17 posts tagged “books”
My astonishing lack of concern for school this semester (at least, relative to previous semesters) has given me much more time to read. A quick post about what I have read or am reading:
And just to take my nerddom to the top, here's the chapter I just read, which I found interesting and touching (geez, people, don't let me read children's literature when I'm tired and emotional). Pardon the lengthiness, but Vox has yet to come up with it's equivalent of the LJ-cut, as far as I know. From Bambi, by Felix Salten, Chapter VIII:
The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow's edge. They were falling from all the trees.
One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip.
"It isn't the way it used to be," said one leaf to the other.
"No," the other leaf answered. "So many of us have fallen off to-night we're almost the only ones left on our branch."
"You never know who's going to go next," said the first leaf. "Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who's going to go next."
"The sun seldom shines now," sighed the second leaf, "and when it does it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again."
"Can it be true," said the first leaf, "can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we're gone and after them still others, and more and more?"
"It is really true," whispered the second leaf. "We can't even begin to imagine it, it's beyond our powers."
"It makes me very sad," added the first leaf.
They were silent a while. Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, "Why must we fall?..."
The second leaf asked, "What happens to us when we have fallen?"
"We sink down..."
"What is under us?"
The first leaf answered, "I don't know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows."
The second leaf asked, "Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we're down there?"
The first leaf answered, "Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it."
They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, "Don't worry so much about it, you're trembling."
"That's nothing," the second leaf answered, "I tremble at the least thing now. I don't feel so sure of my hold as I used to."
"Let's not talk any more about such things," said the first leaf.
The other replied, "No, we'll let be. But--what else shall we talk about?" She was silent, but went on after a little while, "Which of us will go first?"
"There's still plenty of time to worry about that," the other leaf assured her. "Let's remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we'd burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew, and the mild and splendid nights..."
"Now the nights are dreadful," the second leaf complained, "and there is no end to them."
"We shouldn't complain," said the first leaf gently. "We've outlived many, many others."
"Have I changed much?" asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly.
"Not in the least," the first leaf assured her. "You only think so because I've got to be so yellow and ugly. But it's different in your case."
"You're fooling me," the second leaf said.
"No, really," the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, "believe me, you're as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it's hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me."
"Thanks," whispered the second leaf, quite touched. "I don't believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you're so kind, you've always been so kind to me. I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are."
"Hush," said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more.
Then they were both silent. Hours passed.
A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the tree-tops.
"Ah, now," said the second leaf, "I..." Then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.
Winter had come.
Between Bambi and Toy Story, people sure are finding ways to make
And now it's time for an excellent band: Travis.
I want to sing, to sing my song
I want to live in a world where I belong
I want to live, I will survive
And I believe that it won't be very long
If we turn, turn, turn, turn turn
We might learn.
Okay, those lyrics do the song no justice. Frankly, I think the band writes some gorgeous melodies. The music is pretty mellow (aside from what I think is their first album, Good Feeling), the band is (according to all-knowing Wikipedia) "Scottish indie-rock," and you should listen to something. The big singles that I know of were "Why Does It Always Rain on Me" and "Sing." I think this "Turn" song was featured on a recent episode of Scrubs. I COULD BE WRONG, AND I'VE WRITTEN TOO MUCH.
The reason I'm listening to music, a strange phenomenon I haven't been doing enough of lately, is that I'm packing for--what else?--a trip to California. Normally, I'm nerdtastically enthusiastic about packing; frankly, it's fun to plan outfits, make lists of things to not forget, and strategically place objects in suitcases so that they fit perfectly (a feat that's never as easy to do when you're repacking your stuff to come home). But tonight... meh. In fact, "meh" seems to mostly describe the past week or so. I'm in some sort of summer funk; I like nothing better than to sleep for 12 hours a day, take care of the requisite 3-5 hours of work four days a week, then spend the remainder of my day on the couch. No bueno, I declare. I usually have to work to keep myself from packing days in advance; tonight, it's been a struggle to bust out the suitcases, 12 hours before my flight leaves.
