I just finished another book last night, which makes 5 that I've read since I posted about Middlesex. After the Eugenides book, I quickly read Joyce Carol Oates's Rape: A Love Story. The title might throw some off, but it is exactly what the book is about. It is told from the point of view of a twelve year old girl, whom, along with her mother, was ganged raped one night while walking home. As a result, the mother became despondent, withdrawing from public, but also from loved ones. The investigating officer, unlike everyone else in the town who believed the mother was a guilty whore, feels badly for the woman. Knowing that the trial will result in acquittal for the 5 or 6 young men who committed the crime, he takes matters into his own hands, picking off each of the assailants one by one while making each death look like an accident. Now, I know I should think, "this is wrong," but I can't help but cheer for this vigilante. That's my kind of man! I believe that in cases like this, justice is served, however unlawfully. The "love story" of the novel, I believe, is twofold. Although the detective knows nothing of the victim (and actually has no knowledge of the fact that the daughter was indeed raped herself), his strange love for them causes him to risk everything to bring them justice. The other love is that of the little girl for the detective. She has a sense that he is her angel who will forever protect her. She is the only one who knows what a sacrifice he has made for her and her mother, and for that, she feels a deep and unparalleled love for the man.

Next, I reached for a much lighter novel: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. Indeed, I got a thorough history lesson of the man known as Dracula, Vlad Tepes--the Impaler of Romania in the 18th century. The word "historian" references several characters in the book--each of the many narrators. Essentially though, "the historian" refers to Dracula himself, who has wandered the earth for 300 years, collecting all written works on Earth. The story is exciting and informative, although a bit anticlimactic. The reader spends the entire 800 or so pages waiting with bated breath for the big revelation only to be cozened at the last but an all too quick murder scene. It was very much like Poe in that sense. It felt similar to reading "The Pit and the Pendulum" or "The Mask of Red Death." My heart racing, my body tense as I wait to discover how it will all resolve itself. And then, BAM! It's over before I even had time to read the complete sentence.

Next in line was Death of an Ordinary Man by Glen Duncan, author of one of my favorites, I, Lucifer. I love the way Duncan writes. It's almost like stream of consciousness, which could get annoying, until you realize that it is absolutely necessary for the telling of such a story. Nathan Clark's narration opens the book as he becomes cognizant to the fact that he has died and has shown up at his own funeral. Through a series of flashbacks, the reader learns of what makes this "ordinary" man extraordinary and how that ultimately led to his death. As each part of the puzzle is pieced together, the tale shifts from what that is amusingly tongue-in-cheek to one that is deep and sorrowful. I have here, just a couple of quotes that struck me: "...he...had divided the world into Seekers and Expanders. Seekers were, naturally, searching for something as yet unknown as the possible source of enlightenment. Expanders, on the other hand, concentrated on known pleasures." "He'd seen her not really recognizing him, not really, when it came down to it, caring who he was. It was disgusting, that pain could do that. God should never have allowed pain with the power to do that. What was the point of it, except to shame and disgust everyone? To make a mockery of love? The next book I read was Slammerkin by Emma Donoghue about an 18th century London prostitute. The title refers to a loose fitting garment, and also to a loose woman--who often wore said garment. I didn't know, until after I'd read the book, that the story was based on a real person and true events. This made the story even more tantalizing than I'd already thought. How I love stories about fallen women. The last book was The Immortal by Angela Elwell Hunt. I actually enjoyed this book about a man who claims to have been roaming the earth for 2000 years as punishment for striking Jesus on his way to Golgotha to be crucified. He believes his purpose is to track down the Antichrist and intercede on God's behalf to try to convert him. Claiming that each generation has a possible Antichrist, he tries to extend man's stay on Earth by converting the evil one before the Rapture and the End of Days to allow more time for humans to repent. It's an interesting story, surprisingly spiritual despite all the atheism and agnosticism in the book. The books salvation is that it doesn't become excruciatingly dogmatic. Instead, it's quite enlightened and enlightening.

In the wake of the recent presidential election, I will once again address a political issue with my blog. I don't want to speak about President Elect Barack Obama. Only time will tell how that choice will affect this country. What I feel compelled to write about is the issue of gay marriage. I've made it known that I support gay marriage. I always have. It has nothing to do with my own sexual preferences or identity. I believe that all humans should have the same rights. As our Declaration of Independence states: " We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men [and women] are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." I don't care in which context these words were first written or what the original intention of the authors was. I care about the words themselves. We are all endowed with certain unalienable rights. Unalienable. For those who don't have a strong grasp of the English language, that means that they are intrinsic, they cannot be disputed or taken away. If we are to use these words of our founding fathers as a tool to make political points, we have to heed all of their words. We cannot say, "Well, yeah, except in this case...." So, if heterosexuals have certain rights, so shall homosexuals. Marriage is a human right. That means all humans, not just some. Since the election, many media sources have been reporting on instances in which people are protesting the decision to overturn gay marriage laws. In California, it was Prop 8. In my own state it was Prop 102. There is a controversy concerning the protesters outside a Mormon church. I agree that the protesters have taken the wrong approach to having their voices heard. Threatening and harming people who don't agree with you is never a good solution. In reaction to these acts, I'm hearing argument after argument why "Yes on Prop 8" should be upheld. 1. Allowing gays to marry is not the same as allowing interracial marriage. Why? Because gays have made a choice. Race is not a choice. They were born that way. Ok, so gays weren't born gay. They choose to be attracted to people of the same sex. I would ask those same bigoted far right heterosexuals if they choose to be attracted to members of the opposite sex. Is it something they could change if they had to? I don't think so. 2. Homosexual marriage devalues the sanctity of heterosexual marriage. I will never understand this argument. So because someone else wants to marry the person they love, my marriage means less? To further delve into this issue, anti-gays claim that homosexuals hop in and out of relationships, that they make commitments willy-nilly. That they don't take long term relationships seriously. The divorce rate in the United States is 50%!. That is 50% of heterosexual marriages end in divorce. Perhaps the fact that gay people actually want to get married and commit to each other would help decrease that number. Just a thought. 3. Opposers to gay marriage support "civil unions" they just have a problem with attaching the word "marriage" to their actions. What's the fucking difference? Do heterosexuals have a patent on the word "marriage"? If they want to call it "civil union", why don't we all just call our commitments "civil union". That is essentially what marriage is. There is no difference. They just want to argue over semantics. 4. The far right think that if they "allow" gay marriage, they will be acknowledging that homosexuality exists. Just because you take away someone's right to marry doesn't mean you take away their right to love who they want and to express that love. You cannot sweep it under the rug and hope it goes away. I even hate the term "gay marriage." It's marriage! Any way you cut it. As one of my favorite comedians, Liz Feldman, says, "I had lunch this afternoon, I didn’t have 'gay lunch'. And I parked my car, I didn’t 'gay park' it."

