I’ll call this a review of The Dark Tower series rather than of the book itself. I don’t have too much to say about the latter. The series, though. Yes, indeed.
I read The Gunslinger, the first book in the series, almost two years ago. I really liked it and continued. The Drawing of the Three, I thought, was pretty stupid, and The Waste Lands made me really angry, ending how it did. Then there was Wizard and Glass, which seemed really long. That one took me two attempts, but I was enthusiastic by the end. I really enjoyed Wolves of the Calla and Song of Susannah - I finished both in record time – but both were pretty stupid. Then there’s The Dark Tower, the last one. The whole time, I was expecting to get to the end and want to drive up to Maine and kill Stephen King myself. Palmer finished the series about a year ago and was convinced that I’d hate it. He even came up with funny bedtime stories about the various possible deaths of Mr. Stephenking. In one of them, Roland shows up with a bag for Mr. Stephenking, who opens it like a gift and is covered in Mordred-like spiders who liquify him. Roland then pulls a lobstrosity out of his hat, which slurps up the goo. That’s how much Palmer thought I’d hate the end.
Luckily for Mr. Stephenking, that’s not how it went. (And here’s where I’ll present the obvious spoiler alert.) I thought, for a bit, that my world might end when Roland finally made it to the Tower, and the clank of the closing doors was narrated by some kid, who walked away. The end, he said. Next was an entirely superfluous epilogue in which the ka-tet (minus Roland) was reunited in an alternate reality and lived…ever after. Good for them. I didn’t care. But! Next was a coda, the sight of which made me angry. Really? After all this? So we do, after all, see what happens to Roland in the Dark Tower. He walks up the winding staircase, sees what is to be seen, and then
Brilliant! The end of this series couldn’t have been any better. My faith in Mr. Stephenking was restored, and I spent the next several hours mourning the Dark Tower. Which isn’t exactly over – and that goes for the story and the series, as The Wind through the Keyhole (which takes place, I think, after the story inside Wizard and Glass) appeared in 2012.
I should note that as much as I like the beginning and the end of the series, much of what happens in the middle is really, really stupid. Stephen King shouldn’t have inserted himself into these books because it was entirely unnecessary. There was also too much breath wasted on Roland’s inability to understand and pronounce contemporary words. Fottergraph comes to mind, as does something like tak-see. Ugh. You might also call the lobstrosities stupid, but I’ll argue that they’re the best fictional creatures created ever. Then, of course, there are the vampires, of which there were far, far too many. And Stephen King enjoys bugs too much, I think.
What all that means is that the series, taken as a whole, is magnificent and dumb. With the exception of The Gunslinger, they really aren’t all that good. But they’re addictive, and I enjoyed them immensely, and I will miss them. I’m not sure that I could handle reading the series again with all of the crap in the middle, but the idea is fantastic and amazing and stupendous.
And every time I see a black pepper grinder, I’ll think of the Tower.
Soooo remember how I got really mad after reading The Waste Lands because Stephen King ended it with “the most cliffhangery cliffhanger ever?” Song of Susannah is almost as bad, but I’m even more infuriated because of what comes after the ending: a “coda,” or fake diary entries by Stephen King himself. Seriously.
I’m going to go ahead and declare a general spoiler alert because as I said before, it’s hard to get this far into a series without ruining the whole thing for someone who hasn’t. So there you go.
Song of Susannah starts exactly where Wolves of the Calla left off: the ka-tet has just won the battle with the Wolves only to discover that Susannah has wheeled off to the cave and vanished through the door. They use some Manni-magic to get through to her and to Calvin Tower in Maine, except the wrong people end up at the wrong places, or so they think. So Eddie and Roland end up dealing with Tower while Callahan, Jake, and Oy chase after Susannah/Mia, who is about to give birth to the Spawn of Satan, or something like that. Along the way, Roland and Eddie meet Stephen King himself, and they have a palaver while my eyes rolled back into my head so far I almost couldn’t keep reading. Seriously, Stephen King, this stuff is stupid. And then, of course, there’s the baby being born. We get to see all sorts of evil beings and even a roasting baby. After some Dark Towery shenanegans, Susannah/Mia end up giving birth. THE END. Screams of agony. YEP, THAT’S IT. The only difference between this time and the Blaine the Mono ridiculousness is that I don’t care as much.
Which is exactly what I said after I finished Wolves of the Calla, and we see how long that lasted. Three weeks, maybe? Which also means that I’ll be finishing this seven-book series very, very soon.
