OK, it's not a fabulous one. It's part time, phone sales, at night. But still, I'm ecstatic. So, let the shout-outs commence, in no particular order:
To my landlord: I was scared to death to tell you that both my boyfriend and I had lost our jobs. You responded by saying that it was tough for everyone right now and to pay when we could. You know, my credit card people, the utility provider and the bank who financed my car could give a shit about me. So it was nice having one less thing to worry about. Also, for the washer last week, which put an end to about six months worth of stupid washer drama.
To my friends at the Amherst Museum and in ECHF: You hear horror stories about people losing their jobs and all of their professional acquaintances, too. They decide that it's professional suicide to be associated with you. They side with your ex-employer over you, or they just look at you and see their own worst fears and avoid you. You guys did the opposite. You pushed me to get more involved. You kept me informed about job leads. You encouraged me to write for our newsletter, get involved with the annual meeting, and head up the White Glove Brigade. You gave me something meaningful to do. Sometimes, I really had to scrape up the $15 for dinner at the meeting, but it was always, always worth it. You guys are awesome and deserve everything you had and more. I can never thank any of you enough.
To the Girl Scouts of Western New York: Chairing this committee has been harrowing at times, but it, too, got me out of the house and gave me something meaningful to do. When I went to the IMLS conference, I felt a heckuva lot more confident approaching people than I would have if I'd had to tell them I was completely out of the field. I'm looking forward to continuing to try to make an impact.
To all of my WoW friends on Trollbane-US, especially those in the guild Dragoneers and formerly of the guild LastRites: I'll never know much about most of your real lives. I don't even know most of your real first names, but know you by names like Zyggynz, Illuminae, and Medesse. You guys probably don't know, either, that I've been looking for a job for what feels like forever and getting very discouraged at times. It was a comfort to always know that the game, and my friends in the game, were there for me. Sometimes, it was virtually the only form of entertainment I could afford. And sometimes, getting that holiday event achievement or rounding out my tier gear was the only thing I managed to accomplish all week. It always feels good to "hang out" with you guys in the game.
To David Clem, Niki Thomas, Tess Frazier and Kathy Leacock: You guys offered to help me get jobs in your companies/organizations. The fact that all of them wound up not working out, getting put on hold, etc. doesn't diminish the fact that all year, you were the only ones that gave me concrete leads. I'll always appreciate it, and I'll always look for a way to pay you back.
To my aunt: You randomly called me this winter and asked me out to lunch at a time when I felt like the entire world wanted nothing to do with me. It was a great lunch, and really cheered me up. Now that I have a source of income, I'm going to take you to lunch!!!
To the rest of my extended family: Seeing you guys last month for the first time in years really energized me. You know, when you're unemployed, most people hound the shit out of you. Everyone not in your situation seems to have all the answers. You guys weren't like that at all. You let me know that you loved me and wished me the best without any of the implied put-downs. And in the weeks after that wedding, I applied to like twenty jobs, including the one I just got, and you were at least part of the reason.
To my parents: Where to start. For all of the emotional support, all of the financial support, all of the encouragement. For paying for me to come visit you in Florida this winter and not mentioning a word about looking for a job the entire time. For getting me out of the house, for always cheering me up, I can never thank you enough.
To my boyfriend: You were so understanding and encouraging this whole time, even when you were feeling frustrated and discouraged with your own situation. It's been a rocky year. Looking forward to it being better -- together.
Finally, to you, the readers of this blog: Thanks for coming! I hope you've enjoyed reading what I have to say and hanging out in my own little corner of the internet. I know that every day, I have my own "blog rounds". So, if I'm part of yours, thank you for the time you spend with me, on however regular a basis you drop in. It kept me going, too.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Exiled
"Treating someone like a leper" has become a common metaphor for social isolation. In Alan Brennert's historical novel Molo'kai, readers have a chance to explore the real-life roots of that phrase.