I consider myself apolitical. I never take a strong political stance, but I am a registered independent and plan to vote. For the first time in the 14 years I've been a registered voter, I am torn between the two candidates. Both parties have weak and strong points. I feel compelled to comment on the vice presidential debate that aired the other night, which is quite out of the ordinary for me. Something that I've noticed is that many people commenting about Palin and Biden are not basing comments on fact, but on emotion. There are a lot of unintelligent comments flying around...vicious comments, mostly on the part of those in support of Obama (or rather those against McCain). I keep reading comments about Palin's stupidity and inexperience, snide remarks about her grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation. If these people were actually paying any attention, they would notice that Palin was extremely composed, well-spoken, and direct, whereas Biden continually stumbled over his words, failed to enunciate, and mispronounced many names. Not that this makes him any less credible as a candidate, but if we're going to split hairs, let's split them correctly. I keep reading "quotes" by Palin, that when I look back, realize they are taken out of context and do not in the least support the argument against her. Do I think McCain is the better candidate? I don't know. Do I think Obama is ready to lead this country? Only time will tell. It's difficult to believe any politician, regardless of party ties. Perhaps this is why many people lead with their emotions. They base their vote on a gut feeling. It's a dangerous thing to do. People say, "I'm a republican, so McCain automatically gets my vote," and vice versa. And I know that there are certain issues that mean more to an individual than other issues. To me, gay marriage is an issue for which I feel very strongly but since neither candidate supports it, I have to look at other issues--the bigger picture. The economy and the war in Iraq are the most important issues at hand--in my opinion. I'm not directly affected by the war, since I don't have any friends or family there. I support our troops and thank God for them. But I don't support war. Who really does? Does anyone EVER think war is a good idea? I don't think so. But sometimes it's a necessary evil when sitting down to "talk things out" with insane fundamentalists isn't getting the job done. As for the problems with the economy.... I am personally suffering in that department. I can't even get into the many ways in which I am affected, but my job, my home, my way of life are on the line. I don't know who to trust as the president who will help to pull me out of these dire straits .... perhaps neither. I know I'm not alone in this. All I can do is hope. And I hope that people start listening with theirs ears and not their hearts. Get the facts. Do the research. Don't just go with a gut instinct.

Something unprecedented happened to me last night. I mean, I don't remember it ever happening. I dig deep into my memory bank and I come up empty-handed. I know it sort of happened a few months ago, but last night it felt like I was entering uncharted territory. I cried over the character in my book. As I mentioned a couple weeks ago, I'm reading (or rather, just finished) Jeffrey Eugenides Middlesex. After that last post, I really hit my stride with the book, reading larger excerpts at a time, working my way through the language, escaping into the story and the characters. There were parts where I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. Not since Dave Eggers's A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius had I done that. All through the first 430 pages, I knew what was coming. I knew that Cal was a man who had lived as a girl for 14 years before he discovered himself. But at that moment of self-revelation, I felt as if I were Cal and the world was crumbling. I'd become so immersed in the character, identifying with her as an adolescent and teen. I recognized so many things about myself in her that when she realized she was actually a he and believed herself to be a "monster," I couldn't help but cry tears of pain, confusion, regret, fear. My heart ached as did Cal's for the life and love lost in that moment. Now, I do recall becoming emotional and teary-eyed during Eggers's What is the What? but that was a completely different experience and circumstance. That was a true story and the struggles and warfare were so shocking and devastating that anyone would cry. Cal is a fictional character. And I was not shocked by his story. It's the way Eugenides tells the story that reaches in, grabs your heart and squeezes the tears from it. I remember the first time a book had a strong impact on my life. It was a few years ago when I read Mrs. Dalloway for Literary Analysis. Every student struggled with it. Woolf's style of writing was like none we'd ever seen before. For weeks we read over the same passages 4 and 5 times. We wrote paper after paper about the institution of marriage, the effects of World War II, Clarissa's flippant ways masking her depression, the significance of the color green, the idea of time as cyclical rather than linear. We got so frustrated with the book that we through it across the room, pounded it against our heads, wrote all over it, tore at it like animals. And that last day, we came into class, and we realized that we loved this book. For all the torture that it had put us through, we had lived with that book and with each other and now it was time to say goodbye. My professor (a true idol of mine) sat on the table up front and read to us the last paragraph. She looked up, her eyes met mine, and they were full of tears. We smiled at each other and I reached up and wiped my own eyes. It wasn't the characters or the story I was crying about. It was the experience of reading the book, the act in itself. What a wonderful gift books are to make you feel such things.

In response to my recent request for top ten list ideas, I received some of the following: artists/works of art, pet peeves, cities I want to visit, sexy women over 40, song lyrics, places to meet friends, among many others. I will try to implement a list for each category provided in the weeks to come. But today, I thought I'd start with one of my favorite subjects: sexy women. As I believe strong and sexy go hand in hand, my list includes those women who are not only beautiful physical specimens, but also smart, independent, generous and kind. Reviewing my list, I realize that my choices all possess an unexplainable quality that transcends physical beauty. A certain mystique surrounds her, that je ne se quois. She has IT. And she's over 40. 10. Shohreh Aghdashloo. 56 years. When I first saw Shohreh in "The House of Sand and Fog," I was captivated. Even in a role which required her to play a housewife repressed by the mores and religious beliefs of her Middle Eastern homeland, she exuded kindness, independence, strength and sensuality. Her voice is like the deep purr of some non-existent exotic wild cat that never found its way on the arc. The lilt of her accent reminds one of romantic stories involving Persian princesses in a time long forgotten in today's world. Her talent allows her to introduce such complexity even to the most minor of supporting characters, all the while radiating an unidentifiable charm that instantly entices. 9. Cindy Crawford. 42 yrs. O course a professional model is always going to be beautiful. And the world's top supermodel of all time is no exception. What makes Cindy so special is her down-to-earth attitude and her altruistic heart. Having lost her brother to leukemia, Cindy donates time and money to the cause among dozens of others. Despite her wondrous beauty and unselfish righteousness, she still knows how to laugh and have a good time. 8. Fanny Ardant. 59 years. I love this woman. Most outside of France have no idea who she is, but she is the equivalent of America's Meryl Streep...but alluring and sexy. Her beauty is rare and unusual, yet undeniable. With age comes an intrepid sense of self confidence. She's a solitary figure, shrouded in mystery, independent and apologizes for nothing. 7. Ashley Judd. 40 years.

