World of B

Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby

I won’t give away any plot details of Juliet, Naked, since that would ruin most of the fun, but I will say that it’s vintage Hornby through and through. A simple, quirky love story made great due to the author’s understated wit and observational skills. The book reads like a well-crafted romantic comedy, and I’m counting down the days until it hits the multiplex. A humorous, affecting read. Grade: B+

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo / The Girl Who Played With Fire, by Stieg Larsson

These are so not my type of books. A crime mystery series, action-oriented, little concern with character development, slave to the story, forever pushing forward. I’m a fan of character-driven books, this is a plot-heavy trilogy (the finale will be released in May).

That said, I have to admit both books were nearly impossible to put down. The plots are so thick, so multi-dimensional and gripping, that I was near-obsessed with getting to the end. Even a hipster snob like myself can admit this is a thoroughly entertaining series. Can’t wait for May. Grade: B+

The Unnamed, by Joshua Ferris

I’ll admit my bias straight away: Joshua Ferris’s debut novel “Then We Came to the End” has been my favorite book of the last three years. Safe to say I was pumped to read Ferris’s sophomore effort.

It’s also safe to say I was surprised to realize “The Unnamed” was a complete departure — in mood, in style, in themes — from the author’s first book.

Ferris’s latest is about a man stricken with a mysterious illness that requires him to walk until he is no longer able, eventually collapsing from exhaustion to fall asleep wherever he lands. The book opens with him in remission, but soon enough he relapses.

It’s a quirky story, but told with the utmost grace and respect. There are no jokes, no poking fun, no attempt to demonstrate any larger meaning to the protagonist’s unique struggle. It’s a simple, tragic story of one man’s affliction and his family’s attempt to help him.

“The Unnamed” absolutely floored me. The story was both precise (I read every last word) and detailed, but what affected me the most was the ambitious idea and themes of love and survival. It’s the book version of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a Charlie Kaufmann idea with an Eggers-like execution. It’s unspeakably tragic, yet at times uplifting.

With this novel, Ferris has unseated his own book to climb to the top of my recent favorite books. Could not recommend it more. Grade: A (And yes, I realize I just ruined it for you by inflating your expectations to an unreachable degree. My bad.)

As made obvious in the post title, below are a few reviews of the most recent books I have read. Would love your book recommendations in the comments, if you’d be so kind.

“We Need to Talk About Kevin” by Lionel Shriver

A novel written via first-person perspective from a too-smart, fussy, elitist mother whose son has committed a Columbine-like mass murder, this one is initially tough to get into, mostly because the protagonist is a mostly unlikable character. But it picks up, slowly and surely, and builds to a thrilling, spooky conclusion as the reader pieces together what actually happened and why. A bit wordy at times, and one of the seemingly millions of books that provides its characters a ridiculously over-eloquent vocabulary, but well worth the minor flaws. After the halfway point, it’s tough to put down. Grade: B+

“Homeland” by Sam Lipsyte

A caustic, funny story of a  remorseless thirtysomething loser writing letters to his high school alumni magazine detailing how lame his adult life has become, “Homeland” is a snappy read of ridiculous scenarios told by an unapologetic dickhead. At times hilarious, and incredibly well-written, but not substantive enough to be one of my favorites. Grade: B

“Trudy Hopedale” by Jeffrey Frank

I picked up “Trudy” because a previous Frank  novel “The Columnist” remains one of my very favorite books. “Trudy” is written in a similar tone — set in D.C., detailing the travails of political wanna-bes brimming with confidence yet lacking even a modicum self-awareness. Strong satire and fast-moving plot, but again, nothing too substantial here. Good, not great. Grade: B-

“Bridge of Sighs” by Richard Russo

“Bridge of Sighs” is Russo at his very best. The plot surrounds an old man recalling his life from a young age up to the present, with occasional chapters devoted to first-person POVs from other characters. The small town, reflective nature of the content gave it a “Wonder Years”-like mood, but with such incredible character depth. It’s a bit long at 500+ pages, but Russo balances detail with pacing like no other. I don’t care if I lose my Uptown cred for saying this, but Richard Russo may just be my favorite author. Grade: A-

“The Story of Edgar Sawtelle” by David Wroblewski

On the surface, “Edgar Sawtelle” is nowhere near my cup o’ tea. It’s slow. Long. Not modern. Not funny in the least. About a subject matter — dog breeding — that I couldn’t care less about.

All that acknowledged, I have to corroborate most other reviews that the last 75 pages are insanely gripping. I’m not sure it was worth the almost 500 pages leading up to it, and I’m still terribly conflicted about the ending, but it was an undeniable page-turner at the end. That’s saying something. Grade: B+

I’m only featuring one link for you fine readers today, since it’s chockfull of awesome and contains about a hundred links to further awesomeness within its depths. I’m talking about Reason’s “The Top 10 Most Absurd Time Covers of The Past 40 Years.” I implore you to read, and do so by promising the magazine covers are even more absurd than you think.

Pretty sure this is my frontrunner for article of the year thus far. Yep, that good.

