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I’m Not Bright, but Bright Red

I’ve just been so sleepy all afternoon and kind of annoyed by that, considering that, even if it was hotter than when we normally walk, we didn’t walk but ten minutes farther than we do every day.

But I just caught sight of myself in the mirror and I am sunburnt.

Sunburnt.

I’m working my way through Carter Beats the Devil which is slow-going. I’m trying to start to piece together what I’d like to work on next since that’s the advice they give you, when you’re waiting on one thing, start on the next. And I’m waiting on the novel, and waiting to hear about “Frank,” and waiting to unveil “The Witch’s Friend.” I’ve got some things percolating, but nothing really forming itself yet.

And that’s pretty much it. The Butcher is out for the evening, so I’m going to have to do the cat myself. I am not excited about that.

And Yet, Debra Maggart is Still in Office

Debra Maggart says:

Last fall, voters throughout the nation signaled they wanted a fundamental change in how government operates. From Washington to Nashville, a clear message was sent that government needed to scale back to its constitutional roots and remove itself from the equation so the private sector can take the lead once more in providing jobs for Americans.

Of course, if we return to our country’s roots, Maggart can’t vote or run for office. And yet, even as she urges others to return to said roots, you don’t see her resigning from the state legislature or turning in her voter’s registration card, do you?

Funny how that works.

Cooler Does Not Mean Cool

The cat had her follow-up visit with the vet. She has to continue her hydrotherapy until the wound closes up completely, but she’s done with the oral antibiotics. And she got her vaccines. They’re only doing the upper respiratory vaccines every three years now and she says she thinks they’ll soon recommend only doing rabies every three years. She says the problem is that you’re required by law to vaccinate for rabies every year, so even if the recommended standard changes, it’ll be a while before the legal standard does.

When I got home, I got read the riot act by Mrs. Wigglebottom who could not believe I’d go somewhere–even to the vet–without her. So we went out to Bells Bend, since the weather is cooler than it has been all summer.

And then we were both like “Oh my god, is there not someone we can call to come get us?!” when we were about halfway through our walk. It would have been okay in the shade, but there’s not (yet) a lot of shade to be found at that park. The dog is wiped out. She could barely lift her head to get her treat at Sonic, which I found to be shameful.

But, honestly, I’m sitting here thinking “Okay, if I get up to pee now, does that mean I don’t have to get off the couch until Monday?”

New Kitty is asleep in her favorite chair, recuperating from her trip to the vet.

I will say this for my vet–she is amazingly fearless and I think that’s part of why she’s so good. Since our cats are indoor/outdoor, they get wormed. And the vet just popped open the cat’s mouth, shot the pill right down her throat and then scraped some pasty crap right up the top of the cat’s mouth. Cat was too startled to even complain.

But it made me wonder. Do cat’s have Jacobson’s Organs? I thought I saw a weird opening at the top of the cat’s mouth. Ooo, according to Wikipedia, they do! And we may even have vestigial Jacobson’s Organs ourselves. That’s cool. I will now spend the afternoon willing mine to start functioning again.

Precision

One thing I find myself mulling over whenever I read feminist (or other social justice) blogs is that there is a fine line between metaphor as enlightening and metaphor as useless. But lately, I’ve also been thinking about the critique of metaphor.

And I don’t know how to get at this distinction exactly, but it seems to me that there are two negative responses to metaphors: either the metaphor is not quite right and therefore really doesn’t illuminate some part of the issue (a very useful critique, I think) or the metaphor is not quite right and we all must figure out what the right metaphor would be, with this bizarre urgency.

I’m starting to suspect that the bizarre urgency is because we still believe that, if only we could figure out exactly the right way to state our case, we’d get what we want. And yet, surely, by this point, we must suspect that it’s not that the people holding out on us don’t know what we want, it’s that they don’t want to give it.

Surprise!

It cracks me up when the new kitty comes bounding into the room like she’s late for her cue. And I’m glad to see her feeling sassy.

I’m always saying stupid stuff to the cat. Like I was cooking dinner and she was just hanging out in the kitchen and I was all “Hey, shorty, whatcha doing? Just hanging out being short?”

And she was like “Yeah.” I mean, what can you say to that? Plus, she’s a cat, so obviously she’s not saying anything, really.

