trinityofone

Two book questions for you today inspired by my desire to avoid the stuff I need to be doing:

1. I love time travel books and am always interested in recommendations in general, but right now I am specifically looking for books where characters from the past come forward to the (relative) present. Can anybody think of any?

2. I got way too much guilty pleasure out of the recent BBC miniseries Lost in Austen. It made me want to try other books (or other media?) that involve characters going into books or book characters coming out of them. I can only think of three others:

a. The Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde (meh)
b. Seducing Mr. Darcy by Gwyn Cready (appallingly awful)
c. Travel Far, Pay No Fare by Anne Lindbergh (absolutely delightful and sadly under-recognized YA book that I heartily recommend to everybody)

I know there must be others. Can you help me find them?

*goes back to not filling out unemployment paperwork, la la la*

'Cause I've clearly not been making the best reading material decisions lately, two book-related questions for y'all:

1. Do you know of any books that feature human-robot/android/cyborg/whatever romances? The only thing I can think of is Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? but I know there must be others. Robot/robot love would also be interesting, I think.

2. Stealing an idea from siegeofangels, rec me a book or books that starts with the same letter as your username. No serial killers, plz. Or, okay, no serial killer books unless they're really good. I'll rec one back, too, if you like. :)

I’ve been really craving “culture clash” romantic comedies. I’m pretty sure this started because I’ve been rewatching The West Wing (siriaeve’s fault) and I was reminded of a Josh/Donna fic I read years ago where Josh, the East Coast Jew, meets Donna’s Midwestern WASP family, and amusing awkwardness and eventual romance ensue. (This is, incidentally, the story of my mother’s family—my Grandpa G. was even from Connecticut and my Grandma C. from Wisconsin!) Anyway, I can’t find this fic anywhere. Does anyone:

1) Know what the heck I might be talking about?
2) Have any other recs for culture clash rom coms—be they books, fic, films, or anything else? (Just don’t say Meet the Parents.)

Second, I used to nobly set aside a Large and Intimidating Classic to read in the summer months of July and August; this is how I tackled Ulysses and War and Peace. I want to start doing this again, but I can’t decide what book I should read. Can I beg your thoughts? (I’d make a poll but I just realized you can’t without a paid account. Pooh.)

Trin should read:

1) Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
2) Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust
3) Middlemarch by George Eliot
4) Something else that I’ll suggest in the comments
5) The very idea of this project is incredibly pretentious and I think Trin should just read fanfic and more of akukorax’s Star Trek novels

Thanks, as always, for your suggestions!

A while back, I posted a review of a certain love-it-or-hate-it YA novel on Goodreads. (I posted the review here, too.) After a lull, I started receiving some truly hilarious comments:

I liked your review but not your language.

This is a YOUNG ADULT book. If you want sex, go buy danielle steele. it is not appropriate to have steamy sex scenes in a YA book. I didn't realize there were people who needed it that badly in a book that they will say a book sucks because of it. too bad for jane austen. she could have been WAY more famous and sold more more books if she just would have porned it up a bit.

But the real kicker came today:

what's wrong with you people. this is an amazing book and all you guys are concentrated on are your misconceptions and hypocritical view points. seriously i doubt any of you didn't like the book, it's just you're too stubborn to really think about the book (or anything else for that matter), or maybe you're just all liars (and bad ones at that). either way, i don't like any of you, and i judge you all. and I'm not sorry for it.

Do you hear that? He judges us ALL. Noes!

ETA: Mr. "I judge you all!" has posted another comment in response to something someone else said in the thread, though he seems to think he is still responding to me:

first of all, i will have fun reading Eragon, thank you very much. secondly, i could have spent a long time giving you a list of proof to back up my claims, however i don't like to waist my time trying to teach stubborn people who are incapable of looking deep into a situation (in this case a book). also, you seem pretty obsessed about this book, considering how much you like to talk about it, be it good or bad. you know what i think, i think that you really love this book, you just wish you didn't cause maybe your friends don't like it, or maybe you think people will laugh at you, whatever the reason is i have a feeling that I'm right. lastly, i don't hate you because you don't like Twilight, i don't like you because if you didn't like Twilight that means there's a good chance you don't like Bella, therefore you can't be like Bella in many ways (unless you hate yourself), and since Bella has almost every good quality a person can have it's possible, if not probable, that you are a terrible person. have fun slaughtering puppies.

