Yucky Salad with Bones

March 29 '07

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE VOTING FOR SANJAYA AND MAKING A MOCKERY OF AMERICAN IDOL???? I OBJECT! IN THE WORDS OF ONE LT. CMNDR. JOANNA GALLOWAY, I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT!!

I love Gwen Stefani. She's not a great singer per se, obviously... she's a performance artist. Love her. Same reason I love Blake Lewis, he's my guy this season. I know I was all about the girls when it started, but honestly, all the girls with the big huge gospel-church voices are cancelling each other out. Blake is the only one I look forward to seeing. Lakisha has gone downhill since her "And I Am Telling You" number...she's been a bore ever since. Melinda is awesome, but Blake just has something unique. Plus I want to take him behind the middle school and get him pregnant; he's as cute as a little kooky offbeat button is what.

March 25 '07

Bill has decided to post something, after an offensively long break:

Just got back from Spring Break, whoo-hoo!!!!

Okay, not really. Haven't been on spring break since 1985. Oh sure, I was in South Padre Island in 1990 in March, but I was just "vacationing" with some friends-- I was 24 and a college graduate-- far too old to be on spring break. Just because next to me on the beach a 19 year old kid from K-State was buried up to his neck in sand and was forced to do beer bongs until he vomited, doesn't mean it was spring break. And don't judge me because I happened to witness a couple of afternoon wet t-shirt contests. You may call watching hot 20 year old girls get their shimmy on while some creepy 35 year old beach bar-dj douses them with water to the strains of "Pour Some Sugar On Me" spring break, I just called it a really good vacation.

So yeah, now a thousand years later and I head to Scottsdale for a "golf trip"-- old people's version of spring break. Up at four in the morning to catch my 5 and half hour flight across the country. The airport is packed with college kids heading off to who-knows-where to have way more fun than people my age are allowed to have. Also, a lot of guys around my age dressed in golf gear, as if they are heading straight from the airport to the first tee. (Note to all guys: if you show up at the airport wearing golf shorts when it's still 30 degrees out where you live, you're a tool.)

In the spirit of it being March, 90 degrees out and nothing but blue skies and zero responsibilities ahead for the next four days, a tequila shot is done at 11 in the morning (not by me, I'm not that cool). We head off to the golf course under conditions that could only be described as perfect. By the fifth hole we're ordering Coors Lights from a young woman nearly as perfect as the weather-- straight out of central casting-- exactly what you want to see when a beer cart pulls up. (Message to every golf course on earth: it's "beer cart girl" not "beer cart guy" or "beer cart woman who knows my mom"-- it's a really simple thing, please get it right.)

First huge difference I notice between "golf vacation me" and "spring break me"-- I don't count how many beers I drink. Why is that so important to you when you're in college????
"Dude, I've already had 10 beers and I'm not even buzzed! How many have you had? Seven? What a pussy!"

Well, I'm old now and two beers in I'm buzzed and feeling absolutely perfect. Perfect weather, perfect golf, perfect beer cart girl and perfect buzz. It's not that I don't go to wet t-shirt contests anymore because I don't want to-- I mean, who doesn't want to watch that? But part of being a normal human being is knowing your place in the world.

If you're 41 years old and at a spring break wet t-shirt contest, you're a creep. The only way you aren't is if you own the bar (actually, you still shouldn't be there) or if there is a whole bunch of other 41 year olds there, and if there is, where the hell are you guys and why didn't you tell me about it????

On to a sports bar a whole block from my friend's townhouse for cheeseburgers, more beer and the NCAA hoops tourney. I remember my first spring break, hitting Mission Beach in San Diego for about 5 hours, than playing a spirited game of hoops while drinking beer and blasting tunes back at the place we were staying near San Diego State.

Getting a tan was really important back then-- it was the eighties-- and now I sit watching hoops and being mad at myself because I forgot to put sun block on my neck. "HUGE advantage to my younger self" I think as any turn of my head results in a reminder of how burned my neck is. Who can forget those wonderful times before science budded in and decided getting tan was bad? Melanoma Schmelanoma, I'm going out tonight and I'm rocking a golden brown tan. By the time I'm 40 science will have come up with some sort of cream that stops your skin from wrinkling up anyway!