But I swear to god, the Butcher and I were just doing up the new kitty’s medical routine and Mrs. W. was barking like she had nursing experience and we were not doing it right. Is this what she does all day? Takes nursing classes? Who is she to criticize?

Anyway here’s something cool. Tommy Johnson’s grave is now going to be accessible to the public.

Tommy Johnson had what we might call a more accessible voice than his erstwhile co-Devil-soul-selling Johnson, Robert. But what’s really cool about Tommy Johnson is that you can hear the influence of the blue yodel on his vocal performance. He’s not yodeling, exactly, but he’s breaking his voice and playing around with the vibrato in a way that makes it sound like the yodel has worked its way into Johnson’s lyrical delivery.

Compare Johnson’s delivery to Howlin’ Wolf’s just to get a sense of how that yodel echoes down. He’s just teasing at an echo of it, in that voice break, when he hits “bay-ayeuh,” which is how I will say “baby” from here on out. (As a side note, can I just say Howlin’ Wofe…? Whew. I want to say he’s totally underrated, but everyone loves him, so… I don’t know… I just feel like not enough.)

I can’t mention the blue yodel without pointing you to Jimmie Rodgers, of course.

Probably you should listen to that first and then you can see how Johnson and Wolf are using those same vocal tricks.

Ooh, and then check out Lucinda Williams, doing her version.

That’s it. We should probably all run around tomorrow singing “I asked her for water…” just to see the looks on people’s faces.

Me & My Dream of Kris Kristofferson

Last night I dreamed I had to escort Kris Kristofferson to my alma mater where he was going to perform an intimate concert at the English Department. And, for some reason, he got so drunk he couldn’t perform and so Willie and Waylon had to step in and sing along (luckily) and then Hank Jr. showed up, took his clothes off, and sang a really beautiful rendition of “Blue Bayou.” Why my subconscious assumed he’d do that in his underwear, I don’t know. But there you go.

The worst part is that none of the kids who came, at the invitation of the College Professor, even knew who these guys were.

The whole dream was about all this anxiety I felt because the show was going poorly and ruining their reputations, and that it didn’t matter because the kids didn’t know these guys’ reputations anyway.

I Still Love the Library, But I Have a Question

This morning I saw this book on John Scalzi’s blog and… Can we pause a moment to talk about John Scalzi? I love Scalzi’s blog. I love the discussions that he has there. I learn about books I want to read there. And I can recognize him as a talented, skilled writer. I just don’t care for his books. Like, I don’t hate them or anything. They’re just not my thing.

I think about that more often than I should, just to remind myself that the relationship between a writer and a reader is more complicated than “you write something perfect (and I do think that Scalzi is pretty much the breed standard for his type of sci-fi) and everyone who knows about you will read your work and love it.” There’s a certain kind of magic, too. Like, I know a lot of people for whom Catcher in the Rye was a formative read. I think I read it too late.

Which is to say that Scalzi stays on my radar because I think he’s a great writer and I love his blog and I wonder if there’s a time when the alchemy will happen. Will I just be browsing along and pick up one of his books and finally get it?

Anyway, I do want to read Southern Gods, so I looked for it in our library and they don’t have it. So I interlibrary loaned it.

But here’s the thing that has been niggling me since I started regularly going to the library. At the doors of every library in town are those upright plastic doohickies that you would think would detect when a book that hasn’t been checked out leaves the library.

But my library has self-check-out. I think only half the time I’ve checked out has someone even been at the desk. And I don’t have to run the books over anything to demagnetize any metal strip. And I have walked into other libraries, through those plastic upright things with books I checked out at Bordeaux to return them. And there’s never been an alarm.

So what do those plastic thing do? Just work as a psychological deterrent to stealing? Or are there things that are strip protected, that I just haven’t encountered yet?

The Whole World of Pasta is Open to the Redheaded Kid Now

The Butcher and I just taught the Redheaded Kid how to boil water and make hot dogs. He’s really tickled with himself. It’s cute.

But now we’re fighting with him about being prejudiced against tall scrawny white guys, because he refused to watch any movie with Jessie Eisenberg and/or Michael Sera in it.

I’m not sure how a dude gets to be the Redheaded Kid’s age without knowing how to boil water, but he assures us he’s a good omelet cooker and can make a fine grilled cheese sandwich.