If I were to create a list of my most infuriating pet peeves, the people constantly spouting off those “life was better in the past” rants would be near the very top, likely trailing only “loud chewers.” For those unaware of this annoying line of thinking, ask anyone over 40 what they think about text messaging, hip-hop and innovative baseball statistics and you’ll see what I mean. Anything new or different or outside their comfort zone automatically makes it worthless new-age crap.

These wistful folk are apparently allergic to advancement of knowledge or evolution in any way. You could invent a device that would cure the common cold, and within seconds they’d be rocking on their front porch swing saying that the kids these days are bunch of pussies because they’ll never had to deal with the sniffles like they did. To these nostalgic a-holes, even the bad stuff was great.

I suppose it’s natural for the old folk to hold an unjust belief that life was so much better back when they were young, when they had the world by the short hairs and their whole bright future ahead of them (even though the generation before them claimed theirs was the generation sure to ruin society). But it’s these blind claims of generational superiority that piss me off the most. It’s stupidity bordering on the delusional.

Look, gray-hairs, we know you wish you could return to your sprightly formative years. Your worsening vision, loss of hair, jiggle chin and inability to control your facilities pretty much makes that a given. I’m sure I’ll feel the exact same someday when I’m working my way into a pair of geriatric diaps. But you need to cool it with the attitude that life was actually better back in the day. Know why?

Because it wasn’t.

We’ve known this all along, of course; that life keeps getting better in every measurable sense with each generation. But I was presented with fact after fact of this truth when finally getting around to reading Gregg Easterbrook’s “The Progress Paradox” recently. The book explores the life improvements throughout time and the corresponding happiness levels. Interesting read.

For someone like me, who has a near meltdown every time this ridiculous, pining for yesteryear, “back in my day” thought is voiced, this book provided every fact I’ve ever needed to callously (and, likely, disrespectfully) shoot down every argument concerning a superior past. Life sucked more, and no one was any happier. OK?

For those of you interested in boning up, here are all the facts you need to make your grandparents cry (all cited in the book, and though the book was written in ’03, my initial research has shown the facts remain currently true):

{+}  The 2002 homicide rate in New York City was the exact same as it was in 1963.

{+}  The liberal regions in the United States suffer less crime (and especially murder) than the conservative ones.

{+}  Use of illegal drugs has been dropping for two decades.

{+} Alcohol consumption in the U.S. has declined so much that it’s among the lowest of all Western nations.

{+}  Cigarette use among teens is as low as it’s been since the 1920s.

{+}  The divorce rate in the U.S. began flattening in the mid-90s and is now in a modest decline.

{+} The percentage of children living with both parents has been steadily increasing (this includes African-American households as well, for you racists out there).

{+}  Teen pregnancy has been dropping drastically in recent years (teenage abortion rate has also dropped at the same or better pace).

{+}  IQ scores have risen about 20 percent in recent years, a number that has remained steady throughout racial and gender breakdowns.

{+}  The black poverty rate continues to decrease with every passing year; most of the credit has been given to a 1996 “workfare” legislation.

{+}  The child poverty rate is the lowest it’s been in a generation.

{+}  A person living in 1850 was twice as likely to be sued as they are today, making the belief that lawsuits and lawyers taking over daily life today a myth.

{+}  The typical number of meals eaten together between parents and children in the U.S. hasn’t changed since the nineteen century.

{+}  In 1924, only 60 percent of fathers spent an hour a day with their children; that statistic today is 83 percent.

{+}  Global poverty has dropped more in the past 50 years than it did in the thousand years before.

{+}  Global population is only increasing due to longer life spans, not increasing childbirth. Childbirth around the world, including developing world nations, has been cut almost in half. So, your theory that the population is increasing is due to welfare-receiving idiots popping out a dozen kids with no regard for raising them? Wrong.

I’ll conclude this post with a chapter-ending passage from the book: “Americans speak of the 1950s as a Golden Age, a time of affordable life and a simpler, unsullied ethos. Yet in real dollars almost everything costs less today than it did then, health care is light-years better, three times as many people now make it to college, and the simpler, more innocent ethos of the 1950s denied the vote to blacks and job opportunities to women.”

That is damn near perfection. Sorry, old-timers, your outlook has been totally and utterly obliterated. Guess it’s back to bitching about text messaging.

Say, fellow bookworms, do you love reading but receive too few book recommendations? Wait, am I the only voracious reader traversing this corner of the interweb? I’ll just continue typing to myself anyway, if you don’t mind.

Essential publication The Morning News has released its annual “Tournament of Books” contest, with the reviewers comparing 16 books in a March Madness-like format to eventually deem a winner. Previous year entries include such recommended fare as “Then We Came to the End,” “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,” “On Beauty” and more.

As you can see, these geeks have got some admirable taste. Consider this your official source for future reading material.

The last of the book reviews from my 2008 Resolution Challenge (25 books, 50 movies). I ended up reading over 30. Let’s see if I can type up this post while simultaneously patting myself on the back.

