Kaite's Book Shelf

Acknowledgments

2009-08-15T14:58:00.006-05:00

I've been thinking about the above a lot lately. The book I'm editing with a great friend-editor-writer is almost complete. All we have left is a final pass through the entire manuscript, the introduction (my last bit), and the acknowledgments. I'm almost done with the final reading/editing and the introduction is outlined and ready to be attached, but the acknowledgments have me stymied.

I'm of two minds about this form of the literary thank you. The most base reaction sounds like this in my head:

"THANKS?! I'm supposed to give thanks?! You're joshing me, right? Because this book has eaten up a part of my soul. There's hours in this thing that I'm not getting back. Hours of temperate sunny weekends that had me curled up on my porch with this laptop in my face instead of tending to my new garden or walking in Loose Park. There's a couple of great books I didn't get to read last spring. I haven't kept up with our city government goings-on or the New York Times Book Review. I've only seen ONE movie this summer and I'm pretty sure some of my friends have deleted my phone number from their speed-dials. I haven't cooked a meal in the last eight months and I have friends and family glaring at me on Facebook for missing messages, phone calls, parties, and concerts.

And who did any of this work, anyway, besides me, Jessica, and the contributing writers? I don't see anyone else reading these chapters for me. No one wrote my chapter. I don't see anyone packing away my computer when I nod off over it. Or plugging it in when the battery runs down. No one corrected typos or formatted TOCs or researched citations but me."

That's my Id there. Say hello to my Id. Hi, Id. You can take your selfish self back inside now. We appreciate your contributions.

And the other half of my mind is frantic looking for the people to thank. I want to make sure I don't leave anyone out. I want to give everyone credit. But I'm not sure who they all are. Even my husband snorted and said, "I didn't do a damn thing to help you with this book. Don't thank me for anything."

Yet, it occurs to me, I have plenty of people to thank. Lots of folks contributed to this book's completion, although most of them don't know it. And I didn't realize it until I sat down in my favorite coffee shop to work a little bit.

I want to thank the warm, welcoming, caffeine-friendly folks at One More Cup. They learned my name, remembered my favorite drink and tried to save the table in the window for me on Saturday mornings. The atmosphere at OMC is the most conducive to writing I have ever been in.

Lesbrarian deserves kudos for taking time out of her own editing to swap baldly honest emails about the banalities of writing. I always felt reinvigorated after trading complaints with her about our respective workloads.

The People's Liberation Big Band of Kansas City could propel me to heights of concentration I could not otherwise reach without their beautiful cacophonous symphonies ringing in my ears on Sunday nights. The intricate rhythms and quixotic melodies provided the best background music I've ever had.

My family and friends can never be repaid for all the times they dropped their guard and asked me, "Whattaya been doing?" and then listened to the details of the book's progress (without letting their eyes glaze over) and my hollow promises to "come up for air at the end of this month, I swear." They are a graciously impatient lot who did not wait for that to happen, but pried me from behind the computer to grab a meal or a drink, take a walk or visit a thrift shop and gently steered conversation away from the book. I'd go back to the work refreshed (albeit full of whopping guilt), but with an understanding that there's another life to go back to when this is over.

Colleagues at work contributed in other ways, too. My boss gave me all the time off I needed (usually at the last minute) to write. Another colleague ably took over the department on those days so I never had a moment's worry about it. One work friend never said anything more than, "Boy, that's sumthin'. Yer writin' a book" whenever I hid in his office to grouse about it. I owe big plates of gratitude to my editors at Booklist and NoveList who let me slide on all kinds of writing assignments to get this big one out of the way.

While he thinks he didn't have "a damn thing to do with it," my husband is correct in a sense. There's nothing of him in this book. Just like there's nothing of me in any of his musical compositions. But someone had to do the cooking, keep the cars running, and guide me through the finer points of laptop computer purchasing for the duration. And most importantly, whenever I gave in to the little demons and despaired this thing would ever be done and who the hell did I think I was anyway to do a book, what am I crazy or something, I can't do this. He'd look at me calmly and say, "Yes, you can."

I have to thank everyone above for being right. This journey is almost over and I could not have made it without any of you.

Three Rings

2009-07-29T16:21:00.004-05:00

Not to rule them all. Three rings as in circus.

This morning has been spent in looking at all kinds of reports: self-check machine circulating reports, daily circ reports, hold reports, time sheet reports, ad infinitum.

A patron requested a book that we don't have any longer and I was able to get a quick turnaround on an order for her. I had a phone call about a lost set of keys with a library card on the ring and was able to contact the patron who had lost the keys and let her know where they were.

I found a second life for about 40 copies of a book I thought I had to weed and I'm very grateful for that. I didn't want all of them to wind up in landfill and now they are going to a good home.

Our staff meeting today was very successful until it was interrupted by a parking snafu. Everyone on staff as well as some visiting staff members learned the difference between collection agencies, credit reporting bureaus, and bankruptcies.

Housekeeping items included reviewing laptop problems, adjusting timesheets, and learning how to use a new staff Instant Messenger program. I also started a discussion with a co-worker about the future of e-readers in the Library. We've rainchecked it to continue at another time.

And now, it's off to work the desk until closing tonight. I will try to compose a blog post for a friend, contact possible speakers for a series of programs, catch up on emails, and outline a plan for roving customer service for front line staff.

This is the stuff they didn't teach you in library school.

Twofer Tuesday

2009-07-28T20:03:00.003-05:00

It seemed like everything happened in pairs today. Double the interruptions, double the meetings, double the wackness.

Today I prepped for an early morning meeting that I hadn't prepped for yesterday and it went a little longer than expected. I confirmed plans for an OPAL presentation I will be giving at another library system and begged and pleaded with friends, colleagues, and complete strangers for names of folks who know more than a passing bit about the Bronte sisters.

I listen a lot at my job. When you listen a lot, you hear a lot of interesting things. I listened to a friend tell me how nutty things are in his department and then I listened to another friend tell me how loony things are in her department. I listened to a friend tell me how kooky things were in his department when he was there. I am convinced I work in a gigantic fun house of psychiatric wonders and anxieties.

I handled some bounced email and updated some collection agency accounts for a patron who should not have been contacted. I read about the new Kindlesque device Apple is trying to roll out and consulted with a staff member about a volunteer who may be able to assist us with our computer classes.

The nicest thing that happened today? While I was covering a break for another staff member, a patron called to tell me how wonderful this staff member had been to her. She gushed on and on and it was a delight to listen to her wax ecstatic about this staffer. Who is everything she said he is.

At the end of the day I watched our beautiful Library get ready for a program that would be hosting 500 people. This is old hat for us and all the staff handle it like the consummate pros they are.

But I was just too tired to stick around for this one.

To do equals mostly to done

2009-07-27T17:22:00.006-05:00

There are a few things left on the above, but for the most part, the day went as planned.

While I was preparing the daily cash register amounts for today and next weekend, I received an update from a staff member about a patron who has been providing instructions to fellow bbs members about how to steal books from a library.

Another staff member showed me an item that a patron brought into the library that he had not checked out. He was merely returning it for another patron who had also not checked out said item but had a habit of wandering into the first man's place of business and leaving behind library materials. The first man is gracious enough to recognize the rightful owner and return the property to the Library.

As usual, there are small glitches with the circulating laptops. Laptop 11 is missing a key on the keyboard, the all import |\ key. Laptop 2 can't circulate without a charger, laptop 1 is still in for repairs and laptop 5 is just being ornery.

I prepped for a meeting with a friend at the local paper regarding the book group we co-facilitate/organize. The best part of this meeting was having lunch in the pub across the street. The worst part was realizing we couldn't have a beer with lunch. We hammered out reading selections for the next year with some kibutzing from a fellow diner and feel we have a solid list that will appeal to men, women, seniors, teens, and folks who just think talking about reading is fun.

I updated two ongoing lists of Street Fiction with new titles and reviewed and posted the schedule for next week. The staff meeting for Wednesday is planned and ready with one correction to a document that will be presented by another staff member. I will only have to provide cookies and take attendance.

I still have to prepare for tomorrow's meeting and start drafting a training plan for a meeting next week. But on the whole, today has been okay and tomorrow will be better.

As the World Circs

2009-07-26T22:44:00.005-05:00

In preparation for the Library Day in the Life blog project that begins tomorrow, I thought I'd get a head start. Like I normally do before my work week begins.

On Sunday nights, I empty out the messenger bag. I throw all the lunch containers in the dishwasher, pick out all the paperclips, spare change, and bits of paper that have fallen to the bottom. I arrange everything neatly, plug in all electronics (cell phone, laptop) to recharge batteries, and review calendar. I make a mental list of what needs to be done this week and try to remind myself that there will be at least five fires that will require my attention before the end of tomorrow. I may have a plan, but it will be derailed.

It took me three years to get right with that. It's always good to have a list of what needs to be done, but it's even better to understand that there will be unexpected and unnamed complications that will hinder the progress. A successful work week, for me, depends primarily on how I handle the disruptions and interruptions as they arise, since I won't be able to plan for them or schedule them.

But right now, on the list of Monday's things to do:
1. Gather materials for a meeting on Tuesday morning
2. Prepare for a meeting at the Kansas City Star
3. Review and post next week's schedule. Send email informing of any anomalies in next week's schedule.
4. Make changes in next month's schedule.
5. Review and approve last week's time sheets.
6. Confirm coverage so staff can attend monthly department meeting.
7. Plan and promote next meetings of two book groups.
8. Write customer service plan for self-service initiative.
9. Post to Library blog.
10. Pull files on three staff members and begin preparations for annual reviews.
11. Pick up August bus pass.
12. Prepare cash register banks for three public service desks.

I better make sure I do number 11. It's the most important on the list. Will pop back in tomorrow with an updated list of things to do, what really got done, what didn't get done, and what the road blocks were.

Anyone but me notice that shelving and reading didn't make the list of things to do?

As seen on Shovers & Makers

2009-04-20T22:56:00.010-05:00

whooooffft. Puh-puh-puh. Is this thing on? Can you HEAR{screeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeee} me?

Oh, sorry, everyone. I guess I got a little too close to the keyboard. Okay. So. I’m supposed to say a few words about me, who I am, what I do, why I’m here, and stuff like that, is that it?

You know, this Shovers & Makers thing kinda feels like a job interview or that time I made the Movers & Shakers list. All the interviewers wanted was to talk about me and you know what? I’m tired of talking about me. I’m not just the Head of Readers’ Services for Kansas City Public Library. There’s way more to me than that. I’m already planning for my retirement. My second career is going to be heavy machinery operator. Yeah.

And I’m not just a columnist for Booklist or NoveList, either. I write thank you notes, too. And rude and quirky postcards to my friends. And pithy comments on bathroom walls about the weak drinks they serve at the Riot Room.

Yeah, I blog. I blog a lot at Book Group Buzz and occasionally guest stint over at Likely Stories. I ride herd on Off the Page, too. I’ve even been known to dash a few lines for my own blog, Kaite’s Bookshelf.

Sure I was KCMLIN Trainer of the Year. Big deal. Did anyone tell you about the time I spelled “cartilage” correctly for the Library’s Books ‘n Beer team in the city-wide spelling bee? No? That’s because they don’t think that’s im-por-tant.

So I was Macmillan’s Librarian of the Month last August. So what? I won a hula hoop contest that same month at Crosstown Saloon and no one wrote about that.

Kaite Mediatore Stover awaits the next cage match

No one ever asks me about the really important things. Like is it true I’m part owner of Ebbsfleet United? Can I really tap dance and read tarot cards? And why don’t I just bake the cookie dough already and stop eating it out of the bowl? See? Those things are crucial. They are integral to my personality. But all anyone wants to know is when I’m going to get my rear in gear and get those two chapters submitted to Jessica and Mary K. and then finish my own book. I don’t know, okay? Stop nagging, already!

Look, are we done here? Because I’m seriously falling behind in my loafing and you’re not helping. If you want to get me out of this jam, pass me the sidewalk chalk and bubbles and let’s go outside and git ‘er done. C’mon. Whattayasay? Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.

Ten Websites that Turn My Brain to Porridge

2009-01-02T15:49:00.006-06:00

1. Style—I don’t claim to be any kind of fashionista. I like to comb the racks at this site for inspiration that I then take to the thrift shops. It’s amazing what some designers think real people will wear and I like to view the runways and picture how the “look” could be adjusted for a woman with boobs, hips and a butt.

2. Postsecret—This secret haven reminds me that no matter what I think is wrong with me or my life, there’s folks with bigger problems who will still help me get through mine.

3. Webcams—I love these things. I can waste hours watching pandas, the Seattle skyline, aurora borealis, construction sites, space weather, auto repair, you name it.

4. GoodReads Never Ending Book Quiz—positively addictive. Test your knowledge of books, authors, literary history, and more. How could any librarian NOT want to pit her wits?

5. Your Daily Art—a little piece of art history almost every day. The way art should be viewed, one savory bit at a time.

6. NPR—I find subjects I didn’t know I was interested in whenever I stop by this site. It’s an intellectual’s sinkhole.

7. Urban Dictionary—Adding to my cocktail party vocabulary is always on my list of things to do.

8. Rock and Roll Confidential—I howl at the Hall of DBs. And I want a Your Band Sucks t-shirt.

9. eBay—I can’t stop looking for vintage beaded cardigan sweaters, Paden City pottery, antique mirrors, and body parts. Or any contraband.

10. Project Rungay—the best fashion snark out there. Two fabulously witty and smart bloggers who took an obsession all the way to Bryant Park.

Ten Radio Programs That Will Make Me Donate Money

2008-12-31T09:05:00.018-06:00

1. Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me—My favorite newsies are Roxanne Roberts, Adam Felber, and Charlie Pierce. It's an IQ show for eggheads. But funny.

2. Only a Game—Did I mention Charlie Pierce? One of the funniest and most insightful sports commentators on radio today? And Bill Littlefield. It’s not just sports, it’s FUN! They covered the Library Book Cart competition in Anaheim. You can HEAR these guys smile.

3. Up to Date—Steve Kraske’s gimlet-eyed view of all things Kansas City gives me something to think about every time he’s on the air. I like his thoughtful comments on his topics. He’s always prepared. Not like those clowns on…

4. The Walt Bodine Show’s Book Doctors segment—I can say that because every once in a while the producer slips up and invites me on the air with some frighteningly smart reader/critics like Mark Luce and John Mark Eberhart and Steve Paul. Listen to the December 2007 show for Mark, John Mark and me totally winging it and having a blast.

