Last week I went without coffee. Technically, I didn't even have coffee the previous Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. I had coffee with my mom on Sunday because that is our standing date, but Starbucks is basically a dessert compared to my usual intake. I worked over 40 hours last week, and all of those hours were without coffee. And I am still alive. (As are my coworkers - no, it's ok, I understand why you had to ask.)
I kept notes on the highs and lows of last week… here are some of the more interesting moments:
Monday, 9.45a. None of my coworkers have spoken directly to me. I've made eye contact with three before they quickly look away. I must look dead inside.
10.36a. Not awake.
12.30p. Just realized I have been writing the date as 5.18 to this point. Not a big deal, but it's most definitely the 21st.
3.54p. So tired. Would give up today's pay for an hour long nap.
Editor's note: Napped from 630-930p. Bedtime was 1130p.
Tuesday, 7.01a. Overslept. Actually, didn't oversleep, just had no will to get up.
8.34a. Office coffee smells like heaven. Pretty sure my eyes aren't all the way open.
9.03a. Looked in mirror - my eyes are half closed.
Editor's note: napped from 7-9p. Bedtime was midnight.
Wednesday 6.35a. I think my coffee maker is angry with me, sitting there glaring with its hand on its hip.
8.14a. The air on the drive in smelled like coffee, but I feel good this morning.
11.02a. It's weird how normal I feel - normal meaning my usual coffee-saturated state.
Editor's note: NO NAP! Still going strong at 11p.
I didn't take notes Thursday because I felt incredibly normal. Friday was another good day. I caved and had two mugs of roasted almond coffee - heaven! But I didn't have coffee Saturday, had my weekly coffee date Sunday, but went without on Monday - a total of nine days sans coffee.
I'm not sure I'll try this again, but it's reassuring to know I can go without 8 cups of coffee a day and still act human. Eventually.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Chop the Locks
Except for a bad decision in 6th grade, I've always had hair at least to my shoulders. And rarely do I get my hair "done": I had a cut the summer of 2006 and donated 6" to charity; I had a salon trim the winter of 2009 and had bangs styled. Besides that, I let my hair do as it pleases; every six months or so, my mom trims off a couple inches while I sit on the back porch, and the birds carry away the wisps for their nests.
One of my goals is to donate 12" of hair to a charity: I picked Pantene Beautiful Lengths and waited patiently for my hair to grow. I admit I was ready to wait for a looooong time so my hair would still be long even after I cut off a foot of it. Then it started to get hot - Memphis hot. And my hair was clingy and in the way and I would struggle with it for ten minutes in the morning, trying to corral it into a bun that just wouldn't. stay. up. Doing anything to my hair for ten minutes is too much upkeep for me, so I knew it was time to say goodbye.
Saturday I arrived at the salon early and listened to women complain about the bad days they had as a result of waking up without time to do their hair and makeup. I never do my hair and makeup, and so I held tightly to the seat cushion to keep myself from running away to a place where I'd fit in, like a bar, or SportsClips.
My stylist rescued me and I told her I wanted 12" gone. She bound it into ponytails according to the donation requirements, asking "Are you sure you want to do this?" about a dozen times. I kept saying "Let's DO THIS!" until finally… she chopped them off.
That's a lie. She didn't chop them off, because I have thick hair. She sawed through half of one pigtail, then came at it from the other side until it was free. Then she started in on the other one. As this was happening, an older woman came and sat down in the vacant chair to my right. She swiveled around and watched my ponytails come off while eating a candy bar. Do you hear me? Lady was chomping on a Nutrageous, staring at me. I wanted to test my wingspan and see if I could send that candy bar flying out of her hand, but since I was clearly the minority in this salon, I knew I had to be on my best behavior.
Then the stylist washed my newly shorn hair. Is there any better feeling than having someone else wash your hair? I don't think so. We briefly discussed what I wanted done, and I reassured her that all I knew was I wanted bangs, and the rest was up to her.
"How about an inverted bob?" she suggested.
Umm, okay?
She snipped away, and then I realized - oh shit. Inverted bobs were those angular cuts some older women got to look "hip" for their preteen daughters. I was going to look like a soccer mom. I wanted to tell her to stop, to cut it straight, but then I realized I didn't really care. If I didn't like it, I could even it up (aka ruin it) on my own later. I've always had hair cut straight across, why not at least try something new?
