or part of the caravan of cars that were following our tour to the viewing areas.  Either way, I'm not sure what they expected.  Idiots.

I have a feeling this post is plenty long enough for the moment, and I have to get ready to go look at a house shortly, so I will post more about our trip later.

Reading List: January 2011

A new year, a new reading list.  In less than 4 days I finished my first book, and I wanted to finish it sooner; I really, really enjoyed it.  Shortly before we began circling Heathrow on our flight back from visiting my folks, Adam and I started watching an Aussie movie called Tomorrow, When the War Began.  Had we known that we were going to be in the air for an hour or so longer than planned, we would have plugged our headphones in, but we understood enough of the movie to enjoy it even without audio.  Sadly, it doesn't seem to be released anywhere outside of OZ/NZ, so we can't rent it, or buy it without having it shipped from OZ (we have a region free DVD player, so no worries on that front at least).  But the good news is that the movie is based on a series of young adult novels (The Tomorrow Series by John Marsden) and Adam was kind enough to pick up the first one for me as a Christmas present.  After I got over the self-referencing first person style and the narrator gets into telling the story, it's really good.  It's a teen adventure/suspense/drama/romance thing, and it works fairly well.  Compelling storyline, and the balance of teen love and angst is just that: balanced.  It appears, and just as it starts to bug you, it goes away.

Sadly, however, I'm done with it already.  I have a nice Amazon gift certificate to spend, and while I have a lot more stuff I want to buy than the certificate is worth (which is saying something--thanks to my overly generous parents!), it looks as though I'll be picking up at least some of the rest of the series.  Probably all of it, because I am a completionist.  And the first one was quite good.

***

If you read on, you'll see I've acquired the rest of the Tomorrow series.  None of them are exactly long, and they get shorter as they go on (except for the last one), so I'm reading basically one a day.  On one hand, I'm not sure they're quite as good, but on the other hand, I really want to find out how it all ends (which isn't really the case, since after the 7 Tomorrow books Marsden wrote 3 more about Ellie, the narrator of the Tomorrow series).  But I'm enjoying them still, despite all the frustration in trying to get ahold of them.  In fact, I'll be asking Levi if he can help me out with that shortly . . .

So without further ado, January's reading list:

10. * Mrs. Pollifax and the Golden Triangle, by Dorothy Gilman (Mrs. Pollifax Series #8)
 9.  The Other Side of Dawn, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #7)
 8.  The Night is for Hunting, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #6)
 7.  Burning for Revenge, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #5)
 6.  Darkness, be My Friend, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #4)
 5.  The Third Day, The Frost (aka The Killing Frost), by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #3)
 4.  The Dead of Night, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #2)

 3.  Skin Trade, by Laurell K. Hamilton (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #17)
 2.  *Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, by J. K. Rowling (Harry Potter #7)

 1.  Tomorrow, When the War Began, by John Marsden (The Tomorrow Series #1)

My Hippy Ways

First let me start by saying that moving to England from Eugene has really taken a toll on my hippyesque ways.  I know that's probably not very surprising, given the nature of Eugene, but it's hit me in some rather painful ways.  For example, in Eugene, when I had my parents' money to shop with (hi Mom!), it was a lot easier to be organic, all-natural, local, sustainable, and humane with food purchases.  Thankfully, Mom and Dad are pretty into that movement as well, so there was less cringing at 2.5 times the price for organic rather than "conventional" bell peppers and the like.  (Sidenote: Why is the spread of toxic fertilizers and pesticides considered conventional?  Surely it's more conventional, given history, to be organic?  There's nothing particularly conventional about poisoning people, unless you're in Russia, mystery novels, or various royal families throughout history.)  And though milk from DairyMart/Lochmead Farms isn't technically organic, they're local and very good about their practices.  Long's Meat Market is superb--I'm pretty sure Mike goes out and meets a lot of the animals he'll eventually be selling.