Ashley's beauty is insane. Her intelligence is intimidating. And her selflessness is inimitable. I can barely understand the words coming out of her gorgeous mouth as she speaks of the countless causes that she holds dear to her heart. 6. Lisa Edelstein. 42 years.

Lisa has always been known for her quirky humor. But with her role on "House," people are finally recognizing her as a talent to be reckoned with. Like all the women on this list, Lisa is a total package: smart, sexy, and talented. Her smile makes me smile. She's just so darn likable. A unique beauty herself, she has the ability to recognize the beauty in those who are a bit odd, or outside of the norm, which is all the more reason to love her. 5. Jennifer Beals. 44 years. It's The Beals. She's the lead actress on a ground-breaking television show. She's a mom. She sings. She participates in triathlons. She's a Yale grad. And she gets better with age. What's more, through her work with The Matthew Shepard Foundation, she has raised awareness about the dangers of hate crimes against homosexuals. The Beals makes this world a better place bit by bit. 4. Monica Bellucci. 44 years.

Oh. My. God. I just....I don't even know what to say. A picture's worth a thousand words. 3. Selma Hayek. 42 years. I don't even know where to begin. There are so many reasons to love Salma. Apart from the fact that she is a bombshell (a term she first thought meant that she was so horrible that she would explode into a million pieces), she single-handedly changed Hollywood's attitude toward Latina actresses in just 13 years. Yes, at first it was hard to accept her talent as an actress as we were so focused on her other bountiful assets. But she reached out and slapped us across the face and said, "Hey! Eyes up here. Listen to me." And we did. And we are so fortunate that we did. Because she has a lot to say and she says it splendidly. 2. Jodie Foster. 45 years. Jodie is the longest standing entry on Lo's list. For the past 16 years, almost everyone I encounter claims that I bear an uncanny resemblance to this woman. That's enough to make me love her right there. But what cannot be ignored is that she is by far one of the best (if not the best) actresses in the world. She has a respect for her craft but doesn't take herself too seriously. She's a magna cum laude Yale grad but she doesn't lord her brilliance over you. She has me rolling with that throaty alto as she spews stories about dressing up for Halloween and hording all the candy. And she's just fucking cool. 1. Mariska Hargitay. 44 years.

Mariska tops the list for so many little reasons. They are little and may seem silly, but how do you choose a number one among such a list. Mariska isn't afraid to make an ass of herself. She often repeats a gangsta rap about herself composed by Ice T and it's truly goofy. Mariska's tough detective on "Law and Order: SVU" contrasts with own character. In life she is witty, sentimental, peaceful and connected. But she has the strength and talent to play the strong yet vulnerable Olivia Benson. Among her many wonderful qualities, she has a love and concern for humanity, lending her time to her very own organization, The Joyful Heart Foundation, among dozens of sexual assault and child abuse organizations.

I don't usually like to write about the books I read until I've completed them, but I'm in the middle of two books right now and I don't think I'll finish either one for a couple of weeks and I'm compelled to write. I did finish Ken Follet's Pillars of the Earth a couple of weeks ago for book club so I suppose I can write about that. I had read his A World Without End, which I wrote about here. Pillars was actually written 19 years before World and takes place in the same village 200 years prior. I guess I read them in the wrong order but it doesn't make that much of a difference. I actually think Pillars is a better book. The writing is better, I like the characters more, and the sex scenes are better. God, I love those sex scenes. But they are pretty much the same book. Pillars is about the building of a cathedral, so in order to understand it better, I read a couple of books about medieval cathedrals and a couple others about medieval castles. I had actually written a paper about Salisbury Cathedral, after which the "Kingsbridge Cathedral" in Pillars is modeled, so I was pretty familiar with the terms, layout and look of the cathedral. Anyway, so I'm on to Possession by A.S. Byatt and Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. Both books are brilliant. Possession's story is twofold. A pair of modern scholars, Roland and Maude, stumble upon some letters exchanged between each of their favorite poets, Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte (who are incidentally made up characters and not actual Victorian poets). Ash and LaMotte fall in love through their letters. It is months before they even meet to consummate the relationship but they experience the gamut of emotions involved in relationships that develop under normal circumstances. What starts off as an innocent friendship and correspondence progresses to a passionate flirtation and finally matures into a true romance. What makes this work genius is that Byatt wrote the story itself, along with all the letters and poems included in the book. She wrote two different styles of poetry and letters to represent the writing of her two made up poets. And then she includes critical theory based on such philosophers as Derrida, Irigaray, Lacan. I'm fucking blown away. One of the characters in the book writes a theoretical paper based on the notion of phallocentrism (the idea that the masculine is favored in language and it's meaning). There is a touch of everything in this book from Norse and Greek mythology to Victorian beliefs and customs to a slew of -isms--deconstructionism, structuralism, feminism, post-structuralism, etc. I get dizzy with information overload. It spins me off it to so many directions and I find myself seeking out other works that might explain it all: Metamorphoses, Of Grammology, The Sex Which is Not One. I can't get enough of it. I'm like a kid in a candy store. Yet it is truly exhausting and I can only take it in small doses. Eugenides's book is utterly fascinating. It tells the story of a hermaphrodite (hence the title Middlesex). But in order to understand Cal's situation, he must explain his family history. I'm not quite halfway through but everything seems vaguely familiar. There are so many similarities between this book and another favorite, Graham Swift's Waterland that I am surprised they were written by different authors. Swift's book interweaves the tale of the main character, Tom, with the history of the English fens and the mating of eels, which eventually affect his life and those around him. Eugenide's book does the same with his main character, Cal and the history of the wars between the Greeks and Turks with a splash of the Detroit car manufacturing industry. The circumstances of Cal's family history might be scientifically fascinating to some, but, as usual, I'm more interested in the psychological ramifications of such instances. Enough with the literary update. I must move on to more important matters. I have discovered the most amazing website. It's http://www.pandora.com/ and it's commercial free radio. It's actually radio that is customized to you. You put in the name of a band that you like, or even a song, and it will build a radio station around it, including songs and bands that are similar to those you like. I have about 15 artists plugged in and I put it on mix so that I have a good variety of stuff that plays all day. If they play a song I don't like, I just click and it will never play that song again. I can save artists and songs and listen to them whenever I want--FOR FREE! It's pretty awesome for a person who sits at a computer all day. You won't hear the same 20 songs everyday or have to listen to 10 minutes of annoying commercials. I've been telling everyone about it. I think I should get a commission check from pandora. Speaking of music, I had decided to make a list (to go along with my long forgotten top ten list) of my favorite songs, but it just seemed so pointless. What I'd like is for anyone out there who might be reading this (pretty presumptuous of me to assume that anyone is reading this) to come up with some lists for me and I will make a top ten. Then I don't have to think too hard about anything. Any and all suggestions will be greatly appreciated and respectfully considered. Thank you and good night.