She continued, oblivious to my ten second internal freak out, and I watched my look come together. She trimmed bangs and began blow drying my hair using a round brush and a hair dryer with what I swear was one of my vacuum cleaner attachments on it. Sure enough, at certain angles she'd pull my hair just so and I felt like Garth getting the suck cut:
Though the end result is, in my opinion, much better than Garth's:
As for those severed ponytails…they're ready to be shipped off and made into wigs for cancer patients!
One of my goals is to donate 12" of hair to a charity: I picked Pantene Beautiful Lengths and waited patiently for my hair to grow. I admit I was ready to wait for a looooong time so my hair would still be long even after I cut off a foot of it. Then it started to get hot - Memphis hot. And my hair was clingy and in the way and I would struggle with it for ten minutes in the morning, trying to corral it into a bun that just wouldn't. stay. up. Doing anything to my hair for ten minutes is too much upkeep for me, so I knew it was time to say goodbye.
Saturday I arrived at the salon early and listened to women complain about the bad days they had as a result of waking up without time to do their hair and makeup. I never do my hair and makeup, and so I held tightly to the seat cushion to keep myself from running away to a place where I'd fit in, like a bar, or SportsClips.
My stylist rescued me and I told her I wanted 12" gone. She bound it into ponytails according to the donation requirements, asking "Are you sure you want to do this?" about a dozen times. I kept saying "Let's DO THIS!" until finally… she chopped them off.
That's a lie. She didn't chop them off, because I have thick hair. She sawed through half of one pigtail, then came at it from the other side until it was free. Then she started in on the other one. As this was happening, an older woman came and sat down in the vacant chair to my right. She swiveled around and watched my ponytails come off while eating a candy bar. Do you hear me? Lady was chomping on a Nutrageous, staring at me. I wanted to test my wingspan and see if I could send that candy bar flying out of her hand, but since I was clearly the minority in this salon, I knew I had to be on my best behavior.
Then the stylist washed my newly shorn hair. Is there any better feeling than having someone else wash your hair? I don't think so. We briefly discussed what I wanted done, and I reassured her that all I knew was I wanted bangs, and the rest was up to her.
"How about an inverted bob?" she suggested.
Umm, okay?
She snipped away, and then I realized - oh shit. Inverted bobs were those angular cuts some older women got to look "hip" for their preteen daughters. I was going to look like a soccer mom. I wanted to tell her to stop, to cut it straight, but then I realized I didn't really care. If I didn't like it, I could even it up (aka ruin it) on my own later. I've always had hair cut straight across, why not at least try something new?
She continued, oblivious to my ten second internal freak out, and I watched my look come together. She trimmed bangs and began blow drying my hair using a round brush and a hair dryer with what I swear was one of my vacuum cleaner attachments on it. Sure enough, at certain angles she'd pull my hair just so and I felt like Garth getting the suck cut:
Though the end result is, in my opinion, much better than Garth's:
As for those severed ponytails…they're ready to be shipped off and made into wigs for cancer patients!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Surround Sound
I always have music playing when I'm at home. I love listening to vinyl on my Crosley record player - the one my parents gifted me waaaay back in high school, the one that has moved seventeen hundred times with me, never going into storage, always being displayed prominently. It spins CDs also, with a tape player on the side (and I still have tapes to play) and a radio tuner I never use because… radio.
That being said, I also have a big digital music collection, and many albums recently have been bought exclusively through iTunes. I usually burn CDs so I can listen to the songs through stereo speakers, instead of my weak lil laptop or desktop speakers. I know there are iPod hookups that are decent sound systems, double as a clock radio, etc, but was never really interested in owning one.
Until I was searching for a case to protect Big Mama from scratches, which was promptly forgotten when I happened upon the most kickass iPod accessory I have ever seen:
It's Crosley also, so the speakers sound fantastic.
And it lights up when you listen in the dark.
Oh Big Mama, I spoil you.
That being said, I also have a big digital music collection, and many albums recently have been bought exclusively through iTunes. I usually burn CDs so I can listen to the songs through stereo speakers, instead of my weak lil laptop or desktop speakers. I know there are iPod hookups that are decent sound systems, double as a clock radio, etc, but was never really interested in owning one.
Until I was searching for a case to protect Big Mama from scratches, which was promptly forgotten when I happened upon the most kickass iPod accessory I have ever seen:
It's Crosley also, so the speakers sound fantastic.