I Would Be Happy Wearing the Same Thing Everyday

I was just admiring this shirt in the mirror and it made me wish I could just wear a uniform. Like men can get away with buying five suits and wearing those same five suits every damn day. Sure, you might flip out a different tie now and then, but you know what you’re going to wear.

I should have bought this shirt in every color and just made it what I wear.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that, but there it is.

Ugh

Listen, I know things work differently for the rich and famous, but this news depresses me.

Lloyd Road is Crowded This Morning

Mrs. W., me, two other walkers, and a jogger. I’m glad about it. It makes this feel like, somehow, a rural neighborhood. Like we all live out in the kind of country, but we can get to know each other on sight.

Plus, I like knowing that, if I’m hit by a car or something, someone might stumble across me.

But it also makes me feel like I live in a neighborhood full of badasses. I notice that a lot of the people I would guess to be in their late 50s, early 60s and older walk with huge walking sticks. At first, I thought this was just some weird cultural thing, like everyone in Whites Creek was practicing in case they were called on to become a wizard or something. But I’ve also seen guys walking with a golf club, so it dawned on me that it’s a stray dog/coyote whooping stick.

Smart. Not that I’ve run into many strays, but people do have a tendency to dump animals out here.

So, yes, people, you should know, before you dump your animal out in the “country” thinking one of us will pick it up and care for it, that its likely life is to either get hit by a car, eaten by coyotes, or have its head bashed in by my bad-ass neighbors. If you do not want the end of your dog’s life to be it alone, frightened, and in tremendous pain, don’t be dumping it off up here.

Whew, that ended on a depressing note.

Other Things I Would Do with a Bronze Prognosticating Robot Head

Whew, I have been giggling about Pope Sylvester all day. I guess, in all fairness, that accusing a reform-minded pope of consorting with demons makes a certain amount of sense if you are anti-reform. But I’m perplexed by the bronze prognosticating robot head. Is this supposed to tell us something about an anxiety about science and technology coupled with a resistance to reform?

I’ve been picking through a book about the priests who came to the Americas in order to learn more about God. They considered themselves to be scientists and by figuring out how the world worked and how things were create and are relate, they felt like they were literally learning the mind of God, getting to catch a glimpse of how His mind worked, anyway.

I admit, I don’t often realize how much the dominant Christian message in my community seeps in and curdles my feelings about Christianity. But this book is kind of making me realize my own prejudices in reverse. You know what I mean? I find it so mind-boggling that Christian church leaders could be so excited about science, so delighted when they get a glimpse of how vast the world of unknown things is, and so enthusiastic about figuring things out.

I wonder if this is because there really isn’t a separation of the sacred and the secular in their minds. They could catch glimpses of what we’d later understand as evolution and not feel like it undermined their belief that God created the universe. Of course He did. They were merely better clarifying the blueprint He used to do so.

I guess this is one of the reasons I find feminist discussions about religion in which we are all advised to just stop being religious because it is inherently sexist to be unsatisfying. I know this is pretty ironic considering that my dissatisfaction with Christianity at the time I left did pretty much center around my lack of a desire to keep fighting for a way for me to be non-self-loathing as a woman and Christian. But I do think it’s possible. I think that’s part of why it was so hard to just give it up and why it’s been important for me to find a way to make peace with it.

But I feel an intense longing for transcendence, you know? And I feel close to my dead relatives in mystical ways. I feel like magical things have happened to me and that I have done, sometimes by accident, magical things. And this belief, more like a core feeling, that I am a spiritual being of great value to Great Powers does inform and feed my feminism.

I don’t have any desire to give that up.

Anyway, the very first thing I would do with my bronze, prognosticating head, if I had one, would be to set it on top of my actual head and wear it like a hat.

Bad News, Historians! There Was No Middle Ages! At Least, Not the Cool Part

You know, there are conspiracy theories that you can kind of see how, through a combination of wishful thinking and squinting at the evidence, a person might come to believe that, say, Ron Ramsey is actually a balding Bigfoot.

Today, in fact, just a second ago, I learned about The Phantom Time Hypothesis, which states that European history from 614–911 is just made up. It didn’t happen.