I Love You, Beth Cooper, by Larry Doyle

Written by one of the writers of “The Simpsons,” I Love You, Beth Cooper is a teenage humor novel that adopts an arc similar to Sixteen Candles, with the nerdy kid from high school setting his sights on Miss Popular. The plot is cartoonishly dramatic – e.g. instead of breaking up a housefight, someone drives a car through the front window and threatens to run over the bully, etc. – and thus, not exactly my cup of tea. While it’s a solid gift recommendation for a teen, most of us adults looking to scratch that high school novel itch might want to check out King Dork, one of my favorites. Grade: C+

McSweeney’s Book of Book Jokes

Satire for smart people, most of the collection of super-short pieces will only make sense if you’re versed in literary classics like Shakespeare, War and Peace, et al. I’m a voracious reader, and out-and-out bookworm, and even I had to skip roughly half the stories due to my reference-point ignorance. A great read for the brainiacs, though, as the quick-hit pieces offered were sharp and spot-on. Grade: B

Boys Will Be Boys, by Jeff Pearlman

The quintessential “athletes are completely insane” book, Boys Will Be Boys recounts the behavior exhibited by the mid-90s Dallas Cowboys. We’re talking ladies, drugs, the whole debauchery-filled nine yards. A stellar read for anyone even remotely interested in football or the lives of professional athletes.

Here’s the thing: whenever I read a book, I dog-ear certain pages or passages that I want to reread later. I’ll say this, I’ve never dog-eared so many pages before. Not even close. Here are a few memorable learnings I feel compelled to pass on.

- Jerry Jones is a total asshole. Mere days after he bought the team, he fired co-workers who’d been with the team for no good reason, via notes in their office. “Be out by 5 pm.” Ouch.

- We forget just how god-awful that Herschel Walker trade was. The Cowboys essentially received about ten draft picks for one decent starting running back.

- At his first NFL press conference, Emmett Smith showed up wearing bright purple shorts and a matching vest sprinkled with gold polka dots. Loafers with no socks and a white Cowboys hat. I’d say that pretty much sums up the fashion choices in the early ‘90s.

- Here is how much Don Shula didn’t respect the intelligence of his own son: as the Dolphins coach, he allowed Jimmy Johnson to recruit defensive coordinator Dave Wannstedt only if he took his son, then offensive coordinator, as well.

- Steve Beuerlein once held out during training camp with the Raiders, and Al Davis responded by signing him and putting him on the inactive list for the entire season. It’s nice to be reminded just why everyone thinks Davis is insane.

- Charles Haley apparently has a massive unit and loved walking around the locker room completely naked and, um, pleasuring himself. I’d get in to more, but I’m already nauseous.

- Haley also one time took a dump, walked into a film room, wiped his ass and threw the soiled toilet paper at a coach. This actually happened.

- Michael Irvin used to charge $10,000 to appear at charity basketball games.

- A Christmas gift Emmett Smith once gave to his teammates: a copy of his own autobiography.

There are about a hundred more tidbits I’d love to pass on, but it wouldn’t feel right. Go buy the book.  Grade: A-

The Dart League King, by Keith Lee Morris

The Dart League King is a short novel that takes place over one night in a small Idaho town. The story is told from a few different viewpoints as their mostly forgettable lives intersect during the town’s dart league championship. The plot covers drugs addictions, single parenting, accidental deaths and more. In other words: dark. Considering the tenseness and slight number of pages, I breezed through it in a couple days, but a semi-random ending left a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. Close to great. Grade: B

Jim the Boy, Tony Earley

Considered a bit of a classic in the “young-adult novel” category, Jim the Boy tells the story of a ten-year-old growing up with his mother and three uncles in the old south. He farms, he goes to school, etc. Simple American life. Fans of Where the Red Fern Grows and similar works of art will find this one right up their alley, but I’m not a huge fan of such tales of innocence. Wrong demo, I guess. Grade: B-

On Beauty, by Zadie Smith

On Beauty is a drama surrounding a biracial family of five dealing with life in adademia, race relations and the charged hormones of both the children and the parents. The writing is overly detailed – single conversations go on for tens of pages, no kidding – with a flair for the slang. Like Smith’s first novel White Teeth, the main challenge with On Beauty (464 pages) is simply getting through it. Smith creates such vivid characters, and no one can advance plots using just a conversation, but my enjoyment was compromised due to the over-detail. Grade: B

Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, by David Foster Wallace

I’ve tried to read this book twice before, but it never stuck. Maybe it’s the first chapter, a run-on sentence that goes on for three pages. Maybe it’s the following chapters that boil down to short first-person diatribes written by different sources that don’t relate to each other in the slightest. It may be genius – and judging from the praise showered on DFW seemingly agreeing he is the best writer of the generation, it must be – but the ethereal out-there-ness of the content left me confused and bored. Sorry. Grade: Incomplete (only got through half the book, and though I see that as a major accomplishment, I can’t offer a grade)

BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY

I had technically read – or at least started – this book many years ago, when I was about 12 and trying to impress my well-read uncle (now known as Cool Rut) and aunt with my budding hipster ideals. A few months ago I came across Bright Lights in a used bookstore, bought it, and devoured it in about two hours total. So short, so simple, so good.