On the importance of writing. From A.S. Byatt's Possession (an ingenious novel), here is a fair description of myself: ...when I told her of my great desire to write, and the great absence in my daily existence of things of interest, events or passions, which might form the subject matter of poetry of fiction, that it was an essential discipline to write down whatever there was in my life to be noticed, however usual or dull it might seem to me. This daily recording, she said, would have two virtues. It would make my style flexible and my observation exact for when the time came...when something momentous should cry out...to be told. And it would make me see that nothing was in fact dull in itself, nothing was without its own proper interest. So there it is. Validation for this blog. And "jocularly" is a word. I know that because I looked it up.

I don't normally use this blog as a platform for my political beliefs (being an apolitical person, it would go against my nature) nor do I care to use it as a soapbox to pontificate about all the injustice in the world and how we need to take action to change it. However, every so often, I do discover an issue for which I'm quite passionate and feel the need to communicate my viewpoint and criticism. Case in point--the ludicrous and biased scoring of the U.S. women's Olympic gymnastics team. As a former gymnast and avid fan of the sport, I make it a point to watch every meet available to me as a viewer. I entered the gymnastics world at the age of 3. At the age of 8, Mary Lou was taking the gymnastics world by storm and became my hero. That same year, a movie about Nadia Comaneci was released and I was obsessed with the sport. I have a long personal history with the sport and an even longer history as a keen observer and supporter. Gymnasts are by far the strongest, most talented athletes in the history of sports. No sport is more demanding or as debilitating as that of gymnastics. Gymnasts follow the strictest of diets, train the longest and most grueling hours, do things with their bodies that don't seem humanly possibly, and then are judged most harshly. Yes, judging for gymnastics has always been ridiculously strict. But this year, it is absurd. It is as though the "non-biased" judges have decided that if you're not Chinese, you don't stand a chance. Let's observe: The women's team final occurred last Wednesday. We had a couple of hiccups that caused us to trail the Chinese by 2.475 points. Unfortunately my girl, Alicia Sacramone,couldn't get it together and fell twice--once on beam and once on floor--dragging the entire team down. Still, the Chinese had their flaws too. And looking at the numbers, the U.S. came out ahead of the Chinese on vault and beam (despite Sacramone's fall, due to a fall on the Chinese team). Yet--and I'm not just being sour grapes--it seems as though the deductions for the Americans were far greater than those of the Chinese for the same if not worse mistakes. I could go on and on about how when our girl fell, they deducted .9 points as opposed to a deduction of .85 points for the Chinese girl's fall. But I must move on. Friday night's individual all around was a nail biter. Nastia performed flawless routines, legs together, toes pointed, graceful, stuck landings, etc. Yet she could not get out of the rut of the biased judging. They awarded the Chinese much higher scores on vault and bars despite the fact that she clearly (even to the untrained eye) made many more mistakes than Nastia. Our girls more than deserved the gold and silver for the event and I thought maybe the judges had redeemed themselves. Boy, was I wrong. The event finals have been absolutely appalling. Sunday night, my girl Alicia, performed 2 beautiful vaults with the slightest of hops on each of the landings. The deductions should have been .1 point, .3 at the very most. Fei Cheng, China's sweetheart couldn't even land on her feet during her second vault. She landed on her knees! How she squeezed a bronze medal out of that has me flabbergasted. And last night was the final straw. Nastia Luikin performed better than she ever performed on bars. The tiniest of mistakes occurred for her on the top bar, as she teetered forward slightly in a handstand position. She stuck her landing. The numbers came back. She was tied with the under aged He Kexin, yet ranked second. The controversial "tie-breaking" rule had kicked in and knocked Nastia out of a place she more than deserved. There shouldn't have even been a tie in the first place. Kexin bobbled twice in her routine and took and extra step on the landing, yet got the same great score as Nastia's nearly perfect performance. Does anyone see a trend? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but what I'm seeing is a clear cut case of anti-American bias/pro-Chinese bias along with some corrupt judging. It wouldn't be the first time a judging scandal rocked the Olympics. Remember the 2002 figure skating scandal? Perhaps in a few months, maybe even years, the IOC will be brought to justice and Nastia will receive the gold medal that is rightfully hers.

Ok, I know for the last couple of weeks I've reneged on my promise to include a top ten list on my blog every week. And I did have one started two weeks ago about places I wanted to visit and why, but it really seemed so futile, I decided to scrap the list for a later date. Instead.... I realized last night that over the years I have started many a journal--not including my blog--and have never followed through with my intentions to put in writing my deepest, darkest secrets. I believe the reason I've faltered in my conviction to keep a diary is that I've been much too honest in my life. People have told me that I'm a mystery, but I cannot possibly see how this is true. I've held nothing back about who I am, what I am, what I love, what I hate, etc. And to be truthful, there is always a fear that if I write something revealing about myself, someone will find it, judge me, and my entire world will blow up in my face. This scenario actually cuts pretty close to the bone. My real problem is that I need to write. There is something that tugs at me, urging me to delve deep within myself and the only way I can understand myself is if I write it down. And I've discovered that I need to know that someone, anyone, might read it. I don't just write for myself--which is cathartic, don't get me wrong--but I write hoping to find an audience. I'm an isolated creature. Not in the sense that I'm anti-social, but in the sense that I feel alone in the world. I reach out to others and others reach out to me, but I feel so often as if I'm frantically grasping at straws to find a connection. Even with the people with whom I'm most intimate, I cannot fully express myself, be myself. This is why I write. I become an anonymous voice hoping that someone out there will read it and understand. We had a visitor this weekend. We were all out to dinner and this person made a comment (a sneer) about Jewish people. I was so offended. I knew I was within my right to counter the bigoted statement and state my disgust with her myopic viewpoint, but I held my tongue. Why? Out of respect? Why should I respect such a person--even if she is my elder? Out of politeness? She threw politeness out the window with her own statement. Fear. Utter fear. Fucking unbelievable that I should be afraid to stand up for what's right. I'm ashamed of myself and hope that when presented the opportunity again that I will have the courage to speak my mind. In that moment, I felt utterly alone. I felt that my world was populated with people with whom I could never relate. I wanted to break out. Seek out a world in which I knew I'd find others like me. Others who would encourage me to be myself and whom I could admire for their tenacity and fortitude. I thought I was such a person. I guess I was wrong. This is why I write. To examine my life and my choices. To ascertain things about myself and why I do certain things, believe certain things. And to learn from my mistakes so that next time I will conquer my fear and become that honest person again who holds nothing back and doesn't need to write anymore.

