Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Delete, Delete, Delete

Sometime while I was in Uruguay I got addicted to playing The Sims Social on Facebook.  Before that, it was Gardens of Time.  Before that, I played Plants V. Zombies on my phone.  This trend can be traced back in an almost unbroken stream that includes Snood and Collapse pretty much alllll through Centenary until we got the Wii, and on back through Jill of the Jungle, Commander Keen, Duke Nukem, Wolfenstein, Rooms of Doom, and about a million other DOS games that I could play for HOURS on end without stopping. I think I played Klondike so much during my year off between high school and college that it's amazing everything didn't appear to float before my eyes on a green felt background.

Most of the time I don't feel like all that time I wasted really put too much of a dent in my life. I haven't developed any weird deformities at least, and I have to edit my resume down to one page instead of up.

But holy crap, it's sort of time for the madness to stop.

Today I deleted The Sims off my Facebook account, and the sure sign that it was definitely time to blow that sucker up: I felt a little pang of physical pain when I clicked "delete." Because the games on Facebook are designed to be more addictive than crack cocaine and reality television combined, my addled brain actually thought for just one moment, "I'm erasing all my hard work!!"

Bitch, please.

Unlike solitaire and Wolfenstein, which you could play in an infinite loop and never asked anything of you, the new games are exactly like what I imagine your corner pusher is like. A little flashier, a little more street wise, and WAY more withholding. You can't play The Sims or Bejeweled or what-have-you on an infinite loop until your brain melts and you feel better and then go about your life again. Instead, they give you a little taste, (Here, have 15 "energy" or "coins" or whatever) and when that runs out, in order to even make the game minimally functional, you have to either,

a) wait around for the game to "recharge"
b) pay actual legal tender for fake, non-legit "gold" or "bux"
c) beg your friends like a pathetic asshole for more "life juice" to get your fix or parts to build your spaceship, etc.

AWFUL.

If I wanted to play games and feel bad about it, I'd go to one of the three arcades left in the United States and beg unsupervised teenagers for quarters.

Anyway, I have a wedding to plan and a novel to write and like, anything else on earth to do. I'm not gonna lie; I miss it already. I had finally saved up enough "Simoleons" in-game to buy a grand piano for my Sim, which took me about a week of hardcore unemployed time-wasting.  And the fact that I even dedicated more than 25 seconds thinking about that--more time than I've spent practicing my ukulele, for sure--is why it totally had to end.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

The Audio/Biblio Club

I'm currently reading Anna Karenina. So.... If I don't write a book review now, it may be a while. Plus, I just realized I haven't written one since September. Like, as in, September.

For some reason I didn't read nearly as many books in Uruguay as I did in Panama. I'm going to blame NaNoWriMo. It's hard to read and write and hike Machu Picchu at the same time.

Also, there are two audio books on here. First let me say that even I am a little baffled by my recent trend of listening to audio books. But because I'm too lazy to cancel my Audible account, I keep ending up with credits and I have to use them on something. It's not that I necessarily have anything audio books per se, it's just that I'm the opposite of most people who like them.  Most audiobook listeners chose audiobooks because they don't have time to just sit around and read. On the contrary, I have nothing BUT time, so I have to invent tasks to do while I listen to an audiobook. Like crocheting a blanket, for example. And spinning my own yarn out of cat hair. Things haven't gotten that extreme yet, but I have about ten audiobooks in my queue, so look out.

Your next birthday gift could be very impressive. And maybe a little itchy.

God, No!: Signs You Might Already Be an Atheist and Other Magical Tales
By Penn Jillette
(Audio Book)

There are really two parts to this book that are woven together sort of willynilly. Part one is covered under the, "Signs You Might Already Be an Atheist" portion of the title, and part two falls under, "Other Magical Tales." The two parts really have to be rated separately and will appeal to you differently depending on what you're in the mood for.

If you know anything about Jillette's argument style from the show Bullshit on Showtime, you probably know what you're getting into concerning his arguments about religion. As an Atheist, it's nice to hear someone say out loud (or on paper, I suppose, if you have the book version) that it is absolutely possible for atheists to have morals, principles, and a general philosophy of human decency. The sections of the book that are written about Atheism are by far the strongest and most interesting sections. Jillette is not only interested in Atheism, he suggests that the only useful form of Atheism is one that is unflinching and unapologetic.  I'm not as compelling as he is, or I would also have a show on Showtime, but suffice to say that his arguments made me feel awesome about saying, "I DON'T KNOW."

