A Classic of Children's Literature: "Little House on the Prairie"

Yeah, man. Kids books are the greatest when you're easing back into the written word. Although, they can tend to have sickly-sweet bits that make you feel all vomitotious again, but it's not because you're actually sick- just because ew. Stop the Full House hugging, people.

Except there's not really any Full House hugging in Little House on the Prairie. Ma's all "clean your jank and sweep that grass and feed that cow and look SMART ABOUT IT" and Pa's all "Who wants to look at snakes with me and check out those Indians and find those nails I lost and DON'T WHISPER UNLESS WHISPERED TO" and Mary's all "The baby can have the beads I found" and Laura's all "Stupid ho, I LIKE MY BEADS." And the dog just wants to bite strangers, and the cow kicks everyone. I forgot how practical this book is- so many instructables! How to build a house in a week! How to dig a well without dying from gas poisoning! How to put out a prairie fire! Homesteading? I'm PREPARED.

So yeah. It's a really interesting piece of historical fiction or semi-autobiographical fiction or..whatever. The best bits are the surviving without air conditioning and carpet bits, in my opinion. It does have this sort of "stop your complaining, you have MORE THAN ONE DRESS and you didn't make it" thing that you feel when you're done. And I DO plan to read it to my children, mostly because of the super-awesome 19th century family dynamic that I hope they assimilate through hearing it read about. You know. The whole, if I found out you were even thinking about disobeying me I would feed you to the savage savages thing. That sounds useful.

Four stars out of your mom, I guess, though it's a kid's book so I dunno if it should get stars. Whatever.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

Oh, interwebs. Stop being so parasitic and stalker-y. I've been at home, where I always am, because I don't like people/sunshine/socializing. However, that doesn't explain my recent slow down of the tippity-typing, so here is my explanation: as I've previously mentioned, I've been pretty sick for about 6 weeks, and it's all of the I'm-having-twins variety (that sound you're hearing? That's God laughing at me. I don't do kids- especially not in doubles).

Oddly enough, I haven't been reading much during this period. WAIT, you say. Sick time is the BEST reading time. I disagree- fake sick time is the best reading time. Sort-of-fever, sleepy but not enough to sleep all day, slight stuffy nose sick is the best reading time. Never-leaving-the-bathroom, not-looking-at-anything-but-the-toilet-for-weeks sick time? Not the most conducive to reading. Apparently, first trimester twinmaking results in the most bone-deep exhaustion known to man- the sort that makes you want to kill yourself if you even consider picking up a book that requires thought. And, you know. All my books require thought.

AND THEN. I got food poisoning from an effing bean burrito from Taco Bell. Because for some reason, I thought it wise to try to eat fast food. A hospital trip and a week of recovery later, I'm just getting my wits about me, and the morning sickness (re: all day and night sickness) is starting to wane a bit. Meaning I can look at words for about 10 minute stretches without wanting to die. I need to ease back into my regularly scheduled reading....schedule...I mean, ready for Lolita I am not.

I would appreciate easy and ease-y suggestions. I'm not above classic children's books, either.

Ok. My ten minutes are up.

Where I Get Lazy (Again) OR: Why I Hate Reading Shakespeare

Sooo I recently visited the Blackfriar's Playhouse in Staunton, Virginia, to see the American Shakespeare Center do The Taming of the Shrew. The experience has further rooted in my mind the following unshakeable dogma: reading Shakespeare sucks and should not be done until you've ALREADY seen the effing play.

Let's go back in time, shall we? Remember when you had to read Romeo and Juliet in high school, and the language didn't make any sense so you kept referring to the explain-y pages, and your teacher was too prudish to explain the funny, dirty bits, and eventually you just watched the Leonardo Dicaprio version which at least had cars and guns? Remember that? I hated that, and I bet you did, too. Or perhaps some of you had to read Hamlet, and all you remember is that he sounded like sort of a whiny prig, and there was a ghost and maybe some witches or was that Macbeth, hells bells I don't care.

And then you SEE Shakespeare performed and the greatest thing about it is this: the actors and directors have done all the uphill work FOR YOU! They have decided what the lines mean, and have worked out that interpretation and paired it with the appropriate stage direction, facial expressions, and body movement. The play becomes (gasp) UNDERSTANDABLE! Hamlet's melodrama becomes heartbreaking! The sexism in The Taming of the Shrew becomes really raunchy, funny silliness! It's all as it was meant to be! Leave off the argument that plays performed live are how the artist intended you to experience them- I know some people don't give a hoot about artist intention. I'll just say this- if you've ever bemoaned the ickiness of reading iambic pentameter, or just can't care enough to decipher WTF Willy is talking about, let the actor do it for you.

Also, if you've never been to the ASC in Staunton, do so! It's a recreation of Shakespeare's first indoor theatre. I got to sit on the stage. An actor may or may not have accidentally touched my butt when he used my seat cushion to beat up a servant. So, hey, check it out. You may get a butt grab.



Lookit! People are LAUGHING! Children seem to ENJOY IT! That is the shiz.

"The Sun Also Rises" by Ernest Hemingway: A Review

Ernest. Er. Nest. Light of my life, fire of my- wait. That's not right. Ahem.

Sooo I love Hemingway, let's just put that out there. He's King Literary Man, and I heart that. I'm not a fan of pansy writerly types (I'mlookingatyouFranzen) AND he had a kick ass beard AND nifty boat shoes. What's not to love? Also, The Old Man and the Sea is one of the most riveting, heart-wrenching things I've ever read. Sometimes, I get so irritated with writers assuming their audience is a bunch of morons and feeling the need to spell out EVERY LITTLE EFFING THING. When I get burnt out, I turn to the Hems. He never fails to tell a great yarn with only the necessary words, and I also leave feeling like he respects the reader. And then there's the beard thing again. I've encouraged my husband to grow a beard. Co-inky-dink? I think no.

LOOK AT THE BEARD!

Ok, gushing aside, this one is not my super-fav. The Sun Also Rises is Hemingway's first novel, and it's got a very first-novelly smell, which resembles bullsh**, buttercups, and alcohol. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular tome, it's about a bunch of expatriates traveling to Spain for bullfights. Most of the book consists of drinking, all the male characters chasing after a British lady (and you never really figure out why everyone likes her so much), and bulls. In typical Hemingway fashion, the bits about the woman are bad. The bits about manly things like fishing and killing large horned beasts are great. Also, I was a bit worried that the bits about the bullfights would upset my vegetarian head-bone, but it's very tastefully handled. Hemingway's respect for the sport comes through nicely, and he somehow manages to make it seem both brutal and beautiful which is, IMO, his greatest strength. It's how he portrays war, life, and almost anything else. Except the ladies. He really should have just not talked about ladies.

So anyway, this one is meh BUT don't let that turn you away from other Hemingway. Also, LOOK ALIKE CONTEST:

Three stars out of your mom.