“Gone Girl”

Ludicrous.

Self can’t even.

Just.

Self has no words.

In the end, self was not the only one laughing.

David Fincher, shame on you!

Self still likes Rosamund Pike, though. Did the poor thing think she was in a serious drama? Because it became pretty hard to distinguish between the cheese and the drama, by the end.  Self almost choked on her scarf, she was laughing so hard.

SPOILER ALERT

This is a teensy tiny question but self has to ask it anyway: Why, at the end, after it has been determined that poor Amy has been the victim of a sado-masochistic creep (played of course to cheesy perfection by Neil Patrick Harris), after she’s been examined in the hospital and placed in a wheelchair — why is she allowed to give a televised conference, without any attempt to clean the thick layers of blood swathing her throat? What self-respecting hospital would allow a person to walk around still caked in buckets of dried blood? Allow her, in fact, to go home in that condition? And why, after arriving home, does this alleged rape victim walk out of her car — the wheelchair only went as far as the hospital driveway, apparently — and enter her house completely unaided? She’s not just walking, either — she’s gliding. Actually, gliding. Shoulders back like a queen!  Since Amy’s just gotten the media to swallow a line about her being used and abused, seeing her walk that way is just a little bit much.

Just saying.

And another thing:  that “Fifty Shades of Gray” preview? Self adores Dakota Johnson. But the guy — self could not suppress a feeling of chagrin at the thought of how well Charlie Hunnam (of Sons of Anarchy) would have filled that suit, and how he would have looked, smoldering at Dakota Johnson from across a desk.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

In Addition, “The Maze Runner”

Self wanted to do a quick post about “The Maze Runner,” which she saw a few days ago (Self apparently has so much time on her hands. Everyone, please feel free to dump more work on self, if she’s got this much time to see movies, she must be bored stiff!)

The lead actor (played by Dylan O’Brien — WHO ???) reminded self a little of a young Kevin Bacon, only darker. He was pretty good.

He wasn’t built the same way, for instance, Channing is, which is another thing that self found pretty good. After all, in the dystopian universe that Hollywood is pretty sure we should expect, no one — self repeats, NO ONE — gets enough to eat.  Yup, it must be really hard to get meat on one’s bones, out there in the future (There is one overweight kid. Why is he there? So that he sticks out like a sore thumb?)

It’s an all-male universe, self got her hopes up that this would indeed be one of those rare, genre-defying movies where there is only one gender around, and it doesn’t matter, because there can still be tension.

SPOILER ALERT!!!

But it does not seem to be that kind of movie, after all.

Nevertheless, self did not get bored.

Patricia Clarkson has a magnificent bod. Better even than the bod of the young actress who gets thrown in with the boys. Self knows whereof she speaks because, somewhere near the end of the movie, Clarkson gets to throw off her white Nehru-type lab coat/jacket and reveal that she is wearing a sleeveless, white, form-fitting top and pants underneath. And there is not a trace of jiggly anywhere.

YAY for the Asian guy who emerges as the hero’s Man Friday. Because self only just realized that, the entire movie, she kept trying to predict when Asian Dude would demonstrate his utter Asian expendability and fall by the wayside. Which. Did. Not. Happen. Thank goodness.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

The White Guy Trapped in a Den of Iniquity: J-Hutch’s New Movie

Don’t get self wrong:  she is a huge Josh Hutcherson aka Peeta Mellark fan.  So huge that it took her a year to get to Catching Fire (the book) because she was under the impression Peeta would be off-ed.  A day after she saw the Catching Fire movie, she went to B & N and bought the book. Then she bought Mockingjay. And since it’s been a long time since she’s seen Josh Hutcherson (All of 21. Or 22. Whatever) in anything other than SNL, which he hosted November 2013, she’s been reading fan fiction about Peeta Mellark. Like crazes.

Apparently, J-Hutch has a new movie coming out that is NOT Hunger Games. In Escobar: Paradise Lost, he has to play the innocent seduced by exotica. Which is, admittedly, quite a stretch from the Hunger Games LOL.

The film also stars Benicio del Toro and a lovely, scorching hot babe who is a much better match for Hutcherson as she is way more petite than Jennifer Lawrence.

