Category: bitch be crazy

I Give Up!

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

In my never-ending quest for a)  new things to read b) escape from my life and c) free stuff for my Kindle, I’ve been stuffing poor Mr Kindle with oodles of classic (hey there public domain!) children’s books. It’s at the point where I have more wholesome reading than Lovecraft. Then again aren’t wholesome, clean, upbeat children who respect their elders scarier than the Big Guy in R’lyeh? (Hmm…something to explore in another blog post mayhaps?).

Growing up, I was always a Louisa May Alcott and Laura Ingalls Wilder girl. That snippy, twee little red-headed demon…sorry Ames, I mean, one Miss Anne Shirley, never made it into my bookshelves. And I was the little girl combing the library and every tag sale from home to the shores of Lake Michigan (hey there Grand Rapids circa 1978!) for things to read. And I’m more than old enough to remember and have been the right age to watch the Anne of Green Gables miniseries in the 1980s.

Fast forward mumblemumbletwentysomethingmumblemumble years, I’m still re-reading Louisa May Alcott and Laura Ingalls Wilder, I even have a friend (hi Ames! <waves hand like a mad thing>) who has read Anne of Green Gables AND been to Prince Edward Island. Me? I read the 2008  biography of Lucy Maud Montgomery (Looking for Anne of Green Gables: The Story of L. M. Montgomery and Her Literary Classic by Irene Gammel) and….nothing…

Skip ahead to spring 2012. I have a HUGE hankering to re-read Laura Ingalls Wilder.

It’s late one Saturday night. Libraries aren’t open until Monday. The hankering is so great I will even PAY to buy for Mr Kindle because the thought of going to Barnes & Noble is PAINFUL. I don’t want to be anywhere NEAR children. I just want to read some Laura Ingalls Wilder

Check Amazon. Discover that the Little House series is NOT a Kindle or e-book. Pout and then decide to see if there is any Louisa May Alcott I haven’t read. And then think, “hey why not download all these Anne of Green Gables books…how bad can they be?”

And download I did.

And start to read.

Over the past two weeks I’ve slogged through (in order) Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Anne of Windy Poplars and Anne’s House of Dreams.

Last night I flung Anne of Ingleside onto the floor, not giving a damn or a gram it was a library book* and snatched up a book on Hammer Films in the Bray years to stare at pictures of Sir Christopher as tasty hot why couldn’t I be alive in 1950s England to tap THAT total babe Dracula.

Mmm..mmm..mmmm…Sir Christopher Lee…so…tall…SO VERY HOT…huh…what?

Oh yes, Anne of Everyone Lurves Me and People Who Don’t Are Total Dumbass Meanies. And Anne of All The Guys Want Me Because I Am THAT AWESOME. And let’s not forget that classic Anne of ZOMG Some One Doesn’t Like Me BUT THEY WILLLLLL OHHHHH THEY WILLLL WORSHIP ME!

Once I can pry myself from the loving grasp of Mr Couch, I am going to march over to my work desk, snatch up Mr Kindle, cover him in a bazillion kisses for ever exposing him to Lucy Maud Montgomery and delete EVERY SINGLE DAMN ANNE BOOK CACKLING SO WILDLY THAT BERTHA ROCHESTER WOULD SAY “Damn girl! You need HELP! Git A Grip!” before scamper dampering off to try to burn Edward alive…AGAIN…

Usually once I pick a series to read, I READ THAT melon farmer. I read that melon farmer so hard that I will spend the whole day on Mr Couch with the series stacked up next to me IN ORDER! I will get 4 hours of sleep if it’s during the work week. I will “cook” with Mr Book in one hand while I’m plucking the Success rice bag out of boiling water.

I have read every scrap of Miss Read’s Thrush Green and Fairacre series (that was hard reading…Mrs Pringle and Betty WEAR on a person).

I have read every single Angela Thirkell Barsetshire series right down to the ones where you think “okay….there are twenty pages left…who is going to marry whom with a special license?”.

I have read EVERY SINGLE FROSTED POP TART MARY LASSWELL AND BEANY MALONE BOOK THAT MY CENTRAL CONNECTICUT LIBRARY SYSTEM HAS!