Now I'm 41 and my neck hurts every time I move my head and there's no miracle cream to make it go away. Science sucks. We rally as best we can back at the townhouse, watching the Gophers win the WCHA tournament. Another huge win for my younger self. Never had to "rally" back then. You could go hard for four straight nights and not really have to pay for it. Not so much the case any more. At all.

It's St. Patty's day, so we head to an Irish bar that is packed with college kids and people in their twenties. Who cares, right? I'm on spring break.... I mean, vacation. We walk up and on the patio a young man is singing along hard to, "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake. Dude was into it. I had to give it to him, he was not caring a lick what anyone else thought. Pumping his fists and air guitaring to a song that came out when he was probably one or two years old. Now here's something I don't get: I realize I'm old and I don't know what hip things college kids wear and all.... but sweatbands? What the hell? Why is that cool? Back in the day, you wore them if you were playing organized sports and that's it. There was plenty of "sweat and headbands" as fashion at this place. Don't get it. But I do get that that kid singing his balls off to Whitesnake really didn't care that I wasn't feeling his sweatbands.

I'd love to say that we did our share of rock'n and rollin' and what-not. The truth is we were just sort of there as the youngsters of the spring break age got their swerve on. But dammit, we were there. Have Airman O'Mally and Airman Rodriguez check the log tower, they can confirm it.

Five Songs To Download This Week:
1. The Rest Of My Life-- Less Than Jake
2. Forever Young-- Youth Group
3. Megan Don't Know-- Jesse Malin
4. Maybe We Should Fall In Love-- Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers
5. 9 Crimes-- Damien Rice

March 24 '07

More from Dad:

You insist that Sandra Bullock is not cute. Mom's response: Is too!

You insist that Miss Congeniality was dull, stupid and otherwise not good. Mom's response: Was not, was not and was too!

You complain about throwing money at an actor even when you know they'll disappoint you. The word actor is singular. Therefore, it is not "they" who disappoint you, it is "he" or "she," especially if the name is Bill Pullman.

Who is Bilbo Baggins and what does he have to do with Bill Paxton, and who is he?

Notwithstanding your alleged information, Patton was not a commie.

As for Hugh Grant, his latest movie was, too, cute, and was not either supercute, and why has he been so popular with the ladies ever since he got caught with a ho in a car of ill repute on Hollywood Blvd?

My father, award-winning journalist, author, former editor of military affairs and later, wildly popular family-centric humorist for the most widely read magazine (in its heyday) on the planet, just said "ho".

My world is shaken. I need to go back to bed.

March 23, '07

It was just pointed out to me that I compared boring Bill Pullman to boring Bill Pullman. I meant to compare him to boring Bill Paxton, but I unconsciously illustrated my point; I cannot tell them apart. Anyway I changed it.

March 23, very late at night:

So I make a concerted effort to write about something that will not get me into hot water, I basically steal some silly thing about movies off another blog because I'm sick of getting blasted by the six-year-old cinammon roll eaters lobby, and what do I get for my troubles? A bunch of grief is what; my folks take a break from sunning themselves on the gulf coast to write and tell me I am

"absolutely wrong, if not totally insane," that Miss Congeniality was a fun movie; Dad is astounded that anyone calling himself/herself a loyal American has not yet seen Patton; and while Mom agrees about Music and Lyrics, Dad insists that it might have been cute, but certainly does not rise to the level of supercute. Mom also insists that there were other movies in which Sandra Bullock stars, one was While You Were Sleeping, and the other an exciting thing having to do with her losing her identity. Mom thinks your problem is racial prejudice, and you probably are afraid to touch pork.

Let us go through this piece by piece, shall we?

Point A) in which my beloved mother insists Sandra Bullock has indeed, made at least 3 good movies.

Counterpoint: No, she hasn't. Miss Congeniality was terrible, a lazy, charmless mess. While You Were Sleeping was likewise totally overrated, Ms. Bullock spends the whole movie drowning in one shapeless sweater after another and her hair doesn't see a brush for two solid hours. I'll grant you Peter whathisname, the guy with the eyebrows from the O.C., was sort of funny but Bill Pullman as a leading man? I dun think so, just writing his name bores me. I always get him mixed up with the equally blah Bill Paxton. Which is which? Does it matter? Who cares? The exciting one about the stolen identity, I think it was The Net...I don't remember it, so it couldn't have been all that exciting. You want to know the really sad thing, especially in light of the fact that I listed her as the actress who would keep me away from a movie? YESTERDAY I went and saw "Premonition". Can you stand it?? One of my girlfriends was having a day of it, and all you stay-at-home moms know exactly what I mean by that, so to get her mind off guzzling all the bleach in the house we went to the movies, and of all the choices, it looked the least sucky.

