The Greatest Books

That title pretty much sums up this post. Just another list. This time, my all-time favourite books.

Oh, The Places You’ll Go
I don’t really need to explain why Dr. Seuss is great. But this is my favourite of all his books. Even better than Yertle the Turtle (possibly the best book ever on the topic of turtle stacking). Instead of being a narrative about a mischievous cat or some aggressively overly politically correct kleptomaniac athiest, this book is more blatantly philosophical as it is a self-help book. It’s a confidence booster for children and adults.

Songs
All of the lyrics to all of Bruce Springsteen’s albums. Some of the best reading material I have ever found. His songs are stories unto themselves. Each album contains a little description into Bruce’s songwriting techniques. It’s a nice glimpse into the mind of one of my favourite artists.

Invisible Republic
What looks like a review and exploration of a series of musical recordings by Bob Dylan is actually a series of events in American history. Greil Marcus discusses Dylan’s music by telling the tales that inspired it. This book was my introduction to American roots music.

Naked Pictures of Famous People
Jon Stewart taking shots at some of the biggest characters of the twentieth century. This book just plain cracks me up everytime I read it. But it’s not only funny, it can also show you something. If I had a vagina, it would certainly be nicely furnished and at a sensible price.

The Complete David Bowie
This book is basically an encyclopedia of David Bowie’s musical career. Being a huge David Bowie fan, this is pretty much a standard companion to my music collection.

The Complete Far Side
Every panel from the syndicated comic panel series. Steve Martin’s introduction is genuinely hilarious and keeping in style with the humour of Gary Larson’s writings.

Those are mine; what are your favourite books?

What To Do With A Dream

A couple of nights ago I had a weird dream (as opposed to all the normal dreams I have, right?) that I thought could make an interesting short story. I would really like to put it all down on paper but I’ve hit a wall. Not so much writer’s block; it’s just that the dream didn’t really end as it more of meandered into a completely different story. The dream was actually entertaining and I really wanted to know how it should have ended. I woke up dissappointed that the first dream story didn’t end. The second dream story didn’t end either but it wasn’t an entertaining dream. Oooh, I was caught up on both sides of some inner city gang war. Yeah, I saw that movie already, it’s called Fistful of Dollars.

So, here’s the basic idea of the dream that I had. I was running around an airport, trying to get a ticket out of town. But everywhere I went, everybody I spoke to, I kept getting deliberately delayed. Everybody I spoke to would immediately change the subject and not let me inquire about getting a plane ticket. I started asking janitors and flight attendants as they were walking by if they knew where I could buy a plane ticket, but they must have been in on it too. It was very frustrating.

Here’s some possible endings I’ve come with up:

• I end up catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I’m Osama Bin Laden.
• I push my way into the control tower and the head guy in there pulls his face off to reveal a weird lizard alien face. I call this the V ending.
• It turns out there’s a war going on outside the airport and no plane can leave and I for some reason am not aware of this and nobody wants to tell me.

Chances are this little story will fall by the wayside like my movie. But a guy a dream.

Recommended Listening: When I Write The Book by Colin James.

Weekend Recap: Talking Titties with Mom and Pizza

Friday

Probably one of the most disturbing experiences of my life happened on Friday. Read the title, its pretty obvious what I’m talking about here.

I was talking to my mother and somehow the discussion got to breasts. She was complaining about how men look at a woman’s chest, not the face. I disagreed with her. And I used pictures to prove my point. First I drew this little picture.

“Okay Mom, this could be a picture of two breasts and look down there, there’s the belly button. Now Mom, take a look at this next picture.”

“You see Mom, men aren’t looking at a women’s breasts, we’re looking for the nose. By simply placing a nose, you can easily turn a chest into a face.

Later we went to a restaurant for dinner. The table we sat at was missing knives. My mother said this was because the “hostess with the tits hanging out” was a bad hostess.

“Mom, what do you mean the ‘hostess with the tits hanging out?’ I don’t know who you’re talking about. I was looking at her face… Hey, maybe its you that stares at women’s chests.”

“I wasn’t looking at her breasts, I was just looking for the nose.”

“Nice save Mom.”

Now you try to eat a meal with your mother always talking about titties.

Later, I noticed my mother left her computer on so I snuck onto the thing and changed her desktop picture from some tulips or flowers or something to a nice picture of cleavage I found on 2 Dollar Productions. She didn’t find that funny.

As for the dinner itself, I know Miss Ash is going to ask so I’ll save her the trouble. We went to Il Fornello and we each had a pizza. Il Fornello makes a really good little pizza. I suggest getting the pizza with a spelt flour crust instead that the usual white.

Saturday

Sorry folks, no MS Paint drawings of tits for Saturday.

Bob, the Wonder Twins and I met for dinner. The meeting place was finally in Richmond Hill. Ceano’s got her car now so neither me or Bob have to drive down to Scarberia anymore. The Twins can drive up here dammit!

Someone had the idea to go to Dante’s for dinner. Great, more pizza. I showed some restraint though. I only ordered a small (12″) pizza.

