Upcoming Hiatus: See You on the Other Side

My job is crazy busy from January through March each year. It’s expected, it’s slightly awful, and it’s part of the job. So realistically, I likely will not be able to post again until this busy season has ended, at which point, I will aim to post at least once a week. Just wanted to give a quick heads-up.

Please, send me kind thoughts to help me get through the crazy, and thank you for reading!

Probably me, for the upcoming 12 weeks or so…

Potential stress relief. Please consider using these links if you are already planning to purchase the identified items via Amazon, anyway:

Nobody gets teen angst like a bestial metaphor

Let’s talk about the movie Thoroughbreds, which I watched recently over the holiday.

I was hoping to really like this film, which has been marketed as akin to “Heathers” meets “American Psycho,” both movies that I greatly enjoyed (although now that I think about it, there’s a TV show called Heathers as well, that I haven’t seen (and probably won’t), which could be part of the reference being made here, also). I did not like it as much as I was hoping.

In a nutshell, this movie primarily revolves around two teenage girls who rekindle an old friendship. One of them is a sociopath who feels no emotions, the other is an emotional girl who hides her turbulent emotions behind a social-friendly mask. When these girls begin speaking again, their conversations are unconventional, and become dangerous.

This movie has a lot of good elements:

  • the actors, though few, are all fairly good at their parts, particularly Olivia Cooke (the ill girl from Me and Earl and the Dying Girl and new Becky Sharp in the new Amazon Prime series Vanity Fair). Honestly, if there is a reason to watch this movie, it’s her.
  • the premise of maniacal, murderous mean girls, is both alliterative and fun.
  • there are many sequences that are shot very well. For those who have seen the movie (don’t worry, not going to get too spoiler-y), I found the scene where one character is incapacitated and the dramatic action occurs offscreen very compelling.

In spite of these good elements, however, the movie did not work. The plot is too thinly drawn, and the pacing is off. In spite of a plethora of great scenes that are well acted and shot well, the amount of stale, stagnant time between these scenes is too abundant to keep the viewer as invested as he/she otherwise might be. Overall, I would not recommend this movie if you have not yet seen it.


If you have seen it, please let me know your impressions and thoughts in the comments below. Do you agree with me? Disagree? Want to take up horse riding?

(Most of the hyperlinks are to Amazon links from which I earn from qualifying purchases; please consider using these links if you are already planning to purchase the identified items via Amazon, anyway.)

Writing Prompt: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The lights were, by turns, beautiful, dazzling, sophisticated, funny, overdone, underdone, twinkling, moving, immutable. Distracting even if a person was not consumed with a rabid holiday fervor, although in his experience, most people were infected with good feelings in spite of the fiscal woes associated with the end of the year. This festive virus ensured that the addition of a few tiny bulbs of luminescence made the host entirely unaware of his or her surroundings.

This young woman, for example, with her silky brown hair trailing down her back in waves and her soft cashmere travel wrap, would not ordinarily let a hitherto unknown man stand a mere foot or two away from her for longer than a minute, two at most, unless that man was exceptionally handsome. Yet he, who fell short of even being average-looking, had been hovering near her for a quarter of an hour, and had not received so much as a cursory glance. The scent of Chanel No. 5 wafted through the crisp night air, and breath escaped her mouth in a white fog that merged with his own exhalations.

He could be the love of her life, right here, within touching distance. She could look over, and their eyes could lock, for a minute. And then he, smitten by her beautiful brown orbs, would lose track of where he was and trip over the rubber-tipped toe of her Sorel snowboots. She would giggle, and say something slightly snarky and comforting while flashing a white, orthodontia-enhanced smile. He would respond with some witty repartee, and convince her to get a coffee with him. She would nurse something sickeningly sweet and holiday inspired, like a gingerbread latte. They would talk in the dim lighting of the coffee shop until it closed, and then he would walk her home. A kiss would be shared under the gently falling snow, the first of many more.

He could be a rapist, stalking his prey right here, within touching distance. She could look away for a few seconds, only to feel his hand clamp over her mouth and nose, holding a white rag damp with chloroform. He could drag her limp, heavy body behind the clump of large evergreen trees just a few feet away. She would awaken, hours later, as her consciousness slowly, painfully broke through the heavy, drug-induced haze. She would endure hours waiting in the hospital to be examined, shivering in a green smock that exposed her back and the bruises on her sancrum, where she would learn that in addition to being defiled, she had permanently lost feeling in three of her toes due to frostbite. Then, she would be hoisted onto the police for questioning, where she would be implicitly told, over a cup of gritty dark coffee, that she had been asking for it, wearing such a formfitting snow coat.