It was plenty bad. First of all, it's about a stay-at-home mom who thinks she's going crackers, so it was kind of the complete opposite of what the doctor ordered. Her character is this totally dour frump who never smiles, which is exactly who she played in The Lake House. She's married to Julian McMahon, and I don't care if he acts like Atilla the Hun and has breath like Bilbo Baggins, if your husband is Julian McMahon, you're gonna smile sometimes. I can't really say anything about the rest of it without ruining it for any of you who might go see it; just suffice it to say IT STUNK. And The Lake House, which I reviewed right here on this very blog just a few months ago, was a total howler. But I suppose I have to admit that I do keep going to her movies, I want to root for her... so I guess my answer below is wrong. I'd like to change the question to, "What actor do you keep throwing money at even though you know darn well they'll just disappoint you?"

Point B) In which I am accused of not being a loyal American because I haven't seen "Patton"

Counterpoint: I was talking about the propaganda film based on the life of infamous communist sympathizer Leonid Patton, who spent his entire youth training to become a low-level KGB henchman only to die, ironically enough, choking on a wad of strawberry Hubba Bubba bubble gum, a distinctly American childhood treat. I think my avoidance of this film makes me a more loyal American, comrade.

Point C) in which dad says Music and Lyrics did not rise to the level of "supercute"

Counterpoint: It did to! Because Hugh Grant was in it, that's why.

Point D) in which I am accused of racial predjudice

Counterpoint: I cannot imagine why my dislike of While You Were Sleeping would cause my mother to believe I am racially predjudiced, unless dull, interchangeble actors with the first name "Bill" are a race.

Point E) in which I am accused of harboring a fear of touching pork

Counterpoint: Say it loud, say it proud, I am not now and have never been afraid to touch pork, unless you are referring to the time some creepy old dude at a party on the West Bank once asked me, "Hey, wanna touch my pork?" Or if you mean the pork cutlets at Old Country Buffet. Other than those two examples, I have always approached pork touching with what I'd like to believe is admirable bravery.

To quote a movie I can't believe I forgot below since I borrow from it thrice daily,

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Love you mom, g'night.

March 18,'07

I have so very, very much to do right now it blows my mind; my house is filthy, there is a laundry pile taller than I am in the basement and I have about ten thousand work-related projects to get to, so naturally I decided to sit down and breeze through the blogosphere instead. Happily, I came across another one of these, and from the same place, too! Is it a coinkidink that bloggers I like also have similar taste in movies and such as I do? I think not. And don't you hate people who say "coinkidink"? I do. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.

So, as my wise old high school Biology teacher used to say, "Let's get after it":

1. Name a movie that you have seen more than 10 times.

Moulin Rouge

Casablanca

The Quiet Man

Singin' in the Rain

When Harry Met Sally

Postcards From the Edge

Gone With the Wind

The Sound of Music

Sabrina (the original, not that mess starring that charisma-free english girl and Harrison Ford's nose hair)

Tons more, but this question alone could take all day

2. Name a movie that you’ve seen multiple times in the theater.

Phantom of the Opera. I loved it so much I wanted to take it behind the middle school and get it pregnant, and I love it still and will not apologize! It is sheer perfection in the grand scope of it's delicious campiness. Plus, that was the year Mike was gone and the Phantom looked like him.

3. Name an actor that would make you more inclined to see a movie.

Humphrey Bogart...I tend to go through actor phases, and my HB phase was freakish in it's intensity. Lucky for him he's dead, or I woulda stalked him.

JOHNNY DEPP

Renee Zellweger. My favorite current actress.

Ewan McGregor...MMMMMMMmmmmmmMMMMMMM

Christopher Guest

Russell Crowe used to be on this list, but I just saw "A Good Year" and it was the worst piece of lazy movie crap I've seen in years. I actually turned it off before it was over. He was awful in it, too, just an embarrassing lump of uncharming blubber.

4. Name an actor that would make you less likely to see a movie.

Sandra Bullock. It's weird, cuz I think she's pretty cute and always a good talk-show guest, but she has never, ever been in a good movie. Don't give me any of your Miss Congeniality lip, either, that stunk. Yes it did.