But I will never, ever, not even if I can group marry Thomas Jane, Dylan Moran, NPR’s Stephen Thompson, Garret Dillahunt, movie Thor AND Christian Bale, finish Anne of Ingleside or read Rainbow Valley or Rilla of Ingleside.

There is no way.

You can’t make.

You’re not my mommy!**

*all the librarians out there can stop worrying. The book wasn’t hurt by saying hello to Mr Floor. It’s now safely jammed deep into my library return bag next to the I will never watch it in a million years first season Game of Thrones Blu-ray.

** okay, two things I liked in the Anne books. Katherine Brooke (Anne of Windy Poplars) pre “ANNE IS THE MOST AWESOME AND I OWE MY LIFE TO HER” makeover. And Leslie Moore (Anne’s House of Dreams ) until she is all “ZOMG ANNE I AM THE WORST PERSON FOR HATING YOU AND EVERYTHING PERFECT IN YOUR LIFE” . Damn it, Katherine and Leslie! Hate away! You two ruled for a brief and shining moment.

Whiter Shades of Pale

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Even though I coordinate the hot pink cover on Mr iPhone to the pink trim on my new Lands’ End tote with my initials in matching pink to a pink and green Lilly cotton scarf and pair THAT with slim gray pants, black ballet flats, white blouse and pink sweater tied around my shoulders, I know I come from THE WRONG KIND OF WHITE PEOPLE. Oh, calm down NASCAR and Toby Keith loving bio relatives! I know we’re not straight out of  The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia! But we’re certainly not the demographic who pick up Whiter Shades of Pale, flick through the chapters and nod sagely, let alone pick up a quick nibble from Whole Foods and wear NPR gear head to toe! And remember I’m the family member with the massive crush on NPR Music’s Stephen Thompson!

So what is Whiter Shades of Pale? Well, according to author Christian Lander, it’s things white (the right kind of white that is) like. Funny or Ironic tattoos. Me: Nope. Trivia. Me: Yes. Sea Salt. Me: Yes if it’s at a restaurant, I’m not paying $7-25 for a frosted pop tart jar of salt! Trader’s Joe. Me: It depends, kinda crunchy. Appearing to enjoy classical music. Me: frosted pop tart you, I like classical music and listen to it at work, just ask my former Barnes & Noble coworkers!. Camping. Me: ARE YOU HIGH? I HATE OUTSIDE! (bonus points if you got the Logan’s Run reference). Small batch soda. Me: rip my Diet Canada Dry out of my undead paws. American Apparel, Hummus, My So-Called Life, Mad Men, Alternative Newspapers, Ugly Sweater Parties, Bumper Stickers, Monty Python, Improv….Me: BLANKET NO!

Let’s face it. Whiter Shades of Pale is your book if you love the IFC series Portlandia or read The Hipster Handbook to death. Got Judge John Hodgman on your iPod? (Dear Family, that was the fat dorky guy in the Mac & Windows commercials, cue Blacklight and Clan Gwendy going “ohhh him” and heading out to Dunkee Cup for an extra-large hot coffee and a double choccy donut) If this sounds like you, I bet you already own Whiter Shades of Pale. If you’re more like me, Judge John Hodgman almost caused you to have a ‘sode at work, you can go into Whole Foods and spend less than $10, Starbucks is a for special treat, then either read Whiter Shades of Pale in one of those nice comfy chairs at Barnes & Noble or go to the posh town’s library and check it out. You’re using the library system (very very very good) AND saving yourself $15.00! I get Whiter Shades of Pale is suppose to be quirky and ironic and meta and all that stuff but it’s not a book for me. If it’s your thing, more power to ya!