He could be her long-lost brother, the black sheep who left the family over a decade ago in pursuit of money and fame in Los Angeles. She could look over, and their eyes could lock, for a minute. They would simultaneously recognize their mother’s eye shape, and know that this was their former playmate, sparring partner, and confidante. She would envelop him in a tight hug, and they would head to a bar. Over cheap, sour beer, he would explain how he was disillusioned, and had only realized after heading out there that he did not have the looks, talent, or contacts to act, nor did he have the money, power, or contacts to produce, and had wasted the past eleven years washing dishes. How he had been completely alone when his cat Mr. Egghead passed away, and had decided it was time to come back home, where he could live with mom and dad and figure things out.

He could be anyone, anything, and she – distracted by the lights – would not look over, would not see him. It was too early for the drunks to come stumbling home from the bar, Taco Bell bags clutched tightly in their fingers and off-key carols escaping their lips. Too late for the frazzled shoppers, who had already driven home, made numerous arm-laden trips into their houses with the as-yet unwrapped presents, and now drank their eggnog and hot chocolate before the fireplace. It felt as though they were alone in the world, and anything was possible.

Christmas truly was the most wonderful time of the year.

She was still focused on the lights when the pain bloomed in her lower intestines. The knife slid easily in and out of her person, and he was walking away, each step crackling with the salt on the soles of his boots, as her blood began to pour onto the clean white snow.

December Writing Prompt #13 from M’s blog Putting My Feet in the Dirt

Driving in Darkness

There is a sense of coziness, as the darkness envelopes my car from all sides, my headlights making a small impact on the surroundings. I am a piece of Americana, a small and insignificant personage in the vastness which surrounds me, yet also a part of something much greater than any single person could ever be.

This sense of rightness with the world around me is confined to the morning, metamorphosing into unease and vulnerability in the evening when there are few cars on the road.

What is it about the morning that furnishes a sense of possibility when the evening just starkly reminds me how easy I am as a target? It would be just as easy for a serial killer to hide and lunge at me from the backseat in the dark of morning, yet the possibility only suggests itself to me in the post meridiem hours. It has nothing to do with visibility; if anything, my sight tends to be more impaired in the morning, when there is sometimes fog drifting across the road and adding yet another layer of difficulty for my glasses to assist me in discerning.

Am I the only one who feels this way? What slightly illogical actions and/or items do you enjoy?

I completely respect any decision(s) to purchase from local, independent stores instead of Amazon. If, however, you were planning to make purchases through Amazon already anyway, please consider using one of the affiliate links below (As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases):

Le Bon, Not Bad, and the Coffee

In my very first blog post, I mentioned that I drink a considerable amount of coffee. The prodigious amounts of the liquid ambrosia consumed results in my opinionated person being potentially persnickety – particularly when the standard cost of a fancy coffee these days is $5. (Because if I’m not drinking fancy coffee, why wouldn’t I just make the coffee myself at home? Isn’t that what travel mugs are for?)

For those persnickety coffee dipsomaniacs in, around, or visiting the city of Ann Arbor, let me introduce Le Bon Macaron.

This coffee shop, located on Fourth Street (right next to where Aunt Agatha’s used to be, before it closed down in August of this year) is actually a chain, and has locations in Grand Rapids and East Lansing. I can only speak to the Ann Arbor location, since that is the only location I have personally visited, but the chain seems to be a mom-and-pop sort of thing, which may mean that all locations have the same standards of quality.

Le Bon Macaron has coffee, tea, and, much as its’ name implies, macarons. Now, if you don’t like a well-made macaron, I will never understand you as a person. And this place has well-made macarons. At $2 apiece, these small delicacies are not cheap, but honestly, you probably only want to eat one or two, anyway (#pretendtobehealthy), and they are well made enough that I consider them worth the price point. Seriously, just thinking about the texture of the biscuits enveloping the creamy insides of these delicious morsels is making my mouth water. I know that I sound ridiculous – but I am actually 100% telling the truth.