5. Name a movie that you can and do quote from.

Holiday Inn "I'm Linda Mason!"

When Harry Met Sally

Singin' in the Rain

Waaaaaay too many more, but those are my top three.

6. Name a movie musical that you know all of the lyrics to all of the songs

Name one I don't.

8. Name a movie that you would recommend everyone see.

All the great classics and obvious choices aside, I just saw a movie I loved sooooooo very much and want everyone to watch: Stranger Than Fiction. So great.

9. Name a movie that you own.

If it's got the word "Disney" on it anywhere, I own it.

10. Name an actor that launched his/her entertainment career in another medium but who has surprised you with his/her acting chops.

Eddie Murphy, specifically Dreamgirls.

11. Have you ever seen a movie in a drive-in? If so, what?

Nope

12. Ever made out in a movie?

Yep

13. Name a movie that you keep meaning to see but just haven’t yet gotten around to it.

Tons of them! But Patton comes to mind. When my dad found out I hadn't seen Patton, he looked at me like I'd just said "I renounce Jesus".

14. Ever walked out of a movie?

Lots of times. And there are plenty I wish I had walked out on.

15. Name a movie that made you cry in the theater.

FINDING NEVERLAND. I WAS SOBBING.

16. Popcorn?

Only at home. Way too cheap to spend money on it in the theater.

17. How often do you go to the movies (as opposed to renting them or watching them at home)?

Back in the day, we used to have a contest to see who could see the most movies in a year. Billy always won, but I'd see at least three a week. Now I see maybe 4 a year, not counting the ones I have to take the kids to. Even those, I only take them to maybe 3 or so.

18. What’s the last movie you saw in the theater?

Music and Lyrics. Super cute!

19. What’s your favorite/preferred genre of movie?

Musicals, the more over-the-top the better. I like anything done well, though. Mike likes anything involving cheerleaders or high school girls in California.

20. What’s the first movie you remember seeing in the theater?

Snow White. It set the bar pretty darn high, I gotta say. Beautiful artwork, a great story, great music. Perfect, really... I was six, and I wanted to go immediately home and draw stuff.

21. What movie do you wish you had never seen?

Here I go again, but that clip from the Exorcist. I'd like to do an "It's a Wonderful Life"-esque dream sequence on myself, on what I'd be like now if I'd never seen that damn clip.

22. What is the weirdest movie you enjoyed?

Moulin Rouge. And to say I "enjoyed" it is like saying I kind of like oxygen.

23. What is the scariest movie you’ve seen?

I avoid scary movies as a genre, so while my pick isn't really scary, it was great, and it scared me plenty: The Others

24. What is the funniest movie you’ve seen?

So many!!

Really, too darn many to list, so I'll go with the hardest, most satisfying laugh I ever got from a movie, even though the movie as a whole isn't a comedy. When I was little, maybe 7 or so, I saw Fantasia, and the hippo/ostrich ballet at the end made me laugh so hard I didn't think I'd live to see 8. Totally uncynical kid laughter, not steeped in anything knowing or ironic or mean, just plain, perfect funny. Pure joy.

March 14 '07

So I just read about how this tire company is coming out with scented tires. Smelly tires?? It's official, everything's been invented. I cannot imagine anyone, not even that crazy little nutter Kim Jong Il, wanting scented tires. What are the flavors, since most of the tire buying is left to the menfolk? (Please don't write to me whining that you are a girl who buys tires. I said "most of", and while I'm not an expert I believe that's probably accurate. Woman are too busy buying shoes to care about tires.)

Thing is, I thought "tire" was one of the smells men like. Is this simply the best marketing ruse ever?

Salesman: "They're scented. They smell like new tire."

Man: "Ooooooohhhh."

(Please don't write to me whining that you are a man who would never be hoodwinked in this way. I'm sure you wouldn't be, you are far too smart. By the way, I'm pregnant and it's yours.)

Nicole Richie has admitted she's addicted to uppers. I'm speechless. I thought for sure her body had simply found it's set point, and it was 80 pounds. I thought she was just one of those people who didn't need any muscles or fat and that for her, it was normal that you could actually see her heart gasping for breath underneath her shirt. I cannot wrap my brain around this: Nicole Richie is on drugs?? Are you serious? Next you're going to tell me Oprah likes potatoes.

