Voracious Reader

Quick. Someone buy this onesie before I do.

Next Step: Living off the Fatta the Land

When was the last time I pimped something I've written elsewhere? I thought so! Far too long!

If you're new around these parts, you might not know that last summer, Rusty and I got sick of the insane housing bubble that has held this city in its thrall for the past few years. We may be living in the only place on earth where housing prices and property crime are both rising at EXACTLY THE SAME RATE. So we decided to stay in the shitty (but character-filled! And did I also mention cheap!) house we've been renting for the past ten years. We like it here. Also, we'll never find enough boxes to move all our crap. Some decisions just make themselves.

But we're wilful types. If we're going to compromise, we want to dictate at least some of the terms. And so we decided that, in lieu of spending half a million bucks on a shoddily constructed shoebox with used crack pipes all over the lawn, we'd spend considerably less than that on a chunk of land outside the city and build a little place to get away from our urban cares on weekends and during the summers. And so we did. Sort of. We bought the land, a five-acre parcel with a kickass view of the ocean and mountains, on a nearby island. Now we're working on building a cabin. This is where things get interesting. Did I mention that, when it comes to construction, we're the kind of people who tend to approach home fix-it projects with furrowed brows and a roll of duct tape?

Skills? We have not many of those. But ideas! Oho, the ideas... they flow thick and fast. And don't even get us started on the grandiose overarching philosophies. If we could build a cabin with the speed and confidence with which we construct a manifesto, this thing would have been up months ago, and would already be festooned with ivy. And turrets.

And so, because our motto seems to be, But if we don't blog about it, what's the point of doing it? we started a blog to document both our thinking and the ambling approach we laughingly refer to as "our process". The blog is called The Cabin. This seems like a good, optimistic title. If we use the word "cabin" on the internet, one is bound to appear on the land eventually, right? (Right?) We've been posting sporadically for a while, but lately we've picked up the pace. This, coincidentally, is in keeping with the fact that we seem to actually be moving forward with a design and build plan.

It all comes back to books, I swear.

So, I recently posted a sort-of review of a book called Cabins and Beach Houses, which has had some influence on our thinking. If, like me, you're into modernism, vintage design books, and recreational property, well, first of all, WHY AREN'T YOU HERE? We have so much to catch up on! I'll make sandwiches! Or if that's not a possibility on such short notice, you may just prefer to read the post.

Also, if you have any practical words of advice, please, forthwith.

Famous Men Bastards of Letters

The tough thing about being famous is that, no matter how much good stuff you do, some picky critics out there are going to dig around for dirt on you. The tough thing about being REALLY famous is that they're going to keep doing it even when you've been dead for years.

And so we here at 50 Books bring you Three Literary Bastards and Why to Hate Them.*

1. Ernest Hemingway
You think you hate Hemingway because he was a misogynist with an aversion to descriptive words. You wonder, rightly, how could anyone not like women and adjectives? They are the eleven herbs and spices on the juicy chicken thigh of life. But the thing about trashing on Hem for either of these reasons is that, let's be honest, it's old. It's been done. Ho-hum.

But wait no longer. If you want to trounce Papa, I have new fodder for you: declining fish populations.

2. Arthur Miller
Everyone loves to love Arthur Miller, especially book geeks like us. Homely guy marries sexiest woman in the world and writes one of the defining classics of his generation? It's the American Dream, nerd-style. How can you not love him? How about because he never acknowledged his Down-syndrome child, Daniel, and instead had him institutionalized from birth?

3. Ryszard Kapuscinski
Oh, Ryszard... not you, too.

I just don't know whom to believe in any more. Except maybe the bonobos. Or maybe not.

*Okay, they're not actually bastards. (Probably.) I just said that to get attention. And I don't actually hate them. I have a hard time hating dead people. Except for Hitler.

Giddyup! It's a Readin' Roundup!

Oh, people. Lordy, lordy, lordy. That's all I'm going to say about the voodoo zombie death plague that's hovered over Chez Doppelganger for the past week and a bit. Trust me, you're getting off easy.

So now I'm easing myself back into the real world. Is it okay if I practise on you? I've collected some neato bits and odds from around the internet to talk about. Or is this like those people who read the newspaper before a date solely so that they'll be able to make intelligent dinner conversation for once in their life?