5. This American Life—it’s like Twitter, but with more than 160 characters per post.

6. New Letters on the Air—Angela Elam’s voice sucks me into the program as much as the writers suck me into their work. I will always treasure her interview with Tomas Riley.

7. Night Tides—soothing lullabies for adults.

8. KC Currents—I enjoying hearing the voices with the names in the news on the local front.

9. StarDate—satisfies my inner science-geek without subjecting me to a long multi-syllabic lecture. Bite-sized astronomy; the Milky Way chocolate bar of radio.

10. Thistle & Shamrock—I defy ANYONE not to attempt a jig while listening to this show.

Rejuvenating Juvenile Games

2008-12-31T09:03:00.002-06:00

Ten Best

I used to play this game as a kid called “Ten Best”. I’d make lists of all kinds of things: Ten Best Foods to have in the House When the Power Goes Out; Ten Best People to go to the Carnival With; Ten Best Candies to get on Halloween; Ten Best Sugared Cereals My Mother Won’t Let me Eat.

I’m going to try to revive that game this year. Please note that as I am a sporadic blogger, esoteric in taste, and probably downright wrong about some things, this won’t be a regular activity. But it’ll be fun while it lasts. For me, anyway.

And it's Spyder's fault that I'm doing this. Her link is making me stay current with this blog.

The Goodbye Season

2008-09-20T08:20:00.005-05:00

I love summer and I love fall. Summer evenings on my porch, listening to the cicadian symphony accompanied by the occasional timpani yowl of a neighborhood cat, watching the dusk turn gently to night , I can feel time stopping to listen and watch along with me. Autumn mornings stir my blood. Walking quickly to the bus stop through the crispy cool air, breathing hard to watch the small clouds of steam, and avoiding dewy grass, I am almost fooled into thinking my bus will be yellow and not green when it finally pulls up.

But like many of us, I don’t tolerate sudden change easily. For me, last week’s cold snap wasn’t a harbinger of more, but different, enjoyable weather. It reminded me that summer is coming to a close and I need to prepare for that, mentally, physically, spiritually. It was a forced period of transition and I balked. Those in-between days are my “goodbye season.” It didn’t last long, but I realized I wasn’t quite ready for summer to be over, even though I have many wonderful things in the fall to look forward to.

I’m not ready to abandon my garden. Folks in my neighborhood already think I’ve abandoned it, but now that the beds are ready and I have some weekend time, I want to plant sweet alyssum and snap dragons and lambs’ ear and cone flowers. It’s too late for that, yet I always thought I’d have plenty of time whenever I walked past the bare plots.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to my summer wardrobe. I don’t want to swap out my tank tops and flip flops for stockings and pumps. I don’t want to pull out all my jeans and fold up my shorts, or dig through drawers, ignoring cotton shortie pajamas and silky nighties, looking for flannel pants and thermal tops.

I’m not ready to winterize my house by putting the crocheted afghans and Mexican striped throws on the couch and tucking away the tiny pillows. Or making a choice between flannel sheets and soft cotton ones. Replacing the colorful summer quilt with the heavy down comforter. I can’t bear to tell my plants they can no longer spend their days outside on the porch, sunbathing. They must now come inside and fight for window spots, dropping leaves in protest at being cooped up, and leaving water rings of disapproval on wooden table tops.

I balk at taking leave of dining and drinking al fresco, easily my most favorite summer activity. I can’t bear to turn away from salads, popsicles, outdoor grilled catfish and red peppers, fresh vegetables from my neighbor’s garden, lazy beers on Venus’ deck, iced mochas on Muddy’s patio, brunch mimosas under Classic Cup umbrellas.

I don’t know how I’ll pack up my summer reading. All those adrenaline-pumping thrillers, friendship-filled chick lit novels, baseball, NASCAR, and Olympic expose’s, the whimsical and escapist fantasy and science fiction, the chill-inducing horror (only read during the hottest days).

I want my ballet, Shakespeare and baseball in the park. I want to hear the pulsing beat of the blues at a street festival, watch the buskers on the Plaza sidewalks, cheer the reckless drivers at the demolition derby, judge corn and pigs, and battle the exhilarating fear at the top of the ferris wheel at the county fair.

How could I say goodbye to all that? But I will. If not graciously, then sulkily, but only for a moment. Until I warmly greet all the bounty and beauty that is autumn.

Literary Lions Lost

2008-09-14T16:12:00.004-05:00

It was a hard weekend in the book world. Two of its most respected and revered authors turned the last page.

Award-winning crime novelist, George Mcdonald, passed away Sunday. Mcdonald is the creator of the Edgar worthy Fletch novels which also made the successful leap to the movie screen. Mcdonald honed his appreciation for cynical and witty characters and outrageous situations at the Boston Globe as a reporter and editor. He took these experiences and crafted one of the first comic-mysteries with Fletch, an educated beach bum with a snappy comeback and reckless nature. These books are still popular with readers who are fans of the sardonic tarnished detective-knight who carefully guards the small piece of gold buried in his heart.

A master of experimental fiction, David Foster Wallace, committed suicide Friday night. Wallace accumulated a cult following for his darkly comic and innovative novels and short stories. His first novel, Broom of the System, grew out of his senior thesis. Wallace is best known for his expansive, thought-provoking and occasionally frustrating novel, Infinite Jest.

Oh, sure, there'll always be another wise-acre detective and some fresh kid pushing the boundaries of fiction, but it won't be the same without Mcdonald and Wallace, whose influence will live on.

#9 in the Transit Epiphanies Series

2008-08-23T17:04:00.007-05:00

This is going to be a multi-ride pass of bus stories I never got around to blogging:

1/20/2007--the coldest day I ever waited for a bus. There's a wild snowstorm that attacked the city around 1 pm and the Library has closed early. I am very glad I had the foresight that morning to wear my boots to work, but I'm a little irked that I felt the need to wear a skirt. Like everyone else, I exodus to the bus at 5 pm, hoping to get out of downtown within a couple of hours, traffic and snow being what it is.

I'm waiting at the bus stop and the 55 never comes. A young, cheerful guy is waiting with me. Everyone else is cranky, cold and occasionally mustering up the energy to state the bloomin' obvious, "the bus is late." It's been over 40 minutes and I begin to count the buses that go by. This is the second 38 I've seen, the third 24 and the third 71. I make a joke to my transit pal, "We're playing Texas Hold'em with buses!" He laughs and sez, "Yeah, we are! Check it out, I got two of a kind!" as a 71 whizzes past. We start taking serious note of the bus numbers. I'm up to two pair and he has five of a kind before a winner is declared. The winner is the person whose bus arrives first.

A couple of days later, I catch the last 55 heading south. We don't get more than three blocks when the bus stops abruptly in the middle of Main Street. No one pays any attention as we wait. But after about three minutes, passengers begin craning to see what the hold up is and we notice the bus driver getting agitated. Seems there's a car stopped in the middle of Main. And all the honking, yelling and obscene gestures can't get this blind, deaf, and idiotic auto-bovine to move.

Our bus driver angrily puts the bus in park and stomps off the bus. Those of us up front watch him walk to the driver's side of the stopped car and point angrily at the bus and then shake his finger in the driver's face. We watch our driver storm back to the bus, get back on and sit down heavily. He smacks his hands on the large steering wheel, then grips it tightly for a moment. His hands loosen on the wheel and the bus driver lets go. He quietly open the door again and steps off the bus. This time, he hails a cop, points to the obstinate driver and then returns to his bus.

The cop takes it from there. He saunters over to the reason for the by now cacophonous traffic jam and pleasantly addresses the driver. The driver still doesn't move. The cop leisurely pulls out his pad and issues the nuisance a ticket. The bus passengers cheer, the bus driver pastes a self-satisfied smile on his face and the inducer of road rage moves his car to the side of the road. Seems he's there to pick someone up from work and he's waiting for the person to arrive.

As the 55 starts making its way south, some of the passengers begin a conversation about evolution and road rage. I can't see the correlation myself, and go back to the book in my iPod.

8/20/08--I get the afternoon off for having worked a 14 hour day the night before. I'm boarding the 57 South Oak, which isn't a bad bus to ride and usually more interesting than the 55. Right after I board, a very strange, but nice enough man gets on. He's wearing a short sleeve shirt and khaki pants. Around his shin is tied a blue bandanna. It's a strange fashion statement, but, hey, could be seen on Project Runway next week.

The man sits down and greets the person next to him, a Metro bus driver on his way to pick up his next run, with, "Hey there Metro man, Metro Dan metro!". Loquacious Bandannaleg starts digging through his belongings, "I know it's here, I know I have it. My transfer is in my pants. My transfer is in my box. I'm on my tenth cigarette. I sit right here next to the metro bus man." The resting driver doesn't even look at his seatmate who continues the running commentary on In Search of...Bus Transfers.

"Bless yer heart. It's here, it's right here. What? Yes, sir, kind man. I'll sit down and shut up. It's in my bag. It's in my pants. There's my cigarettes! Oh, here it is. Here you are, sir." It's about five stops since Bandannaleg boarded and he holds out his bus pass to the driver and the driver points to the fare box. Bandannaleg gets up from his seat, clutching his pants and says, "Bless yer heart, man. Thank you. Thanks for your driving, Mr. Metro Driver Man, Driver Dan, Metro Man."

It's no wonder I'm not getting any reading done any more on the bus.

Bus du Freak

2008-08-22T16:46:00.004-05:00

#78 in in the Transit Epiphanies

I've been riding the bus regularly, green girl that I am, but it's a very boring bus line. Nothing interesting happens on the 55. Everybody reads, though. I spend my rides craning my neck and straining my eyeballs trying to readsdrop on my fellow passengers.

But occasionally I have to take the Max. Last Tuesday, I had to pull an unexpected 14 hour day at la libraire. The work part doesn't suk, but the not-having-anything-to-gnosh-for-dinner and having-to-take-the-bus -home-at-9:30pm parts kinda do.

I was dog tired when I climbed on the 9:22 Max at Petticoat Lane. And my mood didn't improve when I spotted the smart-mouthed Vietnam vet from a couple of bus rides ago. He's very chatty and a bit of a pushy wanker who wants to talk to everyone. He gives me the hairy eyeball and I glare back with my best "keep it to your effing self, slimebag" look.

But one of my favorite passengers is on the bus. A very large and jolly African-American man who carries a pink boom box with him and at least three pieces of luggage. He's never any trouble. Just talks to himself or any rider who'll chat back. But it's obvious he's not having a good day today. He's sitting in the seat behind the bus driver and staring at his reflection in the window. He's saying, "Talk about food. Talk about chicks. Talk about the...Not today. Gotta go. Not on the phone. Not today." He shakes his finger at his reflection and says, "Not today. Gotta go."

The mouthy vet starts bitching about how hot it is on the bus. It's about 67 degrees outside and the driver, bless her, has turned off the AC. Having just come from the Arctically-temped library I'm not interested in the vet's kvetching. But he turns to me and sez, rudely, "Hey! Ainchu hot? Ain't it hot in here? How 'bout some AC, huh?" I say, loudly, "I'm not warm." No one else says anything. It's a crowded bus, but everyone is eerily quiet, as if they're waiting for something to surface. One of the downtown CID bike officers sits in the seat behind me.

Badday Jollyman continues to stare at his reflection in the window, saying, "Not today. Hey, fella. I gotta go." The vet keeps trying to start conversation with everyone on the bus, but no one's having any. He remarks on my cons, calls them PF flyers. Continues to stare. I stare back. I have perfected the blank, don'tfuckwithme stare. Anyone who wears contact lenses can do this. We stick shit in our eyes every day. We can stare down any badass on the bus.

The Vet thinks the Badday Jollyman is talking to him since he's, well, TALKING to somebody. And the Vet starts in, "Hey, man, you're freaking me out. Do not freak me out. I don't care how big you are, don't freak me out. I'll freak you up. I'm a Vietnam vet. Don't freak me out. Don't like to be freaked out."

This is what the other passengers were afraid would happen. It's just hot enough to annoy the shit out of everyone, but not so hot anyone will throw a punch or pull a switchblade.

Then the Badday Jollyman turns to the Vet and says something about Tina Turner and Luke Skywalker. He turns back to the window, points his finger at his reflection and says, "You keep that girl to yourself. Luke Skywalker was a rapper!" The Vet pipes up and says, "No, he's a producer!" Badday Jollyman replies, "Luke is nasty. Get back, Luke, that's nasty." To the window, "I said, keep back, that's nasty. Whoever you are, you have no business coming into QuickTrip."

The mugginess of the bus overtakes the Vet and the Jollyman and they fall silent. The CID officer gets off at 39^th Street and says he'll see me tomorrow. He notices I've been scribbling furiously and grins. The Vet gets off at the Plaza. He leers once more at me and my notebook. I deadstare over his shoulder as he gets off the bus. Jollyman gets off at Il Centro. I miss him already.

But Will He Have a Bus Pass?

2008-05-16T16:40:00.003-05:00

#50 in the Transit Epiphany Series

This morning the first 55 Rockhill bus is early. It's always early. It's supposed to pick me up at 6:53 but if I'm not at the stop by 6:45, I'm SOL. The bus picks me up and I settle into a seat. Then the bus stops short. The guy in the seat in front of me calls out to the driver, "Sir?" and looks out the right side of the bus.

I see a woman in a tan jacket, big gold hoop earrings and a perky caramel beret with fists full of crushed soda cans and plastic water bottles waving an arm at the bus. The driver stops and the woman strolls over to the door. She climbs the first two stairs and instead of feeding the fare box, leans into the bus, looks at all of us passengers and says, in a firm, optimistic voice, "Jesus sez there'll be murculls. Onct a month. If you claim 'em." She nods once at us, looks at the bus driver and nods again before hopping off the bus.

The bus passengers are thoughtful for a moment, stunned by this cheery message. I replay what the woman said in my mind over and over and think, "Yes, she's correct. Jesus said there'd be miracles. We claim them, when we recognize them."

I think, for a second, that woman is one of them.

Review 'em & Weep

2008-05-02T11:50:00.000-05:00

The funniest piece of writing I have seen in a cat's age is right here.

Don't waste any time. It's got a mystery, it's got heart, it's got a snooty secretary-type, a jaded-reviewer, a craggy editor, and a loveable guy dressed as Santa with all the answers.

Wanted: Dead or Alive

2008-04-25T08:25:00.001-05:00

Well, they found me. I thought I'd be on the lam forever, hiding in plain sight. I sailed through airport security. Took some chances blowing through red lights, ignoring stop signs, making up my own speed limits. They didn't bat an eye. 'Cause they knew where I lived.