It’s dated in a perfect sort of way – I’ve deemed it my favorite pop culture relic of the ‘80s, just ahead of The Breakfast Club, the moonwalk, and my first-day-of-fourth-grade outfit that consisted of a pair of flip-up glasses/sunglasses and one-strap overall shorts. Grade: A-

WHEN YOU ARE ENGULFED IN FLAMES

I’ll repeat a common critique of memoirists and their diminishing returns, which can be summed up by asking, “if this story is so great, why am I just hearing it now?” It seems Sedaris – once my favorite author – has cannonballed into the pool of ordinary. I read Engulfed, his latest, about two months ago, and besides a long essay about him trying to quit smoking, I can’t remember a single story. It’s a goddamn shame. Grade: C

THE SOUL OF BASEBALL

Everyone’s favorite baseball writer Joe Posnanski spent some time road-tripping with Buck O’Neil, an old but still with-it former Negro league player. Buck shares some insights about the game, mostly in a positive light, always entertaining. Enjoyable in its simplicity and love for the game; though I should mention that the first person I recommended this book to was my grandfather. Make do with that information what you will. Grade: B

THE NIGHT OF THE GUN

My obsession with the drug culture is admitted and ongoing, so I was a predetermined sucker for this book. Picture your standard drug memoir, strip out the chest-puffery, add in cold hard facts and the odd enjoyment of recognizing the names of local bars and neighborhoods you’ve actually visited, and there’s Night of the Gun for you.

No-nonsense, yet vivid writing from author David Carr, helps this transcend the tired genre into something both artistic and journalistically sound. Good stuff. Grade: B+

BALL FOUR

Noted by many as their all-time favorite baseball book, this goes on my list of “I can’t believe I’m just now getting into this” media. Ball Four is written by a former baseball player Jim Bouton in a diary format, detailing his 1970 season.

Ball Four was groundbreaking in that it wasn’t devoted to being an inspirational book for the kiddies, but rather a frank look at the life of a ballplayer in the late ‘60s. The hangovers, the fight with the general managers, the hopes of getting traded – it’s not fully devoted to the smut, but it still widened some eyes back in the day. (Though it doesn’t begin to compare with current tell-alls. Looking up women’s dresses? Where’s the heroin?) Grade: B

THE CONDITION

This is so not my kind of book. It’s an epic, generational family chronicle with nary a sarcastic comment to be found. No slick writing style, no jokes, no snark. That said, I have to admit: The Condition was damn near perfection. Not so much the writing – though it was flawless – but how the author so perfectly understands and describes the human condition. Family, relationships, jobs, sex, aging, disappointment – she just gets it, so perfectly, so profoundly, time and again.

A few excerpts hit so close to home I nearly got goosebumps. Like this one: “Their marriage was a sack of miseries he never sought to escape. She was insecure and jealous, vain and neurotic. Unmoved by logic, she judged him guilty of offenses he committed only in dreams.” Admit it, you’ve either dated someone like that, or know someone who has.

And this one, so familiar to me I immediately read it out loud to my bride-to-be and apologized for being such a loudmouth. Honestly. “This was her favorite part of the summer, these long, manless evenings. The children amused each other, leaving her free to drink wine with Anne and Martine. Had Frank and Roy been there – holding court on the patio, talking past each other, airing their opinions about nothing too interesting – the women would have retreated to the stuffy kitchen. They’d have turned dinner into more work than necessary, simply to have something to do.”

Pitch-perfect observations abound. Not my kind of book, but still, one of my favorites. Grade: A-

WHAT IS THE WHAT

I won’t go so far as to say everyone should be required to read this book about the wars in Sudan, but I will say the story – written by Dave Eggers from a true first-person account of a Sudan survivor – was educational, humbling, enlightening.

Achak, the main character, retells his life from a childhood escape from his hometown amidst bombs killing his family and friends, to waking across the desert with hundreds of other boys searching for salvation, many dying along the way, to his eventual miraculous acceptance to come to America.

The content is devastating, and while the descriptions were a bit long-winded (519 pages total), the overall product was a challenging book that I won’t soon forget. Grade: B+

God Save the Fan

Former Deadspin editor Will Leitch transfers his subversive viewpoint of sports from website to print, using 3-10 page essays to discuss what he feels the common fans’ views on the sporting life. Topics include steroids, ESPN, Barbaro and more, all with a common theme that the mainstream media hasn’t a clue how the typical fan feels about sports. Are you the type of fan that loves sports but realize they’re nothing more than entertainment? This book is directed right at’cha. Grade: B

Rapture Ready

I might as well just paste the McSweeney’s review, which succinctly sums up my feelings: “A fascinating and funny exploration of exactly what the title indicates, leavened with empathy. Radosh seeks to understand, not merely to mock, which creates a deeply engaged and interesting study of a subculture many are likely to be unfamiliar with.” Grade: B+

The Blind Side

Michael Lewis (of Moneyball fame) returns with another non-fiction sports book, this time about the incredible story of Michael Oher, formerly flunky nobody from the ghettos of Memphis turned stud left tackle at Ole Miss. Lewis also weaves in commentary about issues like education, poverty, race and family while detailing Oher’s story. An easy read, and, thankfully, light on the melodrama. Grade: B