In the late 1800s, leprosy (known today as Hansen's Disease and treatable with a simple course of antibiotics) tore through the populace of Hawaii. Hawaii's geographic isolation makes it unique but fragile. Leprosy was spreading like wildfire, and the government's best solution was isolation. Leprosy victims were arrested like criminals, taken to a medical facility where their disease stood trial, and if convicted, were sent to remote Molo'kai to live out the rest of their lives among others who had leprosy.
This is the fate of young Rachel Kalama, the central character in the novel. Rachel is diagnosed with leprosy at the young age of seven. Her family tried to hide the evidence of her disease, even making her wear shoes to school (which earned her the nickname, "Little Miss Shoe"). But to no avail, as she is taken anyway, first to a glorified infirmiry, and then to the community of Kalaupapa.
When Rachel arrives in Kalaupapa, it has entered into its maturity. In its earliest days, it was poorly planned and disorganized, with leprosy sufferers themselves forced to provide their own food and shelter to the best of their abilities. But now, Father Damien has come and gone, and Kalaupapa has real houses, a hospital, a store, and two children's homes (one for boys, one for girls). Despite the presence of her uncle on the island, Rachel is settled into the girls' home, run by nuns.
What would you do in these circumstances? Probably what anyone would do: rail against them at first. Mourn the loss of your family and home. Make repeated attempts at escape. But ultimately, you'd settle in. You may not ever fully accept your circumstances, but you'd construct a life nonetheless. This is, of course, what Rachel proceeds to do over the course of the novel, which follows her entire life. Along the way, we meet the people of her life: Sister Catherine, the troubled nun; Haleola, Rachel's uncle's girlfriend and an herbalist and believer in native religion; Rachel's father Henry, the only member of her family to keep in touch; Rachel's husband Kenji, who was studying economics when he fell ill; and many more.
The novel does an excellent job of showing the effects of the leprosy policy on ordinary people. It does a less thorough job of making you feel them quite the way that Snow Falling on Cedars did. The novel lays all of Rachel's life bare for the reader, from her earliest years until her death. But somehow, it doesn't quite take us inside. After spending 350 pages with her, she's still hard to characterize. She likes to surf. She dreams of seeing the world. She cares a great deal about the people around her. That's any bright, empathetic Hawaaian, though. Some of the secondary characters, like Sister Catherine and Rachel's friend Leilani, are slightly more vivid. But Rachel just seems like a glass through which to view Molo'kai and the leprosy policy in general.
It's not a bad book, all in all. Brennert has clearly done his research and is able to make the place and time come alive, if not exactly the central character. I understand there's another book on Hawaii by the same author, which I may or may not check out based on this one. I'd say that for me, this is another one which falls into the "just OK" category.
In the late 1800s, leprosy (known today as Hansen's Disease and treatable with a simple course of antibiotics) tore through the populace of Hawaii. Hawaii's geographic isolation makes it unique but fragile. Leprosy was spreading like wildfire, and the government's best solution was isolation. Leprosy victims were arrested like criminals, taken to a medical facility where their disease stood trial, and if convicted, were sent to remote Molo'kai to live out the rest of their lives among others who had leprosy.
This is the fate of young Rachel Kalama, the central character in the novel. Rachel is diagnosed with leprosy at the young age of seven. Her family tried to hide the evidence of her disease, even making her wear shoes to school (which earned her the nickname, "Little Miss Shoe"). But to no avail, as she is taken anyway, first to a glorified infirmiry, and then to the community of Kalaupapa.
When Rachel arrives in Kalaupapa, it has entered into its maturity. In its earliest days, it was poorly planned and disorganized, with leprosy sufferers themselves forced to provide their own food and shelter to the best of their abilities. But now, Father Damien has come and gone, and Kalaupapa has real houses, a hospital, a store, and two children's homes (one for boys, one for girls). Despite the presence of her uncle on the island, Rachel is settled into the girls' home, run by nuns.