Hopefully, the trip out to California (and some much needed interaction with other people, including of course the boyfriend) will make this mood lift. I'm looking forward to it, even if I'm too tired/lethargic to realize it.
As for cats. It's been rather freaky, actually, but I'll try and make this story short (I'm pretty sure it interests no one but me). The Saturday before last, I had a Most Adorable Kitten show up at my door. Anyone who knows me knows that what I want more than anything is a kitty, so I found this pretty weird; here's this cute and very affectionate cat. I know I can't have a cat, though, so eventually I went inside and left him outside (where he cried). The next morning, he was still hanging around; I left to sing, and he was still there two hours later when I returned. Eventually he left for good, and I spent the week regretting my lack of balls--why didn't I just take him in?
Exactly one week later, as I walk out to my car, a black cat sees me and runs up to me. A second black cat runs up to me from the other side of the parking lot. A third runs up to me from behind me, a small gray kitten in tow. ...Double-you tee eff, I ask. They hang out for awhile; I go inside. I peek back outside a while later, and they have literally left this kitten on my doormat. I remind myself that I CANNOT HAVE A CAT, and go back inside. The next morning, I'm woken up by a kitten crying; it's the same gray kitten, this time outside my apartment's back window.
I was terribly amused when I stumbled across the following children's book at work, which repeated the lines, "Hundreds of cats; Thousands of cats; Millions and billions and trillions of cats." It felt very like my own story. (Except the cats around me didn't end up eating each other, as in the slightly disturbing book.)
Okay, after skimming through some old Vox-ness, I've discovered that Vox has a nifty way to block out spoilers. But I'm so paranoid about ruining things for other people that I'll just take my cue from vintagefury and use page numbers.
For Joie's Absolutele Favorite Passage in the Book, the Passage that Caused Her to Whoop Loudly and Obnoxiously, please turn your attention to pp. 736.
...Seriously: How do you spell out the letter "H"? I didn't feel that titling this post "OMGHP" would adequately describe my overwhelming excitement.
Oh, and did I mention that HP #7 was frakking amazing and I peed my pants twenty times?!
Okay, I didn't pee my pants. But I would say I had tears going at least four or five times throughout the book. I could not be more satisfied with it, and that's all I say in case anyone else hasn't finished it.
I have a week's worth of Internet business to catch up on (including Vox), but already the feeling is starting to creep over me: how will I spend my time, now that I'm not reading/thinking about/anticipating Harry Potter?!
As you know, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is mere hours away. Hours, I say. I still haven't even finished the fifth book. I'm just OCD enough to be determined to finish the 5th and 6th books before doing 7. I'm sure someone will spoil it for me, but I'm doing everything I can to prevent this from happening. Thus, you won't see Joie again until I've finished all the books. Hopefully this will be by next weekend? Maybe.
And so, farewell for now, Vox!
One fabulous perk of working at the library is that when shelving books or DVDs, I tend to find unexpected goodies that interest me. While putting some DVDs away today, I found this:
This was a lot of fun to watch. The story of Pale Male and his family(ies) is itself fascinating. New Yorkers who are absolutely astonished at the sight of something wild are endless entertaining (especially to a tree-hugger from Alabama). And I found the reaction of the hawk-watchers (a group consisting of both bird-watchers and many New Yorkers simply intrigued by the presence of a hawk in their city) to be quite moving, especially as they camped out in hopes of seeing fledglings make their first flights.
A little Wikipedia action revealed the unfortunate news that came not long after this DVD was made: that the pigeon spikes holding up Pale Male's nest were removed. Public outcry resulted in the replacement of the spikes, and Pale Male and his mate again rebuilt the nest, but have so far been unsuccessful in hatching chicks in the rebuilt nest. Honestly... why would you remove the nest when a creature has made his home there for 13 years? People baffle me sometimes. And by "sometimes," I mean "often."
Anyway. I thought it was a good story--definitely recommend it for anyone who's interested--and now that I'm done watching that it's back to the HP.
When I first got my Gmail account (way back in March of '05, it seems), I apparently took the whole "Search, don't sort" thing quite literally. The only things I delete with regularity are e-mails from Myspace (due to their abundance and pointlessness); I keep all newsletters, e-mails from blogs, etc. I never bothered looking at all the nifty features Gmail had because all I cared about was the ability to easily search my e-mail.
