BookBin2012: Lair of the White Worm

~ lobablanca

Once more to the Kindle! After re-reading Dracula and delighting in it as much as I did my first go-round, I decided that I wanted to read more by Mr. Stoker. Sifting through the free library, I found his 1911 novel Lair of the White Worm. I already knew about this novel and, in fact, had used a play on its title as the name of my first Web site, The Lair of the White Wolf. It seemed like a no-brainer that this should then be my second Stoker experience.

This is, quite possibly, one of the worst things I have ever read. I wish I could say otherwise, but I have nothing kind to say about this book. It’s discordant, rambling, unfocused, can’t decide what story it wants to tell or what genre it wants to be. Is it a battle of wills? Is it a cursed family? Is it a monster story?

The only bit of consistency that it had for a while was the consistent use of a particular racial epithet in regard to a Black servant to one of the primary characters. I was glad when he was killed if only to stop the appearance of this particular word on my Kindle screen, especially as I read a large portion of this book while sitting in airports or on planes. Had I known Stoker had such a propensity for this particular word, I would have chosen a different book to slog through in such public places!

Oh, by the way, sorry for the character death spoiler. Trust me, though, you don’t want to read this novel. It’s terrible. I tried so very hard to come up with a more balanced review, but it simply isn’t within me.

Upon doing a bit of research on the free Kindle version I read, I did learn that this is the abridged 1925 release of the story. Apparently, 100 pages were removed and there were some rewrites. I can’t imagine that this story was actually 100 pages longer; at its abridged length, it felt like it would never end. I also can’t imagine that those 100 pages made the story make any more sense or seem any less ridiculous. It was probably nothing more than another 100 opportunities for Stoker to write the N word.

Needless to say, I won’t be seeking out the unabridged version. I think if I tried to read this story again, I would lose all respect for Bram Stoker as a writer. I’d rather that not happen.

I know that Ken Russell made a movie based on Stoker’s novel, back in 1988. His Lair of the White Worm stars Amanda Donohoe and Hugh Grant. I might have to rent that, simply for the inevitable camp factor.

Final Verdict: I don’t think I have ever deleted a file more quickly or more gleefully.

Everyone Needs an Editor: Dalmations

~ LobaBlanca

Um, hey, guys? Guys? You’re Disney, right? The Disney, as in Disney who made the cartoon 101 Dalmatians? Shouldn’t you, of all companies, know how to spell Dalmatian?

In case you’re keeping track, this would be another pet peeve misspelling of mine, probably because 101 Dalmatians is one of my favorite Disney cartoons. How do you not love spotty puppies? Or Cruella De Vil, one of the least subtly named villains ever conceived?

BookBin2012: Reunion

~ lobablanca

I came here to write a review of another book I recently finished, but soon realized that I never completed my round of reviews from my last library trip. My mother was right: I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.

Ah well. Better late than never, right?

I alluded to this book in my review of Alan Lightman’s Ghost: A Novel. Even though my initial excitement regarding Lightman diminished slightly from Einstein’s Dreams to Ghost, I was still enamored enough of his style and the way his mind processed ideas that I wanted to read more. Reunion was the only other Lightman novel in stock at the local library, so I quickly added it to my stack.

Yet again, I find myself visiting the concept/complaint of the “well-worn trope.” There is no new thing under the sun and certain stories have been and will continue to be retold until the end of existence itself. One of these stories is that of time travel, of returning to a place, a person, a moment in our pasts and…what? Changing it? Reliving it? Erasing it? Cherishing it?

In Reunion, Lightman takes his protagonist

Come On, Baby, Light My Fire

~ lobablanca

Admiral, this one’s for you.

I nearly brought an end to LobaBlanca this weekend, through hot sauce-induced self-immolation.

Okay, that might be a tad bit hyperbolic…but it sure felt like the truth while it was happening.