What would you do in these circumstances? Probably what anyone would do: rail against them at first. Mourn the loss of your family and home. Make repeated attempts at escape. But ultimately, you'd settle in. You may not ever fully accept your circumstances, but you'd construct a life nonetheless. This is, of course, what Rachel proceeds to do over the course of the novel, which follows her entire life. Along the way, we meet the people of her life: Sister Catherine, the troubled nun; Haleola, Rachel's uncle's girlfriend and an herbalist and believer in native religion; Rachel's father Henry, the only member of her family to keep in touch; Rachel's husband Kenji, who was studying economics when he fell ill; and many more.
The novel does an excellent job of showing the effects of the leprosy policy on ordinary people. It does a less thorough job of making you feel them quite the way that Snow Falling on Cedars did. The novel lays all of Rachel's life bare for the reader, from her earliest years until her death. But somehow, it doesn't quite take us inside. After spending 350 pages with her, she's still hard to characterize. She likes to surf. She dreams of seeing the world. She cares a great deal about the people around her. That's any bright, empathetic Hawaaian, though. Some of the secondary characters, like Sister Catherine and Rachel's friend Leilani, are slightly more vivid. But Rachel just seems like a glass through which to view Molo'kai and the leprosy policy in general.
It's not a bad book, all in all. Brennert has clearly done his research and is able to make the place and time come alive, if not exactly the central character. I understand there's another book on Hawaii by the same author, which I may or may not check out based on this one. I'd say that for me, this is another one which falls into the "just OK" category.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Summer Reading at Its Finest!!!!
Back in the saddle with today's BTT:
Do I?! I love celebrity memoirs, especially the raunchy ones. The finest one I've ever read, along those lines, is Motley Crue's The Dirt. The boys had a wonderful ghostwriter with the sensitivity not to change lines like "She looked so fucking hot that I wanted to run up to her, tackle her and tear her clothes off" to "She looked amazing in that dress." The book was published in 2002, and each band member gets to tell the tale from his own perspective, with chapters from their various managers and producers occasionally sprinkled in.
Each time someone famous for being wild publishes a memoir, I try to read it. I realized a few weeks ago the reason why I like The Dirt better than all of them. It's because they boys of Motley Crue are, by and large, unrepentant. Oh, sure, they regret many of the things they did while drunk and high. But they don't regret their involvement with drugs in the first place. The message of many other celebrity memoirs is: "I got involved with drugs and/or alcohol at a difficult time in my life, as a means of coping. It cost me a lot. I got sober and never want to go down that road again." The Crue's message? "We got involved with drugs and alcohol because they were a fucking blast. We did lots of stupid shit while high and drunk, and we regret it. We regret the toll it took on those around us. Still, if they ever invent something that's as fun as all of those drugs and won't have the side effects of wrecking everyone's lives, sign us up." So, the tone of the book is different.
A couple of other good celebrity memoirs in a different vein are the books written by Joan Crawford's daughter and also by Bette Davis' daughter. Neither woman ever became famous in her own right, but the tales are still moving. Mommie Dearest was, of course, made into the movie that contains that famous line about the wire hangers. It's in the book, too, but it's more sad than funny. Crawford essentially adopted her children as a PR move and had little interest in them outside of the annual Christmas special. She was mean and abusive and eventually sent them all away when she'd totally lost interest.
Davis was a difficult mother to have, too, but for different reasons. According to her daughter, she was more of an emotional drain than anything. Their relationship was volatile, and contained periods of both closeness and estrangement. I read it shortly after I read Mommie Dearest and was fascinated by the passages where the two tales intersected. Joan Crawford's not the only one, though. Several well-known Hollywood figures meander through the tale. The book also contains an absolutely priceless line: during an argument with her mother over men, Davis yelled, "I love these people who've been married once and think they know it all! What would you know about men? I've had FIVE HUSBANDS!"