The auto g-men have my number. $38.50 to be exact. For a parking ticket I never paid. I have been informed by the City's attorneys that a warrant may have been issued for my arrest. They are wagging a paper-encrusted finger in my direction: pay your parking ticket, young lady!

I don't have any problem paying my debt to society. Especially since they waived the late fee. Check's in the mail, feebles!

Librarian in the News

2008-04-12T07:12:00.000-05:00

Check out Nikki's profile in today's Kansas City Star!

Dealing them off the arm

2008-04-09T12:18:00.010-05:00

My mother always said have a backup skill in case those dreams of marrying wealthy and divorcing wealthier didn't work out. So I learned to type. Very fast. And typing was good. It paid for a trip to Ireland in my senior year of college. I couldn't believe how lazy all these student were who hadn't learned to type.

If one backup skill was good, two were better. So I became a waitress, which pays much better than typing and you get drinks at the end of the day. I used to regale my friends with "service industry" stories. Like the time I waited on 30 people on Mother's Day, couldn't take any other tables because this party kept dribbling in, growing larger and more demanding and ordering food every five minutes. After two hours, 45 goddam tossed salads with the dressing on the side, constant refills of Dr. Pepper, and a $300 check, one of the wives pressed a $5 dollar bill in my hand and thanked me for a lovely job. Her nephew was in the kitchen, cooking the day's food and she wanted to show her appreciation for his coworkers. For a brief moment I thought about beating her mightily around the head and face. But instead I laughed. I tipped my bartender with that fiver on my first drink of the evening.

The Waiter has felt my pain, joy and incredulity, and written about it in a book to be published this August, Waiter Rant. I harbor a secret obsession with any memoir about the restaurant business. I've spent too many years schlepping food and owe a great deal to the dining room managers who have given me a job at the lowest points of my life. I've read Debra Ginsberg's Waiting: True Confessions of a Waitress and Service Included by Phoebe Damrosch. Those books are good. But The Waiter has perfectly captured what it is like to work the front of the house. The chapter alone on tipping and why the tip is so important to the server is priceless. I knew exactly how The Waiter's friend Allie felt after she'd delivered consummate service and was royally stiffed. It's not about the money. It's never about the money. Two tables from now, someone will over tip and make it all even for Allie. It's the insult. It's knowing that someone else has to assign a dollar value to your work and deemed it lacking when you know you turned in a top notch performance.

The Waiter understands the emotional toll serving the public can take on a human being. No matter how much he dresses it up, he understands that people who work in food service are hired servants.

With humor, wit, a liberal dose of snark and a soupcon of sentimentality, The Waiter brings the dining room into the reading room. Sometime in August, on a Monday night at the Pine Grove Inn or Tony's Villa Capri or the Airport Cafe or Friendly's or Domino's Pizza or New China or Racine's, the staff will share a drink, the tips and stories about their favorite Monday night customers--who are all in the food service industry. They will also share their impressions of Waiter Rant and none of them will find any part of the book to be lacking in verisimilitude

They also serve, who wait.

Spelz lak teem spritz

2008-04-03T10:04:00.001-06:00

You can call a Spelling Bee a nightlife. I lived through it and it happened at night! The Boulevard Brewery/KCPL spelling team is so happy. We placed second last night in the city wide spelling bee for LiteracyKC. We had a blast and went out on ’axunge’. Yeah, you try spelling that one under hot lights in the 17th round.

Assurant Employee Benefits won on ’hypnotherapeutic’ (yeah, that’s a no brainer word, everyone knew it). It was the "get this thing over or we’ll all need to get hotel rooms" word. But the Beer/Books team didn’t mind. We were just happy to be there. Finishing second far exceeded our expectations. If you know Bernard, Nancy or Erica, get them to tell you the ’cartilage’ story. Heh.

And just to cap off the night, Nikki, Matt and Erica convinced me our next stop should be the launch party of INK magazine in the Power & Light District. Check Nikki’s blog for photos. After that, it was onto Davey’s for some wild therapeutic theremin-infused jazz with Mr. Marco’s V7s. And to pick up a new Vote No on 3 sign. Someone stole ours off our front lawn. Keep it up, clown. We got a million of ’em from Chris and Mokie.

Happy Marian dance

2008-03-23T09:03:00.003-06:00

Last year I wrote a chapter on RA and AV for a friend's book. I barely remember writing it! Yesterday's mail brought a copy of the book and I am Chapter 4!!

Check THAT off the "Life To-Do" list!

Calling all Jane-iacs!

2008-01-06T10:49:00.001-06:00

You know who you are. If you're an academic, then you refer to yourself as a "Janeite." Those of us who are hip to Jane's trendster cred refer to ourselves as "Jane-iacs".

Catch a whole month of Jane-inspired programming, events, movies, book discussions and author visits at Kansas City Public Library's month long Jane-uary celebration.

Join the Jane-iac blog, too.

It's okay to hate me. I hate me, too.

2007-12-10T19:21:00.001-06:00

Right now I'm in Jacksonville, FL on a riverside balcony with a glass of white wine and 80 degree weather. I'm wearing a tank and flipflops. The sun has set and there are ducks fishing for dinner under my balcony. I can see all the stars because, apparently, they do not believe in street lights here in JAX. Even the guys at the bar next door are being civilized.

This morning when I left Kansas City at 6 am, it was 19. Degrees. I was a cranky wanker.

If I weren't enjoying myself so much, I'd kick my own ass.

Twelve Days of Hellmas

2007-12-02T11:59:00.002-06:00

Goddammit how I hate the holidays. In words I cannot begin to type without getting my ass thrown off the MySpace, I hate the holidays. I would enter the dockworkers' blue language hall of fame if I could write everything I feel about the gdngmfcspfsebl holidays. Use your imagination.

I hate the crass commercialism. I hate the blatant cheer. I hate the excessive consumerism. I hate the societal expectations, the stress, the disillusionment, and the countless additions to my already bloated task list. I hate traveling at the holidays with all the stupid amateurs who bitch when airport security rips open a package so they can make sure it isn't a dirty bomb. I hate all the fattening food. I can't frickin' stand "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Frosty the Snowman".

I do like the boozing, though. I can get behind getting drunk. It makes me forget the hellaciousness of the holidays.

I like going to church. Yes, I mean it. I am not blaspheming. And don't worry, that lightning bolt won't come anywhere near you. It's meant for me. I get one moment of serenity at the holidays. It's either at a holiday service or it's late at night, in the dark, with only a couple of candles to light the house.

December. What's to flippin' like? It's cold, it's dark, it's gloomy. It's ridden with holidays that interrupt the regular flow of life. July. THERE'S a month to get behind.

Every damn positive memory I have of this holiday comes with an equally negative one.

If this holiday were outlawed I would not give a crap. Fuck the holidays. Fuck 'em hard.

And the Angels try to bar the Gates

2007-11-10T06:59:00.001-06:00

I have to put my grief someplace. We won't have Norman Mailer around anymore to epitomize the idea of a "man's writer." He was a macho, braying scoundrel, but I loved him anyway. A guy's guy. Guybrarian is probably mourning over a beer. Keir is staring blankly out the window of an El car. Bill is trying to compose a fitting Backpage.

Norman was street before all those faux "gangstas" made it a lifestyle.

Bye, Norman. And fug you for leaving us all behind.

Is All Well?

2007-10-16T20:49:00.001-05:00

The two sources I trust the most have finally weighed in on the Harry Potter phenomenon.

On the front page of the Book Review, The New York Time printed a review that revealed no major spoilers (although if you're not aware of the ending by now, it's time to sublet that granite subterranean flat you've been living in). Reviewer Christopher Hitchens takes a few high brow swipes at the series as a whole and the final volume in particular, but I expected nothing less.

The most anticipated analysis came from my Uncle Stevie over at the Bible of Popular Culture, commonly known as Entertainment Weekly. Stephen King has been the most loyal reader and defender of Harry Potter , J.K. Rowling and their combined exploits. He is also one of the most astute commentators on the state of today's popular culture.

I'm still mulling over Hitchens' piece and his perceptive parallels drawn between Orwell, Dickens, Kipling, Conan Doyle, and Rowling. Your thoughts?

The Big Read @ Kansas City Public Library

2007-10-04T14:25:00.000-05:00

Kansas City Public Library, Park University and Liberty Memorial will be celebrating Ernest Hemingway's classic novel, A Farewell to Arms during October and November.The Big Read aims to encourage Kansas Citians to read, enjoy, contemplate, and discuss Hemingway's landmark novel of love and war on the Italian Front during the First World War.

The program period coincides with the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Caporetto, a devastating Italian defeat that served as a climactic moment in A Farewell to Arms.

More than 500 free paperback copies of A Farewell to Arms will be distributed to interested participants. In addition, there will be special events, panel discussions, book groups and movie screenings revolving around Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, and Hemingway's influential ties to Kansas City. Register for an event, book group or free copy of the book here.

Contribute comments and insights at the Kansas City Public Library's The Big Read blog.

Beisball's been berry good to SOMEONE!

2007-09-09T09:44:00.000-05:00

To the tune of $2.8 million, the above non-descript cardboard image of an old tyme baseball player who is NOT a household name, has been sold anonymously. Read the greedy story here.

Read the story behind the story in The Card: Collectors, Con Men and the True Story of History's Most Desired Baseball Card. Authors Michael O'Keeffe and Teri Thompson trace the history and ownership of one of baseball's most famous, and hard-to-find, cards of a player unfamiliar to most fans except for his face on a collectible.

Now, I expect some sunburnt bleacher bums will cry foul. "The Flying Dutchman" was one of the foremost players of his day. Honus Wagner was an all-star quality player, a contemporay of Ty Cobb and one of the first to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. If his quotes are accurate, it sounds as if Mr. Wagner was one of the most forthright and honorable players of his time, too. There's a lesson to be learned here (I'm talkin' to YOU, MLB All-Stars). It's "How to Be a Gentleman and a Ballplayer instead of a Billionaire Athlete".

Wagner's fame is now tied to a little piece of cardboard he didn't endorse enclosed with a product he didn't condone.

O'Keeffe and Thompson eyeball the hobby of card collecting and aren't sure how to call it. A harmless American hobby that started with little boys and bubblegum (or bigger boys and tobacco) has morphed into a booming and conniving business involving authentication experts, auction house and Wall Street bankers.

Although the history and backstories are fascinating, the writing is a little dry. Some of O'Keeffe's sparkling sports prose would be welcome in this book. Fans and collectors will be entertained and informed and likely a little disenchanted with the moneyfication of the Great American pasttime. But there's no crying in baseball or baseball card collecting, either.

Stop what you're doing and read this book

2007-08-23T22:56:00.001-05:00

At holiday gatherings, Friends of the Ballet cocktail parties and roller derbies, I am often asked what it is like to work in a library. "Huh huh, you must read all day" is the typical inane comment I hear. To which I reply, "Why no, I don't. I answer reference questions and suggest reading material to interested patrons." What I really want to say is, "Yep, right in one, psychic. But it beats chewing tobaccy, changing oil and yanking it to the Miss Quaker State calendar all day."

If you want to know what it's like to work in a library, then read Free for All: Oddballs, Geeks and Gangstas in the Public Library. Don Bochert has captured all the most delightful elements of working a public service desk. From reaching into the bookdrop and retrieving a fecal-encrusted dildo to reissuing a library card to a patron who swears the triple 666s will cause him pain to chasing off the drunk wearing a tutu to the patron who tried to mail a letter in the dictionary stand.

Bochert spills the beans about contemporary libraries with generous doses of love, candor and good natured humor. At the end of the checkout period, he still believes in the power of libraries and that patrons truly mean to return their materials on time.

A Good Day's Work

2007-08-19T21:43:00.001-05:00

What got done:

1. One column written and submitted.

2. Two assigned blog posts written and posted.

3. One play review written and uploaded.

4. One book review written and submitted.

5. Three books, read and annotated.

6. One good run

7. In-laws visited

8. Awards notebook updated with new annotations.

What DID NOT get done:

1. Sweeping

2. Grocery shopping

3. Phone call to parents

4. Plants watered

I'd call it even.

Heart and Reading Rates

2007-08-18T09:42:00.009-05:00

I don't have a lot of patience for those crepe-hangers who like to bemoan the fate of the book. Faced with the looming onslaught of technical devices with which to read, they wring their hands and clutch their beloved copies of Great Expectations to their heaving bosoms, vowing never to let ear buds invade their ear drums. They are annoyingly certain that only their imagination is the perfect conduit for an author's words, not some narrator and they don't want any gadgetry getting in the way of their printed pleasure.

Today I'm here to tell those folks to keep their dust jackets on, the printed book isn't going anywhere. My experience this morning while out for a run is proof.

Armed with a bottle of water and my CD player, I slipped the latest disc of the audio book I'm reviewing (and enjoying) into the player, set the volume, adjusted the ear pieces and kicked up my heels on a dusty track.

Halfway through the thrilling and perfectly narrated disc, it started to hiccup like an annoying drunk imparting much needed driving directions. I ignored it. I wasn't missing much of the story. It blipped, skipped, and hicc'd for the next half hour. So much so that my heart rate is unmeasurable at the end of the run, it's skipping and blipping along to the CD.

I cooled down (hardly) by walking and trying to hold the player to keep it from skittering. I was at a good part and I really wanted to hear what happened next. I held the player down by my side, over my head, stuffed it in my pocket. Nothing helped. I gave up and fumed the last quarter mile. "If I had a real book this wouldn't happen. I could hold the book up in front of my face and turn pages. Of course, I'd have to stop at crosswalks. And it might be difficult to follow the words if I'm bouncing while I'm running. But at least I'd be able to read all the damn words!"

This isn't the first time this player has sputtered its way through a workout. But I'd had it with technology by the time I got home. I left the CD player on the porch after I removed the disc and batteries. I got a cup of coffee and a hammer and went onto the porch for the upper body portion of the exercise hour.

You can't imagine how great it is to beat the hell out of a worn out CD player. There are little pieces of plastic and metal artfully scattered on my porch. I'll clean it up later.

Right now, I just had to share my firm belief that the printed book isn't on its way out, so ya'll eye-readers can just settle. And I need to order an iPod and sign up for Audible.

