Yes, my life currently is a song by The Hold Steady. Nights at the bar now involve nicknames and practical jokes about STDs, twin sister strippers who make out with each other and everyone else, beers poured without asking, boys who fawn over my tattoos, and still no one I'd want to wake up to in the morning finally a boy who calls when he says he will.
He likes the warm feeling but he's tired of all the dehydration. Most nights were crystal clear but tonite it's like we're stuck between stations --The Hold Steady
Sometimes I get stuck in a comic book rut. You know, when you read too many comic books all in a row, and then your brain can only think in those picture panels and snippets of dialogue. Happens to me all the time.
I usually start to ache for a novel pretty badly, once I've run through my comic book supply. The problem is, most novels are too long, too stodgy-sounding, too dull for my brain at this point. It also doesn't help if I've been gorging on good tv...
Enter the Midnighters series. These books always come to my rescue in moments like this. I wandered around the library aimlessly a few days ago, until I spotted book number three of this trilogy, and knew it would be perfect for digging my way out of the comic book rut.
This book was just as amazing as the rest of the series, plus bonus points for the ending. These characters absolutely live inside me now. I wish there were more books on the way. I don't want this world to end.
by Brian K. Vaughan, Adrian Alphona, et al. (2006)
Would you be surprised if I said I breezed through this volume in one morning? I was never a tights and cape kind of girl, but now I'm finding myself strangely addicted to superhero fights and battle cries ("Try not to die"). And this volume left me wanting to know what happens next pretty badly.
This book collects twenty years of Codrescu's writings on New Orleans, starting in 1985 and taking us all the way up to the present. Only four short pieces focus on the city after Katrina (and they are, I think, the weakest of the bunch).
Codrescu, who contributes every once in a while to NPR, turns a poetic eye on his adopted city, and it suits the myth of NOLA well. Those of us who never saw the city before the big storm will never really know if things were the way he presents them. But it's fun to imagine that they were.
As a joke, at the Thrashers' last regular season game against Tampa Bay, I started yelling at the ice, "Shut up, Lacavalier! Don't be such a hottie!" It might be one of those you-had-to-be-there things, but the phrase has become a common refrain now. Frequent targets include: all the boys on Smallville, Sydney Crosby, our favorite bartender at the pub, and absolutely NO ONE playing for the Rangers.
Tonight's the Thrashers first playoff game. Like first ever. I've got great tickets, friends who are being honored (or laughed at) on the Jumbotron, posters to make, and lots of celebrating to do.
And the target of today's "Don't be such a hottie!" refrain? Kari Lehtonen, of course. Word is he had blue hair at yesterday's practice, but it's gone tonight for the game. Wouldn't want to give Sean Avery anything to make fun of our boys about.
Jenny says I'm fully allowed to start a fight with a Rangers fan after the game. I almost got kicked out of the pub last night for talking trash to the owner, who grew up with the Rangers. Apparently the amount of serious that people think I am is directly proportional to the amount of F-words I use. Got to watch out for that in the future.
This collection was nowhere near as consistent as Dreams Underfoot, the first book of Newford stories that I read (and loved). Still, de Lint hits a lot of notes that resonate with me. I'd already read the last story presented here, "Seven Wild Sisters" (my library had a copy of the version illustrated by Charles Vess); it's a fun romp through Appalachian storytelling. Plus I love any mention of fiddlers. That's probably why my favorite story out of this book was "Ten for the Devil," which also got bonus points for featuring Robert Johnson.
Yeah. It's just about the only thing I can concentrate on at the moment. Jenny and I watched the Sabres pretty much help themselves to the Eastern conference title last night--but really we were only tuned in for Sydney Crosby. Well, and Jordan Staal.
Actually we were watching with one eye on the other score listings. Last night could have been great for the Thrashers, but unfortunately Tampa Bay beat Carolina. This means Atlanta can't clinch the division title tonight against Washington.
My guess? It's going to be down to the wire for the Southeast division title. I'd love to see us clinch it before Saturday, but really, I'd also like to see us battle it out with Tampa Bay for that third slot in the playoffs. Those are the kinds of games that go down in history. Those are the kinds of games that cause fights on Marta on the way home.