Allow me to set the scene: To satiate a craving for barbecue that I’ve been fighting for a while, we decided to have lunch at a local barbecue chain that does some pretty decent brisket and pulled pork. As part of my plate, I ordered a side of collard greens. The only way I know how to eat greens is with hot sauce. If you’ve never tried it, you simply don’t know what you’re missing.

Mind you, I love spicy food. I will add hot sauce to practically anything, but I particularly love it on collard greens. Therefore, I didn’t think twice about going over to the condiment shelf and looking for an appropriate hot sauce. Several of the bottles had kitschy labels like “Fart Machine” or “Ass in a Bucket.” I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bring myself to select these options. Kitsch or not, anything pertaining to someone’s posterior is simply not appetizing at all.

Dogs, however, are always the way to hook me in. I’m a sucker for a cute dog cartoon, especially a cute, smiling dog in a chef’s hat…which is what was on the bottle of Mad Dog 357 Magnum that I ended up choosing. Because of the dog on the bottle.

BAD DOG. BAD, BAD DOG.

I opened the bottle, poured what I thought was an appropriate amount of hot sauce over my greens, and stirred it all up to give everything a chance to marry. I’d mostly mixed it, but there was still a nice, shiny dollop of sauce (about the size of a chocolate M&M) right on the top. So I scooped up that section of greens and popped them into my mouth.

Have you ever wondered what it might feel like to carry Satan’s baby inside you? I don’t have to wonder anymore. See, what I learned (regrettably too late) was that the 357 in the name stood for this sauce’s level on the infamous Scoville Scale.

No, not 357 on the scale. More like 357,000.

357,000. You can see it right there, printed on the label. I would have seen it if I’d been paying more attention to the words and less attention to the cute Hell Hound.

I think the highest range to which my preferred spiciness has heretofore reached is maybe…maybe into the 100,000 range on the Scoville Scale. (I do loves me some Thai chili peppers).

The scale range of this hot sauce? I can’t say with absolute certainty since I’ve never actually been stabbed in the stomach, but I think this is as close to such a feeling as I ever want to experience.

AND I NEVER WANT TO EXPERIENCE THIS AGAIN.

It started out okay, slightly hotter than what I was used to, but not too terrible. This is a slow build of the worst kind. Next came the tears, trickling out of my eyes uncontrollably. Next, my lips turned the brightest shade of red they have ever turned. It was like I was spontaneously transforming into Pennywise the Clown. Without the awesome fangs, of course. Then came the myriad trips to the soda fountain, for water refill after water refill after water refill…to the point where I just wanted to shove everyone out of my way, wrap my mouth around the spigot, and flick the switch until the hell fire brewing in my gut melted the entire machine.

Then came the true agony. I struggled through the rest of my lunch (minus the collard greens, which had gone from tasty side dish to cruel and unusual punishment that should be banned by the Geneva Conventions), but when I stood to leave, I was struck by searing pain. My first thought? Oh dear prophets, that hot sauce is eating its way through my stomach! Ironically, my second, third, and many subsequent thoughts were the same.

It was horrible. And unending. And nearly unbearable. As long as I was sitting, I was somewhat fine. Movement, however, made the earlier knife wound analogy seem almost preferable. This was like that creepy “intestines wound around a barbed spool” scene from The Cell. Although honestly? I think having my intestines reeled out of my body onto a barbed spool might have been slightly less painful. This pain took the better part of Saturday evening to finally recede to a point where I could once again stand upright.

What lesson did I learn? READ THE LABEL. Don’t be swayed by the cutesy dog cartoon. The cutesy dog is actually trying to kill you, especially when he appears above the words “MAD DOG.” I also learned that there is a distinct limit to my own personal enjoyment of hot sauce. This surpassed that limit by about a thousand light years.

Here’s a review of Mad Dog 357 Magnum. Please note that I’m one of the doofuses (doofi?), not for want of showing off but for lack of general awareness.

See, Admiral? We all make spicy mistakes 😉

Photo Fun Friday: Twister

~ lobablanca

Someone really should take away my PhotoShop access when I’m in moods like this…

So, today saw the release of a movie based on the board game Battleship. You know, as in “You sank my battleship!” The game was all about strategy and intellect and cunning. The movie is apparently all about aliens and splosions.