Over here, though, food purchasing is constricted by two (well, three) things.  First, we don't gots a lot of money.  And we're cheap.  It's a combination--since we don't earn as much as we'd like, we save every penny.  I spend more on food than Adam would by a long shot (since Adam does the shopping, that's a second constricting factors), since I think the quality of what goes in me is important, but even still, I make choices to not buy organic much of the time.  I also end up buying a lot of apples from say, New Zealand.  That's not exactly local (most of our produce comes from climates that don't suck, like Spain, or well, anywhere but here).  The third problem is that options are limited around here--not huge population, few stores--and people are cheap (welcome to Yorkshire), so organic choices are limited, as is, well, selection.  And usually the organic stuff is slightly dodgy looking, as is the "weird" stuff.  Hell, for the first time since I've moved here, I've actually seen uncooked, unpeeled beets in Morrisons (no greens attached, though).  I've only seen that one other time, and that was at the farm shop (the closest to hippy around here).

The biggest concession I've made Adam make is that we get nearly all our meat from the farm shop.  That's what it sounds like; a shop on a farm; they sell eggs from their chickens (they also will sell you feed so you can feed the chickens yourself--what a great scam!), the chickens themselves, and all the beef, pork, lamb they raise.  They also make their own sausages (tasty, though we do get ours from Morrisons).  They also sell some produce, some they grow, some they don't.  And they have beer, wine, an olive bar, and some random other crap.  It's not perfect, but at least it's local, we believe humane (the chickens certainly are well treated), and should be reasonably organic and sustainable.  The meat and eggs sure taste better.

I've increased my hippyness in some ways, I suppose, though.  I walk or take public transit a lot of places.  Granted, that's mostly due to our not having a car, and Tony pollutes for us, since he takes us shopping every week and runs occasional errands for us (greatly appreciated).  So I guess that about balances out.

What this post was really supposed to be about, however, was my new neti pot and my reusable sea sponges and panty liners.  I've really broadened my hippy horizons there.  I got the neti pot for two reasons.  First, I got a horrid cold twice in about 6 weeks, so bad the second time that I lost my voice (Adam was thrilled.  Jackass.)  Out of sheer desperation, I snorted some water into my sinuses through my nose.  As painful as that was, it made a world of difference, and I started getting better almost instantly.  The second reason is that I mentioned that incident to Kristan, and she told me she had a neti pot and swore by it.  It's taken some time for me to get used to it, but now that I'm getting all the water draining out of my nose (I don't think I was there, at first), my nose is stuffed less often, and I'm even hearing a little better (once I got the water back OUT of my Eustachian tubes).  Even if I'm doing a half-assed job--which I think I am--I'm sure I'm cleaning gunk out of there that's better off not there.  And if Adam doesn't stop snoring soon, I'm neti potting him somehow.

My really happy awesome purchase, however, falls into the potential category of "too much information."  Years ago, my friend Kat mentioned that you could get sea sponges--yes, the things that live in the ocean--for reusable tampons.  I don't think she had any, but the idea never went away for me, because I hate how much tampons cost.  I mentioned it several months back to Kristan (who has also gone quite hippy, which makes me smile), who immediately told me where to get some, and then told me to tell her what I thought.  So I got two sponges, and three months later when my period came around again (thank you, The Pill), I read the instructions, and ventured into the unknown world of reusable dead things in my hoo-hah.  In short, they're super-comfortable, and they work just as well as cotton tampons.  If you're in private, you can just rinse it out and stick it back in (I wouldn't in a public bathroom, since I doubt others want to see it, so just shove it in a plastic bag in your purse).  Plus, they're sustainable, organic, unlikely to cause TSS, comfortable (did I mention they're comfortable?), and, if this wasn't already clear, reusable for quite a long time (estimated 3-6 months or longer).  I used only one for my entire period, and just rinsed it a couple of times a day.  You can also use two at once, I guess, or use them for contraceptives with a spermicide.  The only downside to the sponges is that they have no removal string...I got used to that, but it takes some work.  You can sew a piece of dental floss (I think they said waxed, but I'm not sure) into it if you're nervous, but I was more nervous about tearing the sponge than it getting stuck.  I work off of the principle of "what goes up must come down."  And we only had mint dental floss.

I also mentioned reusable panty liners.  They're a bit weird (probably because I never use pantyliners or pads), but I love the concept.  Cotton or flannel material with a waterproof middle, and snaps so they function like winged pads, which is what holds them in place.  I got cotton, but I think I'll go with flannel in the future.  The best bit about them though (besides having fun patterns and being reusable--just chuck them in the washer), is that they were a good length.  Most pantyliners I've found make you decide if you want to possibly leak off the front, or off the back.  These are long enough you don't have to choose.  Plus, since they're not adhesived on, you can actually slide them around to get them just right.