Why would someone, say a couple of Popes, just make up the early Middle Ages? I don’t know. Why would Otto and Gerbert need to make up the early Middle Ages? Yes, both of their Wikipedia articles make it seem plausible that they could have been bored. I guess. I mean, if I were playing dice with the Devil and carrying on an affair with the demon Meridiana and carrying around a magic bronze head that gave me answers to life’s mysteries, I would be too busy to make up the early Middle Ages. But I am not Pope Sylvester the Second.

See, this is my first problem with this conspiracy (I mean, after the obvious problem). Okay, I might buy that Emperor Otto is a bit of a snob and, fine, he liked to shuffle body parts of various saints around Europe, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be all “Oh, hey, sure, Pope Sylvester, I’d love to hang out with your creepy talking metal head and your demon girlfriend and make up a whole world for Tolkien to plagiarize only to have Dungeons & Dragons plagiarize it from him. Shoot, roll those Devil Dice and let’s get our quest started.”

And that seems to be what this conspiracy theory hinges on: that Otto, Mr. Good Christian, would want to play Dungeons & Dragons with a Pope just the invention of electricity away from being Slayer’s bassist.

I’m not buying it.

But boy howdy, do I love this. In fact, I think this may be my favorite conspiracy theory, ever.

Edited to add: I don’t know for a fact that Slayer’s bassist sits around making up alternative European histories in between consorting with the Devil, talking to his robotic pet head, and having an affair with a demon, but I feel like it would be unfair to assume otherwise.

Two More Good Things

1. Yet another great post at Feministe–this time about Erica Badu’s magical pussy. Especially astute analysis of the way anxiety about traditional Southern Black folk magic is caught up in this who anxiety about women using our vaginas to control men. I’m not black, Southern, or particularly keen on keeping a man and even I, in the time I’ve lived in Nashville, been advised to just drop some menstrual blood in a dude’s coffee to make myself irresistible to him. Now, granted, I think folks know I’m interested in folk magic of all sorts, but still, if that’s trickling out to me, you know it’s a pretty strong living magical tradition.

2. Very interesting post on Hel’s pond. I do wonder if there’s something more that can be teased out about Hel offering up bulls to the land of the living. That sounds to me like some kind of reverse sacrifice and I’m going to have to think on this some, but it seems to me that there’s something here, something maybe about how the land of the dead is just like the land of the living, but in reverse. Something.

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got for this morning. You’re still looking a little tired though. Why don’t I pour you a cup of coffee? It’ll perk you right up.

I Think the New Kitty is Feeling Better

Now getting her to wash off her wound and let us fill it with gunk and then stuff her full of antibiotics has gotten to be… shall we say… not as easy. It’s good we have a system and that I have someone like the Butcher who can hold her. But she escaped outside on me on Sunday and on him yesterday. Both times, she was only outside for a minute or two, but obviously, she’s bored in the house and feeling up to snuff.

The wound looks better, for sure, but her paw pad is still kind of loosely flopping around. I should have figured that would be the last thing to heal up, being the heaviest part, but I still feel like it’s taking forever. I should have taken pictures so I could look and say, “Oh, right, huge inch and a half long gash in which you could not help but see a cat’s innards and with which we thought her paw pad was missing” to “ugh her paw pad just isn’t attached yet.”

Still, I think we’re all ready for this to be over.

But also, thank the gods that this was easy enough to take care of.

Fiddling While Rome Burns

The world is falling apart. Is it natural to retreat into art and beautiful things or just a way of keeping our heads in the sand? Or both?

I don’t know.

I had a thought this evening that there’s a pretty hilarious book for someone to write about a private investigator who takes only small, shitty cases. You lost your glasses? She’ll help. You think your daughter is taking an impractical route home from school? She’ll tail her and recommend she turn right and go down to a little-used road rather than going straight.

It’s just like, who, when the bad things are so big, and when you probably don’t have a job, wouldn’t like the satisfaction of completing small tasks?

Feministe is on Fire!

Man, lots of good stuff over at Feministe today. Great (if contentious) discussion about religion and feminism. Another about abuse. And a third about fat.

Lt. Governor Gun-Jumper Ramsey Wants Child-Starving Policy

Dear lord, what the fuck is up with these Republicans sitting around pondering all the ways they can cause Tennessee children to starve?! I mean, shoot, yes, I suppose that’s one way to curb childhood obesity–we’ll just let our children starve to death. But it seems like we might take less drastic actions of some sort.