Well, I just finished another book last night as required for the new book club I've joined and as is my custom, I'm here to report on it. Ken Follett's lengthy A World Without End, while not a masterpiece in literary rendition is still quite entertaining. I read the 1000 + book in less than a week so that seems to prove that it was far from tiresome. I've come to realize that for purely entertainment purposes, Ken Follett's novel is just the sort I tend to turn to. It's an historical fiction set in the mid 14th century. The story focuses on the lives of several characters in the made-up town of Kingsbridge, England. The reader is thoroughly informed of medieval architecture, religious practices and beliefs, and trade customs all while being drawn into the lives of peasants, noblemen, smiths and craftsmen, and the clergy. And while the characters might appear superficial at first, over time they become much more fleshed out and believable. Of course there are the clear-cut villains and heroes as is typical with "supermarket" fiction, but I found that I didn't entirely sympathize with the plight of the "good guys." In fact, for the first half of the book, I was quite annoyed with the two main characters, Caris and Merthin. The lovers are doomed due to both fate and themselves. They hit obstacle after obstacle and just when they seem to overcome one hardship one of them throws a wrench into the mess. They just can't get their shit together! I did enjoy that Caris refused to fall into the traditional role of the subservient housewife, but oftentimes, she seemed to take her liberal stance a bit too far. Sometimes I wanted to strangle her. And Merthin is mostly an intelligent, morally sound man but he is so easily reduced to a male bawd at the sexual whims of any attractive female. Something I really enjoyed about the book was the detail in which things such as architecture and construction were explained. Follett did an incredible amount of research in order to convey not just the appearance but structure of churches and bridges of the times. The reader also learns of wool making and dying and medieval medical procedures. There is also a fair amount of sex, which in my opinion, aids in making a good book even better. Finishing a book like this is always difficult for me. I become so engrossed in the characters, story, setting, etc. that I hate to let it go. I don't like to move on. I just want to keep reading about them. It doesn't happen often so when it does, I know something magical has happened.

In honor of my present reading material, The Professor and the Madman, this week's top ten list will address my favorite words. My reasons for choosing these words vary. Some I like simply for the way they sound. Others I chose for their definitions. Others are chosen due to the fact that their sounds and their meanings don't coincide. In no particular order, because it is just too difficult to decide, here they are: 10. ratiocination (n.)--To reason methodically and logically. I first heard this word as an English Literature student in reference to Milton's "Paradise Lost". I fell in love with this word, not just for the meaning, but for the fact that if you throw this word into everyday conversation, you tend to get some strange looks. 9. mellifluous (adj.)--Having a smooth, rich flow. The word itself is indeed mellifluous. It really just rolls off the tongue. Perhaps I like it because I myself never speak in a mellifluous manner, but rather more staccato, which is also a great word, but didn't make it onto the list. 8. philology(n.)--The study of literature and of disciplines relevant to literature or to language as used in literature. I, in fact believe myself to be somewhat of a philologist. That is, something more than a linguist (which I'm surely not), more than a theorist, and more than a lover of literature. It is all of those things. And it is fun to say. 7. lugubrious (adj.)--1. Mournful; indicating sorrow, often in a way that seems feigned, exaggerated, or ridiculous. 2. Gloomy; dismal. Just saying this word puts me in a lugubrious mood.  6. quixotic (adj.)--1. Caught up in the romance of noble deeds and the pursuit of unreachable goals; idealistic without regard to practicality. 2. Capricious; impulsive. Another word that is fun to say, it is almost a complete antithesis to the concept of "ratiocination". I wish I were more quixotic. 5. ju-ju (n.)--1. An object superstitiously believed to embody magical powers. 2. The power associated with a juju. I don't believe any comment is necessary. It's just a great word. 4.  vex (v.)to irritate, annoy, provoke.  I'm often vexed.  Not by life's usual predicaments, but by my own actions and reactions to those predicaments. 3. doppleganger (n.)--1. A ghostly double or counterpart of a living person. 2. Alter ego; double. Mostly, I love the idea of a doppleganger. So many literary works address this notion and I find it fascinating. I could have a second self wandering about the planet. How delicious it would be to meet such a person. I'd probably kill him or her. 2. cacophony (n.)--Harsh or discordant sound; dissonance. A fun word to say and actually not at all cacophonous when heard. 1. gravitas (n.)--high seriousness. I actually have to say this word with a gravelly voice. And slow: "graveeetaaas". This was a difficult list and one that is constantly in transition.

A Few of My Favorite Things... As promised, my top ten list for this week will include my favorite things. This doesn't mean my favorite song, my favorite movie, etc. It means the random things in which I take pleasure. This has been quite a tour de force in self-exploration. I had to really dig deep within myself to figure out what it is that I truly love and appreciate about life. Here goes: 10. Hats. I'm a hat girl. I have 'em all...newsboys, trilbys, baseball caps, cowboy hats, santa caps, fishing caps, players, collettes, and spays. And I wear them. That is the key. You can't have a collection of such adornments and not adorn. 9. In the same vein, I have a proclivity for collecting and wearing scarves. However, this does not extend into what the French call "foulards". That is to say, no silky, gauzy neck scarves for the summer. ONLY long winter wrap around scarves that keep me toasty...even indoors. 8. There is something both eerie and peaceful about a solitary late night drive through the desert. It took me a while to figure out that it was a favorite thing, but I love the night, I love to drive fast with no traffic around and I do enjoy being alone so there it is. 7. The soft tickling of grass under my feet and between my toes. I definitely live in the wrong place for such a favorite feeling, but every time I see a healthy blanket of green, I feel compelled to take off my shoes and indulge myself 6. I live for stormy, dark, nippy, grey, foggy days. Again, living in the wrong place for that. Perhaps that's why I love them so much. 5. Oh how I melt at the sexy sounds of a muted trumpet. And yet the the soulful resonance of a clarinet makes me question my choice for #8. Let's just leave it at really great sensual jazz melodies. 4. The smell of figs. It's absolutely the best perfume in the world. Yes, fresh baked bread, chocolate and rose petals are all nice, but nothing compares to that of a fig. 3. Breaking the rules once in a while. This is a tough one to explain. It doesn't mean breaking the law or anything that drastic, but it means doing something naughty or being unexpected. For example, laughing when you're not supposed to. I would always laugh in church. I would have terrible fits that I would have to stifle but I look back on it now and I get a kick out of such instances. But what I really mean by this is being myself. People look at me and expect one thing and if they were to stick around to observe the "real" me, they would get something quite different. I know I come off as youthful, classy, refined, serious and aloof. And perhaps I am those things, but I'm also a pretty chill chica who can cuss like a sailor when angry, listens to hard rock music, and can burp like nobody's business. So my 3rd favorite thing is not fitting into the box. 2. My blanket. I sleep with my childhood blanket. I cannot be without it. I had it the day I came home from the hospital almost 32 years ago and I will have it until the day I die. Just call me Linus. 1. I had honestly thought my blanket would be my first favorite, but I re-evaluated my choice and I have to go with....dreams. I love dreaming. I don't care if it's a good dream, a bad dream, a sexy dream, a scary dream, a recurring dream, a dream about the past or a dream about the future. It can be about something that has happened, something I fear happening or something I wish would happen. The thing about them is that no matter what they are about, they always reveal more about to myself. If it's a great sexy dream, I can savor it for days to come. If it's a tragic depressing dream, I can breathe a sigh of relief that it isn't real. I know that this is further evidence to the fact that I'm an escapist, someone who prefers a chimerical world over the practical world. But it's what keeps me going. I'm a pragmatist by day, so my nights are spent in fantasy. So, there it is, my top ten for the week. The lists, I'm sure will become less profound and more frivolous.