After dinner, the four of us went to go see a movie (The Simpsons Movie). When I go the tickets, I went to one of those kiosk dealees. Theatres these days don’t have box offices anymore. I got stuck in line behind this couple. I couldn’t make out what they were saying (speaking in Chinese) but I’m pretty sure it was “What do you want to see? I don’t know, what do you want to see?” For cryin’ out loud, if you don’t know what to see, don’t get in line.

The film didn’t start until 10 something so we killed the time at a nearby bookstore. Ceano was asking me to recommend some books. The last time I recommended a book to her she really enjoyed it. I took a peak and I couldn’t find any of my favourite books. John Swartzwelder doesn’t even show up in the Indigo computer system. I don’t read that much fiction but it would be nice if I could find my favourite author at the local bookstore.

Sunday

The water intake pipe for my freezer’s icemaker sprung a leak in the morning. Me and my father tried to fix it ourselves. No luck so far. I couldn’t find the right parts at the Ho’Po’. Friggin’ Subzero using obscure parts. Worse case scenario, I’ve got an appliance service tech. coming one day this week to fix the wine cooler. Besides, how often do I use the icemaker in my freezer?

Had dinner with the parents. Guess what mom made for dinner, PIZZA!

Recommended Listening: Woman and The Bomber by The James Gang. I was listening to the James Gang a lot this weekend.

Letters to Some People

Dear David Bowie,

You don’t know me but I’ve been a fan of yours my entire life. I’ve got many of your albums and generally make the effort to say nice things about you.
But I would like to comment of leave some constructive critisizm about your website (www.davidbowie.com). It’s been too damn pink for too damn long. Change it up a bit. You know blue never hurt anybody.

Yours truly,
Whatigotsofar

————

Dear Julio Franco,

Being a player on the Atlanta Braves, you’ve already earned a special place in my heart. But I would like to know how it feels to be facing pitchers who were not yet born when you cracked your first major league roster and then getting hits off them. Doing that on a semi-regular basis must be a very special feeling.

Keep up the good work,
Whatigotsofar

—————

Dear Britney Spears,

Do you remember when you got married in Vegas? Do realize that’s the most normal thing you’ve done, EVER?

Just offering up some food for thought,
Whatigotsofar

—————

Dear Sir/Madam @ Lone Star Texas Grill

Bring back the southern fried chicken, pretty please.

Hungry and waiting,
Whatigotsofar

—————

Dear J.K. Rowlings,

Do you realize that you can never end the Harry Potter series? For cryin’ out loud, Sir Arhtur Conan Doyle had to ressurect Sherlock Holmes, and that was in the 19th century. You will be writing Harry Potter until you’re old and grey. And even if you do try to stop, fan fiction will arise at such a rate you will be forced to either: a) take legal action against your fans; or b) write more just to compete with the unauthorized fan fiction.

Have you ever thought of teaming up with that Bridget Jones chick to do some sort of crossover?

Sincerley,
Whatigotsofar

—————

Recommended Listening: The Letter by The Box Tops.

Leonard Cohen, Is He Really That Great?

I was watching this program on the CBC called Shakin’ All Over which documented a series of Canadian musicians in the 1960s. I really enjoyed this program as it exposed to me a bunch of songs I vaguely recognized from the local AM oldies stations here in Toronto. CBC.ca had this to say about the program:

A joyful look at Canadian music from the 60s, that traces the evolution of a young industry with stories from such artists as Buffy Sainte-Marie, Lighthouse, Steppenwolf and The Guess Who, in harmony with a younger generation of stars (including Barenaked Ladies, Blue Rodeo and Sloan) who reveal the impact some of these earlier songs and songwriters had on their music.

One of the segments focused on Canadian author/poet/musician Leonard Cohen.

My first real exposure to Leonard Cohen came back in college. I was familiar with some of his musical writings through the performances of them by other artists. Specifically Don Henley’s wonderful version of Everybody Knows. In college I took several electives that were as far from my program as possible. As I was studying computer programming, I focused my electives on the study of the written word. One such course was a study of Canadian short stories. The very talented professor in the course, Dr. Burke Cullen pushed to squeeze some poetry into the syllabus. I’m glad he did as it was this that exposed me to Leonard Cohen.

I used this opportunity to study some of Cohen’s works as well as his life to a small degree. What I found was a huge catalog of reviews of Leonard Cohen. Apparently everybody loves this guy’s art.

As I read his poetry and listened to his music I was overwhelmed by a single idea, a single thought: ‘this is poetry’. That sounds obvious, but I couldn’t word it any differently. That was the phrase stuck in my mind. Everytime I hear Suzanne, I am reminded of that phrase, this is poetry. Is that what good poetry should do? I don’t think so. I don’t think good poetry should reinforce the idea that poetry is poetry. I think poetry should be an avenue for the audience to not just experience but be a part of art.