Anyhoo, the Escobar movie has been making the rounds of the Film Festival circuit, and was recently at Telluride.

The writer assigned to review the movie on Indiewire is obviously a man (even without having to read his by-line, which self just did), because only a man would need to ask such an obvious question:

At some point you may wonder why we’ve devoted an entire first paragraph to Josh Hutcherson when the title character is played by Benicio freaking del Toro . . .

Self will dispense with the movie’s plot points, as it is so obvious that the only reason to make this movie was — EXACTLY. Josh Hutcherson.

LOL!

And to provide J-Hutch with a new love interest because, ya know, J-Law has given her heart to another!

Musing over the current crop of screen hunks, self would have to say that Channing is quickly losing her interest (Those ears! Why did self never notice until now?), and Liam (Hemsworth, not Neeson, Neeson still totally rocks) just never did it for her, and Loki is fine but damn could they hurry up with another movie, and she was never into Ben Affleck, not even after Good Will Hunting, and Bourne was for a while the epitome of hotness but now they’ve replaced Damon with Renner (albeit playing different characters in the Bourne universe) and self still can’t get over the sense of betrayal, not to mention the fact that Josh is just so cute, especially in hijacked Peeta mode. Let’s just say self can understand 100% why Katniss, with Gale standing right by her side, completely loses it when she sees Peeta’s face projected on a large screen in the District 13 cafeteria — self means that it makes complete rational sense, and she thinks she’ll get a big kick out of Josh trying to evade Benicio del Toro. Because Benicio del Toro. Man. It’s enough to give self all sorts of FEELZ.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

“A Walk Among the Tombstones”

This is something self just realized today, after watching “A Walk Among the Tombstones” — she likes Liam Neeson in action mode, she thinks it’s good he’s mostly in action mode these days, she just doesn’t like him as much in drama, even when he was in that Paul Haggis movie with Olivia Wilde earlier this year (“Third Person”), and she likes Liam’s action turn in “A Walk Among the Tombstones” better than Denzel’s in “The Equalizer.”

In fact, self would go as far as saying she thought the script of “A Walk Among the Tombstones” was a pretty smart script.  Even if just because it doesn’t seek to rise above its genre, it is a good movie (although generally she cringes at all scenes involving the degradation of women. So, there. Now you know what kind of criminals the movie deals with. The worst scene occurs early on: very poetically shot with tight close-ups. Ugh. So excruciating. The camera never blinks).

The casting of this movie is very smart. At a certain point during a chase scene, we are treated to a full-body shot (from the side) of Liam Neeson running. Wow, that guy runs with such intensity, it is wonderful to behold. She’d classify Neeson’s running right up there with Owen Wilson’s shamble.

Casting her mind back to “The Equalizer,” self finds that she has already completely forgotten what the movie was about (and she saw it less than a week ago). The only scene she remembers with any clarity is the one where Denzel ushers a pack of Asian women out of a factory where they have been processing illegal contraband, but does it as if he’s a Sunday-school teacher ushering out a pack of 12-year-olds. Like he’s not just handing each woman thick wads of cash. That was a good scene.

In both movies, the viewer is never in any doubt that the hero will prevail (Though self remembers seeing “The Grey,” which was possibly the worst downer of a Liam Neeson movie self ever remembers seeing). So it’s all the more worth it if the movie has flourishes that offer a few surprises. The acting, for instance. Which was across-the-board good in “A Walk Among the Tombstones.” (All self can really remember from “The Equalizer” is Denzel’s acting. Which is pretty much a given, come on. And don’t get her wrong: a movie full of Denzel is always welcome. But that’s ALL she can remember from “The Equalizer”)

The other thing self remembers thinking while watching Neeson is that George Lucas did him no favors by casting him as Obi-wan-Kenobi. As he also did no favors for Ewan MacGregor when he cast him as the young Obi-wan. As he also did no favors for Natalie Portman when . . .  ok, you get her drift.  It is a very, very fortuitous thing for Denzel that he made no appearances in a “Star Wars” movie.