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The Last Book EVER... Sort Of
Stuart McLean, the host of the CBC Radio show Vinyl Café, and of course author of the excellent series of books by the same name, recently declared his new policy on book purchases:

I would like to take a moment this morning, if you would indulge me, to say I am not going to buy another book ever again ever in my life. I am not going to buy another book ever again ever in my life. Never.

He makes a few exceptions, of course:

And I am allowed to buy books if it is a book that more than one person says I should read... like say five people mention it. Okay, maybe five is a lot. Make it three people. Three people and they don’t necessarily have to tell me to read the book, but if they mention it in some way, even if they aren’t speaking to me. Like if I overhear them talking about the book at a dinner party. Or say, see them reading the book on an airplane.

In the case of a book that has had a movie made about it, or it has won a major award, or appeared on a bestseller list, then less then three but more than one.

What am I doing here with the copying and pasting? Really, you should just go read the whole piece. It's funny. I'll be waiting here when you're done. I'll do my nails or something.

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If Madonna Can Write Kids' Books, So Can I
Finally, I know how to make my own board books. The world's been waiting for my sequel to The Very Hungry Caterpillar... The Very Bite-y Butterfly.

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Engineering a Scientifically Perfect Book Storage Solution
I thought I was the only person who bookmarked cool bookcase photography, but it turns out I'm not the only shelving fetishist out there. Kim at Desire to Inspire has put together a nice collection of truly inspiring spaces and the book collections they house. (I'm assuming guessing praying that the owners actually read them and didn't just buy them by the meter.)

The jury's still out for me when it comes to organizing books by colour, but I have to admit that some people seem to make it work. Me? As I commented recently on Jane's site, I tend to group my books according to my gut feeling about whether I think the authors would have liked living next door to each other. (Leo Tolstoi? Meet your new neighbour, Kurt Vonnegut. He has a habit of borrowing power tools and forgetting to return them, but he'd loan you his last cup of sugar. If he had any. Which he doesn't.)

And speaking of Jane's site, you should follow the link above, because then you'll get to see the lovely shelves she just had custom built for her home. I'm struggling with envy. It's all part of becoming a bigger person, right?

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Free Books! Free Books!
Well, sort of. You have to download them and print them out, but that doesn't make the Rosetta Project any less cool. For the past ten years, this volunteer-driven initiative has been amassing a huge online library -- we're talking tens of thousands of titles -- of antique and vintage illustrated children's books that are now in the public domain.

You may remember a while back when I was moaning that so many wonderful kids' books are disappearing from the public imagination. Projects like this make my jaded heart blossom like a dandelion in a cowpie-strewn meadow.

[Thanks to Dale for the link!]

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When Posterity Bites Back
Speaking of projects, the Book Inscription Project is the kind of thing I always absent-mindedly think about doing, then never get off my ass to do. Good thing I'm not running the internet.

The website is a lot like Found, but exclusively dedicated to book inscriptions. I find this idea chilling, because god knows I've written my fair share of moronic undergrad "insights" inside books. Nevertheless, a recent favourite (note highlighted text):

I vote both!

[Thanks for the link, Kristin!]

In Which I Whine Unabashedly, but at Least Keep It Mercifully Brief

Blargh. I'm sick. I've been feeling under the weather (and don't even get me started about our weather) for a week, and today it finally erupted into full-on spewitude the likes of which hasn't been seen around these parts since the dreaded Norwalk rampage of '06. (Man, I sure did go on and on about that, didn't I?)

I hope this doesn't last as long as the Norwalk thing did. Light a candle for me, huh?

From the "Context is Everything" Department

Things my toddler has said in public that were hard to explain to strangers (numbers 112 through 116):

"When Puck grows up, he will turn into a manul."
"Bring me the axe!"
"My bear likes to eat hagfish and tuataras."
"If I don't get some, I think I'm gonna die."
"Po!"

The Toyshelves of Wal-Mart Are a Little Emptier, and a Little Sadder, Today

Speaking of killing our culture -- or I guess more accurately in this case, culture that kills us -- have you heard about the gigantic Mattel toy recall that's just been announced? Almost a million toys potentially coated in a thick layer of delicious-but-deadly lead paint. Oh, China.