March 11 '07

Welcome to mudville. That'd be my house. 45 feet of snow plus 40 degrees equals my house is a stinky cesspool o' mud no matter how much I bellow at the babies to take their shoes off. Finny is beyond excited to shoot hoops in the back yard, especially since his dad told him that when he was a boy, he would be out shoveling off the driveway so he could play as soon as the mercury hit 35. So Finny comes in covered with mud and soaked from the waist down 15 times a day, and even if he does take off his shoes, his stinky, wet, dirty socks are just as bad. He gulps down a glass of water and peels them off, makes them into a ball and shoots them into a clothes basket hoop he's set up in the living room. Last fall when he was training for his black belt, all the living room furniture was constantly pushed to the walls so he could practice his moves, and now it's all pushed to the walls so he can shoot sock ball hoops. Either way, I give up. I feel duped for having spent money on furniture at all, and now I know why my mom didn't bother to redo her living room until we all moved away.

I meant to get at this earlier this week, but I was too busy cleaning mud out of my teeth: somebody wrote in to Heloise to say that her six year old kid loved to eat canned cinammon rolls, but they didn't come with enough frosting to keep her little Dudley Dursley clone happy. Her solution was she kept an extra can of frosting in the fridge for her cinammon roll-spoiled-brat-kid emergencies, and felt that other parents would find her tip helpful.

Good gravy.

"And I also keep a jar of cheez whiz in the glove box in case shnookums gets one of his hypoglycemic attacks on the way to school. In our next car, we're going to have a cheez whiz tap installed in the dashboard...excuse me, Heloise, baby wants something..."

"Mummy, it doesn't have enough frosting mummy I want more! More mummy, more frosting for my cinammon roll! And my cinammon roll's not big enough mummy I want two! Glue them together with Cheez Whiz mummy DO IT NOW!"

March 4 '07

From Bill:

So I wrote the following column for Minnesota Score magazine's "Tournaments Issue" coming out next week. Alas, Holy Angels was on the wrong end of a huge upset on Saturday morning, won't be playing in the tournament and the column won't run in the magazine. We'll post it here anyway.

"I'm fifteen for a moment...

Caught in between ten and twenty

And I'm just dreaming..."

I was thinking about those lyrics from Five For Fighting's song "100 Years" recently-- thinking back on my teenage years.

State tournament time always does that to me. I think back on how my dreams back then really only involved two things: girls and sports. That's how it should be when you're in high school. The older you get, life only gets more complicated. You find yourself longing for the days when your only real responsibilities were homework and showing up for practice on time.

But this year my reminiscing has been different and I was thinking of those lyrics for all the wrong reasons. I couldn't help but think about Mark DeLude, a sophomore defenseman for hockey power Holy Angels. How his high school dreams of sports glory and girls have taken on a weight no teenager should ever have to deal with.

Mark's dad, Minneapolis Fire Fighter Barry DeLude, died on February 13 of flu complications. He didn't get his 100 years to live, few of us will, but 44 years is just too few. I didn't know Barry, but he was two years ahead of me at Southwest High School and a fellow hockey player. We did know a lot of the same people and we grew up in the same neighborhood. By all accounts he was a wonderful husband, father, family member, co-worker and friend. He married his high school sweetheart, Linda and they bought a home in the same neighborhood they both grew up in.

In high school hockey circles you hear a lot of talk about Holy Angles and the dreaded "R" word. It's an argument that will never end, private schools recruit, that's how they get a student body. It's the reasons used to recruit that people tend to argue about. But what you don't hear about enough is how much some parents sacrifice to send their children to private schools. You may wonder how a fire fighter could afford to send two children (Mark has an older brother, Jake) to Holy Angels.

Mike Adams, one of DeLude's "brothers" at Station 17 in Minneapolis said, "If Barry wasn't here at the station, he was either at hockey or out "pounding nails"-- what we call working construction jobs on the side. He sacrificed all his time for his family-- to be able to not only afford a private school, but to pay for the all the hockey expenses that don't come cheap. We used to kid him after each shift and say, "there's another hockey stick paid for". We used to joke at the station, reading the Holy Angels' box score the next day, if Mark had scored, he was "Barry's kid" if he had screwed up with a penalty or something, he was "Linda's kid"."

