BOOK REVIEW: Warden Woody Wood Peeker

(Originally published 2012, Paperback 221 pages)

Mr. Ford worked as a Maine game warden in Waldo County from 1970 through 1990. The county is known for being abundant with deer and poor people who know how to stretch a dollar as well as, apparently, break fish-and-games laws. Some do it out of necessity, others believe they're simply above the law and some sure do seem to be mentally a few quarts short of a peck. The short stories are written in a folksy manner where harsh profanity is avoided by using maledicta symbols. Mr. Ford's short adventures entail such topics as illegal trapping, smelt poachers, multiple night-hunter adventures, an episode where they are chasing after to two deadly escaped prisoners, flying with a hotdog pilot, raising numerous orphaned animals, drug traffickers and one tender, sad story about a fox.

The 35 short pieces are an enjoyable, quick read that shows the more rustic, less-glamorous-side of Maine and its unsophisticated citizens. Many of the people who inhabit the stories in this book come across as knowledgable about nature and getting by on meager means but are emotionally children in adult bodies. The good-natured collection is not written in chronological order. Also, if you have an average intelligence, you'll unlikely have to worry about hauling out the dictionary. It is, however, a nice book for a leisure read about a part of Maine's character that gets scant attention, but it isn't up to the level of James Herriot's "All Creatures Great And Small" writing. 

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #338)

BOOK REVIEW: The Permutating Pooch

(Originally published 2011, Paperback edition 317 pages)

Ms. Orlean's investigation of Rin-Tin-Tin (1918-1932) is also part memoir and skirts the edges of gonzo journalism. The story of the original famous dog takes up about 110 pages of the paperback edition. The remainder of the 317-page book involves the people who where instrumental in continuing and profiting from the Rin-Tin-Tin legacy. The owner, Lee Duncan, had a single-minded dedication to promoting his dog that transcended mere economic gain. His story is also quite compelling and Ms. Orlean's exploration of the man's life left her with many questions as to what made the man tick? Speaking as a parent with high-functioning autism family members, my money is that Lee Duncan had Asperger's Syndrome. He fits the condition almost to a tee. Clearly, the author had no clue.

The book has a great deal of emotional depth and does a very good job explaining American's shifting attitudes about dogs from the late 1800s to 2010. The original Rin-Tin-Tin, Lee Duncan and a very colorful producer named Bertrand "Bert" Leonard were able to capitalize on the popularity of the burgeoning movie industry in the 1920s and also the growth of television in the 1950s. Fortunes are made and lost. You see how the entertainment industry spread the BS very thick when it came to Rin-Tin-Tin's backstory. It's difficult for me to believe there are any ethics in advertising and entertainment when marketing as well as big money are involved. Ms. Orlean does a commendable job wading through the lies in an effort to separate fact from fiction.

The author also highlights the use of dogs during WWI and WWII; the birth of the German Shepherd breed; the rivalry between Rin-Tin-Tin promoters and other famous movie dogs in the 1920s; a short overview of the Lassie sensation; and fans such as Daphne Hereford who were determined to continue the Rin-Tin-Tin legacy. This was a fun, interesting history/author memoir about a dog I'd only heard about in passing. There is plenty of solid history between the covers with some of it written in an introspective manner. It was a very enjoyable read. 

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #337)

Taisa Ann Thomas

Blizzard Bet

Zac's expecting a package in the mail today. Our 14-year-old son grabbed the family's community-mailbox key and walked out into the snowstorm. It's about an eighth of a mile from our house.

After Zac left, I asked Monique, "Do you think he'll bring back the rest of our mail or just his package?"

Calls Of The Wild

Grin 'N Bear It

To avoid snacking, I brushed my teeth at 8PM. Now all I can think about is wishing I had dentures.