Eloise

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Every ten years or so, like bouts of malaria, Kay Thompson’s demon spawn from the inner bowels of hell alter-ego Eloise resurfaces in my life. Heck, I can still remember the unholy fuss the Today show made over the 40th anniversary. And don’t get me started on dropping several copies of Eloise: The Ultimate Edition  (collection of the four original Eloise books) on my foot, my frosted pop tart right baby toe is screaming in pain as I type and that WAS ALMOST TEN YEARS AGO! The latest run in with the undead little demon parading in human form Eloise was almost stepping on Sam Irvin’s Kay Thompson biography at the Book Barn Downtown and a few days later coming across original editions of some of the later works at the N-w B-t-n library. So I figured it was time to welcome Satan’s love child the little angel back into my life. I should have listened to my poor right foot that went totally numb when I touched Eloise in Paris. But sadly, I didn’t.

For those lucky souls (Blacklight) who haven’t meet THE MOST FAMOUS RESIDENT OF THE PLAZA HOTEL EVER (the Dadster, sibling Tichy), the most evil creature on the planet ever and that means more evil than Justin Beiber Eloise is a lively six year old who lives in New York City’s world famous The Plaza Hotel with her doting Nannie. Nannie is English and likes to drink and order from Room Service. Nannie must get paid a fair whack from Mama Eloise because honestly would YOU want to be responsible for this child? Eloise, whose mother must have pictures of The Plaza’s owner with an eight ball, an underage donkey and a chainsaw, has free run of the hotel. She commandeers the elevator, she scamper dampers here, there and EVERYWHERE. She scribbles on walls, peeks her nose into places she has no business…hello The Venetian Room is FOR GROWNUPS ONLY YOU LITTLE BISH! Yet somehow there are other guests who stay at The Plaza. I think the manager must drink heavily. Either that or Mama Eloise has pictures of him with that underage donkey too!

Now “Gwen stop being a bitch” you might say. Or “Eloise is just the most wonderful child ever, so free and creative”. Or “The Poor Little Thing Is Just Acting Out Because Her Parents Abandoned Her”. Interesting points. You know what? I was a creative little monster who got spanked when she colored Barbie’s hair with magic markers and food dye. And cross dressed Ken and GI Joe. And yup, we never do see the two unholy creatures each responsible for half Eloise’s DNA. We never hear about Eloise’s father. And Mama Eloise is always far far far far away. But can’t Nannie discipline the little monster? Come on Nannie DO IT DO IT DO IT!

Eloise almost ten years after I spent several weeks flinching every time I had to stock the picture book section has the same effect on me. Pain…oh the pain.  I can’t WAIT to return this particular book to the library! Uncombed hair and unbrushed teeth be damned!

Kay Thompson

~ Wendy-Marie ~ 1 Comment

If you say the name Kay Thompson, you’ll most likely get blank faces. Then try mentioning the movie Funny Face (to savages like Blacklight, it’s the one with Audrey Hepburn dancing in black capris that the GAP grape soda’ed with AC/DC’s Back in Black) or her best selling book about an undead demon spawn sent to earth to torment the living um I mean, the darling of The Plaza Hotel, the eternally six Eloise.

But Funny Face  and Eloise were the second act of Thompson’s career. Flashback to the 1930s and Kay Thompson was all over the radio, singing the hits solo or with a band of girls. And she went off to Hollywood and coached all the greats including her rumored lover/certainly best friend Judy Garland. Not too shabby for the ugly duckling daughter of pawnbroker right?

And just how did I stumble across all this juicy info about Kay Thompson? It was late April, Blacklight and I are in the Book Barn Downtown killing time during The Great Window Replacement of 2011. I have a shiny new iPhone (a lovely 3GS, don’t have iPhone 4 monies). Blacklight has an iced Dunkee Cup the size of his head. As Blacklight and his giant Dunkee Cup scamper damper off to see what horrific Stephen R. Donaldson wonders might be lurking in the stacks, I’m headed towards the humor section when BAMMO WHAMMO I ALMOST STEP ON A BOOK! Sam Irvin’s Kay Thompson: From Funny Face to Eloise.

So of course I pick it up. Like what I see, but the price is a little high. $7 for a used copy can also buy 1.33 lbs of my favorite Chinese buffett (Blacklight: “Oh, a light snack <snickers>?”) Or two Starbucks Passion Tea Lemonades. I’m all “dang I wish I had a piece of paper to write down the ISBN….dummy….YOU HAVE AN IPHONE NOW!”. Cue me standing in the middle of the film aisle tapping at my iPhone with little sausage fingers and putting Kay Thompson: From Funny Face to Eloise on my inter library loan list! Go Mr iPhone Go Mr iPhone!