The source material for “A Walk Among the Tombstones” is impeccable: the work of Lawrence Block, whose books self has read and enjoyed.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

A Reading List (No Joyce! Or Swift!): Historical Fiction

Near Temple Bar, Dublin

Near Temple Bar, Dublin

Self rode around Dublin on the Hop On-Hop Off double-decker bus today (the weather was gorgeous!).  Self met two fellow Americans who, it turns out, hail from Daly City, California!  She stayed on that bus for about two hours.  Her thoughts began to revolve around UK-centric historical fiction she has read and enjoyed.

Naturally, she loves Catherine Dunne (especially Another Kind of Life) and Sarah Waters (especially Fingersmith and The Night Watch), but here are some others that sprang to mind:

Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott:  Set at the time of the Norman Conquest (plus self remembers it was made into a pretty fab BBC mini-series, with Ciaran Hinds playing villain)

The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Orczy (Surely that’s a pseudonym?  This was the novel self voraciously read and re-read, summers in Bacolod)

The Eagle of the Ninth, by Rosemary Sutcliff (Did anyone see Channing in the film adaptation?  So gorgeous, even when wearing Roman toga)

From Hell, by Alan Moore (The first book self bought on this trip; she spent a gorgeous April afternoon reading it in Russell Square, and then had to mail it home because it was too heavy to lug to Ireland)

One of self’s all-time favorites is Sebastian Barry’s anguished novel of World War I, A Long, Long Way.

And she knows a writer who is addicted to Nora Roberts.

Today self bought a wee pocketbook from the National Gallery of Art:  The Happy Prince & Other Stories by Oscar Wilde.  Oh, she cried already after reading the title story.  It was just so — poignant.  The swallow and the Prince, each dying of neglect, but united by generosity of spirit (Clearly, self adores angst!)

Now to read the next story, “The Nightingale and the Rose.”

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

 

 

Game of Thrones 4.3 Unfolds

Self missed the first five minutes of tonight’s episode. Whenever The Man knows how badly self wants to watch something, he does something creative like turn the sound down completely, and pretend he can hear fine while self asks plaintively, Can you please turn up the volume.  Those few precious seconds before self walks to the TV and turns up the sound herself, those are his triumph.

Tonight, self was in front of her computer in son’s room, but she kept one ear cocked for the Game of Thrones theme music.  At precisely 9:04, she dashed to the living room to check and found Sansa being rowed out to a ship: apparently, the episode had started a few minutes earlier.  The Man was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Do you see what an effort is required of self to maintain some semblance of equanimity, dear blog readers? To blog on a regular basis, when someone is constantly playing tricks on her?  Nevertheless, self is nothing if not determined.  She will not — repeat, NOT — permit anyone’s silly antics to distract her from her true avowed purpose!

SPOILER ALERT!

As soon as Khaleesi enters the picture, self tears her eyes from the flat-screen HDTV to post. There’s some hoo-ha about which of Khaleesi’s champions will confront the challenger from the opposing army.  The hunk Daario wins the bidding competition and doesn’t even need to get within six feet of his opponent — slain, QED. Piss on the ground afterwards to show extent of contempt.  Self still can’t get over that this Daario is brown-haired, while the one last season was blonde. Plus, why does Khaleesi still sound as if she’s taking vocal enunciation lessons.

There is more amusing chicanery with Arya and The Hound, in which a poor farmer gets banged on the head with the blunt end of a sword and loses all his silver.

Cersei and Ser Jaime have wild, hot sex, in front of Joffrey’s corpse.

The New Malevolence (The character’s name is Oberyn Martell, which sounds seriously ridiculous. Let’s stick to calling him The New Malevolence) is shown cavorting in bed with a blonde boy-whore, who reveals he is 25 years old. There is ample view of the boy’s backside, as well as of the ample bosoms of sundry anonymous harlots.

Tyrion has a very emo scene with faithful Podrick. As he turns to go, Podrick reveals that he has been offered a knighthood in return for his offering testimony against Tyrion at his trial. At which Tyrion urges him to get as far away from King’s Landing as possible. “Podrick,” quoth Tyrion, “This is good-bye.” Oh, the FEELZ!

Sam does something incomprehensible:  in order to save Gilly from the lustful stares of 100 warriors at Castle Black, he drops her off at a brothel, where she is surrounded by xxx awful harlots and their dubious clientele.  In exchange for some coin, Gilly and her baby are offered a place to sleep — in a filthy barn stall.  Yes, Sam, way to show your love.