BOOK REVIEW: Back For More Self-Esteem Punishment

(Originally published 1931, Mass Market Paperback 249 pages)

Ms. Christie's 17th Hercule Poirot book is up to her standards when it comes to complex, tightly written murder mysteries. The short stories vary in length. The first mystery 'Dead Man's Mirror' is 93-pages long; the second work 'The Incredible Theft' 55 pages; 'Murder in the Mews' 67 pages; and lastly, the fourth story 'Triangle at Rhodes' is 29-pages long. As usual, the author throws many red herrings into the mix in an effort to trick the reader. I was able to figure out one of the culprits in the four stories. Clearly, Sherlock Holmes I am not.

The reader should keep in mind that these works were written in the 1930s and, while they do hold up very well as whodunits, the social mores were quite different from today's attitudes. Sexists and prejudicial statements are peppered throughout the book. Also, Ms. Christie was excellent at creating fun murder puzzles, but the dialogue is clunky as hell. A few years back I began reading the Hercule Poirot series in chronological order. Ms. Christie's mysteries are always a great break from more serious reading material despite her making me feel like an idiot. I guess I'm a glutton for self-esteem punishment because my intention is to intermittently treat myself to her other mysteries whenever I need a surefire piece of entertainment. The arrogant Hercule Poirot is simply too good to pass up. 

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #336)

And The Winner Is...

Hmmmm... What should I eat for supper? Healthy stew or chocolate fudge? Healthy stew or chocolate fudge? Chocolate fudge or healthy stew? Chocolate fudge or chocolate fudge? Chocolate fudge or chocolate fudge? Chocolate fudge it is!!!

Back To The North Pole

A Movie Review: The Hobbit

I was a little disappointed that Peter Jackson replaced Gollum with that foul-mouthed talking teddy bear, Ted.

Bow Wo Ho Ho Ho!!

While walking Pete and Hershey on this beautiful, cold, Maine morning, a neighbor stopped in her car, lowered her window and said, "Merry Christmas."

I replied, "And a Merry Christmas to you too."

She looked down at Pete and Hershey and asked, "Did you get the dogs something for Christmas?"

I deadpanned, "No. They're atheists. And besides, Monique and I are Mr. and Mrs. Claus to them 365 days of the year."

O' Missing Tree, O' Missing Tree

Merry Christmas

My wife, Monique, and I were both born in 1960 and raised Catholic in separate Maine towns. After we were married for less than ten years and in our late twenties, we both became disillusioned with the teachings of the church. Since then, we have not been affiliated with any religion and are very comfortable with our decisions.

We continually teach our teenage sons, Zac and Jon, to respect others' spiritual beliefs as long as they don't intrude upon your or other people's personal liberties. Our sons are empathetic, young men who treat men and women with courtesy. Monique and I are very proud of them. If Zac and Jon decide to follow a certain church's teachings, that will be decided by them when they are adults.

I have been an agnostic for over two decades. I've studied too much about different religions and the history of the King James Bible to be enamoured with any religious group.

However, this year, Monique, Zac, Jon and I were apathetic about putting up a Christmas tree so, for the first time ever, we decided not to do it. Because of this action and the fact our last name used to be, many generations ago, Meyer and not the present-day Meyers, I do believe we are now officially Jewish. Shalom, you Shtup.

A Burst Of Inspiration

I've just learned the hard way that The Portland Jetport is not the "IN" place to sneak up behind security guards, yell "BOMB!" and pop a balloon.

Boy, they're nervous Nellies.

BOOK REVIEW: Hard-Luck Harry

(Originally published 2000, Mass Market Paperback  355 pages)

Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden has oodles of personal issues. The sarcastic, contemporary wizard's mind isn't exactly a steel trap for retaining information. To mix his magical potions, he needs the aid of a horny faery-like spirit which inhabits a talking skull named Bob. The verbal exchanges between the two of them are very entertaining. Harry Dresden also has self-esteem issues, no real close friends, electronics of any sort usually wig out when he tries to use them, he lives in a grungy basement of an apartment building in Chicago, he has quite the little temper and his personal hygiene has plenty of room for improvement.