Maybe I should have splashed out the $7 at the Book Barn Downtown because my goodness gracious, Kay Thompson: From Funny Face to Eloise  is chock full of awesome. I always thought Kay Thompson was some WASPy blonde from New England. Nope, Kay Thompson may have been the greatest creation to EVER spring from Kitty Fink’s fertile brain.

Her grit and determination made her a star several times over THREE DECADES. She knew how to work the system. Golly, I love Hondas! Dear Honda, can I have a silver 4 door 2011 Honda Accord if I name drop Honda in every blog post? NO? Damnnnnnn….Kay Thompson would have gotten the whole damn Honda fleet! With leather and gold trim! And you can’t walk into the children’s section of a bookstore and NOT find Eloise! Ignore the plump brunette in glasses clutching her pink clad Mr iPhone who is rocking back and forth like she’s just sat through the entire Sex and the City thing INCLUDING BOTH MOVIES!

Like her fellow best-selling children’s book featuring unholy demon spawns bearing torment and eternal suffering to all those who stumble into their orbits I mean, an enchanting blonde who lives in a fantastic world author Dare Wright, Kay Thompson’s later years marked a major decline. Remember how Dare Wright looked like an ancient Barbie doll? Kay Thompson looked like a walking skeleton. Luckily, Kay Thompson didn’t die in a hospital alone but spent her final years much loved by her god-daughter Liza Minnelli who went so far as to allow her godmother to take over her one bedroom New York apartment for years. Now remember, Kay Thompson wasn’t the easiest person to deal with. Eloise illustrator Hillary Knight got majorly grape soda’ed by his dealings with Thompson. Miss Kay wasn’t afraid to sue or take full credit when it came to her projects. So add that to an INSANE New York City housing market and you can totally give Liza Minnelli a pass for her whiskey tango foxtrot union with David Gest.

Once you read about Kay Thompson, her life story will stick with you. Heck, it’s been three weeks since I cracked open Kay Thompson: From Funny Face to Eloise  and went down the rabbit hole and I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO CRACK OPEN THE BOOK TO REFRESH MY MEMORY OF IT. I read lots of books. LOTS OF BOOKS. Usually I have to peek at least once or twice when I’m blogging! So Bravo! Good job, Sam Irvin, good job.

My Korean Deli

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There are days you pick up certain books just because you know “hey my life is meh but at least I’m not THAT poor bastard”. And it’s even better if it’s a true story. Just call me Gwen Schadenfreude-Mrs Blacklight!

If you’re like me, you might want to smack Ben Ryder Howe at the beginning of My Korean Deli: Risking It All For A Convenience Store. Because seriously? Writer living in his in-laws basement? DOOM DOOM AND DOOM SAUCE! Then again I should be nice. I’m not the WASP marrying into an immigrant family with a radically different outlook on work/family/home. Then again he had to know could/would be conflicts in the future.

So let’s get to the meat of the book. Ben’s wife Gab is in crisis. She wants to give her mother an amazing gift. A family business, a deli in New York City. The family looks at delis but nothing seems right. Then in a whirlwind, the family finds said deli, buys said deli and becomes enslaved to said deli. Everyone gets sucked in. Ben splits his time between the crumbing Paris Review and the deli. The ownership of the deli takes everything from neighborhood good will, time, money, health and freedom. Eventually the family decides to give up the deli knowing keeping it will only be the final blow in destroying them.

Schadenfreude and wanting to shake sense into Ben and Gab aside, My Korean Deli gives a sneak peek behind the scenes of the corner store. The next time I’m zipping through town to the library or heading to work at 6:30am, those awnings and flashing signs of local delis and bodegas will give me pause. And that, besides a forbidden Hostess snack cake is the best kind of takeaway you can get from a book.