The Wildlings (that’s Ygritte, for those of you not quite up to speed on GOT) and their new Cannibal Allies attack a village, wreak bloodthirsty mayhem, and ensure that one little boy escapes to Castle Black to deliver horrible eyewitness account of the atrocities.

Khaleesi hurls parcels over the walls of a mountain fortress.  As the people within seem to consist of either:  a) bare-chested slaves; and b) sissies in blue silk tunics, self is quite satisfied that this gesture will result in easy victory.  She doesn’t even have to wait for the Big Reveal to know the outcome, but all right all right, here’s what the parcels actually contained:  broken chain collars.  Three Cheers for the Ever Righteous Khaleesi!  Always so on point with political symbolism!

Will Littlefinger preserve Sansa’s honor or will he — gulp — tarnish her purity? (For only the nth time, self finds herself exclaiming, regarding Sansa:  SHE IS SO STUPID)

Will Jaime ever be able to keep his thing in his pants in future encounters with his beloved sister?  WHERE IS BRIENNE WHEN YOU NEED HER?

No further scenes of Theon degradation in this episode, thank goodness.  WHERE IS YARA GREYJOY?

Ser Davos asks his little friend, the princess with scales on her cheek, to write him a magnificent letter saying xxxx

(To be continued. Self will be in London for 4.4.  She’s not sure if the place she’s staying at will have TV in the rooms. Where oh where can she watch the episode?)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

“Look! The Pie!” : Game of Thrones 4.2

No Khaleesi in last night’s episode. Good.  Episodes just get so portentous and clunky when Khaleesi and her dragons put in an appearance, at least they do in self’s humble opinion.

SPOILER ALERT!!!

There was one major character death, some scenes of further Theon Greyjoy degradation (He apparently now sleeps with the hounds), some fluff involving Shea and Tyrion and the much-anticipated Purple Wedding (No, that scene between Tyrion and Shae was more than fluff.  More like Shakesperean tragedy. Ugh, self hated Tyrion’s words. Of course he had to say them.  Is it possible that Tyrion could love Shae any more than he does? But in order to save her life, he had to get her away as far from himself as possible. Tyrion, you are so noble!)

There was more of that slim-hipped bad guy with the neatly trimmed beard.  His partner to the wedding feast looked like she might have stepped out of Return of the Jedi or something. (There was a snippet of him exchanging amorous looks with Sir Loras, one of self’s favorite secondary characters. A promise of intrigue yet to come!)

The scenery was bright, more Mediterranean than United Kingdom.

Cersei was monstrous.  Perhaps even more monstrous than Joffrey.

Self’s favorite line of the night:  “Look!  Here comes the pie!”

Strategic Distraction!  Such a clever girl, Margaery Tyrrell is (Not to mention, her wedding gown was absolutely gorgeous.  The color! The intricate beadwork! The relatively discreet baring of back and front! Sexy but definitely NOT salacious!)

Brienne appeared, plainly garbed in a blue tunic, and Cersei became very hard-eyed.

That scene where Cersei approaches Brienne, and starts making all kinds of nasty insinuations — self loved that the camera gave at least equal attention to Brienne’s face.  And the Maid of Tarth’s face, especially at that moment, and given who she was talking to, just looked so — pure.  Baffled.  Like maybe Brienne was thinking:  What is this woman going on about?  But when Cersei stated (not asked, stated):  “But you love him,” bless her heart, Brienne didn’t even have the good sense to make up a lie.  And at that very moment, with this woman (who wishes her only harm) standing right in front of her, she looks around, and sees — who else?  Jaime Lannister, looking at her and Cersei.  That right there, in self’s humble opinion, was the BIG REVEAL of the night.  Self could feel her heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.  She fervently hopes Brienne’s end doesn’t come in Season 4 because — the FEELZ!

R.I.P. Joffrey.  Your death scene was magnificent.  Jack Gleeson, you did a superb job.  Truly superb.  Self, for one, will truly miss you.

Stay tuned.

