A Handsome Diversion

Today I will not discuss books or movies.  To be honest, last week was filled with Heart-A-Rama activity, leaving little room for reading. 

Our book group met on Friday night, and I made a happy discovery.  With one or two exceptions, and for a variety of reasons, we are all "Castle" fans.   How ironic that I should make this discovery when, for the last few weeks, I have been  trying desperately, with no success, to stop watching.  You all know our guest blogger, Steve, right?  Well, each Tuesday morning, or shortly thereafter, we exchange  email evaluations of the previous night's "Castle" episode, and let me tell you, for most of this season, the reviews have not been nearly as pretty as the show's star, Nathan Fillion.

Each week, I tentatively tune in, hoping for the return of the old Castle, the writer who intimated himself into the police department simply to observe and gain greater perspective for his mystery novels.  Well, that thread has come to a screeching halt.  Long gone is the insightful, but endearingly cocky man of letters, who, with raised eyebrow and crooked grin, would throw out seemingly absurd angles for Becket and her clown posse to consider before wasting time sniffing down the wrong path.  I can't rember the last time his writing career was part of the plot. 

Then there is the is issue of the disappearing redheads - Castle's daughter and mother.  Never liked the daughter much so I'm not complaining about her shrinking parts.  With her pursed lips and condescending way of pointing out the obvious, I know the writers were clearly trying to make us believe that she is truly Castle's smart and witty daughter, and not the offspring of some travelling salesman.  But she was just too smug for me. 

His mom was OK - a sort of gypsy, hippie throwback whose boho bangles clink and jingle when she walks, talks, or twists her 70 something year old body into some impossible yoga position.

And that is just the beginning of my growing concern for the future of "Castle." Yet, I go back, week after week, because Castle manages somehow to break through all the editing, writing,  character, and  production weaknesses.  That crooked little smile gets me every time, and from the talk amoung my book group, that is what will keep this show on the air for a few more seasons. 

Two of us discovered that we go to the same eye doctor, a guy who we suspect keeps a collection starched white shirts secreted behind a hidden panel in his exam room.  No matter what time of day your appointment is, there is never a wrinkle, not a drop of French dressing, not even an errant swipe from a unleashed Bic pen.  And he looks like Nathan Fillion.  The last time time Steph was in for an exam she got halfway into her question, "Hey Dr.________, has anybody ever told you..."   "All the time!"

And that is why I must make an appointment for an exam soon.

Started watching a video series of Samule Beckett plays, beginning with the most disturbing interpretation of Waiting for Godot that I have ever seen.  The commentary afterwards made a big deal out of "Godot" being one of the funniest plays ever written.  Really?  I got the humor  when I taught it to my Drama Lit students, but it sure didn't come through in this screen version.  The scenes with Lucky and Pozzo were nearly impossible to watch...so I didn't.

Thanks for stopping by.

Home Front

If you haven't checked out www.bookreporter.com yet, what's stopping you?   If your supply of  book titles scribbled on envelope backs, grocery store receipts or damp napkin corner isn't plentiful enough to wallpaper a small room, then you simply must  check out bookreporter. 

I promise, you will be overwhelmed with the wealth of information you will find if you take the time to dig a little.  Besides some fine reviews, there are contests.  A few weeks back I entered one, and won copies of Kristin Hannah's home front   (really, no caps in this title) to share with my book group.  No fees.  No strings.

Shirley, one of our members, talks about Hannah at nearly every meeting so this free book had her nearly jumping for joy,  Nearly.  Shirley was smart enough to know that if she made the slighted move out of the cheetah chair, someone else would have slipped in.  So, it was a symbolic jump.

Hanna is known for contemporary human drama story lines, and home front does not disappoint.  this particular book focuses on how a mother's deployment puts unimaginable stress on an already challenged marriage. 