What all of this really amounts to though is Adam mocking me because I'm a hippy.  But then, so does everyone else around here.  Apparently "hippy" is the new "liberal."  But I'm not "progressive," I'm liberal, so I'm happy being a hippy.

I'm still Lost

Seriously.  What the hell was that?!  I was told that the writers had a full storyline, that the plot twists and turns for the entire series were planned out from the very beginning.  If they were, then it's just pathetic, and if they weren't, well, it was still a crap ending.  Adam and I watched it, and neither of us is sure about what happened, but we both know it was lame.  It might have been good, if it hadn't been so abrupt and random.  I mean, up until Christian Shepherd showed up at the church, I was ok with everything.  And now...they're dead?  But they weren't in purgatory and dead from the beginning?  Really, I shouldn't have to do research on a TV show that's ended to find out what happened!

What about Aaron?  Why was it so damned important that Claire be the one who raise him?  Why was Walt special?  And what the fuck were the numbers?!  Plenty of other questions, but I can live without most of them.  Those though, were pretty damned important, and they were just totally ignored.

Ugh.  The last 10 or so minutes were a total letdown, and have managed to ruin the rest of what was, overall, a pretty intriguing show.  I honestly feel like six seasons (well, about 5, parts of the second and third season sucked) were flushed down the toilet there.

Plus, my mad internetz research skillz tell me that FlashForward, a show that I've only seen the pilot of but thought was fabulous, has been cancelled, whilst V, a show that's been done and redone several times, and was quite yawn-worthy the 4 episodes I saw, is back for next season.  At least Castle was picked up for a third season (as was Glee, and the second season of Glee hasn't even aired yet).  And House was renewed--somewhat surprisingly, the way Fox dicked it around this season--as was Desperate Housewives.  And as long as USA network keeps all their original programming going, I'll still be a (mostly) happy camper.

I really need a life.

Guilty Pleasures

I have many, many guilty pleasures.  Cadbury Creme Eggs almost daily until August.  Staying in bed half the morning while Adam is a good boy and gets up.  But one of my biggest is my TV fixes.  At the moment, Glee is probably my guiltiest pleasure (minus the Creme Eggs--also, if you can get a Mars Egg, they are wonderful.  If you can't, let me know soon, and I'll get you one or two and post them).  I don't think the show itself is particularly fabulous, but I'm not really sure, because I'm one of those people who think that the planet should spontaneously burst into song to declare it's feelings.  Glee started off just singing when it was appropriate: during rehearsals, performances, that sort of thing.  It's now slowly starting to move into the musical realm, and it makes me squee a small bit.  They did the Charlie Chaplin version of "Smile" one day and I damn near cried.  They did "Don't Rain on My Parade" and I wanted to cheer (actually, I wanted to sing along, but I'm more in the contralto range, not soprano, so mostly it just sounds like I'm trying to strangle a chicken on the higher notes.  Well, and I don't know all the words.  That doesn't help so much.).  They did a fabulous duet of "Defying Gravity" from Wicked, and in fact I did cry, (in part) because the male soprano hit the notes clean (except for where he threw it intentionally).  That was the first episode I saw, and I was hooked and had to go back to the beginning.  So I was thrilled when they started airing more new episodes.  I really don't think it's probably a very good show, but it's highly addictive, and if you like performance choir type things, it's great for that.  Plus, Jane Lynch is just hilarious.  But I think she's great in everything I've seen her do, and I really want to watch more of her stuff.

My other slightly less guilty pleasure, since so, SO many people are hooked on it, is Lost.  I'm psyched it's the final season and we're really starting to get answers, but I'm also sad that it's nearly over.  I think, however, that getting Answers (after six seasons, it deserves the capital A) trumps more episodes.  And besides, I just watched the first episode of FlashForward, and I really enjoyed it, so assuming it lasts, I think it might replace Lost for me.