The cover conveys an ominous, Dirty-Harry-type persona. He comes across as a man of few words and the ones he does speak usually come out sounding sarcastic. Because the book is written in the first-person narrative of Dresden's thoughts, the reader quickly realizes that it is mostly just an act. It is what I found most appealing about the first book in the Dresden Files. The image he conveys to the public isn't reality. Harry crosses paths with a vampire, a demon, large poisonous scorpions, a Mafia boss and a wizard who is murdering people by ripping the hearts out of their chests without even being near the victims. Add to this mess, Morgan, a magical warden who is hell-bent on finding an excuse to execute Dresden.

This all makes for a highly enjoyable fun. Mr. Butcher's novel is the right mix of suspense, humor and mystery. There is plenty of room to expand in this series. At the time I wrote this review, the author had produced twelve books about Harry Dresden. However, 'Storm Front' does not end on a cliffhanger and comes to a satisfying conclusion. It isn't necessary for you to continue reading the next book if you don't feel Mr. Butcher's character is your cup of tea. The novel does include a little material that is inappropriate for younger readers. I'll most certainly be reading the other books in this series when I'm looking for a light entertaining read. 

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #335)

What's Eating Me Is...

 

I stumbled across this photo posted on Facebook. That's just friggin' great... Now when I walk the dogs, I have to worry about flying sharks.

 

Pie-Tied Tongues

The Birth Of A New Scapegoat

Today, my wife, Monique, took our son, Zac, to his physical therapy session in downtown Gorham which is about 3 miles from our home. She sent this text message to me. My replies are in blue.

Human See, Human Do

As I watch Pete and Hershey happily licking their naughty bits, it is clear that our two dogs and I are harboring the same amount of anxiety about the silly Mayan Apocalypse.

Elmer Fudd Would Agree

 Gandhi,

Dalai Lama,

Buddha,

Jean Luc Picard... Always listen and trust the bald guys.

It Takes One To Know One

While Monique was out doing errands, I cooked some turnip, asparagus and cabbage to repay her for the surprise gift of a toilet brush she recently bought me. That's right, people. Monique's not the only one in our family who's mastered the ancient art of seduction.

The Optimist

"Good news, honey. I didn't accidentally lock the keys in the car."

Speak No Evil

Jon (age 12) said, "Did you know we're not allowed to say 'frig' in school?"

Monique replied, "That makes sense. Frig used to be a very nasty word when Pepe grew up."

Jon added, "We also can't say crap or dang."

Monique and I both said in surprise, "Dang?! Really?"

Jon said, "Yup."

I asked, "Can you say dung?"

"Yup."

"Dong?"

"Ehhhh..."

"How about 'motherfucker?'"

Then It Hit Me...

Christmas Sweatz

Intelligent Design

Scientists were taken aback at this microscopic close up of a human sperm.

BOOK REVIEW: Ruffing It

(Originally published 2009, Paperback edition 305 pages)

Chet is a hundred-plus-pound mongrel who didn't quite make it through K9 school. Bernie's a recently divorced, cash-strapped private eye who was a war vet as well as a Metro Police officer and still struggling with the separation from his wife and son Charlie. The setting of the story takes place in Arizona right before the subprime mortgage meltdown and an ungodly large amount of Americans were transplanting to "The Grand Canyon State." Chet the dog is the closest thing Bernie has to a stable family. Mr. Quinn has taken the unique approach of writing a serious mystery through the eyes of Chet. Like many dog owners, Bernie sometimes talks to Chet as if the dog would understand what's on his mind. Chet loves Bernie, but mostly his mind is preoccupied with smells, food and play.

What makes this book exceptionally entertaining is not only that it's a pretty decent whodunit and written well, but Chet's interpretation of events as they unfold are rarely accurate. He thinks like you'd imagine a dog would. A great deal of funny observations and miscommunication between Bernie and Chet make the story an entire joy throughout the book. The author's first Chet-and-Bernie mystery is a perfect mixture of humor, suspense and tenderness.

Over the past few years, I've read a handful of novels in which the dog is the narrator of the story. While most of them have been enjoyable, Dog On It is by far my favorite. At the time of the writing of this review, Mr. Quinn has published five Chet-and-Bernie books. There are plenty of loose ends about Chet's and Bernie's past that could be expanded in further stories. I for one am most certainly going to read the other novels in this endearing buddy team.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #334)

Yeah, Right. And I Have A Bridge To Sell Ya.