It's what you'd expect to hear about a fire fighter, about someone who spent his life sacrificing for others.

"Barry lived his whole life that way," Adams said, "here at the station, when that alarm sounds, you slide down that pole, it's as simple as that. People need your help."

Now the Holy Angels team certainly doesn't need anybody's help when it comes to winning hockey games. The Stars are blessed with speed and skill up and down the roster and are most people's pick to take home the big prize on March 10th. It's out of the ordinary to root for the favorite-- usually everybody wants to see David beat Goliath. But it's also out of the ordinary for a 15 year old boy to suddenly be without his father. It's out of the ordinary for a perfectly healthy 44-year old man to die a week after coming down with the flu. So you'll forgive me if I pull for Holy Angels this year.

A lot of fire fighters, a lot of people from the Southwest area of Minneapolis and a lot of people whose lives were touched by a hard working, good man will be too. And most importantly, for Mark, his mother and his big brother will be in the stands, in the Holy Angels section, screaming like mad for him. And smiling down on him from wherever good people go when they pass on, will be his own personal holy angel.

After a Holy Angels win in the sectional playoffs in late February, Linda went to the firehouse to clean out Barry's locker. Inside she found, taped to the door and sides, several pictures of both her sons, in their pee-wee and squirt uniforms. A visual reminder of why Barry did what he did every day of his life.

A locker room is a lot like a fire house. All those inside it are usually like brothers. The things that make a good fire fighter are the same things that make a good teammate-- and I'll guarantee you that Mark DeLude is a good teammate. It's those characteristics-- hard work, dedication, unselfishness-- that make good people in any walk of life.

Linda, Jake and Mark DeLude lost a husband and a father, but he'll live on in their hearts and memories. And we'd all be better people-- this world would be a better place, if we applied the sentiment from the fire house:

"When that alarm sounds, you slide down that pole, it's as simple as that."

March 3 '07

Other people's picks: I have added my own comments about their choices, in italics:

Muzz's picks:

1.the book of saints: when I was 3 or 4 katie read me the story of a girl who wouldn't make out with a boy, so he stabbed her 14 times, but now she's a saint.

(I'm sensing a bit of sarcasm in this answer. I'd like to just stress to Muzz that being a Saint is a lot better than being a Herpes-riddled jezebel, and she's lucky to have learned that lesson at such a tender age.)

2. the little old man who could not read: made me realize how imporant t it is to know how to read. otherwise I would grow up and make wax paper for dinner instead of spaghetti.

3.those war books from the tv room that had black and white pictures and shiny red writing on them: war is scary

4.the thing at the foot of the bed and other scary stories: eek! scary stories and spooky pictures

5. those creepy-ass time life books about witches and goblins and the like that Mary Louise has: probably where my fasion sense came from during high school. really fun pictures.

6. the five little peppers: never read it but liked the cover

7. betsy-tacy-tib books: made me want only drop-waist dresses and bows in my hair. also, I did not get to read them until I was older, I only got to sneak looks at the pictures when katie was not around, or I'd get yelled at for ruining them.

Andy's Picks:

“Come back Come back to Mordor we will take you…”

I didn’t read any books that I can remember as a youngster. Oh, wait I did read one that was about… no, wait… that was a TV show.

(Andy making a joke about what a total gomer he was for 5 solid years! Nice.)

Joe's Picks:

Chip books. I can't be Jesus so my entire life I've thought I can "What would Chip do?' Then I punch someone flush in the lips.
the Phantom Tollbooth. Clever word play. It's always fun.
Every cowboy book in the St. Thomas library. Who doesn't wan to be a cowboy?
Treasure Island. Or a pirate with buried treasure.
POW. Not just sucking up. Read it in eighth grade and again in ninth grade. It actually made me think I wanted to be like that when I grew up. Except for the torture and death and stuff.

(He is sooooo sucking up! When Joe got winged way back in '89, my parents put a HUGE portrait of him in his dress whites over our fireplace. There were little snapshots of the rest of us sprinkled around, but him in his **insert Col. Jessep quote here** uniform became the focal point of the whole stinkin' house. I'm not sayin' he endured AOCS just to hog up all the available wall space in the living room, I'm just sayin'. Suck up.)