But oh, the magic. A few minutes ago I got bored and decided to tinker around with stuff. (I now have a user photo. Everyone else in my contact list will probably have one soon, as well. Muahaha!) And since I noticed that my Inbox was nearing 1500 messages (!), most of which are from the past year (!!!), I decided search-don't-sort was getting a little cumbersome. I created four labels: one for my CuteOverload daily e-mail, one for my silverchair newsletter, one for Vox notifications/newsletters, and one for Livejournal notifications. Using the ever-so-efficient search method, I "labeled" and subsequently "archived" all appropriate messages, and now my Inbox is down to a happy 700 messages. (600+ of those messages pruned out were from either Livejournal or Vox--sheesh, those add up.)
I realize the previous two paragraphs are painfully boring to everyone but me, but you must understand; such tidy organization at such small cost of time is ever so neat-o. I loves it. Mmmm. The only thing that would make me happier is if I could color-code those labels--and I'm sure there's a way to do so that I've simply yet to discover.
In other news that I initially considered less nerdy but is actually probably on par with the level of nerddom of the rest of this post, I now have the time to fully devote myself to my man:
Dear Student:
It has come to my attention that I have kicked your ass clean off. I sincerely apologize; I understand this must be embarrassing for you, given the fact that I was but a multiple choice exam, and you still found me near impossible. Your final grade will be happy to hand your ass back to you.
Sincerely 33.3% of your grade,
Freakishly and Unexpectedly Difficult Final
(I haven't heard from my final grade yet.)
As you can probably tell, I'm in an odd mood--one that permits personification of multiple-choice tests and absurdly long raves about the glories of e-mail organization. To save you the hassle of reading any more strangeness, I'm going to sit on my couch and get in touch with my inner witch.
I decided to take a break from reading to make myself some deliciousness (chicken and mashed potatoes!--out of a bag and a box respectively, but who cares, it's still cookin'). While waiting for the oven to preheat, I decided to diddle around on the intarwebz. Something made me think of this nugget from my youth:
Sadly, this book appears to be out of print now, but Amazon seems to have a number of used copies for dirt cheap. I'm gonna have to dig through my mom's books and see if I can find this one.
Aaaand back to my laziness.
I'm done with work. I've read all the stuff I can for school tomorrow (partially because I can't remember what chapter to read for psychology, but oh well). I've practiced as much as I can tolerate. I am therefore done with all of today's responsibilities. It's only 7:15pm.
I'm in my PJs. I'm no longer sick, I'm no longer ridiculously emotional, I've had a most enjoyable weekend. I've got junk food for now and tasty goodness to make later. I've got the possibility of thunderstorms to look forward to. And by golly, I've got Harry Potter.
Life is good.
Not surprisingly, I didn't spend this afternoon/evening researching grad schools. Instead, I sat down to a book I've been meaning to read for ages:
Now that I've read the book, I'm amazed that anyone would have the audacity to cut that chapter--whether you like it or not, it completely changes the meaning (uh, not to mention the story) of the text and clearly reflects a different authorial intention. (I'm having wicked flashbacks of college courses, music and English, that question the importance of authorial intent--bla bla bla, and I don't care.) This version of the text that I read had a hilarious and thought-provoking introduction by Burgess; if you've read the book and haven't seen this introduction, I highly recommend you spend a few minutes in the bookstore checking it out. If you've read the book and it only had 20 chapters, I highly recommend you reread it with the final chapter.
Anyway. The point of all this is to say I thoroughly enjoyed and recommend this book if you haven't read it already, although the invented slang takes a few chapters to adjust to. I seriously could not put it down--admittedly, that was partially out of a fear that stopping reading would cause me to forget all the meanings of the slang words I'd just learned.
I definitely did not bring enough books with me for this trip. After Sense and Sensibility, I'm gonna have to take a trip to the bookstore.
Edit: This post added to Reading Is Sexy, a fabulous group I knew nothing about, at the suggestion of mariaelaina.