Spawn of THE HUNGER GAMES

Self can hardly wait for Sunday night, when she and The Man will be riveted to the HDTV for Game of Thrones 4.2  Mebbe Yara Greyjoy will put in an appearance, finally?  Could we have more of the Brienne/Jaime interaction, please?  Mebbe Tyrion and Joffrey do a little arm-wrestling?  Mebbe Jaime Lannister feels in the mood for another bath?  Mebbe Jon Snow undergoes an inititiation ceremony requiring — another bath?  Mebbe Khaleesi also feels in the mood for a bath, like the one last season where Daario surprised a malevolent intruder and offered his sword and everything that entails to naked-in-the-tub Khaleesi?  Does Sansa end up running away with Littlefinger?  When is the Purple Wedding?  Hopefully, not too soon.  The show would lose a tremendously rousing villain in Joffrey.

Anyhoo, self is as usual on her fanfiction.net site.  It’s just so great that there are also authors who do the Brienne/Jaime shipping and write fabulous fan fiction about this pair.

But nothing so far has dislodged her devotion to The Hunger Games match-ups.  Peeta/Katniss is still her favorite (Though, self must admit, Four as played by Theo James is pretty delectable. She’ll hunt up Divergent fan fiction shortly).

This morning, the fan fiction she’s reading has an arena:  Prim has volunteered to take Katniss’s place in the Reaping, because Katniss is preggers with Gale’s baby.  Peeta gets reaped per usual.

There is an eye-watering scene (Angst to the nth power) where Peeta swears (on national television) that he’ll do everything in his power to send Prim home.

So, from the very first scene in the arena, while everyone else starts running for cover away from the Careers and the Cornucopia, Peeta stops to pick up an exceedingly bulky backpack.  Then he follows Prim (and her ally Rue) to the shelter of the forest.  But the girls get separated from Peeta because even though they are using the four-note Mockingjay signal to alert him to where they are, Peeta doesn’t know how to whistle back.  That is, he is terribly out of tune.  So the girls and Peeta wander around, looking for each other.

Then the Game-makers start a huge forest fire.  Then Peeta gets horribly burned but still carries the bulky backpack.  Then the girls find Peeta, who’s passed out.  Then Prim attempts to heal his burns.  They open his backpack, and discover the following items:

  • several packs of dried beef and fruit
  • a few packs of hard crackers
  • three grain-and-nut bars
  • a bag of walnuts and a bag of almonds
  • several thin protein bars
  • two dried sausages
  • a hunk of cheese
  • three cans of soup with pull-tab lids
  • a box of tea (What need there would be for tea in the arena is — well, never mind)
  • a “largish” bag of rice
  • a blanket
  • some rope
  • a cooking pot
  • a sewing kit
  • and, at the very very bottom of the backpack, a medical kit

YAY!  YAY!  YAY!  Which means Peeta will live — for at least another day!

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

 

 

Game of Thrones 4.1 — The Hound Rules!

Dear blog readers, self accidentally threw the paper where she wrote all her quotes from Game of Thrones Season 4 Episode 1, but take her word for it, it was bloodcurdling, it was vicious, Ygritte was scrawnier than self remembered her being (and rightfully so, as Jon Snow ditched her apparently), there’s a tribe on the hunt and they eat people, and The Hound was just GLO-RI-OUS!  Simply GLOR-RI-OUS!

Holy Cow, there he was bargaining with a short runt of a man over some chickens.  The man asked The Hound if he had any money.  Whereupon commenced the most glorious television dialogue EVER:

Hound:  Not a penny.  I’ll still take a chicken.

And it went on and on and on.  Somehow, it ended up being all about chickens.  One chicken, two chickens, heck, The Hound said he might as well have all of the available chickens.

To which the runt of course took exception.

Which resulted in a wild melee with The Hound slaying all, with a wee bit of help from Arya (Self was screaming from the beginning of the brawl:  GO AHEAD, ARYA!  WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!  PLEASE DON’T JUST STAND THERE WATCHING THE HOUND ACCUMULATE MORE DISFIGURING FACIAL SCARS!)

She, it turns out, has a unique method of dispatching her victims.  She takes a sword, and gently pokes, as if debating, and then she — pushes the sword home, but OH. SO. SLOWLY.  Which makes the deed appear three times as brutal.  Take self’s word for it.  Arya sticking The Needle into the throat of the runt is an act so intimately personal it might as well be up there in self’s list of Ten Most Horrible Murders of All Time. Yes. Worse even than Hannibal Lecter chomping on a nurse’s eyeball.