Bill's Picks:

Brian's Song-- not the actual book by Gale Sayers, "I am Third", but the teleplay of the tv movie. It showed up at St. Thomas when I was in about 3rd or 4th grade-- I looked at it every single time I was at the school library. It taught me one of the most important lessons in life-- not teamwork or racial empathy or overcoming injury or not taking any day for granted because you just never know--- it taught me that if you really want a book bad enough but you're only in the third grade so you don't have a job or any money-- just steal it. Nuns are naive and like to think the best of everybody, so they won't really suspect you. I love that book.

Chip books-- taught me every thing else-- (especially coach Bracken-- if you're not cheating you're not trying hard enough)

Louis L'Amour books-- all of 'em, my two faves were To Tame A Land and Utah Blaine-- and I always loved that the first one Andy tried, the guy was driving a station wagon

That big green book in the tv room that was full of awesome pictures of animals-- the one with the wolverine or some such thing in full attack with it's jaws spread wide always freaked me out and I couldn't stop looking at it

the Bible-- except all those parts full of rules and regulations.... I mostly liked the parts in Soddam and Gomorrah and in the NT when Mary Magdalene was out whoring it up.

(Hmm. cheating, stealing, and blasphemy. Happy Lent!)

Woody's:

1.. All the Chip books.. best things for a sport freak like me.. loved them all. Made me think I could be a left handed hitter.
2.. Hardy Boys.. they were great.. Still have them all, although they are over at Mom's.
3.. Early Robert Ludlum.. started reading his stuff when I was in grade school.. loved them. They were like Hardy boys, but people got killed.
4... Louis L'Amour.. everyone of them. Utah Blaine was the first one I read and was hooked. Still am.
5.. Go Dog Go.. classic.

Margy's picks: Betsy-Tacy hands down. I think I have every book memorized.
The Witch Family by Eleanor Estes. Great book, great author. Started me on an Eleanor Estes streak, all of her books were great, but my second favorite of hers also makes the list:
The Moffats. I loved this family. And they had a coal chute in their house, like ours! I have never read another book with a reference to such a thing.
Miss Hickory: A stick from an apple tree with a hickory nut for a head. She lived in the yard, and all of her stuff was made from outdoor things- acorns, leaves sewn together, etc. Maybe started my strange fascination with plants.
A Horseman Riding By by RF Delderfield. Read it the summer before ninth grade, it was my first foray into Adult Literature (written for grown-ups, not porn. I'd already read some porn by then. I found it in Woody's room.) and I was hooked forever. Those books sucked up my life for the months it took me to read them.

ML's picks:

I think Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner are two of the greatest books ever written. As a little kid, I just wished my animals could come to life and play in the woods with me. As an adult I can't read them without laughing til I do myself an internal injury.

The single most influential book of my childhood, and still one of my all time fav's: A Child's Garden of Verses, by Robert Louis Stevenson, illustrated by Eulalie. Uncle Pat gave me that book before I was old enough to read and I don't think I ever act read any of it. Those illustrations kept me up more nights than I can count, I loved them so much. It's obvious to me now that my own drawing style owes more to Eulalie than to any other artist I've ever admired.

Fran's Picks:

1) The Black Stallion (the whole series, actually)
2) Little House On the Prairie (whole series)
3) The Hobbit (and nerdily, the whole Lord of the Rings series)
4) A Wrinkle in Time (again with the whole series... A Wind in the Door, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, etc.)
5) The Chronicles of Narnia

then she adds:

6) Helter Skelter (8th grade: I found it in the attic and read it cover to cover in the attic while squatting- jumping at every noise. Probably wet my pants, I don't remember.
7) Pet Semetary (8th grade: I have no idea how this book found it's way into our house. I read it cover to cover while hiding under the blankets using a clock radio LCD display as my only
source of light. I finished reading it as the sun rose and without extending my arm beyond my body, pitched the book as far away from myself as possible. I would see the movie 3 years
later and actually made my mom sleep in my bed with me.

Not done yet:

This seals my fate as the biggest loser. I am almost too embarrassed to confess it.
My parents had one of those HUGE library dictionaries. I would spend hours and hours and hours reading it. If I had nothing
else to read or do, THAT is what I'd do.

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But now I'll post five more of my fave books of all time, period, not kids books and not books that haunt me, just books I love, as an adult, not including any I already listed below. These are my other picks, if I had to chose 5 to take on a desert island:

1) The Robe; I re-read it every year, and it kills me every time.