And it lights up when you listen in the dark.
Oh Big Mama, I spoil you.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Crayon Creativity
When I saw a craft my friend Laura had done, I knew I needed to make a crayon canvas.
I had an empty space high on my wall, so I bought a large canvas and a box of 120 crayons. I picked out colors to use and arranged them how I wanted - I'm a big fan of Roy G Biv, so that's what I went with.
I hot glued the crayons to the top edge of the canvas. I wanted the names to be showing instead of the Crayola logo, because some of these had great names: purple heart, outer space, wild blue yonder, screaming' green, inchworm, unmellow yellow, macaroni and cheese, razzamatazz, jazzberry jam.
I let the glue dry overnight just to be safe, then turned on the hair dryer the next morning to melt some wax. I had the windows open because it was a beautiful day and I figured the breeze would only help dry the colored drizzles. I didn't count on the hair dryer, on its highest level to produce some intense heat, blowing wax all around. You may think you pushed your furniture out of the way enough, but push it back some more.
Trust me.
Luckily I could scrape the dried wax off my dining room chair and hardwood floors,
and I had been worried this rug was too dark for my style, anyway…
I'm pretty fond of my finished product.
I wanted something to break up all the white space of my wall triangle, but not
something that required close inspection to appreciate - just a burst of color.
I had an empty space high on my wall, so I bought a large canvas and a box of 120 crayons. I picked out colors to use and arranged them how I wanted - I'm a big fan of Roy G Biv, so that's what I went with.
I hot glued the crayons to the top edge of the canvas. I wanted the names to be showing instead of the Crayola logo, because some of these had great names: purple heart, outer space, wild blue yonder, screaming' green, inchworm, unmellow yellow, macaroni and cheese, razzamatazz, jazzberry jam.
I let the glue dry overnight just to be safe, then turned on the hair dryer the next morning to melt some wax. I had the windows open because it was a beautiful day and I figured the breeze would only help dry the colored drizzles. I didn't count on the hair dryer, on its highest level to produce some intense heat, blowing wax all around. You may think you pushed your furniture out of the way enough, but push it back some more.
Trust me.
Luckily I could scrape the dried wax off my dining room chair and hardwood floors,
and I had been worried this rug was too dark for my style, anyway…
I'm pretty fond of my finished product.
I wanted something to break up all the white space of my wall triangle, but not
something that required close inspection to appreciate - just a burst of color.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Crap I Carry
I've seen a lot of bloggers do those "What's Inside My Purse?" posts, and it always makes me want to do my own. Preferably after I clean out my purse and make it look like it belongs to a grown-up. The other day, I reached in my bag for something and got my finger caught in a Chinese finger trap. That's when I resolved to go ahead and do a purse post because things were getting ridiculous.
1. The bag itself.
2. Gum. Always gum.
3. My old, scratched-up point and shoot camera.
4. Baggie of googly eyes.
5. Lone parachute man.
6. Instant coffee.
7. Chinese finger trap.
8. Big Mama.
9. Chapstick.
10. More Band-Aids than even accident-prone Allison should need.
11. Singular hair tie, though my hair is too long and thick to be held up with just one.
12. Notebook for my brilliant ideas.
13. Pens and Sharpie. There are more tucked away in my wallet.
14. Non-smart phone.
15. Reusable coffee cup sleeve.
16. Wallet. Contains ID, credit cards, cash, more pens, invisible ink pen, business cards, headphones, worn picture of a little boy on a Big Wheel, "fried egg" good luck charm from a voodoo shop in Nawlins.
17. Sunglasses.
After taking stock, it only makes sense that I clean out my purse and make it look like a grown woman carries it, right?
No. I just shoved everything back in.
And might have gotten my fingers caught in the trap while doing so.
1. The bag itself.
2. Gum. Always gum.
3. My old, scratched-up point and shoot camera.
4. Baggie of googly eyes.
5. Lone parachute man.
6. Instant coffee.
7. Chinese finger trap.
8. Big Mama.
9. Chapstick.
10. More Band-Aids than even accident-prone Allison should need.
11. Singular hair tie, though my hair is too long and thick to be held up with just one.
12. Notebook for my brilliant ideas.
13. Pens and Sharpie. There are more tucked away in my wallet.
14. Non-smart phone.
15. Reusable coffee cup sleeve.
16. Wallet. Contains ID, credit cards, cash, more pens, invisible ink pen, business cards, headphones, worn picture of a little boy on a Big Wheel, "fried egg" good luck charm from a voodoo shop in Nawlins.