But here’s the thing. Most people on welfare are women and children. If you drug-test women and deny them welfare, here’s what will happen: Mothers who are on drugs won’t be able to get welfare, which will mean they won’t be able to feed their children. That means we will have to pay for their children to go into the Foster Care system. The Foster Care system in Tennessee is, to put it mildly, fucked. Kids in foster care (assuming they would actually get in) are not necessarily better off than kids whose moms are functional drug addicts.

And yes, I find that last sentence absolutely terrifying as well. But that’s reality.

You know, one thing I find strange is that one of the most common criticisms of liberals by conservatives is that we want to engage in all this somehow unnatural social engineering. Enacting policies that cause kids to either starve or be taken from their mothers is also social engineering. And very intimate social engineering.

We’d need to have a much more functional Department of Children’s Services before I’d be comfortable dumping even more children into the system. And why isn’t the cost of increased children under the wing of the Department of Children’s Services also in the fiscal note?

Captain Morgan News that Somehow Doesn’t Involve Him Seducing Everyone With His Eyes

So, apparently Captain Morgan may have misplaced his boat some time ago. And some folks from Texas were trying to find it for him. But of course, since they were liberal elitist college professors who probably wanted Captain Morgan’s boat just to prove evolution or global warming or something, they mysteriously ran out of funds. Captain Morgan the spirits, not Captain Morgan who is a spirit, threw some money at the froo-froo Texans and the ship was found!

Well, someone’s ship.

The good thing about being a pirate is that even if it’s not your ship today, it could be tomorrow.

Hemlock or Queen Anne’s Lace

BERJAYAOne thing that never fails to surprise me, even at this late stage, is just how much poisonous crap is growing around. And I say this as someone with foxglove in her garden.

Part of the problem is that you can walk by some lacy thing every day for years and say “Oh, that’s some weird, rounded-head smaller-blossoming strain of Queen Anne’s Lace” and then it dawns on you that it’s probably not Queen Anne’s Lace at all, but hemlock. Just growing along the road. Waiting for some philosopher to need a way to escape persecution.

This weekend was kind of a bust. I got a lot of stuff I needed to get done done, but I didn’t really schedule any social time other than what I tagged along with the Butcher on. And I probably should have. I tried to medicate the cat myself yesterday and am now sporting a couple of respectable cat scratches on my chest. But she really does do a good job of taking her medicine, I’ll grant her that. I guess her mom’s probably to thank–taught her well to just swallow whatever white crap squirts in her mouth. (Yes, we have already made those “that’s what she said” jokes to each other, no need to make them in the comments.)

I’m feeling kind of in a rut, but part of my “getting things done” thing this weekend was to check and see “Nope, not a rut. Actually it’s called ‘waiting’.”

I’ve also been meaning to say something substantive about Campfield’s “Let’s strip aid to poor people if their kids are shitty students” idea, but it seems so self-apparent that this is not only a bad idea, but also that we’re all watching a man play out his sadistic fantasies of being able to keep people weaker than him afraid of him that it’s really time to stop treating him like a harmless joke. He may be a joke. But he takes enormous pleasure in hurting people he has power over. That’s not harmless.

This is also why I’m tired of the whole “Oh, he’s gay” bullshit. Really? You think gay men have some trait in common (other than loving men) which is malignant hatred of people with little power? A lot of people up on the Hill crack gay jokes about Campfield because they’re trying to blow him off as some harmless guy with issues. Well, he’s not harmless. And being gay doesn’t equal hating women and children. I think we need to watch our insults of our enemies that they don’t carry some sting for our friends, you know?

In “Frank” News

I have submitted him to a place. Like you do when you are a writer.

I kind of want to throw up. But it’s cool.

A Spoilery Discussion of MISS PEREGRINE’S HOME FOR PECULIAR CHILDREN

I can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare about a book, but man, I had a nightmare about Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children last night. It’s funny. I read the book, I had a lot of things I loved about it and a lot of things I didn’t like. I talked it over with the Butcher some and that made me think the book was more problematic than I’d realized at first read, because the writing is so good.

But then, I woke up in a start from a nightmare in which I was the mother of Jacob, the main character, and I was running all over, trying to find him, because he was lost.