Born Standing Up

…is Steve Martin’s autobiography about going from his white-picket-fence suburban childhood to being the most famous stand-up comedian of all time. Martin writes about his comedic philosophies and career path in an oddly formal manner; it’s the same style my grandparents write me when reporting their most recent vacation. (That’s not a knock, Grandpa. I’m just saying, I mean, this is Steve Martin here.) At just over 200 pages, it’s a charming, humble look into the hectic life of a comedian. Grade: B-

The Polyphonic Spree

Spree is a collection of Nick Hornby’s essays from “The Believer” magazine in which he reviews books. A book about books. It’s a simple concept, but, Hornby being Hornby and all, he weaves in personal anecdotes and witty observations with this ease of deftness that makes me jealous. I keep thinking “man, I could write like this,” but, of course, I can’t. Grade: B

White Noise

White Noise won a bunch of awards when it was first published in 1985, but it seems to me an example of dated literature. I’m sure this satirical work of fiction poking fun at an overly-liberal academic family (the dad and teenage son share their porno mags; the husband and wife read the same porno ‘letters to the editor’ aloud and critique their grammar) while also making a point about the excesses of society counted as biting social commentary at the time, but it seems to pale in comparison of later works. And, you can blame my generation’s ADD if you want, but writing a paragraph that lasts over a page – and in White Noise, there were many – is the quickest way to get me in full-on skim mode. Grade: C-

Freakonomics

I missed the boat with this one when it was all the rage a couple years back. Reading a book after it’s peaked popularity-wise usually isn’t a problem, except that a book like Freakonomics, with its incredibly interesting findings on nearly every page, basically forces you to bring it up during every conversation. Which meant that responses to my many “hey, guess what I just learned…” tidbits were followed with a callous, “Um, yeah. Everyone know that, douchebag. It was in Freakonomics.” And that was just my mother’s reaction. Others were far worse. Grade: B+

Then We Came to the End, by Josh Ferris

One of the best novels I’ve read in the past few years. “Then We Came to the End” centers around a flailing ad agency as it continues to lose business, and, consequently, employees. Those remaining, oddballs each, seem to lose their sanity by the day, leading to stranger and more hilarious actions with each page. The book is written in a multiple first-person – everything is “we” and “us” though you never know exactly who is speaking – which serves to exemplify the groupthink in a typical corporate office. Anyone who’s spent their days in a cubicle, and especially those familiar with the agency world (which author Ferris obviously is), should dig this book. Think “Office Space” atmosphere written in the I’m-just-reporting-this-insanity-as-if-it’s-everyday-stuff manner of “Catch-22.”

Grade: A

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I Am America (And So Can You!), by Stephen Colbert

Like a print transcript of The Colbert Report, “I Am America” finds Colbert spewing stereotypical about every political topic, including race, drugs, affirmative action and more. Colbert so perfectly spoofs the happily ignorant right-wing that I know more than a few people who once actually believed he’s a blowhard Republican. A quick read, if a bit jumpy due to the numerous footnotes, charts and the like. Laughs on every single page. A few excerpts:

On the benefits of religion: “Responsibility. Religion forces every individual to take responsibility. Specifically, take it away from yourself and give it to God. If we had to be accountable for every one of our actions, we’d be crippled with indecision. But with religion pointing the way, we can feel confident in our choice to picket our children’s elementary school when we find out the art teacher is gay.”

On sports: “Sports do have some impact on society. They solve problems, such as how to get inner-city kids to spend $175 on shoes.”

On immigration: “Experts say there are 12 to 14 million illegal immigrants living in the United States. To put that into perspective, if you took all the foreigners who have no business living in America and put them into Dodge Caravans (remember, those seat six) and drove them out of the country taking up all three lanes of the highway, the line of minivans would stretch for I don’t care how long, because the more important question is: How can we get them into those vans?”

Grade: B+

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Assassination Vacation, by Sarah Vowell

Proof that any subject can be interesting if you write about it well enough, Sarah Vowell focuses this non-fiction book around her research of the three presidential assassinations: Lincoln, McKinley and Garfield. She goes on numerous tours – crime scenes, museums, memorials, etc – and manages to keep the content light by focusing less on the tragedy and more on the historical happenings leading up to the shootings. We find out who the presidents were, what they stood for and why they were shot, but in a Sedarisesque matter-of-factness favoring personal observations over heavy-handed historical lessons. Tough not to enjoy Vowell’s writing. I liked the book even though I don’t give a hoot-n-holler about American history.

Grade: B

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The Tender Bar, by J.P. Moehringer

“The Tender Bar” is a memoir from prominent newspaper reporter J.P. Moehringer, detailing his life from childhood to his mid-20s, dealing with a fatherless upbringing, poor family and the corner bar that he basically called home from an early age. Moehringer at times overstates the characters’ charm to an unrealistic degree – some of the characters are described as being the most poetic, eloquent people ever described in print, and not, you know, drunks at a neighborhood tavern – but the story, which take the author to Yale and eventually the New York Times, was engaging enough to keep me interested.

