Calling all Jane-iacs!

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.

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

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

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?

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

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!

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

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

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

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.