Thankfully, there have been no reported illnesses. And fortunately, this recall doesn't affect our house, mostly because Sam is too young to request crappy franchised toys by name, but I still found myself reading the recall list with fascinated interest. Just check out the names of some of these toys:

SESAME STREET GIGGLE DOODLER
GO DIEGO GO TALKING GADGET
SESAME STREET GIGGLE DRILL
SILLY PARTS TALKING ELMO
GIGGLE GRABBER OSCAR THE GROUCH

Remember that scene from The Hudsucker Proxy where the guys in the marketing department are working behind closed doors to come up with the perfect name for the hula hoop: "The Flying Doughnut! The Dancing Dingus! The Belly-Go-Round! The Wacky Circumference!" Reading this list, I don't think that scene was so very far from reality.

I have to confess that I'm intrigued by the Giggle Doodler. I like to giggle. I like to doodle. How awesome (not to mention efficient) would it be to combine the two? I'm a little more fearful of the Talking Gadget, though I suppose it might be something along the lines of those talking appliances from The Flintstones. I always liked them. They had moxy.

My apprehension increases with the Giggle Drill, possibly due to Dr. Giggles-related flashbacks. And do I even want to know about Elmo's "silly parts"? Though I suspect that, because he talks, he'll tell me anyways. (Everyone has to stop paying attention to that guy. Can't we see we're just encouraging him?)

The toy I think I like the most is the Oscar the Grouch Giggle Grabber. I picture it as a long-handled device that Oscar uses to reach out and grab any errant giggle that floats over his garbage can, before blasting it to smithereens like a turbo-charged bug zapper. I could really use one of those.

How Today's Internet Is Killing Our Culture

Because Rusty knows I have a total bug up my ass about this endless stream of polemics stating that bloggers are destroying the integrity of book reviewers, food critics, democracy, and The American Way, of course he sent me this link. It's all about the kerfuffle surrounding a recently published book, written by a very upset-seeming gentleman named Andrew Keen, entitled The Cult of the Amateur. In case you're wondering what that title means, there's a snappy little subtitle: How today's Internet is killing our culture.

There's some blah-blah-blah about the book here. Some folks think that Keen raises some good points, but that these points are sabotaged by his tendency to say stupid things such as "I don't think bloggers read." But the upshot of his argument is that, apparently, the internet needs to be "saved". From itself, or from us, or maybe both... I'm not quite sure. Also apparently, bloggers are stealing jobs away from professional writers. This is funny to me, because I am both a blogger and a professional writer and editor. It would seem that I'm hijacking my own career. I always knew I couldn't trust me. You can tell by the eyes. Shifty.

But let's just say that bloggers really are clawing food out of the mouths of starving pros in this nutty DIY free-for-all that is the much-hyped "Web 2.0". If so, bloggers are part of a long and storied history of usurpers:

• Gutenberg (not Steve, the other one) invents the printing press. The average Joe finally gets his own copy of the bible and realizes the local priest has been leaving out the best parts in his sermons. Joe decides to start his own church, which will include the juicy bits.
• Literacy becomes widespread. The village letter writer realizes that his twenty-year career plan is going to need rethinking.
• Samuel Morse invents his famous code and device. Goodbye, pony express workers, off to that big glue factory in the sky.
  
• Henry Ford invents the car. Around the industrialized world, farriers weep.
• During the Second World War, men go off to fight, and women go to work in factories and whatnot and then refuse to go back home when the war is over. The nerve!
  
• Home Depot and a glut of home renovation TV shows conspire to create a culture of DIY home owners, as people realize they can now do their own renos, which will be equally shoddy but at only a fraction of the cost!

I'm being facetious, of course. Change is dodgy, and most people, understandably, get a bit bunched-up about it because they think the world is going to end or they're going to have to start waking up earlier or something equally dire. (I'm sure there's a great term that specifically describes this type of anxiety... probably in German. Lucky Germans.) A tiny minority of the population overcomes this anxiety by calling change "progress", and my hat goes off to them. I think. It's late and I'm tired, so it's hard to tell.

To tell you the truth, I'm just leading up to my real point: this quote from a positive review of the aforementioned Mr. Keen's book, which, apparently, the publisher saw fit to use in promoting the book online:

“Andrew Keen is a brilliant, witty, classically-educated technoscold—and thank goodness. The world needs an intellectual Goliath to slay Web 2.0's army of Davids.”

—Jonathan Last, online editor, The Weekly Standard

Answer me one question, and I promise I won't bug you any more: Can someone please tell me at what exact point in history GOLIATH became the hero?