17. Sunglasses.
After taking stock, it only makes sense that I clean out my purse and make it look like a grown woman carries it, right?
No. I just shoved everything back in.
And might have gotten my fingers caught in the trap while doing so.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Choose Your Own Adventure
You want more coffee. It's half an hour before your self-imposed caffeine cutoff. You walk into the breakroom, determined to piously fill your cup with water.
There is a pot of coffee on the burner. It's hot. It smells fresh. (Well, as fresh as office coffee can smell.)
You KNOW office coffee is horrible. It can contain good grounds and the finest Memphis water, but something goes awry during the brewing process and swill is produced.
Still. Coffee. Caffeine. Thirty minutes before you're strictly water.
If you
- fill your mug with office coffee and drink it before the caffeine cutoff: spend the rest of the morning angry that you drank that crap and chewed an entire pack of gum but your mouth STILL tastes like compost.
- fill your cup with lukewarm tap water and sip it slowly: spend the rest of the morning teetering between feeling virtuous and losing your train of thought every five minutes because your brain is still asleep.
There is a pot of coffee on the burner. It's hot. It smells fresh. (Well, as fresh as office coffee can smell.)
You KNOW office coffee is horrible. It can contain good grounds and the finest Memphis water, but something goes awry during the brewing process and swill is produced.
Still. Coffee. Caffeine. Thirty minutes before you're strictly water.
If you
- fill your mug with office coffee and drink it before the caffeine cutoff: spend the rest of the morning angry that you drank that crap and chewed an entire pack of gum but your mouth STILL tastes like compost.
- fill your cup with lukewarm tap water and sip it slowly: spend the rest of the morning teetering between feeling virtuous and losing your train of thought every five minutes because your brain is still asleep.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
The Good Father + Giveaway
I was contacted by Meryl L. Moss Media Relations to participate in a blog tour for Diane Chamberlain's upcoming release The Good Father. I'm hosting a guest post from the author herself, as well as a giveaway of the book!
How do you continue to find inspiration after writing so many novels?
If anything, writing so many novels has made it easier for me to find inspiration rather than harder, because I’ve learned to see it in the everyday. Inspiration is everywhere, but as with most things in life, it can take practice to recognize it. When it’s time for me to think about writing another book, I become a sponge. Everything I see and hear is fodder for a new story. I listen in on conversations in restaurants (sorry!). I go to museums and study the paintings of people, looking into their eyes to imagine what they’re thinking. I watch movies to help me hone my story-telling skills. And I pay attention to my dreams, which often offer fascinating dilemmas I can use to test my characters, even if those dreams are so scary I have to turn on the light and play computer Scrabble until I can clear my head!
One thing I tell new writers is that they need to live in order to write. It know how much it helps me to get outside of my writing cave and move among people. I pay attention to what they say and do. Sometimes I go to the airport and simply watch the reunions. Some are joyous occasions. Some are borne of tragedy. I imagine the stories of those people--and of people wherever I go. Not only does it feed my story-telling imagination, but it makes me feel more empathy for people in general, and that can’t hurt either in the creation of fully dimensional characters or in living my day to day life.
The Good Father was inspired by observing a young man and his little daughter in a coffee shop. If I hadn’t been there at the moment they walked inside, I would have missed this story I had the joy of writing. Tomorrow I might spot an old man in a restaurant or a teenager at a bus stop, just waiting to inspire me. All I have to do is pay attention.
My Review:
Sometimes I hate reading really good books, because they're harder to review. I just really enjoyed this book. After a month of struggling to finish a book, of revisiting books I practically know by heart, this book was exactly what I needed. It's over 300 pages, and I read it in three sittings - only because I had to take breaks to accomplish things in real life. I was drawn in from the beginning by the realistic characters Chamberlain introduces us to; there are a lot of names right from the start, and several different points of view throughout the novel, but the people are never difficult to tell apart.
I feel like I can't tell much about the plot without giving away the good parts; there is suspense and it's not overdone and is enough to keep you reading "just one more" chapter even when your eyes are closing with exhaustion. I'll keep it brief: first, you meet Travis, barely out of his teens, and his four-year-old daughter Bella. You get hints about the mother, then you're introduced to the mother. Then other key players come in and you're sucked into their lives and emotions. Everything culminates in a way I never could have imagined when I started the book, but seemed just right.
