Julie Anne Peters’s crutch words

Just finished Julie Anne Peters’s LUNA — which I liked, and about which I will have more to say this week — and was struck by two crutch words she uses, as physical descriptions, over and over: someone’s eyes widening — generally to express sarcastic intent or signal someone to stop something — and someone’s “spine fusing.”

The second stood out to me because the first time, it struck me as a nice description of someone stiffening; by the third or fourth time, though, I was over it. And the first was noticeable because I have different associations with eyes widening, so all the many usages of this felt odd.

Do you notice crutch words when you read? There was one that drove me mad in TWILIGHT (especially, as I recall, in NEW MOON), but now I’m blanking on what it was. Googling turned up a different one of Meyer’s crutches I can attest to — Bella “glaring” at Edward.

And writing this post, I can see what one of my own crutch phrases is — something “striking me.” (I edited a few out.)

About that “tin ear for dialogue”…

I just came home to find my roommate’s friend doing a dramatic reading from RAINBOW BOYS for several of their friends. (I’d left it on the couch.)

Dialogue that read as off to me on the page? Let’s just say it’s a million times more awful (and hilarious) out loud…

I tried in vain to convince them that the basic storyline is actually really compelling!

Rainbow Boys, or: Proof that I can love reading a book and complaining about it in equal measures

For a book that I couldn’t put down for two days, I sure had a lot of complaints about Alex Sanchez’s RAINBOW BOYS.

I think Sanchez has a profoundly tin ear for dialogue, especially considering all the praise heaped on this book. Mixed in with recognizable teen slang — “poop” as an adjective or a cutesy interjection, for example — are a constant stream of lines that no teen — or person, really — would ever utter.

This is compounded by an odd lack of specificity in a number of key scenes. Like, on page two we hear about our first of three protagonists, Jason, having made the big step of calling a gay teen hotline… and “asking questions for hours.” Well, what did he ask?! I just met this character! I’m trying to get into his head, and Sanchez is making things entirely too vague for that to happen.

Related to that, I had the darndest time figuring out when the book was set. I wrote recently about books that are set at a very particular moment in the recent past; I gather that RAINBOW BOYS is set in the early-to-mid ‘90s, but only by piecing together some little details like the boys making each other cassette tapes (yet having some CDs), one boy having his own computer but this being an impressive fact (yet the boys instant message), and a passing mention of “protesters picketing Congress for AIDS funding.” (If only!) But most of the book was in the more timelessly generic world of most YA novels, so I still don’t know why Sanchez set his nearly two decades ago; the story would’ve worked as well with the kids trading mp3s. If there was some sort of 1990s Zeitgeist here, it went over my head.

I even had issues with parts of the plot — namely, an alcoholic father who was so cartoonishly villainous that I just didn’t buy it.

But it’s the plot that kept me turning the pages and ensured that I will be reading the first sequel when I get the chance. On top of a romance with exactly the kind of little escalations, misunderstandings, hurt feelings and elation that I devour like candy were tons of nice little touches… like unrequited love for a best friend, unprotected sex (a plotline handled extremely well), and the not-so-easy feat of three lead characters who were quite distinct, each of whom I believed in and cared about.

Jennifer Hubbard (who, coincidentally, is the person who recommended RAINBOW BOYS to me, in a blog comment) has written about how hard it is to pull off a novel jumping between time periods or narrators, because each piece has to be as interesting as the others; Sanchez manages that admirably.

This is, in short, the book for which our “Flawed does not preclude interesting” category was designed. Let’s hope that the writing improves with the sequels, and that the beautiful romance and pathos keep on coming.

From a chief in my own mind to a chef in my own… er, someone else’s kitchen

My cooking club meets tonight and I’m hosting (at the home of the professor I’m house-sitting for; she very generously told me to feel free to throw parties, etc., and I’m taking her up on the offer by having my cooking club enjoy our meal in her amazing garden).

When I was a small child, I started many clubs. They struggled to find memberships, perhaps because the first thing I always did was appoint myself President. (My mom still has my kindergarten manifesto for the Girls' Club and Army.)

Let's hope my return to form with the cooking club is less totalitarian and more sustained!

{Photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/rogersmith/232072232/}

The club is brand-new but we’ve already evolved what I think is a good system.
How it works:

• We rotate hosts. Hosts pick the menu (with input) and procure the ingredients, and pay for them.
• Guests bring wine. Guests have offered to bring other things (side dishes, dessert), but I think it’s important that we don’t establish this norm: this is a weekly affair and we’re all busy people. The burden is not bad if it’s only once a month or so that you have to do anything besides show up with a bottle of wine.
• We clean as we go so there’s no mess left for the host.
• We cook something large and everyone takes leftovers that should last at least another meal.

So how did I decide what we’d make?