Reality TV for writers

2007-08-15T10:26:00.000-05:00

I was looking over all the reality television offerings and realized that aside from C-SPAN's BookTV (a televised book report), there are no "real" shows that appeal to the bards and scribblers among us. Every other art form has secured its own small screen showcase, how about one for writers? Here are my pitches for this fall's TV slate.

Writing with the Stars: Ghost writers will partner with barely literate celebrities and construct a chapter from a forthcoming tell-all memoir. In the judging round, writers will read from each chapter. Winning entries will have the most outrageous content couched in the most literate prose. Only the celebrity will get credit for the win.

Top Scribe: Every week an unnamed publisher will provide a setting, two characters, a catch phrase, and a genre. Each writer-contestant will construct a proposal for a bankable bestseller that employs all elements. The winning proposal gets film rights. This week's challenge: In 24 hours, write a Hugo Award-winning book that includes the Korean War, one actuary, one librarian, and the phrase, "This one time, at band camp…?" Use of a thesaurus or Redbull will result in disqualification.

The Amazing Travelogue: Travel around the world to the secret destination provided in the itinerary that arrives at 12:01 in your email. You must use the method of travel specified (sedan chair, log raft, camel, coach-and-four). Once you have arrived at your destination you have $20 less than the going rate to secure accommodations at a clean and safe motel within walking distance of hot spots. You will have $10 less than the average meal with which to dine like a gourmet. You must find five no-cost/low-cost AND romantic activities to do. Frequent flyer points if one of the activities is family-friendly. Write up your experiences in 25 words or less and email back to editor by 5 pm the next day.

Flip this Manuscript: Submit your Great American Novel to 50 publishers. Collect all 50 rejection slips. Paper your bathroom walls with rejection slips. Bonus points for mosaics. Sell house.

Real World Author: Set alarm for 7 am. Punch until 8:30 am. Get up, pour coffee, turn on computer screen. Reread yesterday's efforts. Wonder why you didn't take mom's advice and become a history teacher. Drink more coffee. Reevaluate yesterday's efforts. Smugly realize that you are glad you didn't take mom's advice. Bang out three sparkling sentences that do not need editing. Get stuck. Stare at computer screen for 45 minutes. Clean bathroom. Stare at computer screen. Do laundry. Stare at computer screen. Mow lawn. Stare at computer screen. Kids come home from school. Find inspiration and write frantically until 2 am. Write. Read. Repeat. Get dropped from publisher next season for low Nielsen ratings.

I am so going to Hollywood.

A New Life With Old Demons

2007-08-14T23:48:00.000-05:00

Gail Giles is known for taking on serious, almost controversial subjects, in her popular young adult novels. A loathsome student becomes the most popular kid before he is killed by classmates. When a daughter, thought to be dead, returns to her shattered family, her sister is skeptical. A Goth girl takes an inordinate interest in a quiet student with drastic results. The most popular girl in school is buried alive as revenge for the death of another student.

Giles has perfected the art of young adult heart-stopping page-turners. She does it again in her newest title, Right Behind You. Kip has just committed a horrible act. He flung gasoline and a lit match on seven-year-old Bobby Clarke. Bobby has died from his burns and Kip has been sequestered in a hospital. Kip is nine years old.

Flash forward almost five years. Wade has just moved to Indiana. He is trying to fit in at his new high school but his anger gets in the way. When Wade is angry he forgets he has a secret that he is longing to reveal. But to tell it means life is over for Wade and his family. So Wade fights to hide--from his friends, his family and himself. Wade is about to lose the fight.

Readers who have enjoyed this character-oriented story told in realistic dialogue and vivid action should turn next to Chris Crutcher.

This book was discussed on The Walt Bodine Show 's Book Doctors program August 13, 2007. KCUR 89.3

The Bodacious Bodine

2007-08-13T18:32:00.001-05:00

I was graciously invited back to KCUR's Walt Bodine Show for the Book Doctors segment today. Listen here or click on Book Doctors and see which books I talked about today. And sorry the webcam wasn't working.

I was the eggiest head in the room for mentioning the new Poet Laureate, Charles Simic, and admitting to reading a collection of his poems, and then I was the most controversial as I promoted a book about a boy who murders another child. That's me, all over your reading spectrum like Fantastik on the kitchen counter.

Is all well?

2007-08-12T23:26:00.001-05:00

The two sources I trust the most have finally weighed in on the Harry Potter phenomenon.

On the front page of the Book Review, The New York Times printed a review that revealed no major spoilers (although if you're not aware of the ending by now, it's time to sublet that granite subterranean flat you've been living in). Reviewer Christopher Hitchens takes a few high brow swipes at the series as a whole and the final volume in particular, but I expected nothing less.

The most anticipated analysis came from my Uncle Stevie over at the Bible of Popular Culture, commonly known as Entertainment Weekly. Stephen King has been the most loyal reader and defender of Harry Potter , J.K. Rowling and their combined exploits. He is also one of the most astute commentators on the state of today's popular culture.

I'm still mulling over Hitchens' piece and his perceptive parallels drawn between Orwell, Dickens, Kipling and Conan Doyle and Rowling. Your thoughts?

How I Spent My Working Vacation

2007-08-11T21:42:00.000-05:00

He Reads, She reads

Readers' advisory experts David Wright and Kaite Mediatore Stover went live with their popular Booklist column and discussed the question, "Are there such things as guy reading and girl reading?" The answer was an entertaining, "Yes!" Guys like to read about "blowing things up," Wright said, and Stover added that girls are finally getting into graphic novels.

Biblio-Radio

2007-08-10T15:25:00.000-05:00

I'm not doing anything crucial on Monday, August 13 at 10 am. So when Hayley the Radio Comet calls me up and says, "Hey, get down here and share reading wisdom on Book Doctors!" I'm game.

Catch me at aforesaid date and time: The Walt Bodine Show or click here.

If you scroll down and look on the left, you'll see the webcam feature. I promise not to take off my shoes this time.

World Domination Through Reading

2007-08-09T22:21:00.003-05:00

Di Herald's kick-ass readalike on Kick Ass Heroines reminded me of why I wanted to play striker for Manchester United and use a meter maid for goal practice this morning. I wasn't parked more than ten minutes! It wasn't even 8 a.m.! And she saw me coming to move my car!

But the more I think about it, the more I realized I'm not really in the mood to mess up someone's day. I'm in the mood to mess with someone's world. Which probably explains my recent fascination with insomnia-inducing, adrenaline-riddled, conspiracy theorist novels.

Derek Armstrong's The Game had me up all night trying to figure out who was killing all the contestants locked in a remote haunted mansion serving as the latest setting for a trendy reality television show. Enter the world's most gleefully abhorrent detective, equipped with misanthropic ripostes, claustrophobia and a pill-popping habit. Anyone who loathes reality television will wish that Top Chef had their very own Detective Alban Bane wielding a knife in the kitchen.

I turned next to Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff. This futuristic conspiracy-twisted thriller takes off like a rocket. Jane works for "Bad Monkeys" a division of "The Organization" that takes directives from the "Cost Benefits" division. Their mission? Take out those humans who are deemed a drain on society while alive and less so when, well, terminated. Unfortunately, an untimely termination leads to Jane's arrest, and she is now telling her wildly unbelievable, but oh-so-realistic, tale to a prison shrink as she calmly acknowledges that, yes, she killed a man, but no, he probably didn't "need" it, not like the other bad monkeys.

Of course, if you really have time to kill between the hours of 1 a.m. and 5 a.m., then you need Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis. Think Da Vinci Code on hallucinogens with a strong dose of Advanced Placement American History and you will be traveling the underground railroad of the "secondary" Constitution with Mike McGill and punky academic Trix.

These books won't soothe the insomnia or the agita. But they will make you glad you stayed up for it and you'll be ready to kick more than your caffeine in morning.

Unmasked

2007-08-08T01:34:00.000-05:00

I think we've been outed.

Pierre Bayard has blatantly stated what we librarians only whisper to each other in dark corners of conferences, confess in encrypted emails to our closest pals, grudgingly admit over the fourth or fifth bookardi and cola at Librarian's Anonymous meetings.

We haven't read everything.

In his soon-to-be published treatise, How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read, Bayard not only condones not reading everything (and logically points out the impossibility of this endeavor), he encourages the practice.

"Being culturally literate means being able to get your bearings quickly in a
book, which does not require reading the book in its entirety--quite the
opposite, in fact. One might even argue that the greater your abilities in this
area, the less it will be necessary to read any book in particular."

In the first section of his book, Bayard is not dismissing reading altogether, merely pointing out that choosing what to read also means choosing what not to read. These are choices readers must make with every book plucked off a shelf. For Readers' Advisors, who are already well aware of all the choices available, this is an agonizing truth. The proficiency of a Readers' Advisor lies in the ability to glean as much as possible from as many books as possible, place them in cultural context, and maintain perspective regarding the relationship of one book to another. In this way "anyone who truly cares about books...masters all of them at once."

Interesting theories to chew on.

No Reservations for a Blog for Two

2007-08-07T10:07:00.001-05:00

Scootch OVER, Frank! I want a turn.

Frank, you amaze me. I cannot fathom how you are able to keep up with all the breaking news in the book biz. And provide pithy commentary. You get my brain buzzing about reading and writing. Now I have something to mull over in staff meetings. I appear to be paying attention to the agenda but secretly I'm pondering what will Hollywood do next to torture that poor Jane Austen?

You go great with morning coffee. I'm more of an afternoon candy break kind of blogger. That's the time for biblio-silliness such as this, Judge a Book by Its Cover blog. Which prompted howls of laughter as my coworkers and I all counted the hands on a romance cover's heroine. Giggles and snorts soon gave way to an insightful discussion of book covers, what they are trying to tell readers, what they tell librarians, and why doesn't Harlan Coben just earflick the person who designs his covers?

And then there are covers that induce the universal statement, "Hmmmmm?" Such as this one, The Psychic Sasquatch, which set off all the readers' advisors in my department on a spirited debate over genre-blending. You might need a cup of coffee and two pieces of Ghiradelli dark for this one.

Lauding the Laureate

2007-08-05T23:41:00.004-05:00

whooooffft. Puh-puh-puh. Is this thing on? Can you HEAR{screeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeee} me?

Oh. Sorry, folks. {brightly} Hi, welcome to the first Sunday evening poetry reading sponsored by Likely Stories, with virtual victuals provided by the good folks at Booklist.

This week, the literary world is all aflutter over Charles Simic, the latest poet to earn a star in the biblio-cosmos otherwise known as the Library of Congress's Poet Laureate of the United States. We've all been hearing about two of his most famous volumes of poetry, Walking the Black Cat, a finalist for the National Book Award, and The World Doesn't End: Prose and Poems, his Pulitzer Prize winning collection. But we haven't heard much about one of his earlier, more experimental, volumes, White.

Just like the Fab Four, Simic has his own curious "album of art." White is full of Simic's sharp, vivid imagery and as an added bonus, readers can see his mind on parade in wildly creative Picasso-esque pencil illustrations for most poems.

Knives, clouds, moonrocks, virgins, Norwegian polar explorers, snow, brides, stars, handkerchiefs, teeth. All manner of white objects are present for your pondering pleasure.

To paraphrase America's bard, "Rock these words as you would an injured bird."

Guest Blogging

2007-08-04T22:00:00.000-05:00

As Mary K. likes to put it, "Have mouth, will speak." In this case, it's "Have space, will blog."

The Likely Stories blog over at Booklist Online is my temporary haven for the next week or two. I've been charged with coming up with witty, insightful and prescient observations on all things biblio for the space while the regular blogger is off in the wilds of Montana, from where, I have no doubt, Graphite will come back with yet another sensational idea for his next book.

As soon as he's plucked his two adorable younguns from the fish pond, whipped his head around frantically wondering where the nearest Dunkin' Donuts is, and convinced himself he has NOT missed his Argyle-patterned bus stop, he'll boot up the nearest computer to see what sort of havoc has been wreaked on his blogeny.

Send your twisted ideas, snarky comments, and pithier-than-thou observations to me. Graphite doesn't need the agita.

Goodbye, cruel world

2007-08-02T13:08:00.000-05:00

I'm about to become extinct.

"Scientists Question Whether Rare Reds Are Headed For Extinction" by Robin L. Flanigan Rochester (N.Y.) Democrat and Chronicle

"If predictions by the Oxford Hair Foundation come to pass, the number of natural redheads everywhere will continue to dwindle until there are none left by the year 2100.

The reason, according to scientists at the independent institute in England, which studies all sorts of hair problems, is that just 4 percent of the world's population carries the red-hair gene. The gene is recessive and therefore diluted when carriers produce children with people who have the dominant brown-hair gene.

Dr. John Gray's often publicized explanation of his foundation's findings: "The way things are going, red hair will either be extremely rare or extinct by the end of the century."

The gene responsible for red hair - known as the melanocortin 1 receptor, or MC1R - was only discovered in the late 1990s. People have a good chance of being born with red hair if they have a mutation of that gene.

Red hair is found in all ethnic backgrounds but is most commonly associated with people of Celtic descent.

Go see the Go-Go

2007-07-26T23:50:00.002-05:00

Tonight I got my Fringe on early. I went to the Just Off Broadway Theater to catch True Confessions of a Go-Go Girl. It's a Eubank Production. I have never known those folks to be afraid to do anything on a stage and this play is no exception. While the Eubank family are known for their alternative indie musical stagings, Go-Go is a straight drama, with comic and naughty bits sprinkled in. There's no intermission and the play is barely an hour, it zips right by.

Solid performances and staging. Great physical work from the actors in a play that seriously looks at feminism and a facet of the sex industry.

Once you get your ticket, have a seat. Director Steve Eubank is paying tongue-in-cheek homage to a sappy soapy play called Vanities by placing some of his actors on stage to get into costume and makeup while the house is seated. Nice touch there, Steve. I loathed Vanities. It was insipid, whereas your drama is thoughtful, comic, and heartfelt.

Ginny Weasley and the Library Potter Party

2007-07-21T15:00:00.001-05:00

I can't remember when I had more fun at a Library event. Or more fun, period. Last night (this morning), my Library held its Harry Potter Extravanganza. We turned one of our Branch libraries into Hogwarts. We had a Potions Class, Herbology, Wizard Chess, O.W.L and N.E.W.T testing, Divination, History of Magic, and Magical Creatures.