Castle is my other current guilty pleasure, though I have no guilt over it whatsoever (nor over Lost when it gets right down to it, or Desperate Housewives or House).  I love Nathan Fillion with every fibre of my being, and the show just makes me laugh and almost cry.  Witty and smart and sarcastic and sweet, with the trademark Nathan Fillion comedic delivery.  Love it!  Plus, for an added bonus, the show decided to release a Richard Castle novel (ghost-written, of course, and the real author's identity has been a well-kept secret).  Yeah, I really want the book, which is absolutely a guilty pleasure.

Guilty pleasures also include blogging instead of trying to figure out stuff for the grant the Girl Museum received (no, I didn't write/apply for this grant).  It's crazy complicated for something so simple.  After we get it all finalized, I'll talk about it more (maybe).  We have to get all the stuff submitted by late May to actually get the grant/take advantage of it.  Eek!  But Ashley, if you're reading this, I promise I'll get stuff to you by Saturday!

Sex with a vampire

So, like a trainwreck, I kept reading Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series until the bitter, bitter end. It really was like a trainwreck to me--I wanted to avert my eyes, to turn away from the horror, but I just couldn't. From time to time, I would forget how awful her writing could be, as she would improve up to mediocre. I usually got slapped in the face shortly thereafter, but for a little bit of time every few chapters, her writing would not stand in the way of the story. It didn't enhance the story, mind you, and her use of language will never be trancendent, a joy and pleasure to soak up her words, but at least from time to time she didn't stand in the way of her plot.

However, I must say, some people shouldn't write sex scenes. Though I do hate to generalize, it has been--in my direct experience--that male sci-fi or fantasy writers, Mormons, and people whose only experience with sex has been to read online erotica are all groups who should not write sex scenes. My reason for the first group is that it usually seems to involve rape or coersion, the second because they talk around it (more on that--Meyer is LDS), and the third because--and I quote Adam here--lines like "and then she reached the g-spot" not only are bad, but make no sense. For examples on the last, you can read some free stories on EroticStories.com--you don't need an account, and do a web search to find it--some are good, most are...well, written by people who need to get laid more often.

In direct reference to Ms. Meyer, she talked about the first time Bella (aka creepy obsessive vamp stalker chick) and Edward (aka vaguely un-hot moody overprotective bloodsucking bore) have sex. I believe I read three pages before the word sex came out. Then nothing was described (fair enough, teen book). Then Bella was perfectly happy and content with her world (until other things happened). My only saving grace--and my mother will understand this one--was that the phrase "turgid love stick" never appeared. Then, after Bella becomes a vampire (ooh, spoilers, eek!) she talks around it again, how new and wonderful and passionate it is. Why do people in novels (or movies) never have bad sex? They rarely even have mediocre sex, and it's never unfufilling. It's argued that people read to escape reality (yes, yes we do), but people also read to enhance, expand, and understand the reality around them. Part of that is not setting up a pre-teen for the eventual letdown of crappy sex. Sorry, but it happens to all of us at some time or another. Better to let them know that now rather than later....

My non-comprehensive reading list

So I don't have a "real" review for you this week. The only new thing I've read (not strictly true, I'm working on Terry Goodkind's "Sword of Truth" series--on book 4 of 11 now) in the past week is Alan Alda's first book of memoirs, Never Have Your Dog Stuffed. I absolutely loved it; it's funny and sincere and interesting. Not too long, not too short. Some memoirs or autobiographies become dull or self-serving (well, I suppose they all are self-serving--money!), but Alda's was more focused on his growth as a person and actor. It dealt heavily with his mother's mental illness and how it affected him. It did not deal extensively with M*A*S*H, which may be disappointing to those who only really know him as Hawkeye, but since I wanted to know about Alan Alda, a man whose work I have admired for many years, I really enjoyed it. It's well-written; engaging and funny, with a natural use of language that flows like an easy conversation. I don't have his other book of memoirs (Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself), but hopefully I'll get it soonish. I only waited about 4 years for this one.

So beyond my mini-review, I have a non-comprehensive list of books I've read since I moved to the UK in February of this year. It's non-comprehensive because I don't remember for certain what all I've read. This list is most certainly not in the order I've read the books in. It's more in order of where they are on the bookshelves. This, by the way, is a bit of a battle for Adam and I; he doesn't hugely like how I have the books arranged--alphabetical by author's last name, and the only books separated by subject are the non-fiction ones, like textbooks or guidebooks (my books are still separated from his, which is a bit silly at this point). However, he's also just lazy enough that he hasn't bothered to rearrange the books. That, and he hasn't really told me how he wants them organized, which makes me think that a) he doesn't really know and b) it involves some arrangement by size, not subject/author/genre.