The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady

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You don’t have to spend your time watching Moogles and Googles or listening to Moogles and Googles AM to know the government has done some pretty damn sketchy stuff. Elizabeth Stuckey-French’s The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady takes that knowledge and adds a revenge tale. Back in the 1950s Marylou Ahearn was a poor, pregnant woman made part of a medical study without her knowledge. Eight years later her only child died. And now fifty years later, Marylou has found the doctor running the study. Taking the name Nancy Archer from the cult classic Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, Marylou intends to get her revenge.

But as she works to destroy the now ailing doctor’s family (daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren), Marylou/Nancy causes just as much harm as good. Two people who had no one else to talk about the their shared past find each other. A daughter’s almost dead marriage has the beginnings of a revival and three children are able to be more than just the pretty damaged one (Ava), the damaged loner (Otis) and the normal one (Suzie).

No character (barring a certain character who deserves their end no matter who you are) is completely good or bad. The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady is worth a read. Except if you’re Blacklight, then stick to the Stephen R. Donaldson. Otherwise give it a try.

Colors Insulting to Nature

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In my head, Cintra Wilson is like Amanda (Mrs Neil Gaiman) Palmer. Both have the power to make me curl into a ball, knowing they’re going to stomp through my miserable little life and mock everything in it. Call them Hipper Than Thou. But I must like abuse because I requested Cintra Wilson’s Colors Insulting to Nature via inter-library loan and re-read it in a white hot heat.

Colors Insulting to Nature tells the life and times of one Liza (birth name Elizabeth) Normal, who wants to a STAR (yes STAR needs to be in ALL CAPS!). Have you even seen the movie Beaches? If so, do you remember the bit where the heroines meet as children and the young Bette Milder character is old before her time yet a child? And if you’re not ancient like me, have you seen oh….a four year old dropping it like it’s hot in a stripperette costume on Toddlers & Tiaras?  That’s the young Liza.

Maybe it’s partly the fault of her former showgirl mother Peppy who decides to take the last of her divorce settlement and open a dinner theater. Weirdness ensues. Liza becomes a runaway punk. More weirdness ensues. Liza becomes an underground hit as Venal De Minus. Extreme weirdness ensues.

If you’re Blacklight, STAY AWAY FROM THIS BOOK. If you’re the Dadster, STAY AWAY FROM THIS BOOK. Pretty please?. If you loved Winter Steele on MTV’s Liquid Television, have a zillion tats, like to shop in thrift shops, watch RuPaul’s Drag Race and Toddlers and Tiaras religiously and can pass as a Brooklyn hipster than by all means read Colors Insulting to Nature. Me? I’m going to curl up on Mr Couch with with Mr Laptop and Monster Quest…

Sinners

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When you get to my great age (okay I know I’m not THAT old but when you’ve spent the day chatting with a younger coworker old enough to be your son, well…you know), you forget certain things. Turning off the oven (guess who has charcoal briquettes…I mean chicken nuggets for lunch tomorrow?), charging your cell phone, checking the weather report BEFORE leaving the house in cute velvet ballet flats on a rainy day, remembering Sinners has to be the worst 1970s Jackie Collins novel EVER!

Even worse than The Love Killers.

Actually The Love Killers has an interesting story, three women getting revenge for the murder of their friend. But Sinners?

WHISKEY TANGO FROSTED POP TART. Why didn’t I remember how bad this was?!?!

The only thing keeping me from flinging said book against the wall was a) did NOT want to have to buy replacement copy and b) book hitting the wall would have woken up the small children next door leading to their mother yelling for them to go back to sleep. So Sunday Simmons Is An Idiot Sinners ended up on the nightstand.

Now I read some awful books as a young lass (see review of June Flaum Singer novels, Rae Lawrence’s Satisfication) so what makes the divine Jackie’s Sinners stand out? Hmmm…

-over the top names: our Brazilian/French heroine SUNDAY SIMMONS, robo-bimbo aka Gold Digga DINI SYDNE…honestly, my brain HURTS just typing that last name let alone reading it…my brain was “ummm Didi, Dimbo….DINDI? Like Cindi? Whiskey Tango Frosted Poptart!”. Almost makes himbo actor Branch Strong sound refreshing versus a bi-curious porn star.