To win a free copy of The Good Father, leave a comment - including your email address.
The winner is... Kristin P.!
*Disclaimer: I received this book for free and was given the guest post and freebie for the giveaway, but the review is my own and is, as always, completely honest.
How do you continue to find inspiration after writing so many novels?
If anything, writing so many novels has made it easier for me to find inspiration rather than harder, because I’ve learned to see it in the everyday. Inspiration is everywhere, but as with most things in life, it can take practice to recognize it. When it’s time for me to think about writing another book, I become a sponge. Everything I see and hear is fodder for a new story. I listen in on conversations in restaurants (sorry!). I go to museums and study the paintings of people, looking into their eyes to imagine what they’re thinking. I watch movies to help me hone my story-telling skills. And I pay attention to my dreams, which often offer fascinating dilemmas I can use to test my characters, even if those dreams are so scary I have to turn on the light and play computer Scrabble until I can clear my head!
One thing I tell new writers is that they need to live in order to write. It know how much it helps me to get outside of my writing cave and move among people. I pay attention to what they say and do. Sometimes I go to the airport and simply watch the reunions. Some are joyous occasions. Some are borne of tragedy. I imagine the stories of those people--and of people wherever I go. Not only does it feed my story-telling imagination, but it makes me feel more empathy for people in general, and that can’t hurt either in the creation of fully dimensional characters or in living my day to day life.
The Good Father was inspired by observing a young man and his little daughter in a coffee shop. If I hadn’t been there at the moment they walked inside, I would have missed this story I had the joy of writing. Tomorrow I might spot an old man in a restaurant or a teenager at a bus stop, just waiting to inspire me. All I have to do is pay attention.
Sometimes I hate reading really good books, because they're harder to review. I just really enjoyed this book. After a month of struggling to finish a book, of revisiting books I practically know by heart, this book was exactly what I needed. It's over 300 pages, and I read it in three sittings - only because I had to take breaks to accomplish things in real life. I was drawn in from the beginning by the realistic characters Chamberlain introduces us to; there are a lot of names right from the start, and several different points of view throughout the novel, but the people are never difficult to tell apart.
I feel like I can't tell much about the plot without giving away the good parts; there is suspense and it's not overdone and is enough to keep you reading "just one more" chapter even when your eyes are closing with exhaustion. I'll keep it brief: first, you meet Travis, barely out of his teens, and his four-year-old daughter Bella. You get hints about the mother, then you're introduced to the mother. Then other key players come in and you're sucked into their lives and emotions. Everything culminates in a way I never could have imagined when I started the book, but seemed just right.
The winner is... Kristin P.!
*Disclaimer: I received this book for free and was given the guest post and freebie for the giveaway, but the review is my own and is, as always, completely honest.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Big Mama's Music
It seemed necessary to buy a new iPod the other day. An iPod classic. Is there anything wrong with my Nano? No. Except that I bought it as a graduation gift for myself three years ago, and it doesn't stay charged like it used to, often shutting down on my drive home from work. Lemme tell ya, it's a horrible commute to make in silence. But that's not the real reason I wanted to upgrade. No, the real reason is waaaaay more embarrassing…
It was a bitch to uncheck the vast majority of my music when I was limited to a 16gb Nano - such a first world problem, right? I'd buy an album and have to scroll through my entire library, unchecking old songs to make room for the new.
Of course I'd find myself at work when a certain song would remind me of another; I'd spin my little wheel to find it, but it's not there. The remainder of the day would be spent arguing with myself "Maybe you don't even have that song." "I DO! I remember buying the CD single in 8th grade." "You probably tossed it before iTunes even existed." Clearly, a bigger iPod was crucial to my mental health.
I'm not the type of person to upgrade just because something new comes along. (See: my six-year-old Nikon dSLR, my four-year-old point and shoot camera, my three year old iMac, my two-year-old non-smart phone, my nine-year-old car, my ten-year-old t-shirt, etc.) I've spent many sleepless nights beating myself up, wondering "Why didn't I buy the biggest iPod in the first place?"
I think it was because I wanted something small, cute, and purple. Which is what I got.
