Posts Tagged ‘women’

It’s that time of year again. And it’s come about six months ahead of last year. I’ve gone ahead and updated my bookshelf list as well. which I haven’t done in an age and as a result we’ve just skipped a few, but I’m sure you didn’t mind.

Middlesex – Jeffery Eugenedes – This book has officially reached quorum, that is, the threshold of (N*R-[r+T])/([B/S]D) where N=PxA. In the form of a word problem that is the number of recommendations where each recommendation is multiplied by the factor of how much I admire their taste in literature. Minus r which is my reservations and/or the reputation that precedes the book. This Novel had to overcome a -iO that is a negative i(rrational) factor times an Oprah book club sticker. Plus time equal to how recent the book had been published. All over books on my shelf that is to say what else I have in my queue times how much I want to read those books.
In short, Delphi really wanted me to read it so I took a chance. If it sucks, I will never listen to her again.

Ham on Rye – Charles Bukowski, Never read Bukowski. Oops. And I got it as a Christmas Gift from Delphi.

Women – Charles Bukowski, if HoR is as good as it’s supposed to be.

Bluebeard – Kurt Vonnegut, My Vonnegut for the year. I feel I need explain this later.

Sirens of Titan – Kurt Vonnegut, I’m going crazy, reading TWO of these in one year, mostly because I realize just how much I haven’t read.

Lullaby – Chuck Palahniuk, Due to Rant being so fucking awesome, I’m giving ol chuck another try.

Little Birds – Anais Nin, It seems like everyone is talking about Anais in my little circle of peoples. We’ll see. Also she’s a woman so there.

Lolita – Vladimir Nabokov, Nope, didn’t get to it last year.

Master and the Margarita – Michael Bulgakov, same

The Awakening – Kate Chopin, Because New Orleans and to up the woman count on this list (Yeah, I sound like an asshole. This comes from a discussion with a friend who said I don’t read enough women so.)

Bel Canto – Ann Pratchett, S’posed to be good, Also woman.

Anarchy and other Essays – Emma Goldman, Actually a big hero of mine, but I’ve only read bits and pieces. I want to read more from her.

Chomsky on Anarchism – Noam Chomsky, I feel like reading more political nonsense. See my resolutions for the year.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail – Hunter S Thompson, My Thompson for the year.

Stranger in a Strange Land – Robert Heinlin, I loved Starship Troopers as a kid, but never read anything else by him. Also to balance out all the women I need some good old-fashioned white misogynist.

Watership Down – Richard Addams, Carry over from last year I think.

Peter Pan – JM Barry, Because reasons

Tropic of Cancer – Henry Miller, been reading a lot of letters and non-fiction that mention this guy a lot and he has never been on my radar.

The Keep – Jennifer Egan, a gift from my sister for Christmas. Why the hell not. Woman.

Lady Chatterley’s Lover – DH Lawrence, Bookshelf of Shame

Neverwhere – Neil Gaiman. My third time round with this one, but this time it’s with a full cast recording with BBC Radio 4 including, James McAvoy, Anthony Head, Benedict Cumberbatch, Neil Gaiman, and Christopher Lee.

Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad, Bookshelf of Shame

Upton Sinclair – Either, The Brass Check or Sylvia or the Jungle (and Sylvia counts as a woman, cause his wife wrote most of it)

Darhma Bums – Jack Kerouac, Started last year, but got distracted.

Rum Diary – Hunter S Thompson, I want to see Thompson do fiction

Handmaid’s Tale – Margret Atwood, I’ve seen her interview a couple times recently and I found her interesting. Supposedly also a woman.

Something by Murakami not sure what.

City of Saints and Madmen -Jeff Van Dermeer, I tried finding this after I read Finch, but still have not been able to locate a copy. Supposedly this is even better.

I count 27, but I suck at math, so that’s most of them. I’ll leave from for improvisation this year. (also six women)*

*Child of God – Cormac McCarthy, got to read it before the movie comes out

The Closing of the American Mind – Allan Bloom, I owe a read to my friend, Flamingo

In Our Times – Ernest Hemmingway, y’all know the rule: you steal it, you read it

Camus – The Stranger, It’s been referenced in a lot of the stuff I’ve read lately

Death Comes for the Archbishop – Willa Cather, and one more up on the woman count.

 

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Hopefully you all have voted. by now. Polls are closing soon and it’s raining here in Chicagoland. I don’t have a live TV feeds so I’m doing a bit of a junkie shuffle wanting to know how the voting is going.

Here’s some disturbing election day news. First off, at the moment Romney has 66% of the popular vote. Secondly, Someone shot a video of themselves voting when they realized that the machine was changing their vote.

You have probably heard that Star Wars/LucasArts has been purchased by Disney for over 4 billion Dollars. There have been a number of articles circling the interwebs coming down on this as either a genius or woeful move.

