Thursday odds...

 

I was listening to the DI music app again and discovered this awesome, awesome dj/singer named Tallulah Goodtimes (the name is spelled wrong on the app.) She mixes swing with electro synth and hip hop...it's amazing stuff. "Hop On This" is not available for purchase, but I've been taking it in on Sound Cloud. It's made my whole day:

http://www.tallulahgoodtimes.com/hop/

The SoundCloud app is another favorite and I love it most for finding different mixes for the same song, in this case Andy Gibb's "Shadow Dancing":



Brendon P's "Moonlight Shadow" dub

Never start your cleaning with the bookcase. I always forget this and my dusting venture ends (shortly after it just started) with me sitting on the floor, engrossed in a book I completely forgot I owned.

So now, I'm reading a collection of stories from an old Alfred Hitchcock anthology. The best one I've read so far is called "The Clock is Cuckoo" by Richard Deming, but I also like "Six Skinny Coffins" by Jonathan Craig.

If you don't mind reading a PDF file, you can link to the Richard Deming story here:

http://the.hitchcock.zone/wiki/Alfred_Hitchcock%27s_Mystery_Magazine_(May_1969)

It happens even when I'm extra careful. My headphones get snagged one too many times in my book bag and over time the wires get a short in them and I have to get a new pair. Recently, I bought a set that looks like something fancy you'd use in a recording studio and yet they are...well, I won't use the actual word I want.

Not only do they weigh my big head down enough to bring on vertigo, the bass sounds awful and there is no actual "there" there. My five dollar headphones from 5 and Below worked better than this.

I have my iPhone ear buds to fall back on for now, but I don't like ear buds; they never stay in and the sound just isn't as good. Plus, you can't turn off everything else the way you can with headphones.

Speaking off music that helps you forget the world for a while... Future Islands' "Doves" (the Vince Clarke remix, specifically) is amazing.

It's the saddest dance song I've heard in ages. Samuel Herring's voice is terrific, the way it transforms from melodic baritone into a deep guttural growl only makes the song more intense, more bare in its expression. My heart wants to break but my feet want to dance.

*re-rub (according to Urban Dictionary): "The rerub of a song is a less radical reworking of the original than a remix. A rerub adds new drums, new snare, new percussion, possibly effects. Rerubs are also often shorter than the original song.

David Guetta thought he remixed Cassius's song "Toop Toop" but it's just a freakin rerub. All he did was add some bass. "

 

The last thing a bookworm with not enough time needs is another title for her TBR pile, but this past Sunday's New York Times highlights a novel that sounds like a must read:

 

 

By CURTIS SITTENFELD

NOV. 21, 2014

                  

In a 2013 exchange that’s become famous in literary circles, the novelist Claire Messud took to task an interviewer at Publishers Weekly who observed that she — the interviewer — wouldn’t want to be friends with the protagonist of Messud’s most recent novel and asked if Messud herself felt the same way.

 

“For heaven’s sake, what kind of question is that?” Messud responded. “If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t ‘Is this a potential friend for me?’ but ‘Is this character alive?’ ”

 

For the most part, I agree with Messud, yet as I devoured Miriam Toews’s latest novel, “All My Puny Sorrows,” I thought that I’d very much like to befriend the main character. In fact, spending time in the company of Yoli, a 40-something woman alternately busy with the work of caring for various family members and screwing up her own life, was the main reason I loved the book.

 

It’s a testament to the entertaining voice, emotional acuity and quick pacing of “All My Puny Sorrows” that it doesn’t become evident until about two-thirds of the way through how slight the plot is: Yoli has traveled to Winnipeg from her home in Toronto because her sister, Elfrieda, a brilliant and successful classical pianist, has — not for the first time — attempted suicide. Elfrieda, a.k.a. Elf, is now in the psychiatric unit of a hospital, and most of the book’s suspense arises from the questions of whether she’ll attempt suicide again and whether she’ll persuade Yoli to help her. Many pages are devoted to the daily pattern of waiting out a family member’s hospital stay: trying to extract information from doctors and nurses, trying not to let non-hospital-related obligations fall into disarray, hugging, crying, hugging while crying, procuring food and sleeping (usually not well).

 

Such a synopsis would not, if I hadn’t read the book, seem to me enticing, but “All My Puny Sorrows” is irresistible. The flashbacks to Yoli and Elf’s childhood in a rural Mennonite community are vivid and energetic. In both the past and present, Toews (who is the author of six earlier books that have received significantly more recognition in her native Canada than in the United States) perfectly captures the casual manner in which close-knit sisters enjoy and irritate each other. The dialogue is realistic and funny, and somehow, almost magically, Toews gets away with having her characters discuss things like books and art and the meaning of life without seeming pretentious or precious; they’re simply smart, decent and confused.