Grade: B

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Life of Pi

A fantastically descriptive parable about faith and survival. I was enthralled throughout, but hey, you know what I really love? When the “author’s foreword” tells the reader that the following is a true story, no matter how unbelievable it may seem, that the protagonist was a celebrity for a while because of it, that much of the book’s details came from interview transcripts, etc, so as you read it, the logical half of your brain is screaming that this is clearly a work of fiction, but you keep trying to tell yourself that crazy things sometimes happen, and you even begin to describe to your friends the book’s plot, but as you continue reading, you get the undeniable sense that you’ve been duped and of course this isn’t real because it is literally impossible, and so once you finish the book, your ten seconds of research prove that, indeed, none of this was true and the foreword was fraudulent, there are many others who wonder why the book was posed in such a way, and though you loved reading the book, now all you can do is think about how you were briefly hoodwinked into believing it actually happened, which it didn’t, because, again, you moron, it could not have ever actually happened, which is something you holler to everyone within earshot when this book is mentioned so they don’t make the same mistake you do, shamed as you are.

Man, do I love that.

Grade: is there an emoticon for blushing?

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Slaughterhouse Five, by Kurt Vonnegut

Part 1 in my “embarrassed I’ve never read this one before” series. (Expect a few repeats throughout the year.) I can’t say anything about Slaughterhouse Five that hasn’t already been said (it’s sporadically science-fictiony, of which I’m not fan, but done in a satirical kind of way, plus it’s wildly inventive and at times quite funny), so I’ll just reprint one excerpt that may be my favorite part of any book, ever, when the character describes seeing war in reverse:

“American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses, took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. . . .The bombers opened their bomb-bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes.

When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.”

Grade: B+

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Moneyball, by Michael Lewis

Part 2 in my ‘shameful previous oversights’ series (still working on the series name). Again, not much I can say about Moneyball, beyond that it’s an absolute must-read for any fans of baseball and box scores. An eye-opener on what parts of offense actually help wins games; this book will surely up your baseball IQ a few notches, if that’s something you’re into.

Grade: A-

You may know of my 2008 Resolution Challenge, in which my goal is to read 25 books and watch 50 movies throughout the year. (You can read update #1 here.) Below is the second installment of my progress, along with short reviews on each. Would love to hear your thoughts on any of the following in the comments. Welcomed are both woo-hoo’s and f-you’s alike.

BOOK 3: Thunderstruck

“Thunderstruck” is a non-fiction novel written by Erik Larson (author of the acclaimed “Devil in the White City” that I never read) about a famous London murder ‘round the turn of the 20th century. It follows two seemingly unrelated stories – a love triangle, and the invention of wireless communication – as they eventually intertwine to combine for one of the most famous murders in London history. The 480-page book is gripping in its back-and-forth action and momentousness of the subject matter, and writer Larson paints vivid details about the happenings. However, at times the writing becomes a bit too detailed. For instance, I enjoyed reading about the London neighborhoods and their look & feel in the early 1900’s … but three full pages to describe certain blocks and their layout? That seems excessive. As a result of the over-detail, combined with the whodunit excitement about the murder, I ended up skimming a fair amount of the book’s middle just to learn the conclusion. Good book, great story; grade: B

MOVIE 4: Sicko

Sicko encompasses the best and worst of every Michael Moore film. The good: Moore passionately makes a case to help change and improve our country, demonstrating the problem with a blend of personal stories and hard facts. The bad: he spends too much time painting the hypothetical solution (in this case: free national health care) as an idyllic scenario, which is simply untrue. While Moore did an effective job of highlighting the appalling problems with our country’s health care – seriously, prepare for some tears – a part of me wished he’d spent more time offering an objective look at the potential solutions. Either way, no one who’s seen this movie can deny the problem, and for that I’d say Moore is a hero. I will also go on record as saying I believe anyone who didn’t see Sicko for political reasons is a jackass who deserves no respect. Grade: B+

MOVIE 5: Michael Clayton

Michael Clayton is a dark, deliberately-paced legal drama. Tough to explain the plot of this one. Here goes: a large company is embroiled in a billion-dollar case when its main counsel goes berserk, leading them to call in Clayton (Clooney) character to help clean up the mess. The complex quirkiness of the plot, as well as numerous tangents into Clayton’s and the other characters’ personal lives, make for a challenging film to follow along, but those who stick with it should be impressed. Grade: B

MOVIE 6: Sunshine

The best way I can describe Sunshine is to think of the basic storyline as Armageddon, but set it in the future and add an element of fucked-up brilliance to it. Sunshine is a futuristic thriller that depicts a crew of astronauts as they set off to save the earth. Director Danny Boyle (who also helmed Trainspotting and the awesome 28 Days Later) somehow makes the risky subject work, and speaking as a hater of all sci-fi movies, I will admit this inventive, intense movie kicked all kinds of ass and was one of my favorites in ’07. There were times I wondered if maybe I wasn’t watching a modern classic. Grade: A-

MOVIE 7: Mr. Brooks

Kevin Costner, boasting an embarrassing lack of range – which pretty much ruins the movie – plays a suburban dad by day and psycho thriller by night. Dane Cook plays his hopeful apprentice. The two plan a couple murders. Demi Moore, a detective, tries to stop them. The end. A rare movie in that its downfall can be almost entirely blamed on the casting director. Grade: C-

MOVIE 8: We Are Marshall

Surprisingly likable. One would expect it to include dozens of sports movie clichés, yet We Are Marshall happily eschews most of them. Just a feel-good true story; nothing more, nothing less. Grade: B-