Lana Turner's memoir is another good one. I'd actaully nearly forgotten about it, but I discussed it in this post and gave it high marks as an interesting tale of Golden-Era Hollywood. Lillian Gish's autobiography is also an interesting tale of an emerging industry. Gish was the star of the first-ever feature-length film, the much-dissected Birth of a Nation, and talks about the controversy that surrounded it even at release, not just due to the racism in the film, but due to its many innovations in the medium, such as the close-up ("Where are the guy's feet?") and its sheer length ("No one will sit for that long"). She traces its evolution from nickelodeons to theaters, and from a medium no one wanted to be involved with to the medium that became every actor's ultimate goal. And she was there for it all.
As for ones that have not yet been written? I can't think of any that I truly wonder about. I always thought it was a shame that Jacqueline Kennedy died without leaving an account of her life. And with Michael Jackson's recent death, I do feel that we've been left without a way to ever know the entire story, although it is possible that he left us something after all, or that someone else will come forward.
Celebrities? July 2, 2009
Filed under: Wordpress — --Deb @ 1:06 am
Suggested by Callista83:
Do you read celebrity memoirs? Which ones have you read or do you want to read? Which nonexistent celebrity memoirs would you like to see?
Do I?! I love celebrity memoirs, especially the raunchy ones. The finest one I've ever read, along those lines, is Motley Crue's The Dirt. The boys had a wonderful ghostwriter with the sensitivity not to change lines like "She looked so fucking hot that I wanted to run up to her, tackle her and tear her clothes off" to "She looked amazing in that dress." The book was published in 2002, and each band member gets to tell the tale from his own perspective, with chapters from their various managers and producers occasionally sprinkled in.
Each time someone famous for being wild publishes a memoir, I try to read it. I realized a few weeks ago the reason why I like The Dirt better than all of them. It's because they boys of Motley Crue are, by and large, unrepentant. Oh, sure, they regret many of the things they did while drunk and high. But they don't regret their involvement with drugs in the first place. The message of many other celebrity memoirs is: "I got involved with drugs and/or alcohol at a difficult time in my life, as a means of coping. It cost me a lot. I got sober and never want to go down that road again." The Crue's message? "We got involved with drugs and alcohol because they were a fucking blast. We did lots of stupid shit while high and drunk, and we regret it. We regret the toll it took on those around us. Still, if they ever invent something that's as fun as all of those drugs and won't have the side effects of wrecking everyone's lives, sign us up." So, the tone of the book is different.
A couple of other good celebrity memoirs in a different vein are the books written by Joan Crawford's daughter and also by Bette Davis' daughter. Neither woman ever became famous in her own right, but the tales are still moving. Mommie Dearest was, of course, made into the movie that contains that famous line about the wire hangers. It's in the book, too, but it's more sad than funny. Crawford essentially adopted her children as a PR move and had little interest in them outside of the annual Christmas special. She was mean and abusive and eventually sent them all away when she'd totally lost interest.
Davis was a difficult mother to have, too, but for different reasons. According to her daughter, she was more of an emotional drain than anything. Their relationship was volatile, and contained periods of both closeness and estrangement. I read it shortly after I read Mommie Dearest and was fascinated by the passages where the two tales intersected. Joan Crawford's not the only one, though. Several well-known Hollywood figures meander through the tale. The book also contains an absolutely priceless line: during an argument with her mother over men, Davis yelled, "I love these people who've been married once and think they know it all! What would you know about men? I've had FIVE HUSBANDS!"
Lana Turner's memoir is another good one. I'd actaully nearly forgotten about it, but I discussed it in this post and gave it high marks as an interesting tale of Golden-Era Hollywood. Lillian Gish's autobiography is also an interesting tale of an emerging industry. Gish was the star of the first-ever feature-length film, the much-dissected Birth of a Nation, and talks about the controversy that surrounded it even at release, not just due to the racism in the film, but due to its many innovations in the medium, such as the close-up ("Where are the guy's feet?") and its sheer length ("No one will sit for that long"). She traces its evolution from nickelodeons to theaters, and from a medium no one wanted to be involved with to the medium that became every actor's ultimate goal. And she was there for it all.
