Review of Swiss Family Robinson

I love reading the classics, particularly adventure classics, but Swiss Family Robinson didn't do much for me. There were strong passages, but for the most part, the story consisted of the family finding an animal, which they would tame and make a pet of, or of them finding another sort of animal, which they would kill and eat. The Disney version wisely added pirates. This book could have used pirates. The end.

My Review of Bloody Lies

Say Nebraska decided to hold elections for something insane, like an official state crime. There would be little debate; the top spot would go to the infamous 1958 Charles Starkweather killing spree, which stretched from Lincoln to a few miles past the state border into Wyoming. Inspiring both films and music (Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska, the films Badlands and Natural Born Killers, among others), the impact of that notorious crime has been widespread. 

But if it was up to me, we’d all take a closer look at another horrific tragedy: the murder of a happily married couple, the Stocks, while they slept in their farmhouse in Cass County, Nebraska. In Bloody Lies, author John Ferak gives us the opportunity to take such a look. This crime, and most especially the subsequent investigation, deserve as much attention, if not more, than the one glorified by movies and music. The lessons learned are simply too important to ignore. 

Bloody Lies opens with a description of the murder. It is frank and unflinching, but necessary for us to recognize the heinousness of the crime. Included with this are three photos of the victims. Needless to say they are hard to look at. Whether or not they were required is tough to say, but it cannot be denied that the pictures allow us to see for ourselves exactly how brutal the crime was.

From there, the book essentially splits into two halves. The first covers the investigation of the crime through interrogations, crime scene analysis, and so on. Ferak unreels the facts in it a straight forward fashion, letting the story speak for itself—and what a story it is. I was familiar with the generalities, having followed along in the Omaha-World Herald, yet I found myself enrapt. As uncomfortable as the material can be, the quick pace of the book kept me completely involved.

Ultimately, despite having solid alibis and dubious motives, two individuals are held responsible. Why? Because the police have a confession. We learn that this confession derived from an ethically troublesome and frightening interrogation of one of the suspects. Damn the facts, the investigators have what they want and they’re going to run with it. Reading the excerpts of the interrogation quoted at length, it seems clear that the suspect, Matt Livers, is all but fed a confession, the words very nearly put in his mouth. It is difficult to resist feeling anger when Livers, a young man that has a slight mental handicap, is instructed to “stand up” and admit his crime. Incapable of understanding the abstract meaning of the phrase, Livers literally stands up from his chair.

Review of Katydids and Poems for Kids

There are all kinds of good books, and I don’t much care where they come from, so long as they come from somewhere. Keep ‘em coming, I say. This one? Katydids and Poems for Kids: But Mostly Poems for Kids? I don’t know what recesses of Jeremy Johnson’s mind these poems sprung from. Like I said, I don’t care. I’m just glad they’re in print, where we can all enjoy them.

Now, I have met Jeremy, and he’s a super guy. But I’ll be honest. It’s a good way to be, because lies tend to trip over themselves, and we don’t want that. See, I wasn’t sure I wanted him writing kids that I would read to my poems—wait a second, let’s try that again. I wasn’t sure I wanted him writing poems that I would read to my kids. I wasn’t certain because that’s kind of a big thing, right? You can’t just sit there and read them any old thing. I’m trying to raise future high achievers in a way that I can live through them vicariously, because I haven’t done much myself, and I can’t risk feeding them rubbish.

So I did something very wise—I opened the book up and began to read for myself, before endangering my children’s futures. If it was bad, no big deal, because I can always spare the brain cells, being that I don’t drink nor read Shades of Grey books. I gots plenty of brane sales so it’ll be….good.

The Phantom of Faerie Mountain Review

This is a very enjoyable book. The characters are engaging and relatable, with the bulk of the fast-moving story taking place in a perfect Scottish setting. Abby is the heroine who gets sucked in to the action very early, literally landing on the hero, Rory.

It was refreshing to not have Abby's primary concern be sucking face with the hero. Her mind is on her mission, and Rory and Abby treat each other as people rather than objects of lust. The handling of Rory's Scottish accent was particularly well done--there's enough to absorb us, but it is never difficult to read. A mysterious hound, Finlay, dips in and out of the story to gently lead Abby on her way; I was reminded of Aslan from the Narnia series, without the baggage of having to symbolize a deity. The story has a satisfactory conclusion while leaving the door open for the rest of the planned trilogy, which is not always an easy feat to accomplish. Overall, I enjoyed it, and think most readers would as well (it is appropriate for all ages).

Rainbow Blog #7

Short and sweet today.

15

Big chapter, but let’s not dwell on that—let’s focus on this great line instead: “Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months—they’re like dog months.”

 

Nailed it. So true. I can remember taking finals and looking back at the start of the semester like we had ridden to school on a horse and buggy. Then you’d go through it all again the next semester.

Lots of romance stuff in this one, and roommate's boyfriend is now roommate's ex-boyfriend. Well, he has been for awhile, but they neglected to tell..well, anyone really.

Rainbow Blog #6

All right, in the interest of preventing myself from rambling, and droning on and on, and beating a dead horse, and dragging things out, and to keep the posts clear and concise, and not bogged down with too much commentary, and to prevent them from being repetitive, and redundant, and filled with pointless information I have decided that we will limit each chapter to no more than 4 salient points going forward, to strive for brevity, so as not to take up too much of anyone’s time, including my own, in order to keep these brief and to the point, so as not to beat around the bush, and to prevent them from being repetitive, or lollygag, but to come to a direct point, to bring things to a head, swiftly and immediately, and to prevent them from being repetitive, without undue waste or mindless chatter. Thank you.