MOVIE 9: 3:10 to Yuma

I kind of loved this western remake. I’ll readily acknowledge a few of the Act III imperfections – for example, the ridiculously implausible shooting scene – but I’ll chalk it up to the “entertaining storytelling over accurate realism” vibe that was going on during the first time this movie was made (in ’57). Fans of westerns who can forgive the occasional sins of far-fetchedness will probably dig 3:10 to Yuma. Loved the Wild West cinematography. Christian Bale is money as well. Grade: B+

MOVIE 10: Gone Baby Gone

Best movie of 2007. Can I take a minute to praise director Ben Affleck? I know the man is universally reviled as a douchebag – though, for the life of me I can’t remember why – but I have to say, his directing in Gone Baby Gone was flawless. Flawless, I say. The complex storyline was told with such assured subtlety; you can tell he really respects his audience. So rare for films these days. The movie never gets too gory (though it could), it never gets too explanation-heavy (though with most directors it would), and best of all, it never gets too preachy. Each of these factors helped make Gone Baby Gone a winning film, and each of them can be credited directly to Affleck. The story he told wasn’t compelling enough to make GBG a classic, but his keen eye for direction made it my absolute favorite of the year. Grade: A-

MOVIE 11: No Way Out

No Way Out is a 1987 political thriller starring Gene Hackman as a corrupt politician, and Kevin Costner (who isn’t asked to act like anything but an arrogant semi-douche, which is evidently right up his alley) as a former navy hero hired to help him cover it up. My roommate liked it, my girlfriend tolerated it, and it’s one of my step-dad’s favorites; all for good reason. No Way Out, a remake of a classic novel, is a damn interesting movie despite the fact that it’s woefully dated. Definitely worth a rental. Grade: B

MOVIE 12: Matchstick Men

Saw it on TV. That is pretty much the only situation in which seeing this movie is worth your time. In that respect, it ain’t bad. Grade: C+

MOVIE 13: Ocean’s Thirteen

Harder to follow and less clever than the first installment, though far superior to the second. A decent rental, I suppose. Grade: B-

Near the end of my now-famous (amongst tens of people) post about my 2007 New Year’s resolution, I made mention of the resolution I set forth in ’08: 25 new books read, 50 new movies watched. The anticipation whether I’ll reach this goal is, I’m sure, spellbinding. So spellbinding, in fact, that I can feel the masses clamoring for an update on my progress.

And so it shall be done. Instead of compiling my results into one final end-of-year article, I’ve decided to provide an every-so-often resolution update by revealing my running list of completed books/movies, as well as offering a short review on each. Below is my first collection.

BOOK 1: “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” by Tucker Max

Tucker Max found fame (well, internet fame) a few years back by posting true stories on his website about his adventures as a single, rich, drunken skirt-chaser. The raunch-laced essays were typical of what you’d hear from any silver-spooned frat boy born without a conscience (get drunk, find girls, act like a jackass, repeat), but in terms of sheer lunacy they were mostly unrivaled. His website became incredibly popular, which resulted in a book deal, which in turn became “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell.”

Ostensibly, this sounds like a worthy read. I heartily enjoy true accounts of debauch-filled evenings; in fact, half my own stories encompass this very premise. But, sadly, I did not enjoy this book. I almost didn’t finish it, though the simple, straightforward vernacular made for a super-quick read. The reasons for my glum reaction are twofold:

1. I am not a misogynist. Do you enjoy hearing about a guy throwing the clothes of a fat girl out the window after they had sex, so she’d have to climb out the window to retrieve them instead of exiting through the front door in the chance said guy’s roommate might see said fat girl? I don’t. Tales such as this abound; girls are either fat, stupid or stuck-up, and Tucker absolutely loves telling them so. It doesn’t take any special talent to treat other people like shit, but Tucker Max brags about it anyway.

2. Tucker Max is alarmingly unfunny. This one surprised me a bit. For a guy to achieve fame and (alleged) fortune simply by writing about all the crazy shit that’s happened to him throughout the years, you would think his wit would be clever and well-calibrated. It is not.

He regales the reader in such hilarious happenings as the one time he saw an Asian woman and starting berating her in a broken Asian accent, replacing his l’s for r’s and whatnot. And then there’s the classic yarn about him making fun of an overweight fella by asking him if he had been banned from the local buffet. In these stories, Tucker recounts the hysterical laughter from his pals and other witnesses, bragging about how everyone within earshot was hanging on his every word. My question is: what kind of people would laugh at such cliched, unfunny inanities? If you were within earshot, wouldn’t you want to punch this douchebag in the teeth? I can make my peace with jerky bastards in the name of humor, but if they possess no wit whatsoever, where’s the appeal?

The old saying (or possibly one I’m making up right now) says that it’s not the story, but the storyteller that marks a winning tale. “I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell” seems to be trying to disprove this theory, and I am happy to report that it does not succeed. Grade: D

MOVIE 1: Stardust

I’m not what you’d call an “aficionado” or a “fan” or even “able to tolerate” most fantasy movies, so my opinion on Stardust is mostly moot. But my lady friend is a huge enthusiast of said genre, and her reaction to this movie was summed up with a simple shoulder shrug. So there you go. Grade: C

MOVIE 2: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

OK, let’s just get all the teasing and name-calling out of the way right now. Yes, I realize this is a classic movie. Yes, I realize I should have seen it long ago. No, I don’t expect my film opinions to carry much weight anymore now that I’ve revealed I just recently watched Temple of Doom. Can we move on now?

