my tragic right hip

As Dan Brown’s book remains a bestseller well over the two-year mark, I’ve been watching with a morbid curiosity all the crazy stuff that pops up from this work of fiction.

I read this article (link via bookslut) by Christopher Hitchens, who hated the book, generally echoing the consensus among, ahem, learned individuals that the writing is terrible (I got part-way through and then tossed the book into the corner screaming).

This woman created a cute comic, riffing on the book. Someone’s now writing a biography on Dan Brown (link via Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind). And some other fellow is really peeved that the publisher isn’t going to publish the book in paperback and time soon.

Let’s not forget the numerous television specials or useless amount of ink spilled on whether or not the theories found in the novel are true. Ahem, it’s a novel people, A NOVEL!

On the one hand, I’m thrilled that one book has spawned this much attention. It’s making people read, which I’m always thrilled about—maybe someone who hasn’t read a book in a long while will read this book and then be encouraged to read something else, something perhaps not written by Dan Brown. But on the other hand, there’s something in me that wishes the world would just wake up and realize the book is a terribly written product of someone’s imagination, and not take it so seriously—that is until Tom Hanks stars in the movie in the summer of 2006. Sigh.

Everyday I get about 25-30 emails that aren’t junk mail per se, but various newsletters that I’ve subscribed to for “research” purposes. And one of the newspapers in the UK that sends me a note every morning had this to day, “Standby: Britain: The waste that fuels our energy crisis.” The article talks at length about how everyday electrical equipment is a source of energy waste by leaving things on standby. And it got me thinking, about Live 8, about my ecological footprint, and about how the world is now, more than ever, geared to a throw-away society.

When did the world change? I remember having an environmental conference when I was in my last year of high school, at the very least a decade ago, where we urged the world to think about its consumption of oil, the use of Styrofoam and how important it is to recycle. Now, I see commercials for throwaway toilet brushes—because the simple old-fashioned toilet brush has become ungainly and inefficient?

Now, I drive to work the majority of the time. I could take the transit, but it would take me close to two hours to get to where I needed to go. Yet, I feel increasingly guilty about driving, that price of gas, or oil in general, is making the world a sick, greedy place.

I turn off my lights, but take a shower every day. I planted a garden to help with the smog, but have to water it every night. I ride my bike on days when I’m at the downtown office, but we drive to get groceries almost every weekend. We use cloth bags, but so much of the food is pre-packaged. And I’m not even going to think about the medical waste involved in the research to find drugs for my disease.

How much has the world changed since I was naive and thought that by the time I reached this age, people would actually start caring more about their environment and less about their comfort. It’s a melancholy thought, but I struggle with it all the time. And now, I’ve got to go water the garden.

The last session in my poetry class happened on Tuesday night. Few actually showed up, but it was a good class, and we all got to workshop our poems. Now, the question remains whether or not I can find the courage to send the series out. Who knows?

Oh, then the teacher invited me to come for a beer, and in my infinite wisdom, I decided I’d rather be home watching Corrie Street. Bah! I’m a goofball.

Goodness me, do I love a good virtual showdown. Neil Pollack wrote about the death of his persona in the NY Times. Then, Dave Eggers replied on McSweeneys (links via bookslut).

Remember the heyday when Dave Eggers and Neal Pollack would show up at the Horseshoe half an hour late, weird diagrams and fake superhero costumes in tow? Remember how we all swooned when Dave told the stories about his brother Topher and the tragic deaths of his parents interspersed with crazy stories of meeting whales in kayaks? Sigh. Somehow, the pretension of all of that just couldn’t last. It was like Shift magazine, too hip for its own good.

But again, I guess the debate rages as to whether or not Eggers’ form of self-publishing empire is still relevant and whether or not his website still matters, because Neal Pollack’s piece was in the, ahem, NY Times.

As many blogs were reporting today (bookslut, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind, and so on), the newspapers around the globe are atwitter with Summer Reading Lists. And it’s not that the beautiful warm weather and long, quiet nights at the cottage don’t inspire one to pick up a book that they’ve been meaning to read, but more that there’s a certain connotation that goes along with the whole Summer Reading idea.

So when I landed up a Salon list today that was out of the ordinary, I thought to myself what does Summer Reading really mean? How is it different than Winter, Fall or Spring Reading? To me, it isn’t really, but it is a time to catch up and read more, for some reason, most of which being that the television truly sucks ass this time of year.

Now I’ve decided I’m going to try to read as many books on this list from The Guardian as I possibly can. And watch as my 50 Book Challenge kite sways, flutters and then eventually takes a nose dive for the Earth.

What I’ve already read? Ahem, not as much as I should have being the one with the MA in English from U of T. Snippets of Pilgrim’s Progress, all of Robinson Crusoe, Emma, Frankenstein, Jane Eyre, half of Moby-Dick, Madame Bovary (yawn), Little Women, Jude the Obscure (one of my all-time favourite books), The Rainbow (I heart DH Lawrence), half of The Good Soldier, Mrs. Dalloway, A Passage to India, The Great Gatsby, As I Lay Dying, Brave New World, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Catcher in the Rye, half of Wise Blood, Charlotte’s Web (when I was like, five), Lord of the Flies, On the Road (oh, how I love thee, Kerouac), Lolita, Things Fall Apart, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Song of Solomon, Waiting for the Barbarians, Oscar and Lucinda, and Atonement. How many is that? Maybe 20? Man, I’m in for a busy summer.