So, we are judged, and judged PUPPY-SLAUGHTERERS. This gets more delightful by the second!

On a semi-related note: seriously, what did people do at work before there was shit to look at on the internet? Today I have had David Caruso putting on his sunglasses over and over, the Doctor's excitement over his potential crotch void (warning: possible S4 spoilers), and this alarmingly fat cat, and I am still bored out of my skull. How did ANYONE keep a desk job before the invention of the interwebs? A theory: The answer relates to why it used to be okay to drink on one's lunch break.

I am currently writing the world's worst essay on James Joyce's Dubliners (except for any essay ever written by my 12th grade English teacher, who claimed that the creepy old dude in "An Encounter" wasn't whacking off, when clearly...he's whacking off*), but an important question has arisen that must be answered:

[Poll #700967]

ETA: Dude, why're y'all voting for The Puddlejumpers for Shortest Band in the World? I'm sure Shep appreciates the publicity, but don't you think they're disqualified on the strength of Ronon alone?

Also, in other random Irish literature news, suitemate Jean just told me that John McGahern just died. That is so weird: I just finished reading his Amongst Women, and we're discussing it in class on Monday (with hot Scottish tutor Peter Mackay, no less!). All this, I know, has absolutely zero cosmic significance, but...I still feel it as odd, as quite sad.

*She also claimed that the line in "The Convergence of the Twain" about "that august event" referred to the month, "because the Titanic sank in August." When I pointed out that no, the Titanic sank in April, she got really huffy and was weird with me for the rest of the year.

Thank your lucky stars, my friends. 'Cause I was going to write a long, bitchy post about how all the people in my Victorianism class are idiots, but you have been saved--saved!--by the amazing and talented slodwick, who made my afternoon and possibly my life by creating a gorgeous cover for my story Something Wicked.

( Look at this, I don't care if you don't like SGA, it's beautiful and wonderful and just *Guh* )

Really, it's just exactly how I pictured it, like slodwick somehow got inside my head. (Yeeeaaaah, it's kind of messy in there--sorry about that.) Go tell her how fabulous it is!

Ahh. *happy sigh* I'm having wonderful delusions of being a published author now.

As for the rest of my day, basically I endured the aforementioned tutorial from hell and--okay, I can't help myself, I have to give you a sample, because my blood is still boiling. We read Dracula, which is a tough read in a post-Buffy world; all the suspense is based on not knowing what's going on, but anyone who hasn't been living under a rock knows that the Count vants to suck your blood, so reading it is basically 400 pages of going, "Hello, guys? He's a vampire," before yawning your way through the unspeakably dull climax in which the big scary Count is killed in his sleep. All right, fine. Just 'cause the book is boring doesn't mean the discussion has to be--we could have talked about lots of interesting things, broken down precisely why the narrative structure fails, and mocked Jonathan Harker for being a wuss who was once portrayed by Keanu Reeves. BUT NO. Instead there had to be 45 million variations on this conversation:

Student: Um, when Dracula bites people, I think it might be, you know, kind of sexual?
Tutor: Huh, I hadn't thought of that!
trinityofone: *cries*

So instead I made a music video in my head. And damn, I wish I were a vidder, because this is, like, the most cracktastically awesome idea ever. Ahem. Get this:

Genius of Love to clips from 'Aurora.'

I mean, just listen to it! And check out these lyrics:

( What you gonna do when you get out of jail? I'm gonna have some fun! )

Yes, the crack I am on IS very good, thank you for asking.

*Seneca. Because I am pretentious as well as crazy. Whee!

Today, the people of Russia are most likely quite befuddled, wandering through the streets of Moscow and St. Petersburg asking each other, "Why is the vodka gone?" And the answer is: BECAUSE I DRANK IT.