Today was a bad day and I just need to vent. Sometimes we all just need to vent to someone and this is my "someone". Some people vent to others and receive sound advise, words of wisdom, or perhaps just an understanding ear. Me? I rely on myself and my writing to ground me. Maybe Friday the 13th really is a cursed day. Maybe I'm just emotional right now. I'll be brief as I hadn't planned on writing today. What set this horrible day in motion is that my dog had to go to the vet today. We discovered Tuesday that Dante's brow above his left eye had swollen quite a bit and we thought that he and our other dog, Moses, had gotten a little rough. His face continued to swell and we knew that he had been bitten by something. It turns out he was bitten by some sort of spider, but the vet had thought it was a snake at first. We are so lucky that Dante didn't die. Thank God he's young and healthy. Relationships with pets are strange. You never really realize how much they mean to you until they are gone. Here are my beautiful boys (Dante on the left with the white patch and Moses on the right:

And here is a computer painting I did of them:

These computer paintings have become one of my favorite hobbies. I do them on an internet site. I started doing them a few months ago and I'm addicted. I hadn't done any in a while because I couldn't get into the site, but now that I'm back online, I'm doing a bunch. I love my boys. Aren't they cute? Even if they're blue....

This blog is going to be about movies. I know I usually write about books, but movies seem to be more accessible to most people. My inspiration for this blog comes from one movie in particular. Last night I watched "Lars and the Real Girl". It is exactly the kind of film I love. Lars is very much a person "on the outside", as I like to call it. He is not "normal" or in any way conventional. But what the fuck? Who is? That's my philosophy anyway. The thing is, people are so scared by the abnormal. They are so quick to label different as crazy. If that were the case, I would've been committed a long time ago. I enjoy the quirks in people. I enjoy the beauty of those who are unique, who catch you off guard, who are so very unexpected. So Lars, in all of his oddity and "insanity" finds that people really do love him and are willing to accommodate those endearing quirks. If only humanity were really so compassionate, accepting, kind and altruistic. This film gives me hope that there will be people who watch the film and open their minds and hearts and stop judging based on their own fears. And who would've thought Ryan Gosling would become one of the best actors of our time? Just wow. And any movie with Patrica Clarkson is not to be missed. That woman has so much class and I swear I could just listen to her talk all day. What a wonderful, rich soothing voice she has. In ways, "Lars.." reminds me of "Juno". I hadn't known what to expect about "Juno" and didn't think I was a big fan of Ellen Page, but I fell in love with the movie and with her. In ways (aside from the pregnancy) Juno reminds me of myself when I was a teenager. She's quirky, yet accepted; ostracized yet admired; too mature for her own good; gives off the air of not caring what others think, yet deep down wishing to be understood. It's refreshing to see that such a small, offbeat little film can really make it big and find a large audience amongst all the grotesque Hollywood blockbusters churned out by the large studios every year. Thank God for films like these and the people who make them. I also recently watched "Mad Money" and "P.S. I Love You" and really enjoyed them both. Diane Keaton in "Mad Money" is hilarious and I do love me some Queen Latifa. What a beauty she is! As for "P.S. I Love You", I cried. I can't believe I cried! I never cry in films, but it sort of reminded me of my own life: A wonderful man who loves his wife so much even though she may not think she deserves such love. She struggles with the idea that he was always the "perfect" one, the one who everyone liked and she was always the stick in the mud. And when she loses him, she realizes that she might not have let him know how much she loved him and appreciated him. I love Gerard Butler. He is on my list of sexiest men in Hollywood and of course Hillary Swank is flawless as usual. It's a cute film, moving, yet not overly sentimental. I recommend. Which brings me to my lists....I love lists. I love people who love lists. Here are two lists of films I recommend. Best Film Per Decade 1920s: "The Big Parade" 1925. I discovered this film a few years ago when I got really into silents and pre-code films. It stars John Gilbert (Garbo's former flame) as an American soldier fighting in WWI. He meets a young French woman, the adorable Renee Adoree, and falls in love. What I so love about this film (besides my obsession with all things WWI) is the subtle acting on Gilbert's part. What he does so well is bring a quietness of emotion and subtlety to his acting that was so abnormal for silent films. Acting had to be big and emotive in order to make up for the lack of dialogue, but Gilbert is so natural, not to mention handsome. And I'm blown away at the cinematic scope of the film and special effects. Such shots could be found in films today and still not carry the impact they do in a film made 80 years ago. 1930s: "Gone With the Wind" 1939. Of course I have to choose this film as it truly may be the best movie ever made. For so long, I've thought "Camille" with Greta Garbo was the best 30s film, but I have to consider the film as a whole and not just the acting (of which Garbo is sublime in this film). The problem is, the script and cinematography just don't compare to that of the Margaret Mitchell adaptation. And Vivien Leigh is indeed phenomenal as Scarlet. I can literally watch that movie once a week and still love it every bit as the first time I ever saw it. It's truly an epic film and should not be missed. 1940s: This is difficult. There are so many great films of the 40s. But, as with GWTW, I chose a movie of which I never tire: "The Philadelphia Story" 1941. With a stellar cast of Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart, it is utterly flawless. The hilarity of the script and acting tends to overshadow the fact that the movie is actually beautifully filmed. The black and white seems ethereal in its quality. The camera work and lighting should not be taken for granted as they are masterful. 1950s: Hands down "Some Like it Hot" 1959. Funniest Movie EVER! There are just too many great things about this movie. It must be viewed several times in order for all the subtle innuendo to be recognized. It really pushed the envelope with that script. And Jack Lemmon...what can I say? I actually don't know if I enjoy him as a comedian or a dramatist better, but this is by far his loveliest performance. 1960s: "Sound of Music" 1965/"West Side Story" 1961. This truly is a toss up. Both musicals are too fantastic. The thing is, I love both movies for the same reasons. The music never gets old (there's actually one song in each I don't care for. SOM: "Climb Every Mountain". WSS: "Cool Boy"). They are both light-hearted and funny in parts, but also deeply dramatic and disturbing. Great acting. I do have to say though...as much as I love Natalie Wood, I don't like her as a Puerto Rican lipsynching to operatic musical ballads. So, whereas SOM wins a point in the acting department, WSS trumps the other in choreography. With performers like Russ Tamlyn and Rita Moreno in WSS, there is no comparison for the dancing in SOM. Best musical number--SOM: "Sixteen Going on Seventeen". WSS: "America". Hmmm.... I just realized, both characters named "Maria" have a song named after them. 1970s: I hate the 70s in terms of film. This was tough because I pretty much skip that decade when I watch movies. I hate doing this, but I'm gonna have to go with "The Godfather Part II" 1974. I'm a much bigger fan of DeNiro that Pacino and since DeNiro is the star of Part II, I must choose it. Plus, I really enjoy the early life of Vito in the 20s and all the the Sicilian landscape and language of II. 1980s: "E.T." 1982. This movie just holds so many special memories for me that it's really more of a sentimental pick than anything. Although, it was quite innovative film making for the time, so it does have many qualities of a truly