Books marked with an asterisk (*) I have read before. Books marked with a carat (^) are part of a series.

Alexander McCall Smith:

^The Full Cupboard of Life

^In the Company of Cheerful Ladies

^Blue Shoes and Happiness

^The Good Husband of Zebra Drive

Roald Dahl:

*Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

*Charle and the Great Glass Elevator

*The Witches

Terry Goodkind:

^Debt of Bones (more of a short story/companion prequel novella)

^Wizard's First Rule

^Stone of Tears

^Blood of the Fold

^Temple of the Winds (currently reading)

Robin Jarvis:

^The Whitby Witches

^A Warlock in Whitby

Philip Pullman:

^Northern Lights

^The Subtle Knife

^The Amber Spyglass

J.K. Rowling:

*^Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

*^Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

*^Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

*^Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

*^Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

*^Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

*^Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Alan Alda:

Never Have Your Dog Stuffed

Margaret Atwood:

*The Handmaid's Tale

Anthony Bourdain:

Gone Bamboo

Elizabeth Peters (series books are not all part of the same series):

*^Crocodile on the Sandbank

*^The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog

*^He Shall Thunder in the Sky

*^The Golden One

*The Copenhagen Connection

*^The Murders of Richard III

*^Die for Love

*^Naked Once More

*The Camelot Caper

Catherine Fisher:

The Oracle

Neil Gaiman:

The Graveyard Book

Allan C. Weisbecker:

Can't You Get Along with Anyone? (unfinished--it started to get convoluted and boring)

Stephenie Meyer:

^Twilight

^New Moon (unfinished, probably will finish today or tomorrow)

Pat Frank:

*Alas, Babylon

That's 39 books I've finished and am certain I've read in the last seven months. I'm pretty certain I've read more, but I borrowed a bunch, and I don't remember what I read whilst in Eugene (beyond Twilight and Alas, Babylon). It also doesn't take into account the news, research, and occasional fan fiction I read online, the rare magazine, a screenplay of Vancil's, or my own writing.

I'm rather surprised at the number of books on that list that I haven't read before. I have a tendency to reread books on a regular basis, so the fact that I've read and finished 18 new books so far this year pleases me. I should read more new books, and perhaps fewer series, but still, it's a start.

[Not Sunday] Review #9: Twilight (Book and Movie)

Although I doubt Stephenie Meyer's Twilight is the worst book I've ever read, I'm hard pressed to think of something worse (I didn't finish the first book of the "Left Behind" series because it was so awful--don't know if that counts, though). Let us start with this quote (which was on the back cover of the copy I read):

About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him--and I didn't know how potent that part might be--that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

Oh, where to begin? There are many reasons why I think this is an apt quote to use to explain my disdain for Meyer's writing. But let's start with the first vs third person approach to story telling. For those who don't know/remember/care, first person is "I". "I went to the store today." Third person is "he/she/it/they." "Joe went to the store today." (If you care, second person is "you" and is very rare in literature; it entails making the reader a part of the story). Most people use third person--in fact, I can't think of a book I've read in the last 6 months that's written in first person except for Twilight (I've probably read 50 books in the last 6 months). There are a lot of reasons for this, but I write my fiction in third person for two reasons. Firstly, it's really hard to be convincing in the first person voice. You really have to work hard to make the character seem believable, and you have to do it without the benefit of outside descriptions. It's really hard to explain emotions and moods without background, and it's difficult to naturally explain background within the first person voice. Secondly, the third person style of narration allows for the introduction of knowledge outside of of the protagonist's direct experience (obviously this ties into the first reason). Quick example that most people will probably know: Harry Potter is the protagonist, but occasionally J.K. Rowling will write a chapter following another character (Snape, the muggle PM, etc). Harry has no knowledge of these events, but we, as the reader, can know about these events because of the omniscient narrator that the third person voice provides. First person is limiting in these ways. I have written in first person (very successfully) but only once, and that worked because I was the protagonist (fictional story, but all based on people I knew), and I was essentially witnessing other events, and could thus explain them.