I'm not the type of person to fawn over new electronics when I get them, either. (See: not being obsessive over my new macbook, carelessly scraping paint off of my new point and shoot camera, accidentally dropping my new phone until it looks decades old.) But yesterday at work, my first full day with my new iPod, I was like a proud mother. I kept the device in my lap instead of on my desk. I swabbed it clean more times in two hours than I've done my glasses in the years I've worn them. I'm going through my CD cabinet, importing every disc to fill up Big Mama.
Oh, did I not introduce you? This is Big Mama.
Yes, it's true my named objects are usually boys (most well-known being my car, Adam "Toyota" Corolla), and, if I can swing it, they're named after mass murderers (my previous iPod, PaulPod - say it quickly). But as I opened the box containing my new treasure, I whispered "Come on, Big Mama." It made me laugh, and then it stuck.
As for the iPod's "tattoo": I debated getting the same quote as above etched on my new iPod, since it's one of my favorite scenes from my favorite Simpsons episode. Then I thought of how lame it would be to keep getting the same quote on things, regardless of how fitting it is and how much it makes me smile. So I bravely branched out:
(an incredibly appropriate and backhandedly witty line from a Butch Walker song)
It was a bitch to uncheck the vast majority of my music when I was limited to a 16gb Nano - such a first world problem, right? I'd buy an album and have to scroll through my entire library, unchecking old songs to make room for the new.
Of course I'd find myself at work when a certain song would remind me of another; I'd spin my little wheel to find it, but it's not there. The remainder of the day would be spent arguing with myself "Maybe you don't even have that song." "I DO! I remember buying the CD single in 8th grade." "You probably tossed it before iTunes even existed." Clearly, a bigger iPod was crucial to my mental health.
I'm not the type of person to upgrade just because something new comes along. (See: my six-year-old Nikon dSLR, my four-year-old point and shoot camera, my three year old iMac, my two-year-old non-smart phone, my nine-year-old car, my ten-year-old t-shirt, etc.) I've spent many sleepless nights beating myself up, wondering "Why didn't I buy the biggest iPod in the first place?"
I'm not the type of person to fawn over new electronics when I get them, either. (See: not being obsessive over my new macbook, carelessly scraping paint off of my new point and shoot camera, accidentally dropping my new phone until it looks decades old.) But yesterday at work, my first full day with my new iPod, I was like a proud mother. I kept the device in my lap instead of on my desk. I swabbed it clean more times in two hours than I've done my glasses in the years I've worn them. I'm going through my CD cabinet, importing every disc to fill up Big Mama.
Oh, did I not introduce you? This is Big Mama.
Yes, it's true my named objects are usually boys (most well-known being my car, Adam "Toyota" Corolla), and, if I can swing it, they're named after mass murderers (my previous iPod, PaulPod - say it quickly). But as I opened the box containing my new treasure, I whispered "Come on, Big Mama." It made me laugh, and then it stuck.
As for the iPod's "tattoo": I debated getting the same quote as above etched on my new iPod, since it's one of my favorite scenes from my favorite Simpsons episode. Then I thought of how lame it would be to keep getting the same quote on things, regardless of how fitting it is and how much it makes me smile. So I bravely branched out:
(an incredibly appropriate and backhandedly witty line from a Butch Walker song)
Friday, May 4, 2012
Sticker Giveaway from PrintRunner
DOESN'T want to see elephant butts everywhere??
one of my readers a custom set of 250 stickers.
Check out the website for details on PrintRunner.com's sticker printing services. Below are the specs for this particular giveaway:
Standard Rectangular Stickers
Quantity: 250
Dimensions: 2" x 3.5"
Color: Full Color or Black and White
The giveaway is open to US residents over 18 years old.
TO ENTER: What would you use these stickers for? Would you hand them out as an alternative to business cards? Would you use them as the sticky sister of magnetic poetry? Would you print them with cute drawings or inspirational phrases and plaster them all over your city?
The possibilities are endless, and the most creative suggestion will win!
Please include your email address in your comment.
Ends 5/11/12 at midnight CST.