great film. I recently watched it with all my nieces and nephew an it was so wonderful to watch their first reactions to the story as well. I shall never forget it. 1990s: "Silence of the Lambs" 1991. Yes. I'm a sicko. I'm actually obsessed with this film. I was 15 when it came out and everyone started telling me I looked like Jodie Foster. That was just the beginning of many years to follow of people telling me I was her twin, requesting that I say "Doctor Lecter" in that backwoods Virginian accent and asking for my autograph. I still get it sometimes today, but not as much as back then. I never saw the resemblance, although I'm beginning to now ( I do see the Natalie Wood resemblance though). Anyway, back to the film. I don't even need to mention the acting, which is superb. This film, in all it's aspects captures the creepiness of insanity. I don't think of it as a traditional horror flick because it never goes for the cheap/gory thrill. The horror of the film is not in the grotesque fantastical manioc killing of random people (as in "Friday the 13th" or "Nightmare on Elm Street" films and their ilk) but in the shocking reality that this sort of thing does happen in real life. That people are monsters and many walk around this earth among us as if life is not sacred. 2000s: Although the decade is not over, I wonder if there will be a film that can live up to "Moulin Rouge!" 2001. Baz Luhrmann is the ultimate film maker and this is the ultimate film. It has everything and encompasses the audience in it's storytelling. Comedy, tragedy, romance, music, great costumes, great acting, great sets, clever dialogue and references, special effects, beautiful lighting and cinematography. It is the epitome of a spectacle and it is spectacular. Some people are put off by it at first because the beginning is so over the top, quirky, fast-paced and confusing, but that is exactly what is needed to convey the mood of the times. Turn of the century in Paris was all of those things. And it's as if Luhrmann dares his audience to stick with him through the journey on which he is about to take you. And stick with it you must, because it is worth it. Ok, that's that list. Now a brief list of my favorite foreign films in order to No. 1. I'm not an avid viewer of foreign films, but I do watch them more than the average Joe and these are the best--in my opinion. 10. Jules et Jim (France 1962) /Les Diaboliques (France 1955) toss up. 9. The Piano Teacher (France 2001) /Swimming Pool (France 2003) 8. 8 Femmes (France 2002) 7. Nathalie...(France 2003) 6. Cinema Paradiso (Italy 1990) 5. Don't Tempt Me (France/Spain/Italy/Mexico 2001) 4. Trois Coleurs: Rouge (France 1994) 3. A Very Long Engagement (France 2004) 2. Life is Beautiful (Italy 1997) 1. Malena (Italy 2000) And since I love lists so much, I will be including a top ten list every week in my blog. :)

I realized that I got so wrapped up in the Literature and penny finding stuff in my post yesterday that I hardly included any "life" stuff. I'm just so excited to be back on the computer, since I've had absolutely no access to it for over a month. Ah! I can breathe again. Just kidding. I've actually been occupying my time with much more productive projects. I'm reading more, doing more crossword puzzles, going on bike rides, attending a Bible study and a book club, hence, the reading more. So, as I mentioned, I just got back from a trip to Cleveland. Although non-Clevelanders enjoy referring to my hometown as "The Mistake on the Lake", I must ask of such nay-sayers, "Have you ever been there?" I love Cleveland. There are so many wonderful things about the city. I'm actually from a suburb called South Euclid, which is about 30 minutes south of downtown. The outer parts of Cleveland like Cleveland and University Heights, Shaker, and Chagrin are so charming and truly beautiful. While I was there, the weather was warming up and the landscape was lush and green. Flowers were in bloom, there was a slight breeze, and the air smelled fresh and floral. Here in AZ, there is nothing like it. Sure, we have trees and plants and flowers, but there are no rolling hills of grass or the occasional deer that passes through one's back yard. True story: The house where we stayed is in a suburban neighborhood, but there are woods behind the house. On my last day there, I enjoyed watching a family of deer as they walked through the yard and the youngest decided to take a long nap under the tree just outside the window. During my 10 day trip, we took a drive out to the lake and enjoyed the sounds and smells of the surf. It was such a peaceful, restful day, a nice break from all the hustle and bustle of reuniting with family and friends. My family also took a trip to Little Italy. Back at the turn of the 20th century, my great-grandfather (my grandmother's dad) was quite a wealthy businessman in Cleveland. He owned an apartment building which still stands today. Here are my mom and me in front of it: Once my brother arrived in town, we made our way down to the "Flats" for the annual Rib Cook Off. That night, we took in an Indians game as we are all huge fans. We also spent a thrilling and exhausting day at Cedar Point. As I mentioned before, it was exhilirating to become a kid again, but it really took a beating on my body and by the end of the day, I could barely move. And even though I'm still recovering a week later, it was totally worth it. Brandon and I had a lovely dinner at Pier W, the coolest restaurant in Cleveland. It actually hangs out over the cliff and the whole restaurant is windows so you can view the water, the boats, the Cleveland skyline, etc. And the food is to DIE for. Of course I have to plug the best pizza place in the COUNTRY, my Aunt Frannie's famous Italian Restaurant, Geraci's. People travel far and wide for her pizza, have in Fed-Exed to them across country and rave about it to friends in other states. Of course we had a couple meals there and I gained some weight just from her pizza alone, but my aunt just keeps the food coming, for like hours. And you can't possible say no to such an angel of a woman as my aunt. We travelled to Put-in-Bay one day. As a child growing up there, I never knew there were hundreds of islands out in Lake Erie so it was such a delightful new adventure to take the boat out to one of them one day, attend a wine tasting at a local vineyard there and spend a nice relaxing day enjoying the charm of the tiny town. My great-great aunt turned one hundred while we were there so there was, of course, a big Italian bash. I could get into the whole family tree, but it is just way too confusing. But basically, even though my grandparents (my grandfather being a LoSchiavo and my grandmother being a Roberto) have both passed away, there were members from both sides of the family there. It's really crazy. Everyone is named Joe or Frank, and Martha or Marie. It's a headache to go to those things. As more and more relatives continue to pass on, I have less to remember though(as I can't really keep up with which children belong to which of my dozens of cousins). There were some things that I wanted to do that I didn't get to, like the art museum again, which I guess has been closed for 3 years. I did get to go once a few years ago, but I always enjoy going to see art whenever possible, and Cleveland's is a top notch museum. I wanted to visit the botanical gardens, as it came highly recommended. I spent some time in the area though and wanted to have a nice meal at The Inn on Coventry, but they were closed when I got there. Ah well. Probably for the best anyway. As everyone in Cleveland knows, I would move back there in a heartbeat. There was a concern for a while that the weather wouldn't be good for my health, but as I recently discovered that I never had Lupus in the first place, that argument is futile. Yes, I still have the fibromyalgia, but that isn't exacerbated by the weather, and there's actually a holistic doctor in Cleveland that has cured fibromyalgia patients of the disease. I might have to make another visit soon to see him, but in the mean time, I'm reading his book and recognizing a lot of symptoms and learning quite a bit. I loved feeling "at home" again while I was there. I've never felt AZ was my home and that there was really any reason to stay here. I don't know. Maybe someday I'll find myself back home again.