If you're mainly interested in boobs and magic tricks skip all of the philosophy and head to the more memoir-y sections of the book, which are replete with just that.  Did you know that Teller, the other half of "Penn and Teller" is actually a normal-sized person? He just looks small because Penn is like 6'9" tall? Yeah. The more you know. I'm less interested in these parts of the book because I really don't care what un-named hot models he dated, but I supposed it's good that the book it not one long tirade on Atheism, since there are enough of those.

Actually, I take it back, there are not enough of those.

The Hotel New Hampshire
By John Irving

Oh John Irving.  Master of taking random shit, slapping it on the page, and somehow making a book out of it.

I got the urge to read this book because somehow I learned that it was about a family who lived in a hotel with a bear. That's only a small fraction of it. Of course there's a bear.  Of course there's a football player. Of course there's a circus. And someone named Freud and someone named Egg.

This is not my favorite of the many John Irving books I have read, but it certainly deserves credit for engulfing you in the world of the Berry family, for whom it would be unusual if something usual happened. I got mad at the book about half way through for reasons I won't say. I don't want to spoil anything, but it wasn't a case of bad writing or boring plot that moved this book from the "like" column to the "not so much" column. Let's just say I didn't agree with Irving's narrative decisions.

I don't really know what to say. You don't read a John Irving novel to get from point A to point B. You read it to see how "normal" life is actually very strange and vice/versa. I just... Ugh. Why John?

The Invisible Mountain
By Carolina De Robertis

This novel was recommended to me by my friend Natalie at the Embassy in Montevideo when we arrived there. Uruguay has a rich literary history and bookstores on seemingly every corner, but it's almost impossible to find translations of any native Uruguayan books.  This one solves that problem because--TA DA!!--it's originally written in English.  De Robertis was born to Uruguayan parents in England and now lives, I believe, in the US. Fun!

This book is fantastic, and if you don't believe me, ask O Magazine, where it was number nine on the list of terrific reads for 2009. Would Oprah lead you astray? Would she?

This is the story of three generations of Uruguayan women in one family, in Montevideo and Buenos Aires, through the Peron era and revolution. It's one of those wonderful novels that combines history, mythology, a little bit of magical realism, vibrant story-telling, and great characters all in one package. Plus, you learn things without even trying. Did you know that Uruguay had a military dictatorship? Neither did I.

Town House
By Tish Cohen

I paid 99 cents for this book and thus my review might be a little higher than it would be if I had paid $9.99, if that makes sense. For 99 cents, this book was hilarious and fun to read. For $9.99, I might have wanted a little more out of it, maybe. It's the perfect beach book.  Too bad it's December.

Town House is about Jack Madigan, the agoraphobic son of deceased rock star Baz Madigan.  He lives in the titular town house with his teenage son and their deformed male cat, Mrs. Brady. He is tormented by three people: his ex-wife's marvelous new boyfriend, the realtor who is attempting to sell his town house out from under him, and a nine-year old girl who may or may not be climbing in through a whole in his wall. Oh, the high comedic value of anxiety disorders. It can't be helped.

I laughed out loud while reading this book multiple times. I almost wish they would make a movie out of it, but only if they could promise not to lose the irony oozing from the narrator's voice.

Blood, Bones and Butter
By Gabrielle Hamilton
(Audio Book)

Oh, foodie memoir. You are moderately charming, but you're mostly getting kind of old.

Anyway, here's the deal, go read the first chapter of this book right now. The first chapter is so charming and well written, so surprising and interesting, that it makes up for the fact that the rest of the book is kind of... whatever. The first chapter of this book could have been a short story in the New Yorker or The Best Non-Required Reading. I listened to it twice.

Alright, enough gushing. The funny thing about the rest of this book is that a lot of times when I hear or read things that food people write, I agree with them totally and completely, and I'm a little horrified by how pretentious they sound. Because that means I sound pretentious too. This book is like that.  Hamilton has had a really interesting life and I completely agree with everything she says about everything (YAY FEMINISM!), but after the first chapter this book still made me feel a little UGH. Is it because it seems sort of hip in the bad sense of the word? And almost impossible that so many of us (who is "us"? Middle class white people?) could suddenly have these feelings about food at the same time? I don't know.

Just go read the first chapter.