I’m not necessarily a mystery reader, although I read a lot of them as a child growing up (Nancy Drew, Agatha Christie, and so on). There’s been a lot of talk lately about Alexander McCall Smith and his No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, and upon the recommendation of Sarah Weinman, who loves all of the books, I decided to read the first one. And, I’m hooked. Seriously. I loved the story, the writing and especially Precious Ramotswe, the main character in the series.

Upon the death of her father, Mma Ramotswe inherits his cattle, promptly sells them and opens up the one and only ladies’ detective agency in Botswana. She solves crimes, but not the gruesome-Hollywood sort; instead, they’re tales of straying husbands, lost children and everyday life in Africa. It’s a marvelous little book, a perfect quick summer read, and one I could not put down.

…but so little sleep, between getting home from Winnipeg to getting up and going to work, I’m so tired! More tomorrow, I promise.

Was wonderful. If you can believe it. The opposite of Scarbie’s crusty experience, here is my Winnipeg Top 10.

1. Lake Winnipeg

Lake Winnipeg is absolutely beautiful. We stayed in a Victoria Beach cabin built around the 1920s filled with original folk art and imbued with years of happy family living. The atmosphere around Victoria Beach is one of almost a 1950s summer resort community. It felt a lot like the vacation spot from that Diane Lane film, A Walk on the Moon, except there was no Viggo Mortensen in sight.

2. The Great Outdoors

What there was in sight, however, was nature, and lots of it—and I’m not just talking about the mosquitoes, of which there were plenty. Especially when one was using the biffy (and please don’t ask me to explain why an outhouse is called a “biffy” in Manitoba, because I just can’t, if anyone has any ideas, please let me know). I spent most of the few days we had there straining my eyes and neck to catch a glimpse of the wonderful white pelicans, especially those resting at Pelican Point. There were tonnes of birds there, many that I couldn’t recognize and/or identify, so there’s no point in describing them, but also deer (we saw tracks), foxes (our friends spied them on a store run) and other fun stuff.

3. Spoiled Rotten

I think I gained back all the weight I’ve lost because of the Cellcept, and thank goodness. We ate so well over our holiday that it was a crime to come back to TO and order bad delivery because we had no energy to cook. We were wined and dined by two exceptional entertainers, and they get nothing but love from me in terms of how wonderful they treated both of us…

4. Good Friends

…for the entire time we were there. We were pampered, treated to great conversation, and fully entertained. Oh, and we played cards, which is my all-time favourite thing to do at a cottage, ahem, cabin (that’s what they’re called in Manitoba).

5. Oh, Canada!

There’s a gentle delight in discovering different parts of Canada that you’ve never been to before. I’ve travelled from one end of the country to the other, and even spent time at a cottage on the Lake of the Woods, but have never been around the area of Lake Winnipeg. It’s marvelous, from the delicious bakery at the Lake, to the really cool townie bar we visited on the way in, discovering hidden gems in Canada’s back roads is one of my favourite things to do on vacation.

6. The Sights of Winnipeg

When we got back to the city on Monday night, we went to go see Mr. and Mrs. Smith, which is a silly summer movie with beautiful people that are both solid actors and who do a good job with terrifyingly bad dialogue. Oh, and I got to eat Milk Duds, my absolute favourite candy. Then we did some sightseeing, where I saw the Forks and other downtown ‘Peg highlights. So. Much. Fun.

7. The Perfect Soundtrack

Fading echoes of Neil Young and the Rolling Stones, alongside some fabulous Canadian stuff including Elliot Brood and the Cons made for a perfect soundtrack while we were at the cabin.

8. Champagne

Need I say more?

9. Stupid F%&king Disease

Only made me sick maybe half the time I was away, cause for celebration indeed!

10. Getting Along w/ my RRBF

Ususally travelling together means at least one major blowup, but this time, we spent a few days actually enjoying each other’s company and having fun. He drove me crazy for a couple of hours while speaking too loudly and doing general RRBF antics, but they were minor when compared to previous trips spent being so mad I won’t even talk to him for, like, hours. Oh, and he came up with the goofiest RRBF saying I’ve ever heard. When discussing the asexual nature of one Sarah Harmer (according to us girls and having nothing to do with her exceptional musical talents), RRBF chimed in about how “cute” he thinks she is, and I rolled my eyes. His response, “What do you care about where I get my appetite as long as I come home for dinner?” Bah!

The RRBF and I are going to Winnipeg for a few days. Updates when I get back. Fingers crossed the meds only make me sort of sick for our “mini-break” in Bridget Jones terminology.

…will be planned around this map. It’s kind of like what we sort of did in London last February. With the exception of it being so organized and interactive and all that jazz. Ahem, that tour ended with me coming out of the tube exclaiming, “This is Bloomsbury!” And then looking around in wonder and amazement until we got to the pub where I had a great glass of beer and some crisps. Ah, I love London.