In response to Mitt Romeny and LDS’rs hatred of gay people hot-shot photographer created a photo shoot called Mormon Missionary Positions

Forbes reminds us that a little Sex and humor on the campaign trail is a long-standing tradition held by both republican and democrat, so get your panties unbunched about the Joss Whedon and Lena Dunham Campaign videos

For all of you voting in California take a look at Stoya and James Deen’s feature in the New York Times regarding a certain Anti-sexwork proposition.

Romney, surprise surprise, treats women like binders.

Take a look at the latest collaboration between Molly Crabapple and Kim Boekbinder as they talk about intro/extraversion.

Finally, to go along with the theme of election day here’s Miss Crabapple’s finished response to the crisis in Greece:

Fight now

Shuffle says: “Riot Proof” Tori Amos, To Venus and Back (Live)

CNN hosts a digital art gallery called Power. Featuring some leading political art in the world, including the dear Molly Crabapple.

Japanese Illustrator/artist Yosuke Goda creates a room that looks like it eats you.

Iran bans women from university in order to make them Ninja Assassins… sort of.

Palestine is making economic surges and questioning what direction is best for their people.

Tom Stoppard may start his very own Marvel super team up with HBO, Benedict Cumberbatch, Ford Maxon Ford.

Pretty

Posted: 13 July, 2011 in Daily Droppings, Other
Tags: , , , , , ,

We left the windows open today.  Not that they do much good closed, but the air has chilled and we just lay on the living room floor enjoying the breeze running through the house.  Her hair tickles my neck and causes me to shift and stir.  The sun is low now.  It bounces through the glass and when I turn toward her she is trying to shade her eyes.

I want to tell her how pretty she is, but I don’t.  I stop because it always seems like such a generic and empty thing to say.  Telling someone they look particularly nice today or complimenting something they are wearing, sure.  That seems somewhat honest and you do have to be paying at least some attention to do so, but “You’re so beautiful” echhh. It’s always just sounded flat to me.  More importantly, I’ve always found that women tend to hate it. A few different results may occur and may be split up as such:

First, either she believes it is true or She does not (it does not matter if she actually is pretty or ugly. Only how she sees herself).  If she thinks she is beautiful She probably hears it all the time from every man she’s ever met, meaning the words are hollow, sleazy even, thinking you are just saying it in order to sleep with her. She could take the “I know, but I still need constant attention so keep saying it and I still wont sleep with you” route and in that case is someone too high maintenance and arrogant for me to deal with. She could simply be annoyed by it along the lines of “wow, I thought I liked you. Is that really all you got?”

On the other hand she may not believe you.  Again she may think you’re just trying to get in her pants.  Whether or not she thinks this she may then think you are lying to her, either talking down to her or directly insulting her intelligence.  And perhaps if she is intelligent and not very confident in her appearance there is the chance that she might actually think you are a moron for admiring her looks.

Nonetheless, I find myself on the floor here wanting to say just that, as simply as possibly.  I can’t.  Because of course as a writer and a college student, living in a house full of college students there is the added stigma of simplicity.  The thought being that anyone who uses such a simply structured three word sentence – “you are pretty” – when they could have used ten or at least something more complex, or, even better, something that someone else said (though I fail to see how this is a positive alternative to something original), – i.e. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day blah blah blullshit – just isn’t trying hard enough and is therefore stupid.

This is not to say all women are like this.  It is also not to say that men aren’t like this either, if not more so. Which would make sense as, for some reason, our culture has decided it is not as normal for men to compliment each other on appearance as women, and men would therefore be less comfortable with taking said compliments. This just happens to be my unfortunate history with making such comments to the particular women I have known.

“Where are you?” She asks.

Such a common question, but she’s almost always asking that when  I’m right in front of her, never by phone. I realize now that I’ve been staring at her for some time without looking at her. I shake my head to loosen all those nuts and bolts up there.

“Not sure,” I murmur.

So I don’t tell her she’s pretty.  Instead I make some offhand pseudo poetic sounding line about the low angled rays of sunlight on her skin.

“Aw,” she responds, “my little poet.”

I scowl playfully. “Oh, that’s not diminutive at all. I feel right up there with My Little Pony, and My Little Princess.”

She laughs and pulls in close kissing and nibbling at my neck.  I growl at her.

“Aww, don’t be sad. Phbbt!” She blows a raspberry against my ear. “My little poet.”

I push back against her with my head like when a cat is trying to get your attention.

“Grrr…I’ll show you little.” I slide my hand up her leg, under her skirt.

I love when we play out these conversations; the ones we know in at least three moves in advance. Not that we are playing against each other or anything. Just playing it out with our heads butting like this.  The cuteness of in all should make me gag, but right now I’m past caring.  The day is too nice, too cool, too calm for caring about trifles. The only other people around are my housemate and his girlfriend who are in the kitchen.

I pull her tighter, squeeze her thigh and listen to the fall wind singing through the windows and the sound of frying sweet potatoes.