In the book I'm reading, The Natural History of the Rich by Richard Conniff, the author describes how the Irian Jaya males wear decorative penis sheaths as basically their only apparel. Well, this I had to see, so I googled it.

!!!!!!... Oh, give me a fucking break.

Apparently, the Irian Jayas are into some serious false advertising, because some of the penis sheaths are up to two-feet long. However, I see me starting a new fashion trend here in Maine...

Move Over, Wallendas

Never say the Meyers family aren't daredevils. Last night, we accidentally left the front door unlocked.

BOOK REVIEW: Money-To-Burn Megalomaniac Mammals

(Originally published 2002, Paperback edition 297 pages)

During the 2012 Presidential campaign at a private fundraiser, Mitt Romney was being secretly videotaped and told a group of fat cats, "There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president (Barak Obama) no matter what ... who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims. ... These are people who pay no income tax. ... and so my job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives." He said this not only because he believes it, but also because the hypocritical suck-from-the-government-teat rich donors do too. As Mr. Conniff writes, "... they consider outsiders irrelevant, uninformed, and even subhuman." THIS is the unspoken mindset of people swimming in money. Mr. Conniff's book takes a decent stab at hypothesizing through the use of evolutionary psychology as to why these swollen egos, throughout the world, act the way they do.

Evolutionary psychology is a fun field of study because it attempts to compare human actions with the rest of nature. Mr. Conniff states that he was not interested in praising or bashing the rich. It is true he did a respectable job of keeping to his promise, but holy moly, some of the examples made me shake my head in wonder at these people's actions. The author covers such areas as social-status competitions, the behavior of subordinates, conspicuous consumption, grandstanding, philanthropic efforts, their habitats, infidelity and obsession with marrying the "right sort." As the author points out, these rich folks frequently disavow their desires for risk taking, power or money despite them clearly wanting all three.

Mr. Conniff's easy-to-read, witty and very informative book was an absolute pleasurable experience. I especially enjoyed the Epilogue's "An Alpha Ape's Ten Rules for Living Wisely in an Imperfect World." Ironically, the book made me feel better about my down-to-earth, middle-class life. I would not have the temperament nor the desire to EVER hobnob with their ilk. Granted, they never have to worry about health care, starving, unemployment, receiving a poor education or many of the everyday tribulations that most people endure, but life's waaaay too short to be tolerating the rich's superficial nonsense.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #333)

Sowing My Wild Oats

 

 Take it from me.

Having oatmeal and a glass of ice water for lunch is nowhere near as exciting as it sounds.

BOOK REVIEW: "Wait Wait... Titillate Me!"

(Originally published 2007, Paperback edition 254 pages)

Mr. Sagal, the host of the excellent NPR program 'WAIT WAIT... DON'T TELL ME!', brought his geewhiz cynical humor to lightly exploring some of our vices. He avoids such topics as profanity and race to focus on the more colorful topics. The author looks into swingers, high-class eateries, strip clubs, lying, gambling, conspicuous consumption, and porn. The book is gonzo journalism where Mr. Sagal incorporates himself and his opinions into the different avenues explored. His style of humor fits very well in this approach.

I found the first chapter dealing with swingers to be the least interesting section of the book. However, I'm glad I stuck with it. Except for him dabbling in gambling, Mr. Sagal seems very much like me in that none of these vices get him jazzed up enough to participate and he's more interested in understanding why people get involved in this stuff? Some interesting history and many funny observations are inside this book, but you will not find any solid answers. The Harvard-educated author is also no slouch when it comes to his take on these vices. He may have a mildly cynical view, but he does empathize with many of the people involved. Mr. Sagal also makes cultural comparisons that will have many readers googling names such as Estes Kefauver, Elisha Cook, and Ozymandias complex.