Oh, and that wasn’t quite the end. There’s still the matter of the Coda. As Susannah/Mia push out this demon spawn, the story itself cuts out, and we get Stephen King’s self-indulgent craptacular crapfest in which he is driven to write the rest of the series after The Gunslinger. Also: you know the car that hit him several years ago? Well, in the book, it killed him. Yep. Fun times. In the book, he also makes himself out to be something like one of the Beams, and I’m sure his death will lead to all sorts of problems. Fun times.
As stupid as these novels are, I can’t seem to tear myself away. They’re fun! And now, I’m too far in to stop. I should have known what was coming with the idiocy of The Drawing of the Three. Sure, the lobstrosities are some of my Very Favorite Fictional Creatures Ever, but they’re dumb, and the stupid doors on the beach are even worse. There. I’ve said my fill.
In sum, I like this book because I can’t help myself. It really is terrible.
Just as I finished reading Song of Susannah, our new refrigerator was delivered! The refrigerator itself is fantastic and beautiful and glorious, but the delivery was so bad that it gets its own post. I’m a little surprised that it didn’t kill me.
Here’s an especially ridiculous cat because cats always make things better:
After giving up on Un Lun Dun, I wanted to read a book that I knew was good. I read Death in Venice when I was in college for a class called something like Myth and the Modern Novel. I really, really enjoyed it, and I remember it as one of my favorite assigned books. Except now, fourteen or fifteen years later, I don’t like it half as much as I did then. I was distracted by the admiration bordering on pedophilia, and I simply didn’t enjoy it. I’m not sure why my opinion has changed so much since then.
Somehow, over the years, I’d conflated Death in Venice and Daisy Miller. Or I thought Death in Venice was Daisy Miller, though that’s certainly not the case. It’s about an author who works very hard and adheres to a strict schedule, achieving hard work through skilled effort. He decides to take a vacation to Venice, where he indulges in the scenery and the city – and in watching a young boy he compares to a god. Apollonian versus Dionysian, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Maybe I would have liked this book more if echoes of college classes hadn’t bouncing around in my head. Or maybe I just don’t like books like that anymore. If it hadn’t been so short, I’m not sure I would have finished it because it isn’t very interesting. What’s funny is that I’m almost disappointed with myself for disliking it this time around when I know that it’s well-written and that I’m supposed to like it. But alas.
So. During the couple of days while I read Death in Venice, Things Happened! First, we ordered a fancy new refrigerator, which is scheduled for delivery tomorrow!
We also got a new front door! Progress!
We still have to put on another coat of red and repaint the trim (and straighten the handle. UGH), but I’m soooo happy with the results so far!
An official challenge does so much for my determination! This is at least the third time I’ve tried to get into Susanna Clarke‘s post-Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell short story collection, The Ladies of Grace Adieu. I’m not sure why, as I loved that novel so much, and these stories revisit that world.
I think my problem was with the titular story itself: I just couldn’t get into it. It’s my least favorite in this whole collection. “The Ladies of Grace Adieu” is about ladies who practice their own sort of magic and meet Jonathan Strange. That’s about all I remember. Maybe reading it in a laundromat didn’t help. Next is “On Lickerish Hill,” possibly my favorite. It’s basically a Rumpelstiltskin story, in which a girl’s mother tells her future husband that she can spin five spools of flax a day. He marries the girl, but he says he’ll kill her if she doesn’t do that every day of the twelfth month of her marriage. She makes a deal with a fairy and can only avoid being whisked away by guessing his name. Then there’s “Mrs. Mabb,” which is fantastic. The same Mab of Romeo and Juliet lives in Faerie and causes all kinds of trouble for the protagonist. “The Duke of Wellington Misplaces His Horse” is great, too. The setting is near the wall in Neil Gaiman’s Stardust (I love that book!). A duke’s horse ends up on the Faerie side of the wall, and the Duke goes in after him, meeting a woman weaving his fate into a tapestry. It’s brilliant. “Mr. Simonelli or the Fairy Widower” is about a rector who meets an evil fairy and tries to save five sisters from marrying him. “Tom Brightwind or How the Fairy Bridge Was Built at Thoresby” is about a man who befriends a fairy and the mischief that happens when they wander into a small town. A bridge is built. Yes, indeed. “Antikes and Frets” is about Mary, Queen of Scots’s, hatred of Queen Elizabeth and her attempts at killing the latter. Short but glorious! The last story, “John Uskglass and the Cumbrian Charcoal Burner,” returns directly to Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell with a tale about John Uskglass getting tricked by a poor working man.