Hermione (Elizabeth) ran the Potions class with able assistance from Madame Rosmerta. The kids (and some adults!) made sandy candy and bouncy balls from cornstarch and other kitchen chemicals I couldn't name. Herbology had students planting seeds into pots and taking the pots home. Professor McGonagall (Helma) proctored the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T testing with a knowing eye. Divination included a visiting instructor, Madame DuBuvoir (Joanne), who conducted palm readings. Kids were still lined up to have their palms read at 1 am. Professor Trelawney (Nancy) donned her flowing robes and scarves and stared dreamily and threateningly into silver, blue, pink and clear glass balls. Professor Trelawney's hot babe of a husband was a walking Master Zoltar fortune-telling box.

Right next to the REAL OWLS from the Park Service (three beautiful and serene birds, one all white!) Professor Binns (Ron) conducted a review of History of Magic for his eager students.

Some students didn't make it to class. Ginny, for one. She spent most of her time with Professsor "Mad-Eye" Moody (Jamie), looking for deserving Gryffindors to give golden tickets (good for one free book) or avoiding Professor Snape (Angie), who was wont to take points from Gryffindor whenever he caught Ginny out of class or running in the halls. Which was all the time.

Hagrid (Rich) towered over everyone and was a great sport about everything, especially ultra-high kicks that made stilettos look like ballet flats. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley (Dorothy and Mitch, the best sports who work for our Library) primly greeted all students at the library doors. Our own Colin Creavey recorded the entire night's festivities with gusto, even if he was working a mad cold. He said he'd post the pics soon. Ron Weasley finally showed up. Late. Ginny let him have it for that.

But the Library staffer who earned the biggest rounds of applause was Dumbledore. He patrolled the halls with beneficence and a wary eye for all students and teachers in his Dumbledore robes and fooled everyone!

Of course, like most teachers and students, we all needed a butterbeer at the end of the school week. Dumbledore, Trelawney, Hagrid, Snape, Hermione, Ginny, Colin, Moody and Rosmerta headed into Hogsmeade, which bore uncanny resemblance to Westport, in search of libations. Ginny stupefied numerous revelers who hooted about Harry Potter. Moody gave great glares and we marveled at the collective IQ of Westport inhabitants to resemble a very bad Quidditch score.

What the hell...?!

2007-07-16T21:08:00.000-05:00

Kind of country do I live in when I can't get a baseball game on the telly at 9 pm!?!?!? I ask you!!!

Brainy Babes and Cool Guybrarians

2007-07-08T07:49:00.001-05:00

It's official. The whole world knows what we've all known for years. That librarians are cool, hep and techno-savvy. The New York Times' Librarian article in today's paper profiles a young hipster social networking group in New York called the Desk Set.

FYI all you locals: Kansas City has one, too! We call ourselves LA (Librarians' Anonymous).

The best part of the article? It name-checks an ALA session that Daphne and I attended and that was organized by a good friend who is a young, hipster librarian scholar/academic. Smartica reports there were 300 people, SRO and SitRO, in her presentation space. It was an excellent session and the KCPL Young Friends of the Library were featured prominently.

A Year in the Death

2007-07-05T09:42:00.001-05:00

Chris Crutcher remains one of my favorite authors of all time. His books are beloved by teens across the nation and astute adult readers looking for a story full of emotion, action, wit and intelligence will never be disappointed in a Crutcher novel. His quartet, Running Loose, Stotan, The Crazy Horse Electric Game, and Chinese Handcuffs, are Crutcher at the top of his game.

Every book since then has been great, but none have achieved the completeness of story, mastery of character ,and depth of emotion and realism as his first four novels. Which is not to criticize. All Chris Crutcher novels are worth the time taken to read them. Even a Crutcher novel not as good as the top four is still better than most of the books out there.

Deadline is good, not great, Crutcher, but still better than the majority of teen novels put to paper. Ben gets a disturbing medical report just before his senior year starts. He has been diagnosed with a rare blood disease that is too difficult to treat and he has less than a year to live.

Armed with this knowledge, Ben, a 120lb whippet-thin cross country runner turns out for the football team and steps up his efforts to date the elusive and athletic Dallas Suzuki. When Ben isn't cramming every drop of life in his quickly shortening one, he is searching for all the education he can get--these methods include tormenting his right-wing conservative civics teacher, consoling the town drunk (harboring a dark secret of his own), and trading therapeutic quips with his psychologist.

How does Ben manage to accomplish all this during his treatment for cancer? He doesn't. Take treatment, that is. Ben, a legal adult at 18, has exercised his doctor-patient privilege and refuses to tell his family, friends and teachers about his condition.

The conversational style will immediately hook readers. All the teens in Crutcher's books are articulate and inquisitive. Sometimes everyone, teachers and teens alike, are a bit glib, but the rat-a-tat style will get anyone past those snarky moments. There aren't too many authors, teen or adult, that write like Crutcher, but Gail Giles' most recent book, Right Behind You, has the same high octane pacing and conversation.

Rules for the Day

2007-07-02T15:34:00.001-05:00

1. Do not kick elevators that take too long to arrive.

2. Do not say "SHIT" (outloud) when the safe won't open.

3. Do not get pissed when the umpteenth repairman comes to the desk looking for a broken photocopier that could be on any one of nine floors.

4. There's no need to call Uncle Enzio just because people can't work. Even if Uncle Enzio needs a job.

5. Just because a staff member has lost their temper and is crying and sputtering is no reason to think about having a drink after work.

6. You may NOT slap a patron who is insisting he surf the Innerwebs even though the system is down.

7. Staring beatifically (and vacantly) at people who are pitching fits is the best revenge.

Lost Boys of the Jungle Guns

2007-06-28T23:21:00.000-05:00

On the way to a talent show for students, Ishmael Beah, his brother and four other friends find themselves separated from their families forever as war breaks out in Sierra Leone. For the next four years Ishmael travels the jungles of his country, carrying an AK-47 and suffering migraines and jangled nerves from the marijuana and cocaine he ingests instead of food. He has become an emotionless killer, a tiny robot soldier with no memory of childhood, A Long Way Gone from the life had known. A UN team negotiates his release, along with a few others, from the guerrilla army he has called "family" and tries to rehabilitate Ishmael. But the violence of he past four years is too ingrained and Ishmael and his comrades fight with other boys who have been "discharged" from their armies. After a painful drug withdrawal process, Ishmael begins to experience all those emotions and activities that kept him tied to his world. But just as Ishmael is about to join a family and begin again to live with people who love him, the war finds Ishmael again and he must take drastic measures to avoid the harsh and violent life he has escaped and seek out a new life in another country. Readers may be shocked at the level of brutal violence present in Ishmael's story. Yet the author tells his harrowing tale unapologetically and simply. Readers who wish to read further on this subject may enjoy God Grew Tired of Us by John Bul Dau and Measuring Time by Helon Habila.

Puzzle Masters

2007-06-18T22:59:00.000-05:00

Cancel all weekend plans and lock all the windows. The Game is about to begin. Derek Armstrong's debut takes off with double rocket boosters and launches a new high octane publisher onto the radar.
Former FBI Investigator Alban Bane is at San Quentin to witness the execution of the serial killer he has hunted across many years and states. Even though some parents of victims blame Bane for not acting quickly enough to take down the murderer, Bane is satisfied with the outcome and final result of his quest. Upon his lethal injection deathbed, the killer whispers the clue to a decade old murder which infuriates Bane. At the same time, across the country another series of grisly murders is unfolding on the set of a popular reality television show--all the killings bear the trademarks of the now executed murderer. As Bane delves deeper into these new murders with old memories, he starts to wonder if these are crimes of rebellion and ratings or revenge and humiliation.
There are many subplots and backstory which all come together at the end. The misanthropic Scotsman, Bane, is fascinating and gleefully abhorrent in his misanthropy. Reality television is dangerous business in fiction, as fans of 24/7 by Jim Brown will attest. This first novel is as fast-paced as that one.

Youth and Consequences

2007-06-17T22:15:00.000-05:00

After a tragic gun accident in his home, Teddy's life at home and school changes dramatically. He gains a new group of friends, the American Youth, who miscontrue the fatal incident. Teddy struggles to follow his mother's well intentioned orders when discussing the facts with the local police, and carefully observes the changes in former friends following the disastrous event. The book's treatment of a touchy issue that is too frequently handled in a preachy way is respectful and intelligent. There are no conclusions drawn for the readers, the author expects the reader to reach his or her own conclusions. Phil LaMarche's stripped down prose style will encourage teen readers' imaginations to fill in the gaps. Readers of Jodi Picoult's Nineteen Minutes who would like to try a denser literary style should turn to this slim, yet compelling, novel.

Funny like a Crutch

2007-06-16T13:08:00.000-05:00

From the moment young Sarah Thyre gives a fake name to a security guard in a shopping mall while he announces her name ove the loudspeaker to the time she sweet talks a dentist into giving her braces her father will pay for, Sarah's attempts at a better life are not just fraught with peril, but humiliation and laughter. Dark at the Roots is her memoir of a life in pursuit of doing better and getting out. None of the incidents are extraordinary, but they are recognizable for their ordinariness and made unique by Sarah's quirky worldview. Follow the formative years of an alum of "Strangers With Candy" and "Upright Citizen's Brigade." Readers who are looking for their next funny, irreverant and witty read after A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel or works by David Sedaris can continue to tickle their funnybone with Thyre.

Where Are They Now?

2007-06-15T11:03:00.000-05:00

A blonde woman drives away from the scene of a hit and run accident. When she is stopped by a police officer, she is disoriented and panicked. In a daze, she gives the officer her name and he is startled. The disheveled woman claims to be one of a pair of girls who mysteriously went missing from the area almost thirty years ago in a sensational and unsolved kidnapping. Laura Lippman explores standalone territory again with her latest suspense novel, What the Dead Know.
After providing a false name, the woman continues to be adamant about her true identity. She refuses to help the police confirm her story and is reluctant to share her whereabouts for the many years she was gone. The skeptical detective reaches back into the police force's own past to tap a retired colleague who may have made an error in judgment while working on the case. The only proof the detective can muster is to find the woman's mother, who has also been missing since her daughters' disappearance. Suspenseful with a twist ending that astute readers will see coming long before it arrives.

Vision Question

2007-06-14T22:25:00.000-05:00

Mike May isn't stubborn, righteous or a superman. He's just curious. When he is presented with the opportunity to regain the vision he'd lost since he was three, he had to think about how much more different his life would be with vision than without it. Mike had never let a lack of vision keep hi from doing anything he wanted to do, from riding a bike to serving as a school crossing guard, to playing guitar, soccer, tricks on his sister or skiing in the Olympics. Nothing had ever stopped Mike from exploring his world. In Crashing Through, Mike's amazing story told by Robert Kurson, the decision to opt for the surgery to restore his sight wasn't about regaining something lost. It was no different from any other decision he'd ever made about his life. He wanted to try something new and exciting and continue to explore his world in any unique way available to him. Adventures in the sighted world are just as exhilarating as adventures in the blind one, and Mike is making the most of every minute. Mike's determination, resilience and humor will charm readers. His brash, foolhardy, yet fun, experiences are engaging and exuberantly told from an author who takes his omniscience seriously. The scenes describing Mike's first encounters with sight in over 40 years are sheer brilliance.

Leg of Wood, Heart of Steel

2007-06-13T21:18:00.000-05:00

Every surgery, every pain and every hurdle involving Emily Rapp's degenerating bone disease is chronicled in a heartfelt and inspiring memoir. The Poster Child lost her foot when she was four and the rest of her leg when she was nine. By the time she was ten, Emily was the Midwestern spokeskid for the March of Dimes project and spoke enthusiastically at church suppers, rodeos and county fairs about how "normal" she was. Emily has always been aware of how she didn't quite meet the standards of normal, but her indefatigable memoir shows readers a person who had no other choice but to be extraordinary since normal wasn't an option. Readers who enjoyed Born on a Blue Day by Daniel Tammet will be pleased with the lack of sentimentality and the brutal honesty of this life story. They will also appreciate Emily's very human emotions of frustration and anger with herself and her prosthesis.

From the Dough Boys

2007-06-12T20:36:00.000-05:00

From a little known piece of American history, Michael Lowenthal has crafted a heartbreaking, yet inspiring story of love betrayed and courage discovered. Frieda is just another working Jewish girl in New York City during World War I. She is a bundle wrapper at Jordan march in ladies' undergarments and very happy with her job and her life. She and her Friend, Lou visit the weekly dances with soldiers and are popular dance partners. One evening Frieda meets a handsome young dough boy and impulsively spends the evening with him. Weeks later she is visited by a stern woman who accuses Frieda of giving the soldier a venereal disease. Frieda is sent to a medical institution where she is quarantined with other "fallen women" who has passed diseases onto soldiers. She is a Charity Girl, accused of unpatriotic behavior and must be rehabilitated before being let out into society again. The fellow inmates and one sympathetic social worker are the only support system Frieda has as she faces numerous indignities in the detention center. Fans of One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus will appreciate the same strong central female character and the straightforward tone. This little known historical period and the brutally unfair treatment of teenage girls will pique interest among readers of American historical fiction. Readers will also rally around Frieda and her feisty, but not anachronistic, attitude toward the medical sciences and her own future. Very readable and entertaining. Characters are like able and believable; plot is swift; enough historic detail to create a strong sense of time, place and social tone, but not too much to slow down the story. A satisfactory ending should please all readers.