*Thanks to PrintRunner.com for sponsoring this giveaway and offering me a set of stickers as compensation.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
April Reads
By Blood by Ellen Ullman. A fascinating premise about a professor exiled from his university temporarily renting an office next to a therapist. A certain patient prefers to not use the white noise machine, so the man is able to overhear her sessions. He becomes engrossed in the patient's story and even takes steps to get involved in her world. For a story that largely takes place with the narrator sitting silently at his desk, eavesdropping, there is some excellent suspense. Because of the structure - the story being told by a man who is listening to a patient tell the story to the therapist - and because there is a lot of Nazi history, some parts move slowly. The professor's exile and background are only hinted at, but conclusions can be drawn and it seems fitting to not know everything about him, since we never learn his (or the patient's) name. I had no clue what the ending would be like - it seemed difficult to be realistic and not-hokey - but it was very well-done and satisfying, despite not really offering resolution.
Ford County by John Grisham. My first Grisham experience. I was pleasantly surprised by how well-developed his characters were. He explored many interesting premises in this book, like a family dealing with a relative's execution on death row, a man leaving his life behind, an employee swindling the elderly even while making the nursing home a better place. Well-written and entertaining.
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume. An extreme re-read, of course of course! I can't even guesstimate how many times I've read this book. Even as an "adult" I still found it enjoyable. It's full of cute stories about a fourth grader coping with a younger brother. It's pretty silly but there are still some "life lessons" in there about not smoking dope and obeying your parents that I'm not sure I caught as a kid, but stuck out to me as obvious as an adult. Timeless.
Hilarity Ensues by Tucker Max. Either you love Tucker Max or you hate him. I loved his first book, I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell; I recommended it to everyone I knew with a sense of humor. His second installment, Assholes Finish First, wasn't as good. I still read it, I still laughed at it, I still enjoyed it overall. That book seemed more like he was bragging, even cockier than in his first book, and it was tiresome. As for book number three, the tamer title gives the right impression. Tucker is all grown up. His writing has really evolved, and while you still get the sense of someone telling you a story, they're well-written, though not necessarily literary. The stories focus more on wild times with his friends than how he treats women (though there's still a fair amount of that). The reader gets a real sense of Tucker - how he grew up, how he engages with friends and family now, how he's thankful for his success. Don't let these sound like bad qualities - the book still had me cracking up until I cried. But there were sentences that rang of truth, of feeling, of a real person behind the words. Believe it or not, Tucker never stops encouraging people to live the life they want, not what's expected, and it's actually inspirational.
Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. I've read this book before, I know I have, but I can't find a review I wrote about it anywhere. So I either didn't finish it or didn't review it. This time I remedied both.
Anne Lamott has a special way of writing that sounds like you're having a conversation with her… a really eloquent, thought-out conversation. She seems very approachable and realistic and doesn't make writing out to be something only the truly gifted can do. She talks about her struggles and her jealousy and her doubts and how being a published writer hasn't made her life a fairy tale, like many people might think. It was incredibly refreshing to read. It doesn't hurt that she's hilarious in a sly, dark way.
I read this book in two nights before bed, and with every page I wanted to jump up and start writing something, just to be putting words on the page. She's that good.
Some favorite quotes:
- "One of the gifts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to do things, to go places and explore. Another is that writing motivates you to look closely at life as it lurches by and tramps around."
- "Because for some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die."
- "Think of those times when you've read prose or poetry that is presented in such a way that you have a fleeting sense of being startled by beauty or insight, by a glimpse into someone's soul. All of a sudden everything seems to fit together or at least have some meaning for a moment."
Syrup by Maxx Barry. A re-read, several times over. I love this book. It's hilarious and light-hearted and creative enough to kick my butt into gear. Scat, a 20-something marketer, gets a million-dollar idea for a soft drink to sell to Coke. He develops it, presents it to the board, and they love it. Then everything goes downhill. It's a great read, very sarcastic and silly and critical of marketing.
Baby Plays Around by Helene Stapinski. Another re-read, but hey, at least I'm reading something! I'm willing to bet I've read this book every year since it came out in 2004. I absolutely love it. The way it's written is absolutely flawless, and I don't say this to get your hopes up. I don't want to say the writing is beautiful because it's not necessarily, not in every line. It's just… exactly right. It's not too flowery or too matter-of-fact. She's a freelance journalist, and her writing shows this in the best way. The book revolves around Stapinski's time as a drummer in an indie band, delving back into her childhood musical beginnings as well as the friendships and relationships she's in at the time. It gets very personal as she openly shares troubles she has in her band as well as in her marriage. For knowing exactly what happens, the book still punches me in the gut at the crucial moments, then soothes me over with the resolution. Absolutely amazing, recommend to everyone.
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