Jaime Lannister has, inexplicably, decided to go short.  Why why why?  He looked so devilish and dirty with the long locks.

The guy who plays Joffrey — Jack Gleeson, self had to look it up — is so impeccably petulant and EVIL.

Natalie Dormer (Margaery Tyrell) has self’s second most favorite line of the night, something about hanging a necklace of dead sparrows around her neck.

Brienne puts in an appearance.  Alas, she and Ser Jaime are back to the platonic.

Where is Gendry?  Hope he surfaces soon!

Oh, the dragons got big!  And Daario is played by a completely different actor.  The old Daario was blonde.  This one is dark-haired (and also a lot more craggy-faced)

Khaleesi’s slave girl/companion/translator is still the second most beautiful woman in the series.

Self has yet to see another of her favorite characters:  Yara Greyjoy.  Who, at the end of last season, swore to take fifty of her best killers and sail up the narrow river to take her baby brother home.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Fan Fiction, Sherlock and Self

In Edinburgh, in the Surgeon’s Museum (which is located in the University of Edinburgh Medical School), there is a special exhibit on the man who served as the inspiration for Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes (Doyle studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh).  Since self is extremely nosy, she decided to open a closed door that was at the far end of the exhibit area, and saw an empty amphitheater, with rows and rows of wooden desks all facing a proscenium.  Class was not in session.

Today, self is thinking about Sherlock Holmes because she is once again tackling her Pile of Stuff (which is absolutely exploding with unread magazines).  The January 27, 2014 issue of The New Yorker is what she is looking at this afternoon.  There’s a very interesting article by Emily Nussbaum called  FAN FRICTION:  SHERLOCK AND ITS AUDIENCES.

As self proceeds through the article, she learns that a particular scene in Sherlock Season 3 was inspired by Sherlock Holmes fan fiction.  Can you guess which one, dear blog readers?

One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four, one thousand five . . .

Time’s up!

We’re at a critical moment:  Holmes is on the roof of a building, preparing to jump. Somehow,  Moriarty winds up there, too, and leans in for a kiss.  Self’s jaw almost dropped to the floor.

Self knew it!  She knew it!  Because it’s in the same episode where a group of London geeks (fan fiction practitioners) sit in someone’s cramped and cluttered apartment and conjecture about the two years Sherlock was thought by everyone to have perished.  (They also tweet theories using hashtag #sherlocklives)

Anyhoo, self loves the Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock.  The first time she saw the actor was in a movie called Amazing Grace, where he played anti-slavery parliamentarian Pitt.  At that point in time, there was only one reason self wanted to see the movie, and that was Ioaon Gruffud.  She had absolutely no idea where the filmmakers had picked up the beady-eyed Cumberbatch.  Only years later, after watching her first episode of Sherlock, did self finally “get” the Cumberbatch affect:  the lankiness!  The floppy, messy hair!  The cigarette pants!  The sexy!

In the series, “when Sherlock reads a crime scene, enormous words appear on the screen, like an on-line word cloud.”

Sherlock, Nussbaum writes, “has inspired reams of slash fiction.”  Today, “you can find slash fic about almost any character you can imagine, from Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy onward.”

Self recently registered for membership in fanfiction.net, and she can attest how addictive it is.  There are actually people who leave comments like these:

“I work as a waiter and I’m right now in an alley behind the restaurant, hoping for an update to your story before my boss comes out and catches me . . . “

“I’m on a cruise of the Mediterranean and I keep thinking up excuses to go back to my room so I can check for any updates of your story.  My family thinks I’m nuts . . . “

Never, ever will self reveal her fanfiction.net identity, because she’s doing very fluffy writing.  She follows seven writers.  She hopes with all her heart they don’t turn out to be 14, but they might be.  Because they still worry about getting “caught” during chemistry class or skipping math class to do some urgent reading in the bathroom!

She’s heard it so many times:  The internet is the death of books.  It may be the death of books, but it is definitely a clarion call to the imagination, and to the power of the simple act of reading.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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