College Follies

2007-06-11T18:43:00.000-05:00

I never did get the concept of the college visit. Why spend a weekend in the spring at a campus that won't bare any resemble to the place you matriculate three months later in the fall? To my thinking, it was enough I wasted a perfectly good Saturday morning taking the SATs and the ACT. Susan Coll might be of the same mind. In Acceptance, three overachieving high school students are applying for college--AP Harry (taker of more Advanced Placement courses than anyone in the senior class) is only interested in Ivy League school and only Harvard at that; Taylor wants her social climbing and overly competitive mother to leave her alone while Taylor pilfers mail from her surrounding neighbors; Maya wishes she could live up to the mile-high standards her family has created and wonders why no one has yet realized she isn't as smart as the rest of her siblings. During the school year, each student will face frustration, disappointment and new insights into themselves as they plot a future they think they want and all inadvertently choose the future they truly need. Teens will appreciate the subject matter of this novel as they go through their own college application processes. They will also identify (some of them) with the stress of selecting a college and the fierce competition that goes into getting into the "best" colleges. They may also find the portion of the story told from the viewpoint of the college admissions counselor eye-opening as she reveals what colleges truly look for in an essay. A fun, breezy read with intriguing insights into the college admissions gauntlet.
This book was discussed on The Walt Bodine Show 's Book Doctors program May 17, 2007. KCUR 89.3

Welcome to the Condemned Monkey House

2007-06-10T21:08:00.000-05:00

Books about animals make me wary. I won't watch/read/listen to anything in which an animal suffers unnecessarily. I'm not fond of those stories where it's necessary, either. Although I recall not minding much when Cujo bit the dust.
I approached Babylon's Ark: The Incredible Wartime Rescue of the Baghdad Zoo with much trepidation. I knew I'd be reading about horrific wartime conditions of the exotic animals trapped in the zoo in the midst of shelling, bombs and looting. I also knew there would be plenty of moments of redemption and salvation. There are equal parts of both in Lawrence Anthony's memoir of his harrowing journey to war-torn Baghdad in order to save and protect the world renowned zoo. Anthony discovers his own survival is in jeopardy as well as that of the animals he attempts to save. With help from steadfast American soldiers and loyal, ingenious Iraqi zookeepers, Anthony begins to create a livable habitat for the animals left behind when the city was evacuated. Each day is fraught with new and life-threatening challenges that Anthony meets with righteous indignation and canny problem-solving skills. Heartfelt, but never treacly, readers who are animal lovers will shed tears; readers who are not will find their souls stirred with the injustice doled out to defenseless creatures. Readers who enjoyed other unusual humanitarian missions such as those recounted in Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace...One School at a Time by Greg Mortenson or Pride of Baghdad by Brian K. Vaughn, will be intrigued by the animals' stories.

Amituofo

2007-06-09T22:46:00.000-05:00

Matthew Polly had always kept a running list in his head of Things That Are Wrong with Matthew: “Cowardly,” “Spiritually Confused,” “Still a boy/not a man,” “Ignorant.” In 1992, he decided to tackle the list by going to China to train in ancient martial arts and meditation with the monks of the hidden Shaolin Temple. Ten years later, Polly weaves the story of his journey to enlightenment with iron forearms in American Shaolin. With a better than average command of the Chinese language and customs for a laowai, Polly makes his way to the Temple and starts to catalog his unusual adventures and encounters with the Chinese people—chatty cab drivers; giggly hotel key girls; avaricious Temple officials; and coaches who scream for perfection and then . It all culminates in an international kungfu competition and a challenge match with a kungfu master. Polly’s pace is as fast as a whip kick to the head and his descriptions of the amazing skills of his teachers and class mates are jaw dropping. In a friendly, deferential and sometimes smart ass tone, Polly invites the reader along on his astounding journey to check off the items on his list, only to check off the most important entry upon his return to Kansas. Fans of the pacing and story line of Friday Night Lights will enjoy American Shaolin.

Man behind the Vision

2007-06-08T23:54:00.000-05:00

This one goes out to Bruce who let me wax pathetic over a Renoir and a Degas at the Nelson-Atkins Gallery tonight.
Susan Vreeland has made a splash with her historical fiction novels revolving around masterpieces of the art world. She and Tracy Chevalier have almost created a cottage industry. The latest entry in the "story behind the painting" subgenre of literary historical fiction is Luncheon of the Boating Party. In prose as thoughtful as every one of Renoir's brush strokes, Vreeland imagines the lives behind each figure in the artist's most famous work. From conception to completion, readers learn who all the models are, how they came together, their significance to Renoir and how they form a tight bond that cannot last outside the painting's frame. Full of exquisite detail and descriptions, readers will be flipping back to carefully study the small replica of the painting that accompanies the book. Up until the last third, readers will wonder who is the beguiling woman holding the dog in the lower left corner of the painting? All of the painting's figures are real people the author brings to life on the canvas, even the mysterious quatorzieme is identified. Very suitable for a book group or readers who enjoyed Girl with a Pearl Earring.

Lies We Tell to Make Ourselves Feel Better

2007-06-07T19:14:00.000-05:00

In James Scudamore's novel, Anti and Fabian are unlikely friends in Quito, Ecuador who share a love for outlandish yarn-spinning and yearn to "discover" something remarkable. While they will talk about everything, one subject goes unmentioned, the deaths of Fabian's parents. One night, after too much tequila, Fabian tells the story of his parents' demise. Anti, sympathetic, yet disbelieving, crafts a false newspaper story to demonstrate his support for Fabian and the fictions that help him get through this tragedy. However, Fabian reads the clipping and also notes the bogus story next to it, one for an Amnesia Clinic serving victims of accidents or kidnappings with no memories of who they are. Fabian is certain his mother, whose body was never recovered, is staying in the Amnesia Clinic. The boys set off on a journey that will reveal more about their friendship and future than either can imagine. The compelling story, natural and likeable characters and realistic portrayals of adults are the highlights of this novel. Scudamore has captured well the sense of wonder and familiarity the boys experience with their shared world and each other. Readers have compared this book to Life of Pi by Yann Martel.

Capturing Light or Capturing Sin?

2007-06-06T20:48:00.000-05:00

One of the most lyrical debuts of 2005 was Miranda Beverly-Whittemore's The Effects of Light. The realistic and sympathetic characters and the compelling, suspenseful story line will draw readers in while they ponder the author's thoughtful exploration of the classic social question, "What is Art and who gets to decide?"
Thirteen years after she fled the West Coast, Kate Scott is returning to hesitantly pry open painful memories of her sister and her father. A mysterious package from an unknown benefactor shows Kate that someone else knows her turbulent secret history as a child-model for a controversial photographer. Her lover, Samuel, follows Kate and pledges to help her unearth the clues her father has left behind, but when Kate discovers Scott's notebook with surreptitious jottings about herself and her family's notorious past, she rejects him. Readers will be drawn into the mystery surrounding Kate's sister, her father, and Ruth, the photographer, even wondering who Kate truly is. This first novel drew parallels with The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold for the narrative voices of its teen characters, Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier for its art-world frame and Possession by A.S. Byatt for its plot of academics searching ancient documents for contemporary truths.

High School Heartbeat

2007-06-05T19:33:00.000-05:00

Jodi Picoult is another of my favorite authors. Her stories intrigue me. She explores the very real emotions behind the hot button issues that confound our society and there are rarely any winners, losers, heros or villains. There are only real people, with a steadfast sense of self, values and what is right. By the end of most of her novels, the reader cannot choose a side and Picoult doesn't want the reader to take sides. She wants her readers to think and discuss and consider the other person's position.
Nineteen Minutes, Picoult's most recent novel, has an obvious villain who commits an unforgiveable crime, however, it will be a hard-hearted reader who doesn't sympathize a little with this character by the end of the story.
Pete Houghton has just walked into his high school and killed ten clasmates with a handgun and injured nineteen others. One survivor, Josie, was the only person to face down Peter and walk away. But why? Why did Peter shoot the students? Why did Josie live? This is a harrowing tale about the secret lives of high school students and how they can't trust the adults in their lives--even the those adults who love them the most and have sworn to protect them.
Readers who enjoyed Chris Bohjalian's Before You Know Kindness or Cafe of Stars by Jacquelyn Mitchard may also enjoy this novel.

Valedorktorian

2007-06-04T21:20:00.000-05:00

I couldn't wait to share I Love You, Beth Cooper. I laughed everywhere I read this book. On the bus, at home, in the coffee shop, at my desk when I should have been working. Larry Doyle has captured perfectly what it is like to be a brilliant 98 lb weakling among boneheaded 175 lb defensive ends.
The alternate title to this book could be "One Life-Changing Night in the Life of Denis Cooverman." It all starts at graduation. Debate geek/brainiac valedictorian Denis finally says everything he's pent up for four years--he accuses classmates of anorexia, snobbishness, meaningless violence due to low self-esteem and outs his best friend, Rich. Denis saves the best for first and professes his love for Beth Cooper from his academic pulpit. This admission sets in motion the most memorable night in Denis' short life. The girl of his dreams drops in at his house for an impromptu graduation party and then, along with her two best friends, takes Denis and Rich on a wild ride through every teenage degradation, delight and debauchery ever depicted on the silver screen. The humor is spot on and quotes from characters in classic teen movies open every chapter. Fans of Frank Portman's King Dork, last year's hot adult book for teens will enjoy this latest comic effort. Less flip than King Dork and a little less believable, I Love You, Beth Cooper is laugh out loud funny and realistic in its growth of Denis from fearful wimp to fed up hero. Of a sort.

Playing Our Songs

2007-06-03T08:23:00.001-05:00

Rock journalist Rob Sheffield was completely happy with his life as an up and coming writer for Rolling Stone and his wife, a witty, punky, Appalachian girl, Renee. On Mother’s Day, after only six years of married life, Renee stood up from her sewing machine and suffered a fatal aneurysm. Love Is A Mix Tape is Rob’s heartfelt story of his life before, during and after Renee, told through the music and mix tapes the two of them made for each other and listened to with joy and appreciation for each other's tastes. The author uses music to trigger overlooked details and emotional background for the important events in his life. Full of pop culture, musical references and witty repartee between author and reader. Teens will appreciate Rob’s great affection for his wife and music of all genres. But after the author's tone, the writing isn't really compelling enough to support the story. Less a memoir and more a personal writing exercise in grief counseling from one of the commentators on VH1's Best Week Ever.

Wrestle-zania!

2007-06-02T12:24:00.000-05:00

The third time was NOT the charm for Jay and Dan in Four Days to Glory: Wrestling with the Soul of the American Heartland by Mark Kreidler. Both of them are three-time Iowa State Champions in wrestling and while this is no small feat, it is not enough to raise either boy from the ranks of the "merely good" to "excellent." For that distinction they will need to become "four timers" and join an elite group of Iowa wrestlers who achieve mortality on a social and athletic par with that of Olympian gods. In addition to struggling with the pressure to exceed in the ring and the classroom, both student athletes face added pressures. Jay is an exceptional wrestler who feeds off his criticism from Internet fans and local sports journalists. Dan is a legacy--his own father was a wrestling champion. Dan's brother, Chris, is entering the sport in Dan's shadow but without Dan's talent. Jay is virtually ignored in his school and town for his prowess and Dan is pointed out as his rural town's one chance for notice on a regional scale. The author does an adequate job of bringing both boys, their families, friends, school mates and other community figures to life, but rarely, and without much interest, examines their lives in other arenas besides the gym. Otherwise the writing is very accessible and flows easily. The suspense is marginal for a story told with a straight reportage tone rather than a breathless narrative one. Not as memorable as Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger, but fans of that book will find something to like in this one.

La Bruja Buena de Agua Mansa

2007-06-01T22:40:00.000-05:00

A lyrical first novel reminiscent of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic, Still Water Saints is a great first effort from Alex Espinoza. In the small border town of Agua Mansa, Perla runs her botanica full of herbs, remedies, saint cards, charms and candles. The townspeople come to her for healing--hearts, heads, spirits, bodies. Along with the special potions and incenses and tributes to various saints, Perla provides hope and encouragement to her visitors. When a frightened and homeless boy, Rodrigo, comes to Perla for English lessons, she writes out the story of her life for him. His disappearance challenges Perla to examine her own doubts and losses in her life even as she seeks to heal Rodrigo's physical and emotional wounds. Fans of Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel or Gonzalez & Daughter Trucking Co. by Maria Ampara Escandon will be equally charmed by these hopeful characters. Don't expect a tidy resolution. Life hasn't ever delivered one of these in reality and Espinoza's fiction depicts life, not fantasy.
This book was discussed on The Walt Bodine Show 's Book Doctors program May 17, 2007. KCUR 89.3

Ramp up the Vamp Factor

2007-05-31T20:52:00.002-05:00

I've been reading my butt off and been a selfish brat by not sharing. Here's my latest "shoveitinthefaceofeveryoneiknow" books, The Society of S by Susan Hubbard. It's the latest in vampire fiction. If you are going to ALA, you've been forewarned. Les, this means you.

Ariella knows there is something different about her, her father and her lifestyle, but it’s not until she meets her best friend Kathleen that she begins to question her differences. Her father slowly unravels the truth of Ari’s birth and the mystery of her mother’s disappearance at Ari’s birth.

Ari's new found knowledge of her heritage leads to a tragic event that has Ari doubting her father. She steals in the middle of the night and leaves a note that only reads "south." Along the way, Ari begins to understand her heritage and how it may impact those around her, for good and for bad. The journey to find her mother will bring up more questions about Ariella and what her future will bring than she can answer. An unexpected phone call from her best friend's brother has Ariella demanding, and receiving, the truth about her family and their heritage.

The voice of the narrator and the storyline will keep adult and teen readers captivated as the plot unfolds at a leisurely, yet utterly compelling, pace. Lyrical writing reminiscent of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic.

Schlock the Vote: WSMD?

2007-05-30T18:38:00.002-05:00

It's been a crappy day.

My cold isn't completely gone. I snapped at a friend via email (who likely needed it 'cuz she's always snapping at me). Got to work in time to give everyone breaks THEN go on the desk myself. Received a phone call to come home ASAP and wait for AC guy. Received another phone call that Security guy would be here when I got home. Snapped at a staff member who can't seem to master the concept of timesheets and lunch. Snapped at a staff member who conveniently forgot where the keys go (she only uses the damn things every bloody morning). Had to cancel two meetings (hmmm. probably not a bad thing). Caught bus early (which is not necessarily a good thing since it came TOO early and I was lucky enough to be there today but wasn't yesterday so I called the busdriver a dick today for being early yesterday and making me miss it and stand out in the pouring rain. grrr). Get home to find Security guy leaving. I wasn't needed at home immediately after all. So now I am missing a meeting with the Ambassador from Mali to the U.S. BIGflippin GRRRRRRRR.....

So. Now you get to vote: What Should Marian Do?

1. Get drunk and read books for Alex Awards?

2. Get drunk and do housework?

3. Get drunk and play on the internets all afternoon?

4. Get drunk and phone friends to come over and catch up?

5. Get drunk and catch up on episodes of Lost?

6. Get drunk.

7. Stay sober and do any of the above?

Polls close at midnight tonight. Every vote counts so vote early, and often! Just like the dead do in Chicago.

Tempest in Pacific Northwest

2007-05-29T08:45:00.002-05:00

I admit to being a big fan of Miranda Beverly-Whittemore's after her first novel The Effects of Light. I told everyone I knew about that book after I reviewed it for Booklist. I'm happy to say she didn't disappoint me with her sophomore effort, Set Me Free, and I'm eagerly awaiting the third.