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I caught an interesting film last weekend - Swedish - I think, called My Life as a Dog.  Of course, the title drew me in, but the plot had little to do with dogs, except that the main character, a incredibly likable, but quirky kid, was sort of treated like a stray pup most of his young life.  But, no matter where he is sent, he settles, has some fun, causes some trouble, and then is sent packing.  Most the families he is sent to, due his mother's inability to care for him, like him a bit, but they simply don't have the know how or the patience to deal with him.  At one point. the poor kids is sent to live by day with a relative, and at night he is packed off to sleep a a neighbor's - an elderly widow who's twin bed is situated within inched of poor little Ingemar.

The subtitles are small and quick, but as foreign films go, this one rank right up there with Amelie starring Audrey Tautau. 

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What am I reading?  The Fate of Mercy Alban by Wendy Webb.   One mysterious death piled on top of another, coupled with a family curse, a missing manuscript, hidden love letters and a  glorious mansion.  This remeinds me of the Victoria Holdtbooks which was basically all I read in high school, so I'm enjoying the nostalgia of it all.

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I'm seriously thinking about starting a Facebook page for LaDeDa.  Madde G, get ready, I may be asking for your advice and help.

What? Me? Chicken?

Hey!  If the hit counter on Blogger is correct, about 130 of you read each post.  130 give or take, that is, since surely some of you are so taken with every word that you read it twice, right?  So, where were you all when last Monday came and went without my weakly (sic!) silliness?  I didn't figure out it was Monday until part way through Tuesday which then got me thinking about an old Irish Rover's song called "To Morrow"   which I played endlessly while I was teaching guitar at Golden Ring Folklore Center, but that's a story for another day.

No, on to that grand rooster at the top.  Each year when I go to my trade show in Minneapolis, I try to stop at an area indie bookstore.  One of my favorites in called The Wild Rumpus which takes its  name from a line in Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are.  Rumpus has a store cat, a couple mince and perhaps a rat or two that live in an enclosure suspended beneath the floor and covered with glass so we can all enjoy watching them.  Me - not so much.  There are a couple birds, and two chickens.  Yup, two chickens.  One is a Rhode Island Red; the other is one of those exotic,  chic white models that looks like she could be one of the Gabor sisters.  As odd as bookstore chickens seem, it works,  Every time I have stopped at Rumpus, there is at least one wee person sitting in a kid sized chair, holding a chicken and reading to it.   It's a lovely sight. 

So, if I like the idea so much, why do we not have a LaDeDa chicken, you ask.  We have health code rules.  If I eliminated the cappuccino, smoothies, and all the other drinks we serve, you can be sure we would have a chicken.  Until then, Buddy will have to fill that.

Do I have to say that this is a lighthearted book?  No, but I just did, so deal with it.  On the surface, Brian McGrory had is all - great job at the Boston Globe, season tickets to Fenway, a classic townhouse, and a cool roommate, Harry his golden retriever.  When Harry dies, Brian is heartbroken.  (Let me digress for a moment here.  Why did I read a book about a dying dog?  Doesn't that break my number one cardinal reading rule?  Sort of.  The rule actually is: PROCEED WITH CAUTION IF THERE IS A DOG ON THE COVER.).  No dog here, just a chicken, and that double crossed me.  By the time Harry died, I was hooked and carried on through my tears to find out what was up with the fowl.

Brian eventually meets and moves in with Harry's vet who owns a farm and a rooster.  Buddy fiercely protects Pam and her two daughters, and Brian soon becomes public enemy number 1.  This is funny stuff.   The author tries to bring in some profound life lessons learned from living with a rooster, but that sort of falls short.  Still, a happy weekend read. 

Rest assured, a fulled edited version of this would have plenty of chicken puns...but ATT is going to call about renewing my YP ad, and so I have to save the clever, and snarky comments for the unsuspecting sales rep. 

More bits.....

• Heart-A-Rama auditions this Thursday at 7:00 and Sunday at 1:00.  for more info go to  www.heartarama.blogspot.com.
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• Sara, I know you're lurking out there.  I hope Amelia is feeling better!
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• Our hearts go out to Majel H., loved and respected music teacher at Wilson Junior High, and wife of our friend, Phil.  Majel is one again fighting with the cancer beast.  She is incredibly strong, brave, and resilient.  Send good thoughts  her way, please.

Thanks for stopping by.