These stories are fantastic. It’s unfortunate that I just couldn’t get into the first one and was held back from reading the rest of them for that reason. They make me wonder about Susanna Clarke’s future novels: it seems like her brain is permanently trapped in Faerie, and I’m not sure that she can write a different novel that doesn’t turn into some sort of sequel or prequel. I almost hope she doesn’t prove me wrong because I would love to revisit her version of Faerie in an entirely new, gigantic novel.
While I was in Dallas, Palmer and I went to IKEA to get a new bookcase to replace some old, saggy ones and a kitchen cart for some extra room since we now have a laundry room(!). Somehow, Palmer fit everything into his car and then into my car.
When I got home, I had a friend come over to get the boxes into the house, and I put the shelf together. I’m rather proud of myself because it definitely qualifies as a two-person job.
I love my library so hard.
I haven’t posted about a Fail Pile book in a long time for a couple of reasons: (1) The number of books I start and don’t finish is very low and (2) I usually don’t have anything to say about them. Except I do this time.
Usually, I’ll stop reading a book because I get bored with it – which is what happened sometime last year with Ken Kesey‘s Sometimes a Great Notion. By all accounts, that’s a great book, but it’s really long, and I just couldn’t get through it. The same thing happened with The Casual Vacancy, which isn’t bad, but, well, boredom. I just stopped reading and didn’t want to talk about them. But then I come to Un Lun Dun. I’ve started to trust Goodreads recommendations because they’re usually fantastic. Some of the best books I’ve read in a long time have shown up on that list. Un Lun Dun has been there a while, and it’s been compared to some of my favorite stories: The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and The Phantom Tollbooth. And it is exactly what you’d expect from a combination of those three books, except that it isn’t very good.
China Miéville has been on my list for a while. Several people (and probably Goodreads) have recommended The City and the City, comparing it to Neil Gaiman‘s Neverwhere, which I loved. One day a couple of years ago, I grabbed a copy and sat down in one of the (now gone) chairs at Barnes and Noble. I read the first few pages and stopped when I got to the word “Inspector” because I hate mysteries, and I knew what was coming. (That’s another bias I know I need to address, but that’s for another time.) I hadn’t tried reading Miéville since.
But Un Lun Dun is supposed to be good! And it is, as I said, a combination of three of my favorite stories. It’s like a 12-year-old’s version of Neverwhere (even the name harkens a similar London underworld: Un Lun Dun is UnLondon. There’s also a Parisn’t, and so on. Ugh). All things I like, you say. Except there’s almost zero character development. Every single one of them is flat, which means that I don’t care what happens to anyone. The premise turns me off, too: the protagonist is fighting smog. Meh. I made it to page 120 of 400, or so, and gave up. That far in, and I still don’t know whether I like any of them because instead of spending a little time letting the reader getting to know who he’s supposed to follow through this book, Miéville jumps right into the action. Several years ago, when I first read Harry Potter, I wondered why J.K. Rowling spent so much time with Harry before whisking him away to Hogwarts – and this is why. It’s the same with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. We have to get to know and like Charlie in his boring, sad life before we understand his experiences at Wonka’s. In Un Lun Dun, we’re presented a 12- or 13-year-old who we know is blonde and tall for her age, but that’s about it. She doesn’t appear to be especially stupid or mean, but that’s not enough to catch my interest. So I quit. The end.
That was a much longer explanation than I’d planned…
Judging from the reviews I skimmed through even before I read (okay, listened to) Andrew’s Brain, I expected to be disappointed. In that case, why did I read it? I really like E.L. Doctorow. I’d only read two of his novels, World’s Fair, which I loved, and Loon Lake, which was also pretty good. Ragtime is his best known, and it’s been on my to-read list for years, now.
So here’s what happened: Palmer has spent the last two weeks working in Dallas, and I drove over to spend the weekend with him. I wanted a short audiobook as I don’t drive much, and I wouldn’t listen to it on my five-minute trips to and from work. Andrew’s Brain, clocking in at under four hours and immediately available on Overdrive, was perfect.