As I read ‘good’ poetry, I don’t feel like I’m reading, I feel like I’m there. I’m in the world created by the words. When I listen to Bruce Springsteen’s Thunder Road*, I can see the world Bruce has created for his audience. I see this winding beach road travelling north along the eastern shoreline. The Sun is about to rise up out of the ocean. The left side of the street is lined with tiny shotgun shacks, surrounded by rusty, chainlink fences. Each house is delapitated in it’s own special way. Shutters swinging in the breeze. The thin beach on the right is filthy with random bits of garbage: empty bottles, hub caps and such. I get all that from listening to a simple Bruce Springsteen song. All I get from Suzanne is: ‘this is poetry’. I don’t feel like I’m in the poem.

Everybody Knows is the only song or poem by Leonard Cohen that I’ve heard or read that did not give me that ‘this is poetry’ feel.

Don’t let my opinions change yours if you are an ardent fan of Leonard Cohen. For all I know, that ‘this is poetry’ feel is what Leonard Cohen was going for when he wrote Suzanne.

—————

There were a couple other artists this program was discussing very highly that I’ve never found to be that great. Bruce Cockburn and Murray McLaughlan. I’ve not really listened to those two but based on the clips shown in this program, I’m not likely to listen to them anytime soon.

—————

I didn’t catch the whole program. Had I known it was one before it began, I would have made myself available to watch it from the beginning, but I found it while channel surfing. I didn’t notice any reference to The Mynah Birds, but I would have loved to seen a clip or two (if a clip or two even exists). For those who don’t know, The Mynah Birds were a band with Neil Young on guitar and Rick “Super Freak” James on vocals and possibly bass guitar. I’ve heard rumours that the band recorded for Motown but the recordings have never been released.

Check out Cinnamon Girl and Superfreak. There’s a mashup the world is just dying to hear. Actually, come to think of it, I should be punished for even suggesting it. I apologize.

—————

* Not that Bruce Springsteen is generally considered a poet but I think poems are just lyrics without musical instrumentation. Therefore, all song lyrics to me are poems, just often, they are bad poems.

Recommended Listening: Everybody Knows by Don Henley, Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen.

The Princess and the Pea

Remember the tale of The Princess and the Pea… Two days ago, I returned home from a long day of work to find some stuff around my home askew. I’ve got these three plush animals*. A cat, a dog and a mouse. I came home to find the cat sitting atop my toilet. Obviously, Juice has been here. I pick up the cat and go to put it back on the couch where it belongs. The couch is where all three, cat, dog and mouse belong. As well, a two foot plush Homer Simpson-shaped pillow resides on the couch. Homer, for some odd reason was now holding an empty can of beans.

By this point, I just call Juice to ask him what other things he has done. I can’t be bothered to scavenger hunt the house for odd things. All Juice would tell me: “Look underneath Homer.” I go back to the couch and look underneath Homer. Homer was sitting atop a big pile of poo. So I pick up the coin bank and bring it back to where it belongs. In my bedroom I find the clear, plastic box the coin bank came in and find the plush dog stuffed into the box. So I put the dog back on the couch with the cat and Homer Simpson and I put the coin bank back in the box. Now everything is back where it belongs. Except the mouse. I neglected to even notice the absence of the mouse from the couch.

Eventually night comes and I go to bed. But as I lay down, there’s a lump in my pillow. I’m tired and quite frankly, very lazy. I turn the pillow over, aaahhh, the cool side of the pillow, and I go to sleep.

Eventually it dawned on me, the cat and the dog were moved, what about the mouse? The next day over dinner with Juice, I asked him “So, where did you put the mouse?” His response: “Do you remember the tale of the princess and the pea?”

* Yes, I am really a chick. I’ve got plush dolls and shit like that.

Recommended Listening: Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells

Voices In My Head

When I read anything, I sometimes imagine what the writer’s voice sounds like. I don’t always do it. If I know the writer then I can imagine that person’s voice exactly. If I don’t know the person then I can guess what that person sounds like. For example, if I read anything by Elmore Leonard, all the narration and every character sounds like Delroy Lindo. But not so much Delroy Lindo in Get Shorty (written by Elmore Leonard), more of a Delroy Lindo in Soul of the Game, (not written by Elmore Leonard, probably, I never bothered to check that). The female characters sound like Delroy Lindo doing a woman’s voice.

You think that’s weird. It only gets weirder. There’s this blog I read sometimes, Lost in Wonderland written by Nonny. Just some random blog by some random blogger, don’t know anything about her. But for some odd reason, she sounds like Dr. Zoidberg from Futurama. For those who haven’t watched Futurama, Dr. Zoidberg is, for lack of a better description, a Jewish lobster. And one more thing, Dr. Z is male, Nonny is not according to her profile. I can’t really explain it, that’s just the screwed up way my brain works.

Am I alone in this imagining the voices of writers thing? If not, I’m curious, what does the voice of my writing sound like? Am I this “mean and jaded” person? Do I sound like a cantankerous, old man? Do I sound like Soundwave from The Transformers?

I’m the only who does this stuff right? I really have just gone off the deep end and this whole blog is actually just a creation of my insanity. I took the wrong pill, didn’t I?

…

Almost wrote something poignant or insightful there didn’t I? Nah, not even close.

This has been one of those weeks that is simply moving far too slowly for my liking. I have been working alone too much this week and, well, the solitude is starting to get to me.

Recommended Listening: 21st Century Schizoid Man by King Crimson