• Labor-intensive. No point in having the club make something I could easily throw together myself. This is a chance to make recipes that I’d look at and say, “Sounds delicious, but what a lot of work…”
• But not too time-intensive: this is a weeknight, after all. We need to cook, clean, consume, gossip and get out at a reasonable hour.
• And then there are our individual proclivities. Like my friend Anna hates pineapple. And I can’t have too many meals that are heavy starches.

All of which considerations led me to…

Pistachio-crusted chicken with herbs and mustard cream sauce. Oh yes. Except we’re using thighs, not breasts, and we’re doubling that shit (and making even more than doubled sauce so everyone has additional leftovers for pasta, veggies or whatever we eat on our own time). I can’t wait.

Wednesday Words: The promises of youth

But there’s two things that won’t change — I swear to God — as long as I’m alive: I won’t stop riding my bike and I won’t get undressed in front of some wife.

– Jerry Spinelli, SPACE STATION SEVENTH GRADE

(…and no, this is not one of my recent LGBT reads!)

Angela Chase is fifteen years old — today and forever.

My friend Iain reminds me that,

It was fifteen years ago to-day that Angela Chase dyed her hair. Television
drama was never the same again. It was real. Not some la-la-la land where
everyone was happy all the time. Not some far-off place where things were
packaged into 43-minute chunks, everyone knew their place, and everything was
neatly resolved.

And pulls out an old set of questions:

1. Which character to you most identify with?
2. Why?
3. Which character would you most want to bang?
4. Why?
5. Favorite Episode?
6. What would you have Corey Helfrick paint on your shoes if given the chance?

I’ll throw out a question of my own: What moments of the show do you experience the most differently today, compared to when you first saw it? (Whenever that was… sometime during the MTV years, for most of us.) And what parts do you think you will always view the same way?

My own answers later.

House? Warmed.

Continuing my Anastasia Krupnik-esque style of late (and Bud E. Caldwell, and all the millions of other children’s book characters writing in lists), not to mention my theme of talking a lot about myself/dog and little about books (sorry!):

By popular demand... Cooper! Now I only need to manage to upload some video of him chasing his tail.

Lawn games played at my housewarming party:

• Monkey in the Middle, which evolved into Cooper (my step-dog) in the Middle, which evolved to Keep Cooper Out of the Middle of the Food.
• Testes toss. No, that’s not what it’s really called.

Things I cooked for my housewarming party:

• Deviled chicken thighs. Twenty two of them, to be precise. Increasing the mustard, shallots and parsley was a good move.
• A very large pot of curried squash and eggplant, with pineapple. Yummy, but I should have made it spicier.
• Mango lassi… with homemade yogurt. Yeah, slow cooker.

I was going to also make a salad and chocolate pudding, but let’s be real, I’m not that organized.

Disasters that occurred during the cooking for my housewarming party:

• Suddenly deciding to procure drinks while curry curries —> curry bubbles over —> curry onto floor
• Forgetting to depit one mango before putting it in blender —> pit chunks into lassi —> trying to strain lassi —> lassi onto floor

The cooking, folks, is a work in progress. Luckily, Cooper is an excellent helper when it comes to foodstuffs on the floor. And speaking of Cooper…

Most horrifying/hilarious thing that happened at my housewarming party:

When a friend arrived with his very charming six-year-old, we discovered that Cooper loves little kids. More precisely, Cooper loves that little kids are exactly the right size for him to hump.

Unfortunately, this child happened to also love that he was exactly the right size for Cooper to hump (or, in his understanding, exactly the right size for “giving Cooper a ride”). Which meant that he kept bending over for Cooper and yelling, “Oh yeah! Oh yeah!”

His dad was not very pleased. I, unfortunately, was in hysterics, which only encouraged the kid to keep doing it… over and over and over again.

UPDATED to add: WordPress wouldn’t let me upload this, but do yourself a favor and go find Big Mama Thornton’s original “Hound Dog,” the ideal soundtrack to this post. Elvis took this brilliant song and made it… about a dog.

Wednesday Words: Canine communication

More firmly, Greenwood said, “Sit.”

The dog lifted out of his crouch and stood looking at Greenwood in a fair imitation of His Master’s Voice. Who, he was clearly thinking, was this stranger who knew how to speak Dog?

– Donald Westlake, THE HOT ROCK

Yes, today’s Wednesday Words is also in honor of my new life with Cooper. I am still working on being the Alpha Dog. I went running with Cooper, which was fantastic until he saw a cat. Then my commands were suddenly ineffectual as — hours of “Body Pump” be damned — I strained to hold back the beast. (My reasoning to him that, “That cat lives around here. It has a right to be here.” having failed to sink in.)

The worst, though, was when a small but belligerent dog approached Cooper with a confidence that belied his stature. He continually advanced as I yanked Cooper ever farther back to avoid his hurting the little thing. What a humiliation for Cooper, I thought, forced to retreat in the face of this pipsqueak.

It’s a tough life for a Golden Doodle in Madison.

“Sunday” Summary: Moving messes with my sense of time. And space.