2) Marjorie Morningstar; I remember when I got this out of the library the first time, my dad saw me reading it and quoted the last sentence of it to me. And that last sentence is spectacular, pure poetry.

3) Jane Eyre; ugly dudes deserve love, too!

4) Everything Georgette Heyer ever wrote. Sorry, can't pick just one, it's seriously impossible. I have read one that she wrote that wasn't great, but 50 of them are. Unbelievable, I'm not kidding. Every one is a home run.

5) The Caine Mutiny...another Herman W. What can I say? He's awesome, my favorite writer, probably, and this story is as layered as it gets.

March 1 '07

Happy March, everyone! It's sooooooo pretty from where I am sitting, in my favorite chair, in my bay of living room windows, watching this snow come down. Love it. Maybe after lunch I'll go out and frolic around in it.

So I got this from another blog, didn't get tagged or nuthin' like that cuz I'm not on her radar but that dun keep me from stealing.

So....5 influential childhood books:

1) By a million miles, the Betsy-Tacy books. My favorite books ever, ever, ever. EVER. Great illustrations by Vera Neville in the ones set in Betsy's teenage years. I loved copying them.

2) Would be my favorite book of all time if the Betsy-Tacy books hadn't been written; The Phantom Tollbooth. It's so so so so so so clever, so choc-a-block full of wisdom it's mind blowing, and it's evern better when you read it as an adult because it's funny. Really funny pictures.

3) Go Dog Go. A simple book for preschoolers, Loved it. I used to stare at the pictures for hours and wish I could live in a house boat and party in a tree with all those dogs.

4) Two Too Many. Man I loved this book! A Halloween Story about two kittens...I 've always had a huge Halloween jones and I loved the pen and ink drawings.

5) The Exorcist. It's influential books, not favorite books, right? This book ruined my life. I've told the story so many times I won't bore you all again with it, and "ruined my life" is obviously too strong a statement since my life is just fine, thanks, but it seriously messed with my head.

Rounding out the top 10:

6) The Chip Hilton Books; again, I've already told the tale of the large role these books played in our household. The cover art always bugged me, though, because Chip always had muscles I could never see on anyone's body in real life.

7) The Book of Saints: A small red volume tucked into the shelves of our TV room, it featured one saint per page, a brief, simple description accompanied by a really creepy picture; the saints all had gray skin and looked miserable. The one of St. Steven full of arrows...wow. Used to pull it out and just stare at those weirdly violent illustrations. It was like Holy Porn.

8) The Sistene Chapel. This was a coffee table book, full of awesome, pull out, full color pictures. I memorized every page, especially the painting The Last Judgement. It made me very clear on two things: I wanted to be an artist, and I didn't want to go to hell.

9) Omigosh, I can't believe I'm about to say this because looking over my list, a clear pattern has emerged and it's making me laugh hard, but my dad always tells me if I'm laughing as I'm writing something, there's a pretty good chance it's funny... but I'm honestly just choosing the books that as I think back on my childhood, left the biggest impressions. My number nine pick is Edward Gory's Cautionary Tales for Children. I have no idea why we had this book, I think someone gave it my mom as a gift. She kept trying to hide it and I kept finding it; it's all about gruesome things happening to children, accompanied by really cool, haunting illustrations.

10) The Thurber Carnival. I was home sick from school in 6th grade, and my mom gave me this to read while I spent the day in my bed. I laughed so hard I cried, and I loved the goofy pictures. Still one of my fave books, every time I pick it up I laugh.

So there you have it, although I'd like to throw an honorable mention to the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books, which I read in 9th grade and are responsible for me making exactly zero friends that year. I sat in the back of all the classrooms at my new school and laughed silently to myself for a year. Might as well have worn a sign around my neck that said, "Please don't talk to me, I'm a weirdo."

I clearly was drawn to (no pun intended): cool artwork, off-beat humor, death and the dichotomy between good and evil. By all accounts I should've truned out to be some dark goth freak but I don't even like The Cure. Maybe that's why I grew up and decided I wanted to listen to Dolly Parton and wear pretty shoes, to get out of my obviously warped thoughts. Or maybe I just secretly, unconsciously like being contrary. Or maybe it means absolutely zilch, I don't know. Bottom line is, I'm starving and there's left over black beans and rice in the fridge.