Loosely using Shakespeare's The Tempest as a frame, this story is about the journey of one man to another and one daughter to another. Elliot, an educated, well-meaning Easterner with a mysterious past, moves to a desolate Indian reservation in the Pacific Northwest to open a school. His best friend and worst enemy is Cal Fleecing, a native Neige Courant, who is hiding his own past.

Elliott summons his ex-wife, Helen, a renowned Broadway theater director to stage a production of The Tempest in hopes of securing joint support from a wealthy day school in Portland, Oregeon upon approval of the tribal elders. Amelia, Elliott's daughter, has just returned from the white children's boarding school with a terrible secret about her departure. Everyone is hiding something from their pasts--ancient and recent. A tragic fire flushes out the truth for all as they gather to help a fatally injured member of their family.

All the subplots are woven well together and dovetail nicely in the midst of a surprising and logical ending. Characters are fully realized; pace is a combination of leisurely and swift. The literary references to other works are a particular delight to me and will be to those who are widely read, particularly in the classics.

On the radio

2007-05-27T09:40:00.006-05:00

Recently I was invited to fill in for a regular guest on KCUR's Walt Bodine Show as one of the Book Doctors. I've been trying to get on this show for years and a good friend at the library where I work did some of his PR magic and found me a spot (shout out to HF). I was only able to do two shows. I thought I was okay the first time, but did very well the second time. Listen for yourselves.

On the March 12 show I talked up Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill; Relative Danger by Charles Benoit; and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo.

On the May 17 show I waxed poetic about Tallgrass by Sandra Dallas (one of my favorite authors); Acceptance by Susan Coll; Still Water Saints by Alex Espinoza (a first novel with lyrical writing) and commented on a caller's recent read, Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult (another favorite).

Listen. Read. Send comments. Either to me or the authors. We love feedback.

Shook THAT off

2007-05-26T10:32:00.000-05:00

Ah, it feels better to lose the gravity boots, heavy eyeliner, superhero cape, and beehive hairdo and go back to being Marian(super)Librarian, instead of Zelda Pinwheel (very bitchy alter-ego trotted out for sales people and nasty maitre d's), Ab Ovu Usque Ad Mala (Sapphic Amazonian babe who likes to taunt MySpacers), and the Goddess of Snark (the weekend smartass).

It's better when you're unprepared

2007-05-17T22:26:00.000-05:00

Since I goofed off last night and attended TWO meetings before 9 am today, I was wholly unprepared for my stint on the Walt Bodine Show's Book Doctors segment.

Whenever I feel I'm not ready for something I decide to wing it, and usually do better than if I'd prepared. But you be the judge.

Bad dress rehersal

2007-05-15T22:53:00.002-05:00

So today is the day that I've been dreading for the last month. The first program in a series called Eclectic Eats that I planned and organized with my buddy, Paul, who is a logistical genius and a worrier nonpareil. I don't bother worrying anymore. Paul is doing enough for the both of us to last the next two years.

And the day starts off with a wallop. It's raining like a mutha. Clem goes tearing downstairs to see if the basement is leaking. Again. My cat pees on my newly acquired vintage cardigan sweater AND the clothes I was going to wear to work. I miss my bus. I forget to do my makeup. I forget to apply my de-frizz. I forget that I only have my beat-up babyish maryjanes in my desk at work and I can't wear those with bare legs which means I have to put on the spare pair of stockings I keep in my desk and the elastic is shot and where the hell am I supposed to put my underwear since I can't wear it now?! (Male people from work may not read that last line). I stuff it in my left Chuck Taylor.

I have a plethora of email to read since I didn't make it into work yesterday (hit a deer on my way back from Emporia. Do. Not. Ask.) When I do read it I learn that poor Paul is going into battle, yet AGAIN, with everyone under the sun about the room set up.

The sound guy is being "artistic" which demands a whole new set up. We spend the afternoon having multiple meetings about the set up, the food, the sound, the video, the centerpieces, and the promotional materials for the Young Friends of the Library. I discover my color printer isn't working and I can't make the copies I need. I forgot to arrange for centerpieces and cobble something together at the last minute. The soundnvideo guy is late and a bit of a squirrel. A nice squirrel, but a squirrel all the same.

I finally give up and go with it, deciding that the event is going to happen no matter what. Paul insists on wearing out his shoe leather by wearing a small trench in the floor. I tug on my stockings and we both wonder where the speaker-chefs are and at that moment, my phone vibrates. Which dislodges my stockings. This is getting embarrassing. And now it's show time.

When we open the doors, we have ten people in a room set up for 120. One of our speakers is late and my microphone won't work. Our CEO shows up and Paul and I start to get nervous that we are about to bomb; the flop sweat breaks out. The music isn't on and we can't find the CDs.

And then, everything comes together. The last speaker shows up in a crowd of about 90 other people. The music is playing under the crowd buzz. My microphone gets juiced, I make a joke about sound checks, and Paul's boss grins at me from the back of the room. I'm doing it right.

Paul gives me a thumbs up and a "you rock" wink and I'm off to the races introducing the speakers, handing off the mike, moving through the crowd and greeting the attendees. All I can think about is getting to the back of the room and getting my own drink.

Paul's boss follows me outside and tells me, "We're done. This is perfect. The CEO is thrilled. We can have anything we want in the morning. You two have done excellent work. Post mortem on Thursday. Be there."

And all Paul and I want is a place to sit and breathe and clink glasses. We'll think about the great performance tomorrow.

Performance Evaluation

2007-05-02T00:54:00.001-05:00

I must not be the suk. Friends and family are glad I do what I do for a living. An old high school buddy has taken one of my latest favorite books with him on vacation. He's threatened to kick my ass AND the ass of the author's famous dad if he doesn't like it, but I know he will.

My mom, who listens when I tell her why she likes the books she does, discovered one of my favorite authors and is hooked. She couldn't wait for this author's latest book to come off hold, so she's reading something else and can't believe what she's been missing.

Two friends from my newest book group sat around with me in my library's cafe this weekend and jabbered about all things biblio. Victoria and I talked Crista into trying Barbara Kingsolver, Crista talked Victoria into an Australian debut novel and Victoria reminded me why I should go back and give The Club Dumas a spin. Both of them are glad to have found this new gabfest and we're going to be a tight group, I can tell.

When the work day has been cruddy, I just have to talk about reading with some friends, family, heck, strangers even. And it's all good all over again. I am lucky.

Why I love David

2007-04-28T07:33:00.001-05:00

Sure, I have a wholelottalurv for Kurt. I can say "And so it goes" in Japanese, thanks to him and a college pal.

But my heart is missing David Halberstam. Intelligent, witty, insightful author of SPORTS books. He was a journalist in the best sense--interested in EVERYTHING and he could make you read ANYTHING. But I will miss reading the book he was working on about the 1958 game between the NY Giants and the Baltimore Colts...

What a loss to the writing community.

I am so proud

2007-04-11T22:02:00.001-05:00

My brother, Matt, the 39 year old Army recruit, was interviewed by FoxNews today. Go here and see why we're all proud of him. He's the best:

http://foxnews.com

Type Coming of Age in the search box and choose Video, not story

Glass Hearts in Glass Houses

2007-04-08T16:17:00.000-05:00

In her trademark ethereal prose, Alice Hoffman presents the story of a family who are slaves to love and don't know how to escape the bonds. In her latest magic-tinged novel, Skylight Confessions, methodical John falls inexplicably in love with dreamy Arlyn. The two are such polar opposites that they emotionally struggle against each other more than they come together. Their son, Sam, is scarred by the deasth of his mother and bewildered by her torrid affair with a local window washer that produces his adored younger sister, Blanca. Sam fights a losing battle with his father, his stepmkother and drugs due to grief over his mother's death, while Blanca spends her childhood playing peacemaker. Only their nanny, Meredith, can soothe Sam's tumultuous spirit and comfort Blanca. All are haunted by the ghost of Arlyn who manifests herself in mourning doves, unexpected showers of ashes and broken dishes. This family of emotional misfits must look to Sam's son, Will, to patch up the crevices of their souls.

While I'm a diehard fan of Hoffman's writing style, I felt this story was rushed and unfinished. Story threads were left dangling and theree was no character or story development involving the grandson, Will. Blanca is also left with parts of her life unresolved. Readers may feel unsated by the novel's finale.

Y-Front Photo Shoot

2007-04-08T01:49:00.002-05:00

So. Now you know what happens on a film set. Here's what happens at an underwear photo shoot.

The room is toasty warm. All the radiators are on full blast and there are girls and women walking around in the designer undies and t-shirts. We're in the bedroom trying on the designs and waiting while the designer makes her descisions about who is wearing what. We're in the kitchen munching on the fruit and veggies the designer so graciously provided. We're on the screened porch, flashing passersby and having a smoke. We're in the front room, bopping along with Robert Moore on the radio. No one is bitching about hating their boobs, or being fat, or needing a nose job. With this crowd, we're all trying to come up with dirty jokes about the emblems on our "couture cooch covers."

The photographer is the only guy in the room. He can't stop grinning at all of us and telling us we look great. But he means it. He's not being patronizing. The first shot he wants is a group shot.

All the girls line up in a row before the windows. Chins up, boobs out, "don't look at the camera!" (we will hear that phrase a hundred times today). I am standing in between Venus and Sheila and Venus wraps an arm around me. Sheila wears one of her patented looks and reaches around to pinch my ass. I pinch her back and then everyone is laughing and playing grab ass and the camera clix away.

Then we yell "designer shot" and Twitt gets in the middle. We all look adoringly at her until she claps her hands and says, "Okay people, back to work!" By work, Twitt means, sit on the floor and wait until you are called to pose in your skivs in an artful manner inspired by your colored t-shirt, underwear design and whatever wacky prop we can find. Twitt opens a couple bottles of wine and Nutty, Venus and I imbibe, Sheila breaks out her unfiltered apple juice and we all take swigs of that with the wine. Not bad.

While the photographer is shooting, we're all yelling out suggestions (some are taken seriously, some ignored); stretching; passing the wine and cookies; admiring each other's undie designs and making plans for that evening--Roller Derby, Brick, or Owen/Cox Dance Group? We debate the merits of girls beating up girls, guys shredding guitars, and ultrahipjazzballet. No one talks about being too fat to be a model or how self conscious they feel in their knickers. Instead, we bitch about our tennies and how worn out everyone's Chucks are.

Finally, we are a headline kickline below the belt:

What they DON'T teach you in underwear model school

2007-04-07T17:39:00.000-05:00

Ya gotta SHAVE! EVERYWHERE!

Deets on the shoot later. Off to dinner, roller derby, dance performance, The Brick.

Marky Mark and Me

2007-04-06T10:19:00.000-05:00

Now I am an underwear model. I think I am doing this backwards. Aren't emerging showbiz types supposed to pose in campy adds in scanty lingerie and THEN do nude scenes in movies?!?! Apparently I am not following the prescribed HWood formula for success....

Twittering Machine needs "real" women to model the very kewl underwear she has designed. I will blog about that tomorrow evening after the photo shoot. All the rock wives are getting together to help her promote her "wears". Then we are going to the Plaza and do our "Little Dutch Girl" impersonations for the hoi polloi. Heh.

I will post pics if they give them to us. You won't able to see our faces, but I will be the one in orange.

Go Scare Yourself

2007-03-26T21:39:00.001-06:00

Horror just gave birth to terror.

Joe Hill's debut novel, Heart-Shaped Box, is so hip and so frightening that you can expect to see some scaredy copy cats next year.

Aging metal rock god, Jude Coyne, is enjoying his semi-retirement on his reclusive farm with his beloved dogs, current groupie girlfriend, Georgia, and a creepy hobby, collecting objects des macabres. In his collection Jude owns a used hangman's noose, a signed confession from a witch, and a cannibal cookbook. Now Jude is about to add a ghost to his collection. The spectre resides in an old-fashioned Sunday suit and he's on a revenge mission.

Hill employs a tone that is gleefully morbid and drives a plot that plunges and flies like a rollercoaster trying to dump all of its shrieking passengers. Sprinkled liberally with snarky humor and ghoulish jokes, teens will get a kick out of this novel that pays homage to Stephen King.

This book was discussed on The Walt Bodine Show 's Book Doctors program March 12, 2007. 2007. KCUR 89.3

Movie Set: Take 1

2007-03-25T12:10:00.002-06:00

Well, THAT was interesting.

My friend Jim asked me to be in a short film he is directing/producing/editing/acting, etc. Apparently the only quality I had to possess was red hair and a colorful bra. Julia Roberts better watch out!

Filming began at 8 am this morning. Which means I got up at 6, showered, made enough coffee to see me through til lunch and hunted around for a book. When I get to the set, I sign a release allowing my image to be used, blahblahblah.

The whole filming process was a combination of fascination, tedium and patience. The other two women on the set know exactly what is supposed to happen. I don't, and this is my first visit to the set, so I receive special explanations. First, I am told that even though I have agreed to film in my colorfuol bra, the creative process is still developing and the director thinks maybe a series of shots of the scene WITHOUT the bra would work in the film. I think, "This is how self-respecting actresses get caught naked. Last minute changes." But I trust this guy and he says there won't be anything risque' and I believe him.

The director then explains how the day's shooting will go and shows us all the set. SS is watching the monitor and contolling the camera. The director and LL will be in the first scene. I am to watch how the scene is set up so I will know what to do for MY scene. After observing the first five minutes I know all I need for my part.

After that, I got two words for filming a movie. Bo. Ring. Well, the process is boring, but I wasn't bored.

I shuffle to the back of the set and munch on some fruit and nuts that were left for the crew (there's only four of us). I read my book. I crunch on an apple. 45 minutes goes by. The director is done with the first scene and now we have to watch what he calls "dailies." This is both dull AND funny. It's dull because we're watching the same scene over and over. It's funny because we all know what was going on while the scene was being shot. LL's stomach was growling. Her hand began to get sore from holding the book. Then the director pops the headphones off and scans the set. "We're going to have to reshoot the first scene. There was too much noise in the background." Apparently, growling stomachs and apple munching sounds carry MUCH better than anyone expected.

The director and the first actor set up the shot again and I return to my chair at the back of the set. I throw away my apple core, pick up my book and only turn pages when I can hear the director giving directions.

I don't really have anyone to talk to. And I don't know anyone besides the director anyway. The other actor is nice, but I don't have anything to say to her after the idle pleasantries. I wonder briefly if this is what it's like for bigname actors. They can't ALL know each other. It must be kinda awkward. I thought so, anyway. If anyone asked me about LL I could tell you how big her boobs are and the rhythm of her heartbeat and how curly her hair is. I'd say she was friendly, but I don't know her well enough to say anything else. And we were almost naked!