Posting a Sunday Summary on Tuesday morning is quite appropriate, given that my boyfriend and I interpreted our move-out date of last Friday to mean… also Tuesday morning. I hope to cod that by the time you read this, my move is finally, finally over. On to the summary:

Finished last week:

• Only THE HOT ROCK, the first DORTMUNDER book by Donald Westlake. If you can get past the datedness (let’s just say the female characters are not ones I recognize as human), it’s a really fun caper novel. And I love clever caper novels, especially ones filled with many non-obvious reversals of fortune. THE HOT ROCK fared excellently on that score.

Reading this week:

• I’m hoping to finally get my latest batch of LGBT teen romance novels today (due to the move, I had them sent to me at school; what better use of a departmental mailbox?). This weekend was Madison’s Pride — I had a great time marching in the parade and celebrating the mass wedding ceremony — so it’s particularly fitting.



• In the meantime, I have been working on my inaugural Read or Die! pick: Trotsky’s MY LIFE. Every time I read anything by Trotsky, I am struck by how excellent he is at characterization. It comes out in very enjoyable fashion when he recounts his school days:

  The percentage of freaks among people in general is very considerable, but it is especially high among teachers. [... Here he starts describing his headmaster, Kaminsky] He was a physicist by profession, a humanity-hater by temperament. He never looked at the person with whom he talked; he moved about the corridors and the classrooms noiselessly on rubber heels. He spoke in a small, hoarse, falsetto voice which, without being raised, could be terrifying.

  …He goes on from there, on Kaminsky and all his other teachers (none of whom come across hugely well). One of the things that makes it a great memoir is that Trotsky applies the same skill to himself; he judges himself, including his limitations and the changes in his ideas, very thoughtfully.

  My status as a sociology grad student compels me to quote one more passage:

  Casting about for activities, we decided to organize a university on the basis of mutual instruction. There were about twenty students. My department was sociology. That was high-sounding. I prepared for my course with all my powers, but after two lectures, which came off satisfactorily, I suddenly realized that my resources had been exhausted. The second lecturer, whose course was the French Revolution, became confused as soon as he began and promised to deliver his lecture in writing. Of course he failed to fulfill his promise, and that was the end of the enterprise.

  The two of them then go on to try their hand at playwriting (“We had, it must be said, no shortage of monologues.”). I recognize myself all over these quotes, and feel immense gratitude that my own early writing and teaching efforts have been largely forgotten.

  Cooked last week:
  

  

  Pattypan squash, light of my casserole, fire of my stew. (Image from Potomac Vegetable Farms.)

  • I’ve become obsessed with pattypan squash. I made a squash casserole (layers of squash — and zucchini, but I liked that less — and cheese, topped by bread soaked in milk and baked); when I fried some leftovers with an egg every morning for breakfast, it was like eating French toast with buttery squash. Delicious.

    And I put a ton of squash into a shepherd’s pie inspired by my new favorite comment thread. I used blue cornmeal for the polenta topping, which was also quite beautiful: red tomato sauce, yellow and green squash, and purple crust. I kind of wish I hadn’t eaten it all day so I could eat more right now. *

  • Brownies for my new neighbors.** As life imitates children’s fiction, they seem to keep making their way into my mouth as well… every time I pass through the kitchen. (I’ve found a lot of reasons to go by the kitchen.)
  • A friend and I inaugurated our weekly cooking club! We made lasagna. I’m on a fairly low-carb diet, which mostly manifests itself in having a very different set of default meals than most people have. How does every normal American start learning to cook? With pasta. I started with eggs. Wednesday was, I believe, the first time I have cooked pasta. I am 26 years old.

  Hope to cook this week:

  • Among other things — I’m trying to eat more vegetables — I want to try making yogurt in my slow cooker. I feel that this can only end well.

  * I did get the pan drippings for dinner… I simmered eggs in butter and vinegar in the pan to get them up, and then I cooked some grilled cheese sandwiches in the leftover pan sauce to make sure I got all the yummy stuff stuck on the bottom of the pan. If I were doing that “15 things I like” meme on Facebook, I think I would just write “pan drippings” 15 times.
  ** My feeling was, a small gesture of brownies goes a long way in the goodwill department… and I’m going to need a lot of goodwill from the people I live with. Like how I locked myself out twice last night.

Fake Friday “Why?”: Why do I own so much crap… and WHY is it all so DIRTY?

Just a quick note to say sorry about the light posting… my old lease ends tomorrow, which means all the parts of moving I’ve been “planning to get to” are, you know, needing to be gotten to.

The one extremely satisfying part? Every time I find something related to my old Master’s thesis — the one I abandoned for a different topic I love at the beginning of the summer — and I throw it away. This has happened a lot because I worked on that shit for two years, and accumulated a lot of crap related to it. I saved two small things (both pieces that I wrote) for posterity. But mostly I have loved throwing them in the garbage with a big smile on my face.

Next week, having given away a box of children’s books, I will buy more in reward!!!