Reviews, continued. Five Moral Pieces. It’s going to be hard to write something to convince anyone to read this book that doesn’t already read Umberto Eco, a writer and professor of semiotics* in Italy. For those of you who have, this isn’t Travels with a Salmon, this isn’t Six Walks in the Fictional Woods. This […]

Reviews. Movies: Zoolander, Iron Monkey, Musketeer. Books: Five Moral Pieces (Umberto Eco), New Basics (Cookbook), The Laughing Corpse (Anita Blake). Gratuitous quote from a Terry Pratchett novel. Zoolander. Maybe this movie isn’t everyone’s cup of freaky tea. I mean, who wants to wake up with a midget folk band and a hangover? I have to

Rebellion, again. (This isn’t directed to anyone in particular, just something about human nature I want to bitch about.) The world isn’t fair. I can grasp that. You can’t have everything you want. Nevertheless, what’s wrong with the world being as fair as you can make it? What’s wrong with having everything, within reason? And

Statements. The difference between generalized statements and overgeneralized statements is that generalized statements are like those games where one player says “noun” and someone shouts out a noun (my favorite was always WD-40), and overgeneralized statements are like those games where one player says something totally inane and all the other players just stare at

Rebellion. This is just a reminder to myself on this subject. It’s six in the morning, and (even less so than usual) I can’t tell if it’s a good idea to write what I’m thinking.

Rejection. No, I haven’t had any rejection letters lately. I should be so lucky…more waiting. I’ve discovered another writer at work, a chica taking a writing-for-children course, a publisher of poetry and a sarcasmatrice. She said she was dreading the end of her writing course, because then she would be On Her Own and Have

Mad. Why can’t I stay mad? I get mad. I yell (in the case of a sincere apology, I’m done). I hold grudges. I lose trust in people. I just don’t stay mad. If the time between getting mad and giving someone a piece of my mind is more than a few hours, in most

Note. Never go grocery shopping hungry. Never go to a bookstore intellectual. Never bring up the name of one of your favorite authors–to anyone–unless you’re planning to reread something. Especially (and this isn’t the case) if it’s somebody like Robert Jordan, because…holy crap, that’s a lot of wordage. Or Agatha Christie. Or Danielle Steele. Bleh.

Attack of the Cutes. Imagine, if you will, the song “Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing,” by Chris Isaak. Add to that one five-month-old bebe that’s just learned to sway back and forth to the music. On top of that, add momma lying on the floor next to her, close enough for bebe to reack

Responsibility. Sometimes I get tired of being a mother. It’s the responsibility. (Can you see the looks on some of my relative’s faces? “Ha! I knew she’d never be able to pull it off, the flibbertygibbet.” Of course, being all-American, all-Christian Midwesterners, nothing would be said. Nothing, not even, “How can I help?” Especially not