Wow! It really has been a long time since I posted, as a friend recently reminded me. I honestly didn't think anyone was reading my boring drivel. My life has been really crazy lately, but as I previously promised, I will try to stick to the original purpose of this blog, literature and finding pennies. With some "life" stuff thrown in occassionally. ;) Let's start with the pennies. I just returned from a trip to Cleveland, my home town where I found a lot of change on the ground. I think people there must not care or pay attention to all the coins they discard. As for the trip, it was wonderful seeing old family, friends and places I used to visit. Fun, restful and a bit melancholic. Oh well. I did get over to Cedar Point, the best amusement park in the world where I became a kid again for a little while, but also felt old, as my body cannot take all the pounding entailed on those huge roller coasters. I found so much change on the ground that day. People need to empty their pockets before they go whipping through the air in every direction possible. Literature...since I last wrote, I've read a couple of books. I'm just finishing up One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gael Garcia Marquez, the same author of Love in the Time of Cholera. I've thoroughly enjoyed the journey I've taken with the characters. I've loved the quirkiness, the passion, and yes, the melancholy of the characters. Each character is so unique yet very familiar to me. I do, however, wish I had read the book for a class or book club or something since the actual act of reading has felt very much an act of solitude itself. The characters are so engrossed in their own lives and their own minds that no one understands each other, or cares to. I find that to be the unfortunate circumstance of my own existence sometimes as well. I also read Fire in the Blood by Irene Nemirovsky. I recently joined a woman's book club and that was the assignment. Although I didn't think much of the book (it would make a good movie though), I was fascinated by the author's story and how the book came to be published. Nemirovsky died at Auschwitz and the manuscript was found and completed years after her death. I do recommend it for someone who enjoys a light, easy read involving passion and scandal. Before that I read What is the What? by one of my faves, Dave Eggers. I LOVED this book. I adored his autobiography A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius so much that I decided to read everything I can find by him. This latest award winning book was such an important story. I think everyone should read it, even if you don't consider yourself a reader. It's an easy read in terms of technicality, but a difficult story to stomach emotionally. Valentino Achak Deng is a true hero and his story needs to be shared. Thank you Dave Eggers for bringing this story of struggle, pain, triumph and hope to the masses. On my recent travels to Cleveland, I stopped in at a wonderful little bookstore in a part of town called Larchmere and picked up a few books. Dave Egger's You Shall Know Our Velocity, Zadie Smith's (another HUGE fave) On Beauty, Joyce Carol Oates's Black Girl/White Girl and my next read The Professor and the Madman, a true account of the gentlemen who compiled the Oxford English Dictionary. I'm so excited. Future reading includes Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy, Ian McKewan's Atonement and the Zadie Smith book. I love, love, love Zadie Smith. Highly recommend White Teeth to everyone. This young woman is a genius! That's all for now. I'll keep posting all my future literary adventures!

I'm no longer going to be using this blog to discuss my identity crisis.  I will, however, continue to write much more lighthearted posts such as my dreams and reviews of the books I read.  I did want to comment on a recent piece of fiction I read titled The Passion by Jeanette Winterson. I loved this book and took the time to note some poignant quotes that really resonated with me. This book is indeed about passion, which I believe is the most important quality one can possess.

"I have shouted to God...but [He] has not shouted back and I'm not interested in the still small voice. Surely a god can meet passion with passion?"

"I was happy but happy is an adult word. You don't have to ask a child about happy, you see it. They are or they are not. Adults talk about being happy because largely they are not. Talking about it is the same as trying to catch the wind. Much easier to let it blow all over you. This is where I disagree with the philosophers. They talk about passionate things but there is no passion in them. Never talk happiness with a philosopher."

"To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand."

"I say I'm in love with her. What does that mean? It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. It is as though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read. Wordlessly, she explains me to myself."

"Saints love to be whipped and I've seen pictures galore of their extatic scars and longing glances. Watching an ordinary person being whipped couldn't have the same effect. Saintly flesh is soft and white and always hidden from the day. When the whip finds it out, that is the moment of pleasure, the moment when what was hidden is revealed."
This is just a taste of all the quotes in this book that touched me. Her prose reads like poetry and sometimes I feel she's inside my head, expressing my deepest thoughts and voicing my realities. I'm now reading Beguiled by Alice Borchardt. I don't think it warrents much of a review. It's a bit trite and although it's supposed to be in the same vein as Braveheart, it reminds me more of the cheesy Xena Warrior Princess ilk.