A damn lot of it. And I'm not even sorry. *eg*

What happened was: I met up with jarsy, who showed me a real Irish night out on the town. We started off at Doyle's, which is a pub something like three feet away from Front Gate, and which I of course hadn't been to before, because I am lame. But jarsy was nice enough not to mock me too much. I had a vodka and orange and she had a pint, and then we went to see a trio of friends of hers play at this pub called Conway's. There were several interesting logistical factors involved. First, Conway's is INVISIBLE, so we had a hard time finding it. We actually walked right by it several times--I think there must have been a cloaking device involved, because the only other explanation is that we are both blind. (As we happen to sport nearly identical Geek Glasses, there may be some validity to this theory.) Second, we were told the club where the band was playing was up some stairs at the back of the pub, but from what you could see at the bottom, the stairs seemed to lead straight into the kind of restroom you'd expect to find in a nasty prison movie. But we braved it, and after a quick jot to the left down a (possibly also cloaked) corridor, found ourselves outside the club. Which was called--I kid you not--The Boom Boom Room. Sadly, it was not ladies' night. ;-)

( Our adventures at the Boom Boom Room, in which, sadly, there are no strippers, but rather creatures far more rich and strange )

Today, when I emerged blinking into the sunshine, miraculously without a hangover (but with my sunglasses handy, just in case), I met up with my friend Katrina and we went to the photography museum in Temple Bar. ( The exhibit was by a woman named Lindsay Seers, and like last night, it was utterly weird and utterly wonderful )

Katrina and I also visited the Chester Beatty Library at Dublin Castle, which was cool, but nothing compared to Evil Sailor Sid. The best thing, though? We got lost on the way there (my fault), and while we were stumbling around, I FINALLY found the groovy bookshop I've been dreaming of. It's called The Secret Book and Record Store, and for good reason--it's down this twisting alleyway off of Wicklow Street. It's also right next door to--I kid you not--Sheppard's Hair Salon. (Katrina did not get this reference, so she still has room to become awesomer.) And, miracle of miracles, they had a copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes! It was just sitting there, right out on a table. With all the time and effort I've spent looking for it, this was the equivalent of finding the Holy Grail, say, under a fur coat in a thrift shop. (And anyone who gets that reference is the awesomest person ever.)

Oh, and spazatron? I also got you the world's most cracktastic gift. I'd say "No need to thank me!" but really. You may not want to. *eg*

Yesterday was a glorious, glorious day. Yesterday was Anansi Boys day!

For those of you who don't know, Anansi Boys is the new novel by my personal lord and savior, Neil Gaiman. I've been looking forward to it for...okay, years. And I wasn't at all disappointed. (Yeah, I finished it already. What? Like I was going to read just a little bit of it and stop.) It was terrific--it made me really happy, which few books can do. I'm going to post a more spoilery reaction later, but right now I just want to say: yeah. Go read it.

However, Anansi Boys wasn't the only awesome new book to come out yesterday. Don't Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff also debuted. I had the privilege of getting to read this book a few months ago (one of the few perks of employment at Barnes & Noble? Occasional review copies), and it's fabulous, one of the reasons this has been The Summer of My Crush on Canada (the other being, of course, my dear Rodney McKay, and I really can't go a whole post without at least mentioning SGA, can I?).

Rakoff is an essayist--his previous book is Fraud--and in this collection, he delivers two essays in particular that just floored me. "Love It or Leave It" is about Rakoff's decision, after 22 years of living in New York, to become an American citizen--and his subsequent very mixed feelings:

This all feels like monumentally bad timing, or possibly the entirely wrong move altogether. Just two days prior [to his swearing-in], the front page of the paper had two news stories. The first was about how Canada was on the brink of legalizing gay marriage, and the second told of an appeals court in the District of Columbia Circuit that ruled that the detainees at Guantanamo Bay are legally outside the reach of the protections of the Constitution.

Ouch.

Equally ouchy is "Beat Me, Daddy," an examination of what the fuck is wrong with the Log Cabin Republicans, "the largest gay and lesbian organization in the GOP." Rakoff, who is gay, puts a lot of effort into trying to understand why anyone would want to ally themselves with a political party that, well, hates them, and the result is fascinating and, frankly, heart-breaking. A lot of Rakoff's essays are like that--but you should still totally read this book. In fact, that is why you need to read this book: because we need to be talking about this stuff, and Rakoff's a great person to lead the discussion--unflinchingly, and with humor.