Andrew’s Brain is about an aging, depressed scientist either in therapy or being interviewed in some undisclosed location which is possibly government-related. Doctorow isn’t clear about much, and the novel feels like a bit of a labyrinth: we get bits and pieces in various places, and we have to put together the pictures for ourselves. Which would be fine if it was more interesting. Here’s the general story (I’ll add a spoiler alert here in case you want to play along with Doctorow): Andrew gets married to a woman named Martha and has a daughter who he accidentally kills. They get a divorce, and he starts teaching cognitive science at a small university, where he falls in love with a student. The feelings are mutual, and he and the student begin a years-long relationship (but never marry) and have a child. Then this woman, the love of his life, dies, supposedly in 9/11. Most of this time we’re wondering how reliable a narrator Andrew is. My answer? Not very. Anyway, he’s heartbroken and drops their child off with Martha, who ends up adopting her with her Very Large Husband, as Doctorow calls him. After all this business, Andrew explains that he got a new job as a substitute science teacher, and after a visit from the president (who appears to be Dubya), he becomes the Cognitive Science Advisor (a position that doesn’t really exist) because the president had been his roommate in college and doesn’t want all of his mildly embarrassing secrets to be exposed. Yeah, that’s about it.
If I hadn’t been a captive audience – in my car and bored – I probably wouldn’t have finished Andrew’s Brain. The last third, or so, involving the president, is just silly and out of place. It’s like Doctorow wrote a novella, and then his editor told him it needed to be longer, so he came up with the most far-fetched story he could. Like ninjas in Nanowrimo. Meh.
Ragtime must be better. Andrew’s Brain made me question whether I want to bother reading it, but World’s Fair was very good. (And I just realized that I listed Ragtime in my 2014 TBR Pile Challenge, which means I’ll at least give it a try.) Part of my dislike might also be related to my having listened to this novel rather than reading it. With one exception, Sissy Spacek reading To Kill a Mockingbird, I haven’t had good luck with audiobooks. Am I going to give the novel a second chance? Probably not, though I’m not ruling it out, especially if I like Ragtime. We’ll see how it goes.
The highlight of my trip to Dallas was a trip to the Fort Worth Zoo. Palmer and I had a great time…
…Which he so kindly chronicled in two very silly Youtube videos:
Good times were had by all.
I didn’t know what to expect when I finally picked up The Goldfinch - except a good novel. Every review I’ve read has been good. It’s been on my list for several months, ever since it was published, but it was languishing on my tl;dr list: it’s almost 800 pages long. That said, I’ve enjoyed long novels more than short ones lately, and after alternating between lengths, I decided that It Was Time.
And oh, man. The beginning of The Goldfinch is amazing. Theo, a 13-year-old kid whose father has run off loses his mom in an art museum bombing in New York. The scene blew my mind: he was in trouble at school, and before a parent-teacher meeting, he and his mom were wandering through a new exhibit. His mom went to another gallery to see a painting, and boom! the world came crashing down around them. Donna Tartt‘s pacing through this scene is unbelievable. I was immediately hooked, convinced I would need therapy after this book. After the explosion, Theo crawls out of the rubble after being given a ring by a dying old man. He also grabs a small painting off the wall because the man had been pointing at it. It’s the titular Goldfinch. Theo makes it home, expecting his mom to arrive at any minute. She never does, and he eventually learns that she was killed in the explosion. He stays with an old friend in the city and things are going well when his dad shows up and takes him to Los Vegas. There, Theo meets Boris and gets into drugs, alcohol, and petty theft. He ends up back in New York after a few years, haunted by the explosion and his various addictions. Things Continue to Happen.
The Goldfinch is a big novel with a big plot, and it took me a long time to read. I loved it until about the 60% mark, when Theo is back in New York, eight years later, and is into some shady dealing. I was bored for a while, and once things picked up and got all gangstery, I lost interest and just wanted to finish. In the space of 100 pages, or so, this novel went from Exactly My Kind of Book to Not My Kind of Book at All. I was so disappointed. I’m not a fan of drugs and violence or of thrillers, in general.
That’s not to say that this isn’t a good book. Until I hit that point, I was convinced that it would be one of my favorite books ever. The drugs and violence just turned me off. It’s really well-written and worth the huge chunk of time it takes to read, but I’ll file it under Meh because it just isn’t my thing.
While I was reading this mammoth book, Palmer and I celebrated our second anniversary by going to Superior’s Steakhouse and Eating All the Things. We had a great time.
