Monday, February 28, 2011

Poetry Monday

It's not that I dislike's just that Dorothy Parker was so good at writing poems that tend to bash them about a bit.....

Chant For Dark Hours

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a

Book shop.

(Lady, make your mind up, and wait your life away.)

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a

Crap game.

(He said he'd come at moonrise, and here's another day!)

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a


(Wait about, and hang about, and that's the way it goes.)

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a


(Heaven never send me another one of those!)

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a

Golf course.

(Read a book, and sew a seam, and slumber if you can.)

Some men, some men

Cannot pass a


(All your life you wait around for some damn man!)

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Take A Chance On Me- Jill Mansell

Take a Chance on Me

This was another fun mind candy read. Cleo and Abbie are sisters in a small village- Cleo is perpetually single, has finally settled in a career as a driver for hire, and recently discovered that her current boyfriend is a married rat with kids. Oh, and her childhood nemesis, Johnny, has returned to the village after the death of his father and seems intent on worming his way into her life. Abbie has been wondering why her husband seems so preoccpied lately, discovers the secret he's been keeping from her, and completely falls apart while trying valiantly to keep it together. Add in Ash, the DJ next door, Fia (the rat boyfriend's soon-to-be-ex-wife) and a whole host of other issues, and you get an entertaining, if slightly predictable, story.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Poetry Monday

I love Shel Silverstein. He's one of the first poets I remember reading. I had to memorize this poem for a drama class I took.


Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Would not take the garbage out!

She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,

Candy the yams and spice the hams,

And though her daddy would scream and shout,

She simply would not take the garbage out.

And so it piled up to the ceilings:

Coffee grounds, potato peelings,

Brown bananas, rotten peas,

Chunks of sour cottage cheese.

It filled the can, it covered the floor,

It cracked the window and blocked the door

With bacon rinds and chicken bones,

Drippy ends of ice cream cones,

Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,

Gloopy glumps of cold oatmeal,

Pizza crusts and withered greens,

Soggy beans and tangerines,

Crusts of black burned buttered toast,

Gristly bits of beefy roasts...

The garbage rolled on down the hall,

It raised the roof, it broke the wall...

Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,

Globs of gooey bubble gum,

Cellophane from green baloney,

Rubbery blubbery macaroni,

Peanut butter, caked and dry,

Curdled milk and crusts of pie,

Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,

Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,

Cold French fries and rancid meat,

Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.

At last the garbage reached so high

That finally it touched the sky.

And all the neighbors moved away,

And none of her friends would come to play.

And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,

"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"

But then, of course, it was too late...

The garbage reached across the state,

From New York to the Golden Gate.

And there, in the garbage she did hate,

Poor Sarah met an awful fate,

That I cannot right now relate

Because the hour is much too late.

But children, remember Sarah Stout

And always take the garbage out!

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Speak the Culture: Britain: Be Fluent in British Life and Culture

Product Details

I really enjoyed this volume. It's not meant to be read straight through- best to read a chapter or two at a time and digest the information. (ok, I read fast) A quick look at different aspects of British culture ranging from the basic history of the nation to literature, fashion, and more, you get a solid foundation from which you can seek out more knowledge as you desire. Some of the margin notes are hysterical. The author had/has a good sense of humor.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Poetry Monday

Dorothy Parker strikes again!

Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold

And he cares not what comes after.

His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,

And his eyes are lit with laughter.

He is jubilant as a flag unfurled --

Oh, a girl, she'd not forget him.

My own dear love, he is all my world, --

And I wish I'd never met him.

My love, he's mad, and my love, he's fleet,

And a wild young wood-thing bore him!

The ways are fair to his roaming feet,

And the skies are sunlit for him.

As sharply sweet to my heart he seems

As the fragrance of acacia.

My own dear love, he is all my dreams, --

And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,

And he makes no friends of sorrows.

He'll tread his galloping rigadoon

In the pathway of the morrows.

He'll live his days where the sunbeams start,

Nor could storm or wind uproot him.

My own dear love, he is all my heart, --

And I wish somebody'd shoot him.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Black is The New White

Black Is the New White

While some may argue that Mooney's comedy is harsh and can even be considered racist, I think of him as a genius. I can appreciate and relate to his skewed sense of humor. This book is a look at his career and the men and women he's worked with, most notably, Richard Pryor. It was also a good excuse for me to go look for some of my old VHS collection to find the bits of his acts I recorded, back in the day.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Poetry Monday

Today we visit the land of Ogden Nash:

Common Cold

Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!

You shall not sneer at me.

Pick up your hat and stethoscope,

Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;

I contemplate a joy exquisite

I'm not paying you for your visit.

I did not call you to be told

My malady is a common cold.

By pounding brow and swollen lip;

By fever's hot and scaly grip;

By those two red redundant eyes

That weep like woeful April skies;

By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;

By handkerchief after handkerchief;

This cold you wave away as naught

Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!

Give ear, you scientific fossil!

Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;

The Cold of which researchers dream,

The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.

This honored system humbly holds

The Super-cold to end all colds;

The Cold Crusading for Democracy;

The F├╝hrer of the Streptococcracy.

Bacilli swarm within my portals

Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,

But bred by scientists wise and hoary

In some Olympic laboratory;

Bacteria as large as mice,

With feet of fire and heads of ice

Who never interrupt for slumber

Their stamping elephantine rumba.

A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!

Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;

Don Juan was a budding gallant,

And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;

The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,

And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.

Oh what a derision history holds

For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!

(And, yes, I have given a copy of this poem to my doctor...which might explain the distinct lack of sympathy I get when I call and whine about not feeling well.)

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

India Knight- The Shops

The Shops

As you may have surmised, I am a total Anglophile. I love books about Britain, set in Britain, and British authors. I also have a lesser known fondness for shopping (when in the right mood) and pampering/amusing myself. For some reason, reading about how other people do this is equally fascinating to me. India Knight was kind enough to fill a book with her personal choices for the best of many shopping moods, telling you where to shop and what she recommends you buy. As she states, everyone has different tastes, so you may have different tastes, but she's given me enough ideas that I can't wait for my next trip to England. Not only am I going book shopping, I'm going to look for a few of India's suggestions! (BTW- she does also give websites for those who are interested. I'm probably gonig to be checking a few of those out too!)