Chapter 13

1. Cath doesn’t want to go to a party that roommate’s boyfriend is having because there will be drunk people galore. “I don’t like to talk to drunk people.” I can relate to this as a fellow non-drinker. Sorry drinkers. But Cath, holing up in your room is not the answer, either.

2. THIS IS NOW MY FAVORITE CHAPTER. With all apologies, here’s the truth. Until I find a typo within your book, I’m sorry, I just can’t get all the way into the book. I start worrying that I’m reading the creation of some kind of robot or something, potentially sent from the future, because with each book I’ve had a part in, whether it be writing or editing, despite scouring them for typos or formatting errors they always find their way in. Frankly, it pisses me off. So I need to see a typo somewhere when I read, no matter how minor. I need to see the author “bleed” a little bit. I need to know they are human.

So, after 147 pages, I have seen Rainbow Rowell and her team of nearly flawless editors bleed. What is the typo? Oh, it’s no big deal: “and his face with filled with disgust and decision.” No big deal, yet it made me deliriously happy. Or maybe only a little bit happy, but deliriously happy sounds more interesting. #writerstryingtowrite

3. Nick is a perfect fit for Cath even though I don’t want him to be, yet in this chapter we’ve got roommate’s boyfriend making her read her stories to him and so he’s proving to be a good fit for Cath as well, just as I thought he might. And this is why I don’t do love triangles in my books. Because seriously, which one of these fine gentleman should she end up with? The guy who writes with her and seems to be a nice guy, or the one who is read to by her and seems to be a nice guy? I can’t decide. How could I decide as a writer? I couldn't. I'd stare at the computer for hours and hours. So I don't do love triangles for that reason. Well, that and I would be absolutely awful at writing them. 

4. Roommate shows up and there is some definite tension abounding. In abundance. Abounding tension abounds in abundance in chapter 13. Roommate knows there is some unspeakable chemistry floating in the air between her boyfriend roommate's boyfriend and Cath.

The Music of the Fourth

For the fireworks operators, putting together a Fourth of July playlist seems to be old hat. You mix in some of the orchestral majesty of "Stars and Strips Forever," throw in "God Bless the USA" by Lee Greenwood, work in Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World" for class, then add in a pop song by the likes of Taylor Swift or Katy Perry to show your with the times, and call it a night.

But don't we deserve a little better? Aren't there are other worthy songs out there that deserve some shine? Indeed there are. Come on fireworks operators, let's step our game up. Here are some of my personal choices, and I'm sure there are many other worthy contenders.

1. Rick Derringer, "Real American" aka Hulk Hogan's theme song.

I'm just going to lay down my ace card--why the hell is this not song used in fireworks shows? By rights it should be our national anthem, but since it's not, let's give it some love elsewhere. There is simply nothing more American than the thought of Hulk Hogan cleaning the wrestling ring of bad guys while this song blares through the arena (preferably those commies Sgt. Slaughter (circa 1990-1991), Nikolai Volkoff, and the Iron Shiek), with the possible exception of Hulk Hogan shredding his bass guitar in front of exploding fireworks, as shown in the video.

Owning It

There's a famous line from the Kevin Smith film Clerks: "I'm not even supposed to be here today!" That's how I felt when strolling into my spot behind the teller line at the bank branch located inside of a Wal-Mart Supercenter. I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to be inside of a Wal-Mart--I hated Wal-Mart. The branch I had been working at, close to home with a great bunch of co-workers, wasn't supposed to close down. I was supposed to be home, with Abby, enjoying a Saturday, a perfect summer day. I wasn't supposed to be working when I had already worked the last two Saturdays.

I wasn't supposed to be, but I was there.

Worse, I had screwed up. A small pile of work awaited me, left behind from the night before--checks, deposit slips, loan payments. There wasn't much, sure, but every piece represented a transaction that wasn't processed for a customer. I hated making mistakes like that. It was embarrassing.

I slumped down in my chair and began the process of crediting customer accounts. I had done it many times before when other bankers had made the same mistake. For the most part, the errors would go unnoticed. Other than one account, the customers had healthy bank balances and a couple hundred bucks gone missing wouldn't have effected them over the night. As long as that one customer didn't notice, it would be smooth sailing.

Then the phone rang. About that one customer. . .

"Yeah, I just went through the checkout line and my blankety-blank card wouldn't work, so I couldn't get blankety-blank breakfast this morning. I know I put a blanking deposit in there and should've had plenty of blanking money in there and would you tell me what the blank is going on there? I'm through with this bank and I'm going to tell everyone I know what a bunch of idiots you all are."

Turns out he noticed.

My first instinct was to lie my ass off. It was easy enough. All I had to tell him was that something must have gone wrong in the back room, there's no telling what, and dang it, I'm as mad as you are about those idiots. The back office was a bunch of nameless, faceless people that he couldn't call and cuss at while I was living, breathing person that could be cussed at, and quite vehemently. So what if the backroom was innocent? They made terrific scapegoats. The words were right there; I only had to say them.