And this morning I realized that I can’t remember ever reading a book in which the main character did something as monumentally cruel as what Jacob does to his parents without it being understood as cruel in the course of the book, which I think is kind of my problem with the whole book. This is like an amazing, brilliant, moving first draft.

But where was the person who went through and said, “Okay, so Jacob’s grandfather–Abraham–is a Jewish Holocaust survivor (the only one in his large family, it turns out) who joins up with the Welsh X-men, only to later lose all of the Welsh X-men in a horrible bombing (kind of). And Jacob’s name is, obviously, ‘Jacob.’ Is Jacob’s family Jewish? If so, where is that in the book?”

I mean, I don’t need every facet of the book to be about Jacob and his relationship to Judaism, but it is fundimental to his grandfather’s identity, mentioned over and over. And yet, there’s no mention of it in Jacob’s life. Not even a passing mention of a Bar Mitzvah. At his sixteenth birthday, there’s only one other kid there. Okay, fine, I’m not Jewish, but I was raised in a religious community and, even if I had no friends, my parents’ social circle would have included friends my age who would have been forced to come to a party for me to which their parents were also invited and we would have all had to fake make-nice.

But Jacob is alone and alienated from the world in a way that seems very non-religious. Which is not to say that religious people can’t be alone and alienated from the world. I certainly felt that way at his age. Just that it has different contours. Plus, I feel like there’s good reason why Jacob’s father–considering his strained relationship to Jacob’s grandfather, Abraham–might not be very religious and might have raised his family to be non-religious. But it sure would have been interesting to know if that’s the case.

Okay, and then we come to the Back to the Future problem. So, Abraham has been this weird, distant figure who tells these crazy stories about monsters, which his kids and thus Jacob come to believe are actually metaphors about the Nazis. But it turns out, no. The monsters and the peculiar children (who are, not joking, basically Welsh X-men) are real. And it turns out that the peculiar children have been being kept hidden from the monsters by them living the same day–September 3, 1940–over and over again (though they are aware of it). Now, Abraham was one of these peculiar children. And he decided that he didn’t want to be stuck in one of these time loops. So he left and went on to have a September 4th and a September 5th and so on down into the present, where he died.

His grandson goes into the time loop, to that repeating September 3. Fine. And yes, it makes sense that his grandfather is not there, since he left the time loop.  But there’s a girl in the time loop who has been in love with Abraham for over seventy years. And she begins a kissing flirtation with Jacob, in part because Abraham is dead.

But the time loop is destroyed, with Jacob stuck in 1940. So, Jacob starts coming up through time at September 4th, 1940. And there’s no explanation of whether they’re in a timeline when his grandpa exists, and, if so, if they should try to get Abraham and his girlfriend, who Jacob has been smooching, back together. After all, yes, it’s been seventy years for her, but it’s clear she’s still crazy about Abraham and Abraham, since it’s, you know, September 5th or whatever, would still be crazy about her. Is Jacob going to steal his Grandpa’s girl?

And was there no one to ask the author whether Jacob should avoid running into his Grandpa or if he’s taken the place of his Grandpa in this timeline? Should they attempt a rescue of the people they’re trying to rescue or will it alter history in such a way that they should just accept their losses now? If Jacob gets Abraham back with his girl (Emma, I think) would Jacob cease to exist because his grandpa and grandma never got together?

How do you grow up in a post-Marty McFly era and not work this shit out. People, there’s not even a passing mention of the fact that Jacob and his young grandpa are now alive at the same time.

But this brings me to the part of the book that, apparently, bothered me so deeply that it gave me nightmares. Jacob’s grandfather is the only remaining Portman (this is a side note. I’m not sure if we’re supposed to understand that Abraham changed his name from… I don’t know…. Portmanski or if Ransom Riggs was just like “Oh, hey, Natalie Portman’s Jewish. I’ll use her last name.”) in the world. He lived through the loss of his whole family to the Germans and the crushing weight of history. Then he had to give up his whole family of peculiar children, including the woman he loved, to go fight the monsters that threatened them. Then, for understandable reasons, he’s not really able to be a good father to his children (with the emotional trauma and the skipping out to fight monsters stuff), which we know from the text was extremely hard on Jacob’s father. We know Jacob’s father felt his dad was distant and couldn’t really love them. We know Jacob’s father thinks Abraham was even carrying on an affair. We know, from Jacob’s father having a difficult and emotional conversation with Jacob about it, that Jacob’s father and Abraham’s relationship was so strained that Jacob’s father is a little jealous of Jacob’s good relationship with Abraham.