Right, then, here goes: most of you sappy folk that attach old movies with the emotional experience upon first view may have a problem seeing it, but speaking as a person looking at this movie objectively, let me tell you: it’s pretty bad. Like, “horribly dated and embarrassingly dramatic” bad. The imaginative plot and fun fight scenes from the original Indiana Jones were traded in for a dumb story and ridiculous survival antics (using an inflatable raft to land softly after falling from a plane? Come on now. That’s just stupid.). The few cool scenes were vastly overshadowed by the ‘you have got to be kidding me’ hilarity throughout the rest of the film. The other Indiana Joneses in the genre stand the test of time; this one, not so much. Grade: C-

BOOK 2: “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho

This book, an old-world parable about one young man’s journey to find treasure in Egypt, has been read and adored by millions throughout the world. Similarly, so has “Chicken Soup for the Soul,” and while “The Alchemist” doesn’t quite match the maudlin bent as the Soup series, they are related in their goal of inspiring internal happiness in their readers. All the important life learnings are represented in some form or another within the pages of The Alchemist: love, honor, hard work, etc, all experienced by the kid throughout his journey. I’m young, jaded and overconfident, so much of the book’s lessons were lost on me. Might be a better read for an uninspired high schooler or retired grandparent. Grade: B

MOVIE 3: Once

A warning: nothing happens in this movie. Not in relation to every other film ever made, at least. Two people become friends, play some music together, kinda-sorta inspire each other, and then life goes on. The end. The real sell in the film is the music, which is damn good. The main actor in the film is Glen Hansard, the leader of influential Irish band The Frames, and the starring lady is a worthy musician herself. Those who love music and can stomach a film where nothing actually happens (i.e. the Lost in Translation fans) should enjoy Once. Music-averse Van Damme lovers probably will not. Grade: B

My bowling league (team name: the Nickproof Ballsacks – a name that originated during a conversation between two of the team members regarding manscaping; don’t ask me to elaborate, especially not you, Mom) started Thursday evening, which was then followed by a rousing celebration for my associate and roommate Norm, who just this week received his PhD (seriously). Thus, content today is light. Please return next week.

>>  This piece from McSweeney’s is even funnier considering the recent antics from Britney Spears.

>> Randomly found a hilarious old post on one of the blogs I read from time to time. Title: The Worst Date Ever. Poor fella.

>> Here’s an article about new CW show Gossip Girl that could spark your interest in the show (if the fact that it was created by The OC’s Josh Schwartz ain’t enough for ya). I’ll give you my thoughts on the pilot episode next week in my TV Preview post.

>> “Criticize Kirilenko or You Are Racist.” Does the man have a point, or has he been spending too much time on his Jump To Conclusions mat? Discuss.

212 pages. My guess is, for most guys, naming a female stripper-turned-blogger-turned-memoirist as an inspiration is something of a no-no. But, really, if I were to keep private my admiration for Diablo Cody, I wouldn’t be able to wholeheartedly recommend her debut Candy Girl for the dozen or so Minnesotans who still haven’t read it. And that’d be a shame. So, consider me an oddity: I am a dude, signing the praises of a stripper-turned-blogger-turned-memoirist.

Candy Girl details a year in Cody’s life that begins with the then-innocent cubicle-queen ducking into a nearby strip joint to enter an Amateur Night contest. Drunk with exhilaration, she spends the next year of her life stripping at various locales around Minneapolis, eventually hanging up her pumps after particularly saucy stints at Sex World and Choice.

Now, I couldn’t care less about the sordid details behind the stripping scene, ditto the way the ladies are treated, how the clubs operate, etc. What kept me intrigued with Candy Girl is the stylish writing displayed by Cody. Each sentence is infused with distinctly visual, modern lingo. Explaining why she got into the biz, Cody writes, “I felt restless, desperately chasing a buzz like a kid sneaking a nip from Mom’s cooking sherry. I was approaching the dark side of my twenties, but I shook like a rattle, still felt like a teenager with fire ants in my Calvins.” When lamenting the interpersonal relations vibe on the stripping scene, she says, “Most veteran strippers are punch-drunk on Haterade, and they’d sooner dredge their Vuitton clutch in a cow pie before mustering a pixel of common courtesy toward their fellow woman.”

Throughout Candy Girl, Cody never wastes a word. In fact, if I were to lodge any complaint, it’d be that the book is at times too economical. There is very little emotional depth beyond the storytelling. On page 188, Cody’s gushing over a huge payday; but by page 192 she’s recounting her inevitable burnout. Examples such as this probably explain why, in the epilogue, Cody describes Candy Girl as a “sprawling pamphlet.”

Really, though, the uber-concision is but a quibble. In a culture where bloated, rambling novels rule the roost, Candy Girl’s humor and lyrical prose are refreshing indeed.