Viva la…whatever. I never really was a Battleship fan. Connect Four was more my kind of game. But today’s movie release got me thinking: What will the next board game-based piffle will they think up next? Someone already beat me to the movie/board game crossover that I was initially going to do. Really, though, this one is simply perfect, and perfectly hilarious.

So I went with another of those perennial sleepover favorites, Twister! I actually used to love to play Twister. That sexy PVC smell will still take me right back, either to opening up the Twister box or the black vampire cape from my favorite Halloween costume. I’m by no means bendy like a pretzel, but I could keep up with the demands of that little cardboard and plastic spinner, regardless of the bizarre combinations it would come up with.

But what would a movie based on the game be like? Honestly, I’ve no clue, denizens. Then again, I couldn’t really imagine what a movie based on Battleship would be about either. Those Hollywood folk are just way sharper than I’ll ever be.

I could, however, envision what the poster would look like. It would have to be a horror movie, of course. With a name like Twister, it would only be a horror movie or a stupid action movie based on a meteorological event, complete with CGI cows being blown around. Who’d want to watch that?

Hmm.

Anyway, it was…interesting try to come up with the components for this latest PhotoShop trickery. First thing I learned? Do not type in “dead body” into Google Image Search. Just don’t. Best bet for a dead body-type image? Look for people who have passed out. Preferably from alcohol consumption. Second thing? It’s really hard to find a photo of a Twister mat without people standing on it! Stupid narcissists!

If any of you is particularly inspired by this image and has a brilliant idea for a story line, by all means, go for it! If it’s clever enough, I’ll let you use my poster idea. If it’s not clever, please don’t blame me. I just come up with the warped imagery…I can’t be held accountable for what you all do with it once it’s out there…

Getting Sacked

~ LobaBlanca

While driving home from a weekend stay in the great hate state of North Carolina, we spent a large portion of the journey past Richmond being treated to a view of the back-end of a “dualy”

Photo Fun Friday: Community Coffee House

~ LobaBlanca

Other than being re-sized for posting, this photo is completely unaltered in any way:

A rarity, indeed, denizens. Typically, I always do something to my photos before posting them, whether it be something simple like cropping it in a certain way or tweaking the color levels, or something…a bit more dramatic.

I can’t help myself. I am a PhotoShop devotee, to the very depth of my CMYK/RGB soul.

That being said, the moment I saw this photo, I loved it just as it was, without one plea. We’d gone out walking early on Sunday morning, our last full day in New Orleans (in case you were wondering, that’s part of the reason I barely made it to the lair in April…prep work followed by onsite support for a conference in the Big Easy, after which I played tourist for a few days).

It was already in the mid-70s and the sun was just reaching the point where it could cast its light down into the magnificent maze of the French Quarter. We were already heading to a place for breakfast, but I couldn’t resist stopping and filling my lungs with the scent of coffee wafting from this corner Community Coffee House.

As I stood, watching the light cast shadows of street lamps and signage against the wall, I was struck by how so many of the aspects of New Orleans that I love were right there in front of me: the cast-iron quaintness of the lamp posts; the bilingual street signs, each pointing us deeper into the tangle of delights that the Quarter willingly offers up to everyone who wanders through; the local brew house, churning out yet another delicious aroma to cancel out Bourbon Street’s unseemlier smells; the strong glow of sunlight, pouring down on it all, bright and bounteous.

The entire tableau made me so happy that I couldn’t resist snapping a shot before moving along to our breakfast destination. I didn’t even review the shot after taking it…simply slung the camera back over my shoulder and ambled on down the Rue Royale, thoughts of coffee and fried green tomatoes and biscuits and gravy taking precedence once more.

Imagine my surprise when I finally saw the shot.

True, the longer I look at it, the more ideas flood my mind regarding what I could do with it in PhotoShop…age it, fade it, bolster the color, crack it, rip it…the temptation is engulfing. However, for this post, I give it to you in its simplest, truest form.

