Attack! of the Killer Weblog

Ghost Rider--pretty good movie.

The Jack Daniels thrillers by J.A. Konrath--pretty good books.

I've read a lot more books than I've seen movies, I'm first to admit that. I watched the Academy Awards with some good friends the other night, and they kept asking me if I'd seen a certain movie. Resoundingly! No! Netflix is helping. I have seen more movies that I never would have watched otherwise, some good, some decidedly hideously bad. (Full Frontal, anyone?) And I am surrounded by books all day, every day, and long into the night. I have a bookcase next to my bed, has all my well-thumbed favorites, and the rest of the bookcases have themes too. Series. Nonfiction. And ... classy-looking, some of which we've actually read! All very exciting.

In all the time I've spent reading and thinking about what I have read, I've come across two broad categories of good, popular authors. (I use that term loosely too. I don't think anybody else reads the kind of books I read. But maybe this is just because most of the readers I talk to are in their seventies.) There are the authors who hide story mechanics beneath a beautiful exterior, sleek and muscled, a smooth ride that offers a luxurious journey.

Then there are the authors who don't trouble to build the big smooth chassis, but showcase the story mechanics, tricking them out and adding flame spurts. Also, a hamster cage on the hood, to add that incongruous touch of whimsy and innocence. Because a child on a swingset would be too big to see around, and a little tough to explain to adoption agencies.

I love both kinds of authors, for the variety, for the honesty of each type. My shelves are packed with your Douglas Adams, your Stephen King, your O. Henry, your J.A. Konrath, your J.R.R. Tolkien. What I love about reading a wide range of authors is, some very strange bedfellows show up in the stacks ... But my point is, there's the smooth ride, and the flashy ride. Both are fun.

Let's go for a drive.

Posted by mb at 8:23 PM | Permalink

Last night I dreamed that the same family who owns the local newspaper brigade, started buying every paper across the country, and I got a job as a copyeditor, but it was for every paper in the country, and I had only four coworkers, so ... I got the Eastern Seaboard, and was grateful. Man, you don't even want to see some of those typos from the rural states that are part of the United States in name and taxation only.

Then, this morning, I was eating donuts with my handsome husband, and what do I see out the window but a billboard advertising a merger between AT&T, Cingular, and Southwestern Bell! I am old enough to remember that anti-trust suit of the late eighties, where Ma Bell was broken up into five regional companies so as to foster development of new and better (ostensibly) phone companies. So naturally I assumed that some company was pulling a prank--or perhaps the sign company was using a random word generator to fill up billboard space. Missouri does have the most billboards of any state in the Union, friends, by something like eight hundred. Meaning we have eight hundred MORE than ANYONE ELSE. Which should make me proud, but, sadly, it just makes me want to move someplace with nature free of advertising space.

Alas. Occam's razor holds true again.

Posted by mb at 9:45 PM | Permalink

Happy Fat Tuesday, dear readers! Speaking of fat things, we got some unsettling news today on the fattest cat in the world update. Last week we took her in for a biopsy on a distended lump on her shoulder, and today lab results came in. Very bad lab results. The kind of lab results that send fear into pet owners' hearts. We have twelve and a half pounds of healthy cat surrounding a malignant tumor within striking range of her spine, heart, lungs, brain, and purrbox.

2007 will not be a banner year for Yogsothoth.

For her part, she seems blissfully unaware, and has taken a firm stance in behaving exactly like she always has. She's being very sweet, and clumsy, and destructive. Blake and I are neither of us too thrilled about this, obviously, as our lady Yog is only four years old, and probably has very little time left. But we'll be doing what we can to comfort our little bundle of fat furry cuteness, now, when she needs us most. And by "what we can," I mean, "leave her mostly alone, just like always, and cuddle on her as much as she'll let us, which, let us face it, is not much."

Posted by mb at 7:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)