It may help the reader to listen to an episode of 'WAIT WAIT... DON'T TELL ME!" to get a feel of Mr. Sagal's humor. While reading the book, I heard his distinctive nasal voice narrating it which made the work more enjoyable. The book is a light, funny and somewhat informative work that was a nice break from more serious, pedantic, nonfiction pieces.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #332)

The Name's Claus... Santa Claus

BOOK REVIEW: Years Of Living Dangerously

(Originally published 2008/English language translation 2011,

Mass Market paperback edition 696 pages)

I admit it. It was an impulse buy. I was heavily influenced into purchasing the darn thing by its wonderful paperback cover design and the reviews printed inside. It would be a huge exaggeration to say I read a lot of science fiction works. Star Wars or Star Trek kind of stuff in which a new book seems to crop up every other day isn't my sort of thing. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Mr. Palma's The Map of Time not only didn't fall into the cartoonish mold of Star Wars, but calling it strictly a science fiction work would be doing it a great disservice.

The first two-thirds of the novel is a deep character study of a handful of protagonists. The interconnected stories that weave a complex series of dilemmas are more in the romance genre than anything else. Sci-fi fans who are itchin' for the bells-and-whistles stuff to begin are going to have to be very, very, veeeery patient. Instead, Mr. Palma takes great pains in effectively portraying the desires and insecurities of the main male and female characters. The story begins in 1888 but it primarily takes place in 1896 London. The author does a wonderful job of describing the abject poverty of people living and working in the slums; the opulence of the rich; as well as the struggles of being a writer. There are so many twists and turns involved in the story, I eventually gave up trying to pigeonhole this baby. Let's just say it's a mystery, romance, science fiction, adventure yadda yadda yadda book. If there was such a thing as a kitchen-sink genre, Mr. Palma would've likely added it.

As an avid reader of a wide variety of books, Mr. Palma's The Map of Time is the most pleasant reading surprise I've had in years. Besides being thoroughly absorbed in the novel, I stopped trying to anticipate where he was going with this thing. If you are looking for purely a science fiction work, avoid this book like the plague. However, if you like complex, beautifully written stories with wellrounded characters then dig in.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #331)

Belly Ache

While in a checkout line at our local Hannaford, all our groceries had been unloaded out of the shopping cart and the male cashier was scanning them. I glanced over and saw a candy rack.

"Oooooooo, yum." I thought and grabbed a bag of plain M&Ms. I flipped the package over and looked at the nutritional information. It had 220 calories per serving. I could visualize my nutritionist slowly shaking her head in disappointment at my lack of willpower.

I sighed and put the M&Ms back.

"But maaaaan," I thought, "it really would be nice to eat some of those delicious babies."

I grabbed the bag again.

The front of the package said in bold print 'SHARING SIZE.' There were two servings in the bag. That would be 440 calories.

I thought, "Share?... Get fucking real. I'll scarf all of them down before we even make it home."

I put the M&Ms back.

I thought, "Jesus Christ, the nutritionist isn't my damn mother. I'm an adult. I can do what I fucking please. So what if I eat the M&Ms. It isn't the end of the world."

I grabbed the bag again.

I thought, "Four hundred and forty fucking calories. That's a big hit to my diet today for maybe ten minutes (if even that) of chocolate pleasure. I'm going to be pissed at myself for a lot longer than ten minutes. That's for damn sure."

I put the M&Ms back.

The cashier said, "That will be $146.08, please."

Now I'm upset at the clueless cashier for not finishing up our purchase when I had the M&M bag in my hand. That way I could've blamed him for me purchasing them. Instead, I walked out of the store without M&Ms. That insensitive cashier asshole.

Dog And Pony Show

Phil and Doug Bushey and I went to see Steven Spielberg's Lincoln. The directing as well as the cinematography is excellent and Daniel Day-Lewis is unbelievably good as Abe. The theater had nearly a full audience. 

Very near the end of the film, Lincoln is walking alone down the White House hall and a black servant is looking at him. The music in the background is very low and conveying a solemn, reverential moment. "BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!... BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!... BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!..."

I thought, "Shit!" My iPhone alarm was signaling that our dog Pete needed his medication. 

"BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!... BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!..."

My phone was in my sweatshirt that was draped over my theater chair. I quickly yanked it into my lap and frantically searched in the dark for the zipped pocket.

"BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!... BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!..."

I was muttering under my breath almost in sync with the alarm, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!... BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!..."

It was no use. I couldn't find the zipper. I stood up, quickly shuffled by Phil and Doug and ran down the steps, ran in front of the entire viewing audience and bolted out the exit door into the lobby. A handful of minutes later when the movie finished, I returned to where Phil and Doug were sitting.

 An older couple asked me if I was okay? I explained about how I had put my phone on vibrate before entering the theater but completely forgot about the alarm for my dog's medication. Another elder couple with them at first thought it was part of the movie. The woman had said to her husband, "I didn't know Lincoln had a dog?"

It Boils Down To This...

I ate a quarter of a cooked cabbage for lunch.

Mercy, mercy me... it's a vindictive vegetable.

Chi, What A Mess

Feng shui is the Chinese practice of positioning objects such as furniture based on a belief in patterns of yin and yang and the flow of chi that have positive and negative effects. Based upon this definition and as I looked around at the effects of living with two teenagers, it's safe to say that the Meyers' home must be the yang to another Maine home's immaculate yin.

At The Present Moment...

An ad promotion in this morning's newspaper made me realize that if you can even PONDER the possibility of buying a brand new car for your spouse as a Christmas present then it is highly unlikely you and I are in the same income bracket.

Hit List

(A FATHER-&-SON MOMENT)

"No... No, Jon (age 12.) I don't think it's keeping with the spirit of Christmas by getting you, as a present, either a choke wire or brass knuckles that leave an imprint of the word 'douche' on a person's face."

Too Literal

(AND YET ANOTHER FATHER-&-SON MOMENT WHILE DRIVING)

We were having a discussion about school. Zac was having difficulties in one of his classes.

I said, "Well, Zac, all of us have subjects we're not good at."

Zac replied, "For you, it's every subject."

"Bite me... AAAAAAHH!!!! You friggin' bit me (on my right arm!)"

"You said to."

"No more zombie books or movies for you."

BOOK REVIEW: Chicago's Chronic Curmudgeon

(Originally published 1983, Paperback edition 320 pages)

You don't read the late Mike Royko's columns in the hopes they will give you warm fuzzy feelings. You read Royko because of the great writing, blunt style and painfully funny observations. This collection of newspaper columns are from the years 1973 through 1982. So naturally, the curmudgeon takes potshots at Presidents Nixon, Ford, Carter and Reagan. The columnist was an old school newspaperman. He was a streetwise liberal who was also a heavy-drinking, chainsmoking gadfly pounding out his little works of art on an old manual typewriter.

The book is broken up into topics and the columns are not listed chronologically. This I found irksome. I would rather have had them arranged in the sequence they were originally printed. The main sections deal with bars and drinking (no surprise there), government bureaucracy, sports (primarily baseball), social trends, relationships and celebrities. There are obituaries for such notables as Chicago Mayor Richard Daley (1976) and John Wayne (1979.) I found a few of the 90-or-so short columns to be dry, but they were the exceptions and not the rule. The works are a time capsule to a decade where he was able to write about the streaking fad, leaving Vietnam, Watergate, racist George Wallace, gay Republicans, feminists, Prince Charles' and Lady Diana's wedding, Frank Sinatra, Bob Dylan and superficial Hollywood.