So yeah. Shoo. Go read.

Yesterday, mciac and darcydodo took me to a bar for the first time. (Hey, barflies are made, not born.) While we were waiting for darcydodo, mciac and I wandered around Dutton's Beverly Hills and my constant pointing-and-squeeing convinced mciac that I should compile a list of book recs. So here one is. Totally random: the first things that came into my head, but good recs, all. Let me know what you think, and if you're inspired to read any of these, let me know if you like 'em. Also, feel free to share any recs of your own! I'm always looking for new things to read.

THE BIG BATCH OF BOOK RECS, PART I

( Authors )

( Classics )

( Sci-Fi/Fantasy )

( Misc. )

If this was helpful or just fun, let me know! I'm sure there are tons of things I've forgotten, and I'd be happy to do another instalment.

Had an exceedingly odd but for the most part wonderful day yesterday. Was phoned by my Godmother around noon and asked if I could be ready for lunch in fifteen minutes, so I abandoned whatever work I was supposedly doing on my paper and went to San Francisco with her. She insisted we stop at Forever 21 where she insisted on buying me a cute floral skirt (I wasn't complaining). Then we had to stop at Citizen Cupcake 'cause my Godmother hadn't been--sadly, darling_effect, the mondo lesbian pop art was gone. We got key lime cupcakes which were kind of like getting punched in the face by a pie of the same name, but in a good way. Mostly.

Finally we reached the Ferry Building, our supposed original destination, where we had some of the most delicious Japanese food I've ever had: cold rice noodle salad and shrimp croquettes and really yummy almond pudding for dessert. I'd casually mentioned wanting to read Nick Hornby's essay collection The Polysyllabic Spree, so my Godmother bought it for me. I went back to Berkeley feeling like a princess.

I changed into my new skirt so that I looked like a princess (well, in my head) and went to the Daily Cal's end-of-semester party at the Bear's Lair. There was a rap/hip-hop/MC contest going on at the same time--like something out of 8 Mile, only in broad daylight and without the talent. A guy whose moniker was The Hindu Harry Potter won, which, I think, says a lot about the quality of the event. It was hilarious, though.

As the rap contest was ending, Asya showed up, already a bit smashed, and asked me to come have a drink with her and this guy she'd met at a conference. I said okay and only when we were halfway there did she inform me that the guy was in his 60s (pooh) and Irish (yaaay!). So we went to Blake's and had a drink with this Irish Red Cross guy. Asya's actually only 19, but I let her share my margarita because I am evil and corrupt our nation's youth. I came down with a case of my usual social ineptitude and said a lot of dumb things, like a five-minute presentation on how I speak French poorly, but the Irish Red Cross guy recommended that I read Roddy Doyle and paid for the drinks, so it wasn't a total wash.

Then I went and had ice cream with Brad, which was weird in ways I don't want to talk about--BUT, let me tell you: Ben & Jerry's Triple Caramel Crunch is a gift from God.

When I finally got home I had to clean like mad because our landlord's coming over this morning (in an hour!) to show our apartment and I was suddenly embarrassed by the grime on the stove and all the papers lying about. Then I went to bed and had another weird dream starring taosterman.

He and I and two other girls were living in this sprawling white house that was trying to kill us. (Hmm...could this perhaps have been influenced by House of Leaves? You bet your ass.) A lot of bad things happened in the house, which I've since blocked out/forgotten, but taosterman and I managed to escape. taosterman was very upset because the "Serenity glasses" that lokionfire had given him--basically big glasses with thick, unpainted wooden frames--had broke in the skirmish; he kept holding the busted pieces together and whimpering. We ran up the road, worried that the house would somehow chase after us (?), and trying to flag down a car. Finally one stopped: a van driven by some of the Best Week Ever/I Love the... people. "Our house is trying to kill us!" I said.

"What kind of house?" one of them asked.

"A big white sprawling house."

"A big white sprawling house? Well of course it's trying to kill you!"

They gave us a ride as far as a ROSS Dress for Less where we were kicked out for not being Philippina.