Aaaaand Palmer got the kittehs a kitteh massager because Shakespeare likes to rub his face on everything. I sprinkled a little catnip on it.
I finished The Goldfinch in a hotel in Dallas, where I’d gone to spend the weekend with Palmer. On the way there and back, I listened to E.L. Doctorow read his new novel, Andrew’s Brain, which I’ll talk about next.
I wanted so badly to like Under the Net, but until I hit about the 80% mark, I didn’t. Not at all. It’s another case of inability to like a novel if I don’t like the protagonist, as in Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina. If I can’t relate, I’m not interested.
Which was entirely the case here. Under the Net about Jake Donaghue, a thirtyish-year-old man who refuses to accept any responsibility, and a you’re-too-old-for-this-crap Bildungsroman. Through most of the novel, he frolics around London, living off of his friends and taking advantage of everyone and everything. He thoroughly enjoys himself. Somehow, everyone he knows doesn’t hate him even though he seemed to me like the most irritating person ever. He’s in love with a girl but isn’t willing to accept responsibility for that, either, so he runs off on his merry way. A couple of years before, he’d stayed in a hospital-of-sorts, where he was intentionally given colds and, sometimes, cures, where he met Hugo. They had all sorts of philosophical discussions, and Jake wrote a book about it and took all the credit. He spends much of Under the Net chasing Hugo around, trying to figure out exactly how angry he is. It’s all silliness until that last 20%, when Iris Murdoch makes sense of all the mischief and brings the novel together beautifully.
Under the Net isn’t the first book I’ve read by Murdoch, and, based on the others, it wasn’t what I was expecting. A few years ago, before the blog, I read and loved The Unicorn. Later, I blogged about The Bell, which was also fantastic. Both of those novels are serious, and I thought I’d be in for more of that. But no! Most of Under the Net seems more like an Evelyn Waugh (who I also love) novel like The Loved One, which is highlarious. Most of Under the Net is, too, though I spent most of it being irritated at Jake for being such a flippant idiot with zero consideration for anyone around him. There’s even an entirely ridiculous scene in which Jake and his friend break into a rival’s apartment and steal his movie-star dog. This novel is crazy.
It’s also a good example of why I need to get over whether or not I like the protagonist. Maybe, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten lazier. When I was in college, I thought of most novels as a challenge, and now, reading is pure recreation. After finishing Under the Net, I see why Murdoch did what she did and why that makes it a fantastic novel, but I had no interest while I was actually reading it. (In my defense, I did do that with Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina and still hated them.) Here, I didn’t exactly spoil my experience, but I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t decided that I hated the protagonist and just sped through it. Lesson learned? Probably not.
So. Here’s what I think about Under the Net: it’s beautiful and absolutely fantastic. I’ll have to read it again and be a little more forgiving of Jake – even though he’s about thirty and should know better. If nothing else, it’s worth reading to see the variety of which Murdoch is capable. I have a few more of her books at home, and now they’ve moved way up on my to-be-read list. Speaking of, Under the Net is book #4 toward Roof Beam Reader’s 2014 TBR Pile Challenge. I’m well on my way!
In other news, I happened upon quite the kitteh battle last Friday:
Aaaand I bought a bunch of king cake babies. Whatever might I do with them?
Finally, here’s a blurry picture of our house slowly being torn apart for a renovation. That’s original transom glass that a previous owner walled in. We should have a new door next week!
Once you get to the fifth book in a series, there’s no good way to talk about it without at least spoiling the fact that the main characters are still alive (as in Game of Thrones), so I’ll go ahead and declare a massive spoiler alert right now. The only reason I’m bothering is that I’ve gotten complaints about other books. Anyway: If you haven’t read the first four books in the Dark Tower series, you probably don’t want to read this post, as you certainly wouldn’t want to start with Wolves of the Calla. I’ll start with a quick summary, then make a short list of what I think.
Roland and his ka-tet have made it past Oz (groan), and find themselves somewhere in the middle of the Great Plains (in the general vicinity of Kansas City?), in a small town being attacked every twenty-or-so years by these creatures called Wolves, who take half of the town’s children, most of whom are twins. Roland, etc, figure out what’s going on and fix it. The actual Dark Tower business remains a sort of sub-plot, and there are various travels back to New York and the rose-containing vacant lot. Good times.