I broke out laughing at what many in today's society would deem politically-incorrect descriptions. From accurately calling Senator Jessie Helms a rock head, Phyllis Schlafly a national nag, and Jane Fonda flighty or using colorful labels such as grim-lipped biddies or faggot, Mr. Royko never pulled punches. Ultimately, it is why he's my favorite columnist. The guy was insightful and knew how to wade through the BS to find the truth. Practically every column is dripping with sarcasm and many of the columns could be applied to today's issues. Mr. Royko's pieces are like eating a nutritional hot fudge sundae. Excellent.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #330)

BOOK REVIEW: More Moore's Maniacal Misadventures

 

(Originally published 1997, Paperback edition 325 pages)

The protagonist of the story, Tucker "Tuck" Case, who is a pilot and not exactly the brightest bulb on the planet, is also dealing with low self-esteem issues. Before the story settles down on a remote, Pacific island named Alualu, it is littered with quite a few colorful, characters. Through a series of misadventures Tuck eventually winds up on the dinky island. The place is inhabited by a modern medical building, an airstrip, two odd "missionaries," six Japanese guards, over three-hundred natives called the Shark People and a talking fruit bat. Oh, and I almost forgot, a very old cannibal named Sarapul. If that isn't strange enough, there's a god called Vincent who the natives worship.

Mr. Moore reminds me of a literary version of the famed Coen Brothers who have created such odd, funny movies as Fargo and The Big Lebowski. I find the author's works very enjoyable simply because it's impossible to know how the story is going to unfold. Pretty much, it's the sky's the limit in Mr. Moore's hilarious novels. There is no taboo he isn't willing to skewer. Heck, I don't even assume that the main protagonist will not be killed somewhere in the middle of the story. The first two-thirds of this rollicking adventure is shrouded in the mystery as to why Tuck's faults are suited so well for being the island's pilot. The last third is wondering how it will be resolved.

The book had me laughing on page one and kept it up for the entire work. Mr. Moore certainly has a gift for colorful, hilarious prose. The author has become one of my go-to writers if I'm in urgent need of a light read that is chockfull of laughs. If you've never read a Christopher Moore novel, his fourth work is as good a place to start as any.

(Meyers - A few years ago, I started writing, under the pseudonym Franklin the Mouse, short reviews at Amazon's web site. This is my most recent review #329)

Hard To Digest

(AND YET, ANOTHER FATHER-&-SON MOMENT) 

While Jon and I were driving towards home, I held up the banana peel, started bobbing it up and down on the steering wheel and said, "Hey... Look, Jon. A banana spider."

Jon replied, "Dad, did you know there's such a thing as a Banana Spider?" 

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're really poisonous. The female spider crawls into a banana..."

"STOP! Stop right the fuck there. I don't want to hear it."

"No, Dad, it's interesting. The female spider..."

"STOP!!"

"... it crawls into the banana and lays its..."

"STOP, DAMN IT!"

"... its eggs."

"Thanks a friggin' lot, Jon. Now I'm gonna be freakin' out every time I bite into a banana."

"The eggs hatch while being transported to market and when a person peels the banana the baby spiders come out and bite you."

"Jesus Christ, Jon, I didn't need to hear that."

"The poison is really painful and it takes like two hours before you die."

"It's talks like this that make me regret adopting you guys."

Last Words

If I am fortunate to live a long life and a day comes where I hear someone tell me "We've found a nice nursing home for you," I dearly hope immediately after that sentence is uttered I have the mother-of-all brain aneurysms.

Black Friday

(ANOTHER FATHER-&-SON MOMENT WHILE DRIVING TOWARDS SCHOOL)

Zac said, "Are you okay?"
I replied, "No. My arm hurts a lot."
"Do you want me to drive?"
"Right now, that seems like a viable option to me." The radio was broadcasting a commercial promoting an upcoming Black Friday sale. I asked, "Do you know what Black Friday is?"
Zac replied, "Isn't it when a company goes into the black... their profits?"
I said, "That's right. When a company has spent more money than earned that's called 'being in the red.' If they make more money  than they spend, it's called 'being in the black.' Apparently, a lot of businesses run in the red during the year and the Christmas shopping season pushes them into the black. That's why it's called Black Friday... I think."
Zac deadpanned, "Or maybe it's a holiday where only blacks can shop."
I replied, "That makes more sense to me. You can go shopping on that day only if you're accompanied by an African-American. In fact, that's the main reason Mom and I adopted you and Jon. You know how much we love to shop."
For the record, Monique and I are Caucasian and our two sons are African-American. Also, we'd rather be slathered in honey and staked to an ant hill than go shopping on Black Friday.