-Queen’s English to Americun English: thank the deity of your choice I gobble old British gentle read novels because if not I would have been the spouse asking “what’s a box-room?”. (very long story for another day).

At this stage of the game Jackie was still split between America and the UK. And it shows. Not so bad you need an annotated Jackie Collins (how COOL would THAT BE?) but still.

-Sunday Simmons: our golden skinned/haired lioness heroine with luscious knockers that can poke out your eye in a totally hot but classy way (Blacklight; “keep talking” Me: “Pervert!’) makes you LONG for Lucky Santangelo. Because Lucky has BALLS. Big, clanking, how can she walk brass ones.

Sunday Simmons? She has ethics about been exploited on a film in the first few chapters. Go Sunday, git yours. She manages to avoid getting too involved with man-ho actor Steve Magnum (they’re engaged but she finds out he’s cheated on her with her so called friend Dimbo DAMNIT DINDI before they do the deed).

But the divine Jackie sure makes up for it. By the last seventy five pages Sunday’s gotten raped or nearly raped by creepy hot French director/utter bastard Claude, the two actors in Claude’s film who do a rape scene BY RAPING THE LEAD ACTRESS WHILE THE CAMERA ROLLS, a group of twisted bleepers who can only get off on having sex at “black magic parties” (I dare you, I triple dog DARE YOU to get this far into the book) and lastly by her stalker/chauffeur Herbert Lincoln Jefferson.

And the last page?

Guess what’s most likely to happen to Sunday now that’s she’s escaped to England with her new boyfriend Charlie Brick? EWWWW….

In one of the earlier HP Lovecraft Literary Podcast episodes, hosts Chad and Chris mention that a story has an opening that feels like a first draft/trial run for a truly classic opening. British comedian Charlie Brick might seem like a rerun of Charlie Dollar but his quirky comedian with an outrageous former showbiz mother feels like a dry run for Lenny and Alice Golden in Lucky.

Same goes with a cameo featuring two strippers (one beyond skinny, one hugely plump) brings to mind George I’s two mistresses from Hanover AND the groupies who hook up with Al King’s doomed son in Lovers and Gamblers. Sorry…spoiler alert I guess…

And yes, I DID just make a historical reference about a Jackie Collins novel. 

Ramblings aside, Sinners lives up to it’s name. It’s full of sin/scandal/sex. It’s also a difficult read if you’ve only read Jackie Collins 1980s and after.

Read Sinners if you MUST, but don’t come crying to me or asking for the $8 to replace the paperback at your local library.

 

 

A Romanov Fantasy: Life At the Court of Anna Anderson

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

If I said Anastasia what would you think? Would visions of snow and escape fill your heads? Would you hum the Anastasia Waltz under your breath. Would you remember an over the top 1980s mini-series (gotta love those 1980s mini-series) with Gold Digger Hall of Famer Amy Irving (the former Mrs Spielberg…girl got PAID! go Amy go!) as Anya/Anna/Anastasia?

Or are you the reasonable person who pauses the streaming video on their iPad, rolls their eyes and carefully explains to the lesser mind that “DNA proved all the Imperial was killed/found now go back to your Judge Judy and Dunkee Cup”. For some reason Blacklight is all “hey! What’s wrong with Judge Judy and Dunkee Cup?”. Whatever.

Nerd or believer it still doesn’t change the fact that for over sixty years a woman with severe problems claimed that she was the only survivor of that long ago night. And people believed her believed her. Heck people even believed her when she was living in a hoarder house of horrors. Frances Welch has done an excellent job of telling the story of Anna Anderson. The two biggest faults? The pictures are tiny and the covers are too close together. Oh and it was beyond hard to drag my attention away from the story back to work when my break was over. And that’s the worst I can say.

If any book cries out for an update it’s this one. And I mean update in a good way. Just slam in an extra chapter or two about the revelations since 2007 and you can close the book on Anna Anderson (SPOILER: bish ain’t no Romanov, bish be crazeee ladeee). Can we get Frances Welch and her publishers to make this happen? Pretty please?