And here’s what I think about it: I loved this book, but it’s stupid. I read it at record speed. According to Goodreads, I read this 933-page book in about four days, which is especially interesting since Wizard and Glass took me so long that I gave up in the middle and didn’t pick it up again for at least six months. What’s also funny is that I loved reading it, but I don’t really care what happens next. King didn’t leave us with as nasty a cliffhanger as that of The Waste Lands, but Susannah has just left through a magic door to have some sort of demon-spawn child. What happens next? I really don’t care. I will, of course, be reading the last two books of the series in short order.
Okay, the stupid part. Or stupid parts. Here’s where the super-duper spoiler alert comes in. ROBOTS? Really? And even worse (much worse!) VAMPIRES? Father Callahan from Salem’s Lot, which I hated, is a major character, and he tells his whole story to the ka-tet, of which he is now, apparently a member. There are even word-for-word excerpts from Salem’s Lot. And Stephen King inserts himself directly – or that book, anyway. Ugh. Palmer says it’ll make sense and be worth it in the end, and I surely hope he’s not. Snitches, a la Harry Potter, and light-sabers also make an appearance. I thought Oz was dumb enough. MEH. There’s also this ridiculousness: “She kept a secret spring surrounded by sweet moss, and there he was refreshed.” I just threw up a little in my mouth.
I did, though, find myself able to read despite my eyes rolling so far back in my head. And as much as I complain, this is a good series, and this is a good book. Maybe I care a bit too much at this point. If nothing else, I’ve come this far, so I’m going to see this series through to the end. Wolves of the Calla might be my favorite so far, though the first one, The Gunslinger, is by far the best. I certainly read this one with more enthusiasm than any of the others.
I was going to explain my theory about the various realities that coalesce in this series, but the more I think about it, the less I want to embarrass myself if I’m horribly wrong. To my credit, I figured out the robot crap pretty quickly, though.
I’m getting through books so quickly that I’m running out of news to report from while I’ve been reading them. I ate things, one of my fish died, and I took a video of it snowing today.
Exciting stuff. I have no idea what I’m going to read next.
After a series of long books, I decided to read a short one, though I didn’t think I’d get through it this quickly. Once I picked up Pedro Páramo, I had a hard time putting it down. I read it in two sittings: most of it last night and the remainder this morning. It had been on my TBR list for longer than I’d like to admit, and I don’t know why I hadn’t picked it up yet, especially since it’s so short. I think it’s yet another good Goodreads recommendation. I couldn’t find it in digital format, so at some point I ordered a used copy. It’s been sitting on my shelf for at least a year. I put it on my list for Roof Beam Reader’s 2014 TBR Pile Challenge, which is why I finally read it. Too bad my TBR pile is growing at a faster rate than I can read. Anyway.
Pedro Parámo is about a man whose mother just died. She instructed him to go to Comala, a small town in Mexico, to search for his father. When he gets there, he discovers a town full of ghosts, and through conversations with them, we learn what happened to the town and to his father.
The basic plot is simple, but the novel is not. It’s magical realism and stylistically kind of like a mix between Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Italo Calvino. It’s full of pauses, and there’s always the beat of rain in the background. It’s one of those books that sticks around in my head. It’s the best and most beautiful book I’ve read since Stoner, though that wasn’t so long ago. I’ve gotten lucky with a lot of books over the past couple of years, and this is one for which I’m especially grateful.
I’d like to delve into a whole library of books by Juan Rulfo, but there aren’t many to be had, and I don’t know how much of it has been translated into English. Pedro Páramo is good enough, though, that I think I’m satisfied. It’s one of the few books I’ll probably be rereading soon.
As I’m sure you can imagine, not much has happened since my last post. I would, though, like to call your attention to this amazing coffee:
I was brought up on New Orleans Blend and am an avid Community drinker. Palmer isn’t a fan of chicory, so I started drinking Hotel Blend a year or two ago. Last week, I was at Kroger and saw this Carnivale Cake, and even though I don’t usually drink flavored coffee, I was intrigued (okay, maybe it’s because I keep seeing Blue Bell’s King Cake ice cream, and I know that would probably kill me). And it’s so good! If you’re lucky enough to live in an area where you can find Community (is that everywhere now?), you should get a bag. If nothing else, it’s good for a Mardi Gras chuckle.
Also: You know how, in my last post, I said that Palmer was working on a Youtube video? Wellll, he posted that one and another one, both from Birmingham and both shot with his shiny new Canon SLR:
That camera was a good purchase. I’m beginning to think I need a new SLR…