In Defence of Books

I have a collection, or a library.  Call it what you will, I have a lot of books, and I take a lot of pride in that.  I have a knack for choosing good ones in a number of genres.  (My reference collection is particularly eclectic and interesting.)  I've managed to get my hands on a number of unedited pre-release books, a few of which are now worth a fair bit of money.  I have a book by one of my favorite poets, signed just a few weeks before the man passed away.  I have books from friends that we use as an excuse to keep in touch, and I have books I've reread so often pages are falling out.

I recently got my first smart phone, and one of the first apps I downloaded was an e-reader.  It's fantastic, but there are reasons I will always love the "real thing" better...

A new book smells fresh and crisp, like possibility--and nothing can compare to the feeling of cracking a hardcover spine for the first time, and opening the book and yourself to a new world.  An old book smells a little musty and comfortable, like a well-broken-in couch.  It's familiar and cozy, and the plot and characters greet you like old friends.

A book finds a space in your home and settles in.  It never demands attention (until you actually start reading it, if it's a good one), and it never "helpfully suggests" you should be doing something better with your time.  It never gives you a hard time for what you do or how you do it or who you are--books provide a shelter against a world of people who all think you ought to be fundamentally different than you are.  A book never thinks you're too fat.  It never tells you that you're weird, or that you're bad at all the things you should be good at. A book never points out your perceived flaws, and it never makes you feel bad about who you are.

Instead, it gives you adventure, even though you're stuck in a cubicle all day.  It gives you characteristics to aspire to, even in a world where reality TV actors are considered role-models.  It gives you hope in happy endings and in the possiblity that the loose ends will all tie themselves up and that there will somehow be meaning, even though the news tells you all about how everything is going to hell and we're all doomed.

I've got a lot of books.  I've also got a lot of adventure, aspirations, and hope in my life.  And those are all Very Good Things.


(True:  You'll notice that when I do book reviews here, I only give positive reviews.  That's because I'm not going to waste my time reviewing a book I didn't like, and I'm not going to waste your time reading a review I don't think is worth your time.)

Hops in the Right Direction: Persistence Pays Off

I know I told you yesterday I'd post a real post today, but I lied.  I'm a liar-pants, and I'm sorry.  This is really just an update.

Last week, I wrote about how I've been having trouble leaving Prada at home without her barking up a storm.  I tried just ignoring her before I left, and that seemed to improve things somewhat.

Well, it's been a week, and I can now leave without a single bark!

My dog is the best dog ever to dog.

That is all


(True:  This post is brought to you by six kinds of cold medicine and the letter M.  Sorry if it doesn't make much sense.  I think my head has drifted over to Kenya for the day.)

(Also true:  My nose is so chapped is actually bleeding.  I have succeeded in feeling the sorriest for myself ever.)

This is a true thing.

When you're sick, no matter how old you are, you wish your mom were there to take care of you.  Because the pizza guy is willing to bring you food, but it's unlikely he'll buy you another box of Kleenex when you run out.

If you hadn't gathered, I'm sick.  It's just a standard cold (or possibly the flu; doctors are for wussies), but it's the full-fledged disgusting kind, complete with snot bubbles.  My whole face is leaking.

I'm pretty gross right now.  Fortunately, I have a very fluffy dog whose not-so-secret superpower is cuddling.  (Also something the pizza guy isn't in for.)

Real post tomorrow!

xoxo,
Dana the Biped

I'll Be Beating Them Off With a Stick For Sure

I'm thinking of signing up on one of those dating sites, and I'm hoping you guys can help me edit my profile.


Name:  Dana the Biped (Prada the Puff and Stink are freebies.  Or an entourage, if you think that's cooler.  Whatever.  We're a group package.  I really hope you don't have allergies.)

Date of Birth:  Old enough to buy beer, young enough to still get carded for buying beer.  Old enough for my great-aunts to think I'm a spinster, young enough to want to punch them for it.*

*I do not actually condone great-aunt-punching.

Occupation:  Full-time office drudge, part-time blogger/karaoke jockey.  I'm a "slash"--like the Midwest's version of Paris Hilton, except I know what Walmart is and my boobs are real.

About me:  Well, I've got a fair few skills that would help in a zombie apocalypse.  I know how to use a chainsaw and drive a manual transmission.  I'm great to have around in an emergency--I've set my kitchen on fire enough times to know that panicking helps nothing. 

I love to eat, so I'd be a great test subject for anyone who likes to cook.  And since I'm a total whiny wimp when I'm sick, you have the prime opportunity to play romantic hero by supplying me with tissues, cough drops, and books.  In my free time, I like watching Doctor Who and not wearing pants.

But seriously, how could you even edit such a work of genius and panache?


(True:  I'm limping through the whole day with just one can of Mt. Dew.  I'm impressed that I'm still conscious, frankly.)

Watch This! 18 to Life

I'm not normally a fan of sitcoms.  I usually find them tired and contrived.  But every once in a while, a gem comes along like 18 to Life.