As for ones that have not yet been written? I can't think of any that I truly wonder about. I always thought it was a shame that Jacqueline Kennedy died without leaving an account of her life. And with Michael Jackson's recent death, I do feel that we've been left without a way to ever know the entire story, although it is possible that he left us something after all, or that someone else will come forward.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
June in Review
I can't believe it's come and gone already, but it was an exceptionally busy month for me, with lots of beautiful weather -- which showed on my blog. I finished four books this month (working on Molo'kai still):
Sabin Willet, The Deal
Sandra Dallas, Prayers for sale
Chuck Klosterman, Downtown Owl
Paul Auster, I thought my Father was God
I liked all four of them a lot. I Thought My Father Was God was probably my favorite. The Deal was my least favorite, just because it doesn't have a way of staying with you as much as some of the others. It was shallower.
In the past week, I kind of ran out of steam on my blog. In my defense, it was a pretty busy week, but I usually at least take the time for BTT, and I didn't this past Thursday. In fact, I only did two out of the four this month. I went to the library once and still have about half of the books from my haul to go. But, you know, there are a lot of things to do in the summer that you can't do any other time of year, so I guess it makes sense.
Sabin Willet, The Deal
Sandra Dallas, Prayers for sale
Chuck Klosterman, Downtown Owl
Paul Auster, I thought my Father was God
I liked all four of them a lot. I Thought My Father Was God was probably my favorite. The Deal was my least favorite, just because it doesn't have a way of staying with you as much as some of the others. It was shallower.
In the past week, I kind of ran out of steam on my blog. In my defense, it was a pretty busy week, but I usually at least take the time for BTT, and I didn't this past Thursday. In fact, I only did two out of the four this month. I went to the library once and still have about half of the books from my haul to go. But, you know, there are a lot of things to do in the summer that you can't do any other time of year, so I guess it makes sense.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day!
I've been saving this one for Father's Day. Not only is it a picture of a very "Dad" item, but it actually belongs to my father. I found it in his workshop over the winter.
Neat graphic, huh? Happy Father's Day everyone!
Neat graphic, huh? Happy Father's Day everyone!
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Stories of Our Lives
I'm breaking with my usual format a bit here, which is that I read a book and tell you how it was. Sometimes, people who've read it too or think the book sounds interesting comment back. But I'm reading a different sort of book right now, and I want to do something different with my post about it.
I came across I Thought My Father Was God And Other True Tales From NPR's National Story Project by Paul Auster while I was looking for something else. It's exactly what it sounds like, random stories from random people. Sad, funny, bizarre, you name it. The stories are short, and the book is like popcorn -- always just "one more piece" until you've eaten the whole bag. It also defies any meaningful analysis. So instead, I want to hear your stories. Post as many true stories as you like, on any topic you can think of, in the comments, and I'll publish them. (The only real reason I moderate is to avoid the Viagra spammers). I'll get things started with one of my own:
Let's hear yours.
I came across I Thought My Father Was God And Other True Tales From NPR's National Story Project by Paul Auster while I was looking for something else. It's exactly what it sounds like, random stories from random people. Sad, funny, bizarre, you name it. The stories are short, and the book is like popcorn -- always just "one more piece" until you've eaten the whole bag. It also defies any meaningful analysis. So instead, I want to hear your stories. Post as many true stories as you like, on any topic you can think of, in the comments, and I'll publish them. (The only real reason I moderate is to avoid the Viagra spammers). I'll get things started with one of my own:
Pudgy
When I met my boyfriend, he had a great dog, a Sheltie named Pudgy. Pudgy always greeted me at the door when I came over, liked to lie on the bed with me, and liked to herd people towards the door when he needed to go out. My boyfriend had done all of the training for Pudgy when he was a pup, so they were especially close.
But Pudgy started to get old, and sick. His hips went bad, he couldn't see very well, and most ominously of all, he had a large,dark growth on his stomach. They put him to sleep one beautiful autumn day so that he wouldn't have to suffer with the cold of winter.