 

It’s Yoli who is the story’s heroine, though she wouldn’t believe it. Relentlessly self-deprecating, she explains that she “had two kids with two different guys . . . as a type of social experiment. Just kidding. As a type of social failure.” She is semi-amicably ending her second marriage and receives a text from her soon-to-be-ex-husband that reads, “I need you.” When she texts back asking if he’s O.K., he replies: “Sorry, pushed send too soon. I need you to sign the divorce papers.” In contrast to her famous sister, Yoli is the author of an unremarkable Y.A. series called Rodeo Rhonda and is also trying to write a more literary novel, which she carries around in a plastic Safeway bag. She gets lost in the hospital’s basement, has impulsive sex with her car mechanic and, when she gets a recorded phone call asking if her debt has become uncontrollable, whispers into the phone, “Yes, yes, it has,” then hangs up.

 

Per the Messud Doctrine, Yoli is bracingly alive, as is everyone with whom she interacts, even as the possibility of Elf’s death looms over them. “All My Puny Sorrows” is unsettling, because how can a novel about suicide not be? But its intelligence, its honesty and, above all, its compassion provide a kind of existential balm — a comfort not unlike the sort you might find by opening a bottle of wine and having a long conversation with (yes, really) a true friend.

ALL MY PUNY SORROWS

By Miriam Toews

317 pp. McSweeney’s. $24.

I had the weirdest dream last night and it upset me a lot, not because it was a bad dream, but because it was a good one. In the dream, the building where I work was transported to what I think was the Atlantic City boardwalk, which I used to know well and love as a child.

It was a pretty day and I got to see people from all walks of my life, not just my present. The person I like, the person I have been trying not like for the longest time, even showed up, smiling peacefully at me, which is so not how it would be in real life.

Even more than I do with nightmares, I really work hard to come out of a good dream. Good dreams have a way of making you feel worse once you awake. I swam up from out of my dream (I swear, sometimes, trying to wake up feels like you've been down at the bottom of an ocean and are trying to resurface) and turned on my dvd player to watch "I Love Lucy."

In the old days, when I felt this kind of lonely, I'd pretend somewhere, way far out in outer space, perhaps, there was someone I'd meet someday, someone who could like me back. That used to get me through unbearably quiet days when a teddy bear just wouldn't do.

Now, I know better...false hope is better than no hope at all. And, yet, when I see other people sometimes feel the same way (as below), I wonder if it's not totally bad to still hold out (however unrealistic it may be to) thinking there might be a day you meet that someone special.

There was a time in my life not so long ago, that I experienced a moment that could only be described as pure love and happiness.

It was as if love and happiness were finally real to me and were something tangible, embodied in that moment.

They were in everything I could hear, touch, taste and smell.
I could see them with my very eyes – reflected back at me in someone else’s.
They were all around me, breathing life into me, as if wrapping me up in a blanket.

And in that moment I caught a glimpse of something.
A parallel universe - a way things could have been.
An alternate reality where that love and happiness were mine to keep, a place where I didn’t have to let them go.

I only hope that one day…. many years from now when I am an old lady and I close my eyes for the last time – I will open them again and find myself there. 

― Ranata Suzuki  (as seen on Goodreads)

Do cover artists ever actually the read the descriptions of the characters they're drawing? Ridiculously perfect misrepresentation...

I read for companionship as much as I do for enlightenment and entertainment, but the most recent book I read left a bad feeling inside that would welcome loneliness any day.

Right from the start, the premise of Three's A Crowd struck me as beyond unsettling. Tossing aside (for the moment) how profoundly disturbing I find the idea of a "threesome," I find the main character's eagerness to please her boyfriend (despite the misgivings she tries to hide from both him and herself) even more troubling.

No one who truly loves you should ever pressure you (in this case by hinting what a "bore" you are) to do something you don't want to do. "You would if you loved me...," especially in this case, is emotional blackmail; that should be black and white, without question.

Just as with another Q. Kelly novel I read (A Woman Unleashed, where the female lead kills and goes on to live happily ever with a woman who is quite comfortable with the fact she's a murderer) I felt my skin actually crawl. No matter that there were indeed some actual passages that reached out to me:

"There’s a cheesy romantic in everyone, huh? I always wondered what it’d be like to find that one person—a soul mate. I don’t believe in them, but I’d like to look in that person’s eyes and know this is the one. She’s the one. She can make my pain go away. Don’t need rings for that, but this is pretty. It really is.”

It actually hurt a little (because, no matter what else, Q. Kelly is a gifted writer) that both the boyfriend and the other woman Carol's boyfriend wants to bring into the picture lie right and left. Because, ultimately, the book (thank goodness) is not really about a threesome, Carol falls in love with Ennis, the "number three" (as her boyfriend jokes like the jerk he is) who ends up breaking her heart.

Despite some great writing and two plot twists I didn't see coming, I still found the novel to be a huge mess and the ending quite ridiculous. It's both a prequel and a "companion" story to the first book in the series, Strange Bedfellows, an equally far-fetched story, but one with more backbone and better morals.

Now, thanks to American Pulp, I'm starting this (available on Kindle and the basis for the classic noir film of the same name):