BookBin2012: My Life as a Man

~ lobablanca

I have to confess this to you, denizens: I’m severely confused by this book. See, the reason that I checked out Frederic Lindsay’s My Life as a Man was because the cover stated it was a thriller and scarier than Satan’s nightmares. Or something like that. Point is, it was supposed to be a chilling thrill ride, which sounds precisely like something I wanted to read.

There was nothing chilling, thrilling, or, ultimately, fulfilling about this story at all, denizens. I suppose as a coming-of-age story, it succeeded in being different. The problem, however, is that I wasn’t sold just a coming-of-age tale. I was sold “The scariest coming-of-age story you’re likely to read. Lindsay will scare the bejesus out of you.”

So wrote Kirkus Book Reviews.

Apparently, bejesus no longer lives inside me, because he certainly wasn’t scared out by this book.

I will grant Lindsay this: He had an interesting hook for the start of his novel. After being fired after only a week at his factory job, 18-year-old Harry Glass decides that it would be a good idea to leave the factory for the last time in his former boss’s car. Only problem is that the former boss’s wife is in the car. They go back and forth for a little while before deciding to keep going…then they realize there’s something in the trunk of the car that certain dangerous people might want back…then they end up with this really odd couple who might be married or might be siblings…or might be both…and hilarity thus ensues.

I honestly kept expecting things to get interesting, especially when our daring duo end up in the hills with the questionably related creepy farmers. The cover wouldn’t lie to me, would it?

Yes. Yes, it would.

Final Verdict: Back to the library you are sent. I have no interest in ever reliving my life as a man.

BookBin2012: Ghost: A Novel

~ lobablanca

I actually have a few recently finished books waiting in the wings for their big blog review debut. I’m hoping that now that my schedule is slowly clearing itself, I’ll have a little more time to work on them.

Hopefully not too much time though. Ahem.

Now, on to the first review. I read Alan Lightman’s novel Einstein’s Dreams last year and loved it so much that I knew I wanted to read more by this author. I was, therefore, pleasantly surprised when I discovered two more of his books at my local library.

The first of these two books that I read was Lightman’s 2007 offering, Ghost: A Novel. The story follows protagonist David Kurtzweil, a former bank employee who, after being laid off, finds new employment at a funeral home. As one can easily deduce from the title, David has an inexplicable encounter of a possibly paranormal variety while at his new place of employment.

Actually, one of the things that I loved most about this book was that Lightman doesn’t at first reveal what David saw. He keeps David’s experience a mystery, alluding to it, circumnavigating it, flirting with it…but never quite meeting it face-to-face. It takes a delicate touch to be able to write a novel called Ghost without actually discussing…the ghost.

Unfortunately, Lightman does finally reveal what David witnessed, and I have to admit, it was a bit of a letdown to me. I think it’s because I was hoping that Lightman would simply not reveal what David saw. I think the further along the story progressed and the longer Lightman remained vague, the more I was convinced that the novel could only possibly work if the reveal never occurred. Perhaps that was my own failing as a reader. I don’t know.

I do know that Lightman once again enraptured me with his clean, elegant prose. His style is stark and simple, extremely reminiscent of Hemingway in many ways.

Unlike Einstein’s Dreams, this novel is a little less stream-of-consciousness, far more regimented, and a lot longer. Perhaps a bit too long. I found myself growing weary of some of the plot twists toward the end, but, again, this might be a reflection of my response to the reveal that I had hoped would never arrive.

Final Verdict: I don’t know whether or not I would ever want to re-read this book. While I very much enjoyed the experience on a holistic level, the devil is, indeed, in the details…and the few negatives that I have detailed in this review are enough to convince me not to purchase a copy, but to keep this in mind for a future library revisit.

I still think that Lightman is very much worth reading. I still treasure the experience of reading Einstein’s Dreams, and I promise that the next Lightman book that I review here will be a much more ebullient posting than this one.