But the family had never been without a dog for long. As much as they had loved Pudgy, there was an empty place in the family that needed to be filled. They reserved a pup from a breeder of Golden Retrievers, about a two-hour drive from their house. One spring day, the rest of the family traveled to get their new dog. My boyfriend stayed home by himself.
As he was puttering around the house, he happened to look out the front door. There, on their porch, was a Sheltie dog that looked exactly like Pudgy. The dog sat there on the porch and looked at him for a few minutes, as if to say, "It's OK to get a new dog, but don't forget me." Then, the dog ran away. It's a small and tight-knit neighborhood, but my boyfriend had never seen the dog before, nor did he ever see it again.
Let's hear yours.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Celebate With a Book About Dragons!
Happy BTT! Here's today's question/theme:
I've never enjoyed sci-fi, but I do like fantasy. I love the Harry Potter books, the His Dark Materials trilogy, the Prydain chronicles, the Chronicles of Narnia, and a few other assorted ones. When I was growing up, I was very enthralled by fantasy novels. My best friend and I searched extremely hard for the Gateway to Narnia (hint: nowhere in her house, my house or the woods behind my house). We didn't act out our favorite books, but pretended to be characters from our favorite books. And, it goes without saying, we read them over and over.
I always read all types of novels, though, and still do. But I enjoy reading fantasy. I like the humor and wit in the Harry Potter books: the paintings that act as hall monitors, the difficulties of selling books such as The Invisible Book of Invisibility ("Cost a fortune to order and we never found any of them!"), the wizard candies like Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans and Chocolate Frogs. I also find them kind of inspiring. It's pretty bad when you share something like that with your guild in World of Warcraft and they laugh at your geekiness, but it's true. In most of the books, Harry Potter was pushed into impossible situations he didn't even want to be in, where everyone wanted to see him fail. But he kept going, even at the cost of many relationships in his life and even at the cost of some of his friends' very lives, and ultimately succeeded.
When fantasy's done well, it gives you a little break from the ordinary. With a book like Harry Potter or Narnia, you can even choose to semi-believe in it. After all, maybe the gateway's out there somehwere, and I just never found it...
One of my favorite sci-fi authors (Sharon Lee) has declared June 23rd Fantasy and Science Fiction Writers Day.
As she puts it:
So! In my Official Capacity as a writer of science fiction and fantasy, I hereby proclaim June 23 Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Day! A day of celebration and wonder! A day for all of us readers of science fiction and fantasy to reach out and say thank you to our favorite writers. A day, perhaps, to blog about our favorite sf/f writers. A day to reflect upon how written science fiction and fantasy has changed your life.
So … what might you do on the 23rd to celebrate? Do you even read fantasy/sci-fi? Why? Why not?
I've never enjoyed sci-fi, but I do like fantasy. I love the Harry Potter books, the His Dark Materials trilogy, the Prydain chronicles, the Chronicles of Narnia, and a few other assorted ones. When I was growing up, I was very enthralled by fantasy novels. My best friend and I searched extremely hard for the Gateway to Narnia (hint: nowhere in her house, my house or the woods behind my house). We didn't act out our favorite books, but pretended to be characters from our favorite books. And, it goes without saying, we read them over and over.
I always read all types of novels, though, and still do. But I enjoy reading fantasy. I like the humor and wit in the Harry Potter books: the paintings that act as hall monitors, the difficulties of selling books such as The Invisible Book of Invisibility ("Cost a fortune to order and we never found any of them!"), the wizard candies like Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans and Chocolate Frogs. I also find them kind of inspiring. It's pretty bad when you share something like that with your guild in World of Warcraft and they laugh at your geekiness, but it's true. In most of the books, Harry Potter was pushed into impossible situations he didn't even want to be in, where everyone wanted to see him fail. But he kept going, even at the cost of many relationships in his life and even at the cost of some of his friends' very lives, and ultimately succeeded.
When fantasy's done well, it gives you a little break from the ordinary. With a book like Harry Potter or Narnia, you can even choose to semi-believe in it. After all, maybe the gateway's out there somehwere, and I just never found it...
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