Finally we're ready for my scene with LL. She and I take off our shirts and get in position and I let the director arrange my hair. I giggle to myself as I realize that our hair, mine and LL's, are the starring feature in this scene. The director says, "Added bonus! You have a tattoo. Let's get that in the shot."

So. What do you think about while you're filming a scene? Here's what went through my mind: Don't breathe too loudly. I can hear LL's stomach gurgling. I can hear LL's heartbeat. Ba-bump-bump. Ba-bump-bump. Time to move my head to the center. I think I have to pee. My toes are cold. My arms are uncomfortable. My neck is getting a little stiff. Time to move my head to the right. The director rearranges my hair again. I start to drift off. Oh, we're done?

Now we watch dailies again. Boring. I watch for a minute and am utterly unimpressed with my image. So I go to the bathroom and get another handful of nuts. LL and I are walking around the set in our underwear. We know we'll just have to do this again and there's no point in getting dressed and neither of us brought cover ups. But we don't need them. The set is very warm. We do the entire scene again, all the angles. On the very last angle, the moment we're done, the director says, "That's the shot." As LL and I get up from the bed and pull on our tops and I fish around for my glasses, the director cues up these latest takes. At the very last take, he and SS tap the monitor screen and say, "That's the one. Look at the hair and the contrast." The director turns to LL and me, smiles and says, "We're done. Thanks for your patience and cooperation." It's taken two hours to get the necessary ten seconds of film the director needed.

I'm informed that I have two more scenes to do and the director will call when he's ready to schedule them. But in those scenes, I get more costume than just a bra.

I learned quite a bit about the creative process and how it bloody changes from moment to moment. Because most of my responses during the course of the shoot were, "Whatever you want" and "It's okay with me" and "Yeah, I can do that" I've been deemed "flexible" and "easy to work with" and "likely to work again."

Now, THERE'S a talent. Shrugging and saying, "fine" whenever someone asks you something.

Read this

2007-03-22T07:31:00.000-06:00

No, not ME!!!

M.Toast! She was in the Kansas City Star this morning for The Hivemind

http://m-toast.livejournal.com/

Go. Shoo. Read in good humor.

#19 in the Transit Epiphany Series

2007-03-17T21:40:00.001-06:00

I'm on the Maxx and bored with reading. So I start watching my fellow passengers. No one is doing ANYTHING interesting.

Then this grizzled old guy limps onto the bus wearing a hunter's cap and using a cane. He's wearing grubby, ripped pants and he won't sit down, choosing to lean against the steel bar up front so he can rasp at the driver. "Whadda ya mean, why do I go there? Why do people rob a bank? 'Cause that's where the money is. That's why I work the Plaza." He shakes his dirty Starbucks cup near the bus driver's ear. "That's where the money is."

I fish in my wallet for some change. I figured that story was worth it.

Sage wisdom from a wisegal

2007-03-15T00:32:00.001-06:00

My sister cracks me up. Here, calm down already.

Calmness in our lives
I am passing this on to you because it definitely works, and we could all use a little more calmness in our lives. By following simple advice heard on the Dr. Phil show, you too can find inner peace. Dr Phil proclaimed, "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started and have never finished."

So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a liter of Diet Pepsi, a bottle of Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Vodka, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac
prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of chocolates.

You have no idea how freaking good I feel! Please pass this on to those whom you think might be in need of inner peace.

Librarian takes to airwaves

2007-03-14T23:14:00.000-06:00

No, not ME! Mr.Nice Guy!

Listen: http://mrniceguy.org/

You'll laugh. This is a great podcast with some sparkling humor and witty commentary on some of the stupider stuff in our society today. Mr. Nice Guy is smart and fun.

Radio Daze

2007-03-12T05:28:00.001-06:00

I totally sukked. And if you want to hear it for yourself here's the link to the Walt Bodine Show's Book Doctor's segment.

http://archive.kcur.org/kcurViewDirect.asp?PlayListID=4842

I'll be back sharing bits of popular reading wisdom on May 17. That's me, defender of the lowest common reading denominator everywhere. Don't step on the cape made of NYTBR reviews.

Heartland on the Homefront

2007-03-05T08:26:00.001-06:00

Sandra Dallas is one of the best kept literary secrets in the Midwest. Her books cleverly disguise themselves as historical women's fiction but then pack a wallop at the end to jolt even the most jaded reader.

Dallas' strengths are her realistic and likeable characters, their unique observations about their sometimes ordinary and sometimes extreme situations, and her deft mixture of easy pacing with page-turning pockets of action.

One of my favorite books of all time is The Persian Pickle Club. It's a Midwest historical mystery and I defy anyone to know "whodunit" before the last page of the book (TomA says he figured it out and his theory works for me. But he's a literary genius, so he doesn't get to play in the same sandbox as all us lesser reader-mortals.:))

Dallas' latest novel, Tallgrass, is set in a time period she has not yet explored, but in a place she knows and loves well, wartime Eastern Colorado. Rennie Stroud is the youngest child in her family, living happily on her parents' sugar beet farm during World War II. Her brother has enlisted in the service; her sister has moved to Denver, and an internment camp for Japanese-American citizens has been constructed next to her father's farm. The townspeople are suspicious, frightened and prejudiced, but Rennie's father exhibits tolerance and wisdom beyond his years and the time period. Everyone is living warily, yet peacefully, until the violent murder of a young girl on another farm bordering the camp.

Fans of Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson will find something to enjoy in this novel.

This book was discussed on The Walt Bodine Show 's Book Doctors program May 17, 2007. KCUR 89.3

It doesn't get much better

2007-02-28T18:01:00.000-06:00

than leaving work early, sitting on the porch with a glass o' wine, the laptop, the rock wives, and 60 degree weather. And birthday. Just for extra.

Where the hell were YOU?! I'd like to know...

2007-02-26T01:49:00.002-06:00

I shouldn't tell you this, but you missed it and you have my sympathies. So I will provide a recap of the evening's festivities re: The Umpteenth Annual Celebrity Trash Fest otherwise known as the Oscars. This casual event was catered by the pod person, my husband, who made his signature turkey chili and if you've ever had a taste then you know why I got married.

Bartending was provided by Crafty who brought enough liquor to sink a Titanic of Irishers. We all did her proud sampling the Peach, Caramel Apple, Cinnamon Apple, Chocolate and Whatevertini.

Astute commentary and knowledgeable evaluation brought to you by Princess who was the only person in the room who saw ALL the Best Picture nominees and thinks Marian is a bad person to take gambling advice from. She would be correct.

Birthday cake supplied by the Gingerbread House of KR. It was chocolate with little green decorations. Yummers.

Seeing is Disbelieving

2007-02-16T08:50:00.001-06:00

I look forward to every Chris Bohjalian novel and The Double Bind was no exception, particularly since he referenced another favorite novel, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, so liberally in his own latest offering.

After a traumatic attack, Laurel buries herself in her work as a social worker for a homeless shelter. An elderly gentleman, Bobby, whom Laurel has helped assimilate back into society, dies and leaves behind a box of photographs.

As Laurel sorts the pictures for a retrospective of the man's work, she becomes obsessed with photos of his family home--The Buchanan estate, home of Daisy and Tom Buchanan of The Great Gatsby. Another photo also holds allure for Laurel--one of a blonde girl biking a remote path on a Vermont mountain. This photo brings terrifying reminders to Laurel of her own aattack and she starts unearthing the truth of Bobby's life before homelessness and mental illness and why he took a picture of Laurel moments before she was assaulted.

Fans of Dennis Lehane's Shutter Island will enjoy the psychological elements of this harrowing novel.

People who need (to vent to other) people

2007-02-11T15:29:00.001-06:00

You meet the strangest folks doing what I do. I just fielded a phone call from the nicest lady. She wants me to "stop paying my taxes and my credit card bills" because I "need to rebel" against "the godless Constitutionless government".

I had no idea the Constitution was being housed "in a basement somewhere" and that the mortgage to the U.S is held by the Queen of England. Apparently we are still considered "colonies" and crankypants Queen Bets is collecting rent from us living off the fat of the "land of the freeloaders" and the "home of Bravo's Project Runway."

She said she'd call next week.

Get OVER yourself!

2007-02-09T12:16:00.002-06:00

Okay, I know I'm not in a particularly charitable mood today. But enough already from JeneetheFABulouscolumnist at my local newspaper.

This woman couldn't write her way out of a paper bag, much less does she deserve to write ON a paper bag.

Past columns have covered the following topics: mail left at an old address; wearing sweats to a restaurant when all the other ladies are in hats; a car stuck on an icy patch in a parking lot--tears ensue "'cause Ah'm gonna diiiiieeeeeee! Aloooooonnnnnne!" (we can only friggin' hope, sweetheart), and this week's topical gem LIP GLOSS. 'nuff said. 'nuff read.

My friend Kay and I share snarky remarks about her wordsmithery whenever the local rag finds it has a giant hole to fill and rather than print "Wipe butt here" they run JeneetheFABulouscolumnist's insipid drivel.

Kay has come up with a list of ideas for you, cookie. In case you can't find anymore inspiration in your Mary Kay make-up kit or the refrigerator.

Future column possibilities:

*The bottom of JeneetheFABulouscolumnist's trash bag rips out en route to the dumpster. As she's picking up garbage, she breaks a nail and wonders about the meaning of it all.

*JeneetheFABulouscolumnist's dog gets worms. It's hard to feel fabulous when transporting fecal samples to the vet. And what does all that dog doo mean, exactly?

*The cold weather makes JeneetheFABulouscolumnist's hair gel stiff causing our intrepid gal to wonder, "How can you be FABulous if you can't use hair gel and what does it MEAN?"

*JeneetheFABulouscolumnist tries a new moisturizer and finds life is worth snoring through again, especially in newsprint.

*JeneetheFABulouscolumnist has a date but there's no time to exfoliate. Can anyone love a gal who looks ashy? What if he turns out to be "the one who gets away (FAR away)?"

*JeneetheFABulouscolumnist joins ODV and two UMKC chicks who use polysyllabic words beat the crap out of her. As she delicately dabs her radiant blackbluepurplegreenyellow yeux and swelling proboscis, she stares vacantly into the mirror and wonders, yet again, what does it all MEAN?

A Corner Cubicle in the Shirkplace

2007-02-04T18:48:00.001-06:00

For anyone who ever logged serious zombie time in a grey cubicle with cloth walls that wouldn't hold tacks and hard black plastic chairs for your gossipy colleagues to slide into, you will be amazed at how accurately Joshua Ferris captures the workplace demimonde in Then We Came to the End.

It's an insider's view of the social life of an office and its numerous staff at an unnamed advertising firm in Chicago. This quirky family by turns loves and loathes its members and even after the firm begins laying off employees, they all come together for one last reunion. They discover how close they were and how far apart they are now with no chance of regaining that intimacy again since it is only acquired in close proximity to each other and no amount of email, lunch or phone calls will keep them together.

The reader is an eavesdropper to the unnamed narrator who recounts Benny's wild adventures with an inherited totem pole; the catalog of Marcia's relentlessly-'80s hair dos; Jim's lame but earnest ad pitches; Joe's inflexible professionalism; office leader Lynn's breast cancer; and the breakdowns of not one, but three, laid off workers.

The conversational style appears to veer off into tangents but the author always brings himself back to the story at hand. It's a 375 page watercooler-coffeebreak-threemartinilunch of a novel. You'll have it read by quitting time.

Breakfast of champtions

2007-02-03T11:14:00.002-06:00

I am having chocolate layer cake for breakfast. You are jealous. Yes, you are. Hee.

My writing partner

2007-02-01T21:55:00.002-06:00

is the best. We're going to do a presentation at ALA in Washington together and he sent me his thumb drive so I could add my material. In addition to the drive he sent THREE Starbucks gift cards, a pulp fiction paperback and a really cool pad of liberryan paper.

He is the bestest dude ever. Go read how cool he is here: He Reads

And, yeah, he's hot. And he knows gourmet food, wine, books, runs triathlons and is one of the best writers I've ever read. Eatcher harts out.

BelleLettre

2007-01-30T15:29:00.000-06:00

Well, THAT was interesting. As part of a staff day activity, we were all asked to play Runescape and create a character. That's mine in title field there. Feel free to find me and get yourself some hit points or skill points or kill points or shrimp cooking points if you so desire.

I myself have not mastered the Art of Cooking Compu-Shrimp Over an Open Fire. I can make a mean Shrimp Creole over a gas stove, but those skills won't serve me well in a forest.

I keep walking through other people's fires. And while I marvel at the fact I'm not getting burned, I do think that's rather rude of me. The scenery is pretty, though. I think I'll just sit here and Examine This Butterfly until someone comes along and chops me down for firewood. Or until Angie finds me and makes me her friend. She's probably busy whipping up five course meals for all her armor-clad friends over three-tiered fires. They are hashing over the latest battle. They took out a gork with a fluglehorn and are contemplating whether to turn the hide into new boots for everyone or book covers.

Runescape. Interesting place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

2007-01-28T09:35:00.000-06:00

If you have not read American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang, the 2007 Michael L. Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature, you are missing something. This is the first graphic novel to win the award in its eight year history.

American Born Chinese is a deft combination of Chinese mythology and religious teachings and the struggles of two teenageers, one Chinese-American boy who is trying to navigate adolescence and his heritage in his bigoted high school, and another typical American teenager who is humiliated by a visit from his cousin, a gross stereotype drawn from American media's misconceptions of Chinese people.

The three major characters, The Monkey King, Jin and Danny, all face similar trials resulting in a similar lessong--learning to accept and like themselves.

Yang uses bright primary colors, strong lines and standard comic phrases (zip, pfft, krak) to advance his story's active portions. Most amusing is a scene of fisticuffs between two teens incorporating the names of all the most recognizable dishes on a Chinese take-out menu.

The pacing is speedy. Reading time shouldn't be more than an hour for even the slowest reader. The tone is fanciful and humorous. The outstanding feature of this book is the active artwork and the readers should know this book, which appeal to adults as well as teens, has a surprise ending that will have readers going back to the first page to begin rereading.

February is coming

2007-01-27T23:28:00.000-06:00

You know what that means. Birthday extravaganza galore!

I love February. It houses many of my favorite holidays. Superbowl Sunday, Valentine's Day, Mardi Gras, The Oscars, Presidents' Day. And my birthday, lest I forget.

Keep watching the calendar for birthday doin's. Cause you can't have too much!