It's kind of like those shows where the teenage couple has illicit sex and the girl ends up pregnant, and they face the disapproval of their whole family and the drama that ensues.  Except here, the teenage couple gets married and has to face the disapproval of their whole family and the comedy that ensues.  And I actually like this--that's a pretty big difference, too.

(This is where I would post a photo, if Blogger let me.  Dammit.)

Tom and Jessie get married based on a game of Truth or Dare, and end up living in the attic of Tom's parents' house.  Which is right next door to Jessie's parents' house.  Tom's parents are rigid and conservative.  Jessie's are hippies who don't mow their lawn.  It's honestly a shock the six of them don't just kill each other in the first episode and call it a wrap.

It's a simple enough premise, which means the clever scripts and comedic skills of the cast can really shine through.  The plot doesn't try to overshoot itself, if that makes sense.  (I mean that as a strength.)  Jessie and Tom are silly, sometimes immature (though they try), and make a cute couple.  I think getting married at 18 is incredibly stupid, but I still find myself rooting for them.  Both sets of parents are believable in a "they do crazy things that stretch your belief, but then they turn around and do something so real that it grounds them firmly in the believable regardless of how crazy they act" kind of way.  The funniest parts of the show are when the four parents are all together--their dynamic is hilarious.

Sadly, the show only got two seasons (Netflix streaming has both), but every episode I've seen so far has actually, literally made me laugh like a loon.  Which is quite a feat, considering my hard, embittered heart.  But by far, my favorite aspect of the show is the sense of sincerity infusing it all, making it not only funny, but truly charming as well.

This is a good one, guys.  I'd recommend it highly.


(True:  Day two of ignoring Prada before I leave home, and she didn't bark at all.  Woohoo!)

Hops in the Right Direction: Gaining Perspective and Dealing with the One Step Back Times

A well-behaved dog is an on-going project.  It's not a one-obedience-class-and-done kind of deal.  And sometimes, a dog will seem to lose a good behavior or gain a bad one.  It doesn't mean you have a bad dog--she's just testing her limits, or her routine was changed and she's upset and confused about it, or she's sick.  You know, like when people do something unpleasant--there's usually an underlying reason.  (Or they're just crazy.  One of those.)

Until a few weeks ago, I was bringing Prada to work with me, because my apartment manager was doing some construction right outside my door.  It was a pretty sweet set-up, really.  It was still warm enough for her to spend most of the day sleeping in the car, with a couple of potty breaks and a visit inside for Prada to get loved on by my coworkers.

And now she has to stay at home.  After all that excitement and affection (not to mention the treats I know some of my coworkers have in their desk drawers for just such an occasion), being left behind is not high on Prada's to-do list.

Prior to coming to work with me, Prada was really good about being left alone, as long as we followed a routine--I'd put her in a down-stay and set a treat in front of her.  I would release her from the stay once I was ready to open the door and leave. 

But a situation arose, and her routine was disrupted.  Now, we've got to start fresh, and the old routine hasn't been working.  Prada has been showing her displeasure with me by barking.  Not really excessively--or not excessively if I didn't leave for work fairly early in the morning, when some of my neighbors are still asleep.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been leaving her in the bathroom, hoping the more enclosed space and limited stimulations would help keep her calm--and if not, that the two doors between her and my front door would keep the noise down.  It was mostly the latter, and I've been trying to figure out what my other options are.

This morning, though, I noticed that as I was getting ready in my bedroom, Prada was chilling in the living room.  She was very calm, so I decided to roll with it.  I've learned that if I address her, or sometimes even look at her, she gets excited, so I ignored her as I pulled on my coat and grabbed my purse and left.  I was already to the first landing when she barked, just four times--and more importantly, it was more of a "what?" bark than an "come back and get me right now!" bark.  And then, blessed silence.

So I decided not to go back and get my glasses.

Sometimes, things don't go as planned.  Sometimes, you need to make a new plan.  And sometimes, you just need to pay attention to what your dog is telling you.  But the most important thing to remember is that it's not always going to be smooth sailing.  Keep your perspective--your dog loves you, and isn't actively trying to piss you off.

Probably.



Speaking of perspective, my friend Donna sent me this:

Because from your dog's perspective, there is nothing wrong with her, either.

Window Licker

I'm prone to really nonsensical dreams.

Sometimes, the people are made up of geometric shapes in primary colors.  I still recognize them.

Sometimes, I dream entirely in green.

And sometimes, there is no "plot" or people, just a series of sentences and phrases that don't make sense paired with really strong feelings about these sentences and phrases that don't make sense.

This morning, I woke up urgently needing poppy-flavored Windex.  So, you know, the next time I need to lick my windows, they taste nice.  (On a side note, what do poppies taste like?  I don't even know what they smell like.)

I just realized, this whole post sounds like I'm on drugs.  To clarify, I am not on drugs.  Unless you count caffeine, in which case I need to join a twelve-step program stat.


(True:  As the holidays are over, I'll be going back to my regular posting schedule.)