Right, back to the quote. As explained, it's in first person. This isn't inherently a sin, but if it's done badly, it's painful. I argue that Meyer did very badly. It's incredibly angsty and melodramatic, and overall, the book is filled with minutiae that no one cares about in my life, so why should I care about it in hers? Admittedly, the angst and melodrama isn't totally inappropriate, as Bella (female protagonist, and owner of the "I" voice) is 17, but Harry Potter was an emo douchebag in the fifth book, and I hated him, so why should I like Bella any better? This quote just epitomizes self-centered teenage melodrama, and pompousness to boot. Yes, I talk like that all the time, and I did even when I was 17. But it lacks believability to me. I'm not sure why, but the "I" takes away all credibility in my mind. Perhaps because she is 17, and who truly falls in love and finds their soul mate at age 17? If it were an outside, impartial narrator, I think the credibility would go way up. Compare the quote above with this one:

About three things Bella was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him--and she didn't know how potent that part might be--that thirsted for her blood. And third, she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

I still think it's a crap bit of writing, but in my mind, it does improve with the change in narration. I would also change the "and she didn't know how potent" clause to language less clunky, but we take what we can get (note, my fiction writing is cleaner than my blog writing; generally my clauses are more simple and less dependant).

Besides the voice and the generally appalling nature of her writing (this quote probably is the worst of it), what really bothers me is what Meyer did to a decent plot. It's not a brilliant plot, and it's certainly nothing new or unique, but it's a solid plot line: girl meets boy, boy is repulsed by girl, girl and boy fall in love, boy turns out to be vampire, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back, girl wants to be a vampire. In short: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. That's as basic and solid as they come. Yet Meyer destroys this plot through little things. First, teen love is not chaste. I'm not saying that Bella and Edward (vampire boy) need to have sex to make it believable--they don't--but it creeps me out how "pure" they both are. It's written in first person, and you have to hear Bella's thoughts on everything else, but nothing on how she wants more than a kiss and a little snuggle (you know she does). "But oooh," you say, "he spends the night with her several times." Yes, and that's just creepy. Vamp boy doesn't sleep, so he stares at her for 8 hours. If Adam did that to me, I'd be freaked out at his obsessive, stalking nature. However, I think this is a direct result of Meyer's religion (which also appears in how Edward believes he's evil, but hopes that somehow he can be forgiven or something...).

Even worse--and outside of mediocre, melodramatic writing--is what Meyer did to vampire mythology. There is a LOT to vampire mythos, and it varies. Some of it is even contradicting. But there's a solid, established base to work with. So what does she do? Ignores it. These vampires can subsist off of animal blood (fine), hate werewolves (enh, I only know that one from the Underworld movies, but it may have more basis than that), and have superhuman senses and strengths (fine, but she went overboard--they wouldn't sound like boulders crashing into each other, and hitting a baseball that hard would shatter the bat, but not sound like thunder), but they also glitter in the sun. What the fuck?! They GLITTER? In the SUN?

Seriously? That's what she came up with? Gah. I don't object to vampires being able to move about in the day, though the best books that allow that put some kind of restrictions/penalties in place to stay reasonably close to the established mythology. But there are ways it can be dealt with effectively. But glitter? Seriously, that's just bad. Really, really awful.

So there's my review of the book. If you long to read it, don't buy it. Borrow it from the library or something (or talk to me, I can hook you up), but don't put money in that woman's pocket. She doesn't deserve to be rewarded.

As for the movie: it might possibly have been worse than the book. The special effects were unremarkable (the glittering vampires didn't really glitter), everyone was emo, and Robert Pattinson's American accent kept slipping. You can say it's because he's supposed to be from a different era and it slips because of that (Bella says that he sometimes sounds like he's from a different time), but it's because he can't hold an American accent. Also, the plot mostly follows the book, but has some weird off-shoots that are confusing and unnecessary. I've definitely seen worse movies (and not just bad horror movies), but this one was pretty bad. Also, Robert Pattinson: not hot. Sorry, but he's not a super-attractive guy in general, and the way he's made up for the movie makes him extra not-hot.