At the end of the book, Jacob and his father are in Wales on a trip (well, they have been for the whole second part of the book). His mom is back home in Florida. They have all recently suffered the loss of Abraham. Jacob is their only son.

And Jacob abandons his parents with only a photograph and a note to explain it.

I bought it. But it doesn’t sit right. Yes, of course, he has to go off and fulfill his destiny. And that’s probably not going to be an easy discussion to have with your parents.

But man, It bothers me that he just ditches them without making a real effort to give his father the insight and information he’d need to understand and have some peace about Abraham. And it bothered me that there never was a moment when the weight of what he was doing to his father–abandoning a man, who’d just lost his own father, who was–with his sister and you–one of the last three members of his whole family, and who shares with you how he felt abandoned by his father, in a foreign country to return to a marriage he knows is crumbling to report that he has lost their son.

Who could do that to a man who is willing to do whatever he knows how to do to ensure your well-being without real conflicted feelings?

I almost wish that this had ended up being a story in which Jacob, so much like his grandfather, is able to rope his dad into believing in the peculiar children and having some weird adventures together with them before Jacob has to set off to save the world. Let him go off with his father’s blessing.

Man, though, you see why so many “special” children have shitty parents or shitty parent-stand-ins. Because otherwise, this shit is family-wrenching. Plus, he’s making out with his grandpa’s girlfriend! In a timeline where his grandpa is still alive (I guess).

Anyway, I thought the first two-thirds of this book were really well-done. Once it was obvious they were setting it up not for a conclusion, but for a sequel, it started to suck. It would have been better off to just make this a stand-alone book and then, if people liked it, which I believe they would have just based on the first 2/3, keep this one “family angst plus monsters” and let the next one by “Action adventure plus monsters” on its own.

But I’ve got no interest in reading any more about these characters both because the peculiar children aren’t really fleshed out and because the main character didn’t really click for me.

An Open Letter to Ron “Gun-Jumper” Ramsey

Dear Gun-Jumper,

1. Aren’t we having to petition to be exempted from NCLB this year? And isn’t the election next year? Maybe you should wait until you can show that Republican policies have improved education before bragging.

2. Teacher are in unions. So… how can you be pro-teacher and anti-union? Can I be pro-Ron Ramsey and anti-Christian? Could you be pro-B. but anti-boob freckle? I think not.

3. The way you stroke that chip on your shoulder is starting to seem a little… well… you know. Like stroking stroking. It’s starting to make me uncomfortable. If you can be the Lt. Governor of a state and still be that insecure, it’s probably time to talk to your pastor or a therapist about that.

4. YOU WON. You’ve defeated the big liberal boogie-man. If you don’t know how to govern without having a liberal strawman dragon you need to slay–if you can’t offer the people of Tennessee actual leadership, just “we’re not like those lying snobs,” you’re going to run this state into the ground. So, get 3. taken care of, get your insecurities in check, and lead. Actually lead.

Writing editorials about who you hate and how you’re going to punish them? That’s not leadership. That’s more of the “pew pew” finger gun nonsense we all saw while you were campaigning for governor.

It doesn’t make people think you’re telling them the truth. It makes them think you’re off your rocker.

Sincerely,

b.

p.s. Most people in Memphis are black. Most teachers are women. Believe me, we all know “you’re one of the good ones, not like those ones who are the real problem” is not actually a compliment.

Moby Dick thing passed along without comment

This and this.

No need to thank me.

In Which I Admit I Don’t Understand this Chet Flippo Column

Here’s the column. Now, I think the point is that there aren’t any women (single female artists) on the Billboard country chart for systemic reasons. It’s not just that there aren’t any women with songs out right now, but that women have a harder time breaking into being the kind of radio-friendly industry-backed star that gets on the country charts than men do.

But then he ends it like this: “Tammy Wynette was once asked by a young artist why she — Tammy — didn’t move aside to give younger artists a chance to take her place. Tammy just looked at her and said, ‘Move me!’”

So… what? Is it an industry problem or are women just not trying hard enough?