Moving on to the coffee. There’s none of this large, larger, largest, bullshit. Each drink comes in one size, so the ratios of coffee to milk to syrup, etc., are made as intended and these proportions don’t get altered based on decisions of magnitude. I am personally a fan of the latte, which can be flavored with various, hand-made syrups that will make you want to abstain from the Celestial Dollar coffee forever more (although, of course, you won’t, because it’s ubiquitous and can be obtained in any location, regardless of where your travels take you). My husband likes the cappucino here, and did not make fun of me for driving a bit out of the way while running errands the other day to grab coffee at LBM, so, you know, it must be pretty good.

If you are not just grabbing coffee while running errands, you can sit down on a bar stool overlooking the street, or grab a small table in the elegant shoppe. I have no idea whether or not the decor feels Parisian, having not yet been to Paris, but it does feel simple, clean, and elegant, and I feel a small thrill when I walk through the door.

#sopretty

Each week, the shoppe offers a “drink of the week,” a recommended coffee drink that, if purchased, includes a macaron. So if the drink sounds like one you would enjoy, I certainly recommend taking advantage of that offer (although if it sounds like one you really do not think you will enjoy, I think you should listen to your instincts, because there’s definitely a difference between expanding your horizons and torturing yourself).

Seriously – look at how cute this cup is. How could you NOT want to go here, if you’re in AA?

If you go, or have gone, to Le Bon Macaron, let me know what drink and/or macaron you had, and if your visit was as enjoyable as mine have been. Bon Appetit!

I completely respect any decision(s) to purchase from local, independent stores instead of Amazon. If, however, you were planning to make purchases through Amazon already anyway, please consider using one of the affiliate links below (As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases):

The Book that may become Famous that is not Almost Famous

This book will be compared to Almost Famous – but this comparison is too easy. Yes, Daisy Jones & the Six is a novel about a rock band set in the seventies. I would argue, however, that the protagonist of Almost Famous is Patrick Fugit’s character William Miller, whereas DJ&S does not represent a coming of age story about a teenage boy.

This book is NOT Almost Famous

Most of the novel (the good part) is told in the style of a VH1 “Behind the Music” show, with the words of each character being written directly in the style of quotation. This stylized method of storytelling sounds like it should be annoying, but it really did not bother me at all. The characters generally had their own, distinctive vocabulary and their words were kept in short snippets that kept the story moving fairly quickly while providing alternative viewpoints that remind the reader that each person’s narrative is being colored by his or her biases and exposure to, or lack of, information. This book could easily be an all-nighter.

Daisy Jones & the Six is more than the name of this novel, which revolves around the creation and rise to fame of the fictional rock band the Six, and the fictional It Girl who, for a brief span of time, helped the band achieve even greater heights by singing with its members. Reid does an excellent job of evoking the era, as well as providing some strong female characters who maintain individuality and gain power in a time period that expected them to leave the decision making to the men.

I liked about 80-85% of this book. More than liked. I don’t know that I would say I loved it. Maybe more like, “like” liked it… if you know what I mean.

Like, I don’t want to MARRY this book. But I would probably take it to bed. #LIKElike

And then, out of nowhere the narrator injects herself into the interviews to explain something that only she would know, but which is kind of boring and also begins to take the story to a really uninteresting, cliched, cop-out place.

Ugh – a cop-out! Please, put that shit away.

My verdict: Overall, this is a decent book. It was almost – almost – a great book, but the shitty ending robs it of attaining the higher echelons of fiction. This book is like all of those bastards who tried climbing Everest before Sir Edmund Hillary – great beginning, solid middle trek, but before the summit was reached, the wheezing took over and they either gave up and turned back or ran completely out of breath and died.

This book ain’t no Sir Edmund Hillary…

Is it worth reading? Absolutely. Is it going to blow your mind? Maybe. Probably not.

4 out of 5 star book

I received this book free-of-charge, directly from the publisher; however, my opinion is unbiased (i.e., was not purchased). This book will be available on March 5, 2019, but is currently available for pre-order.

I completely respect any decision(s) to purchase from local, independent stores instead of Amazon. If, however, my review has piqued your interest, or reminded you that you have been wanting to purchase anything listed in the post, and you want to make those purchases through Amazon, please consider using one of the affiliate links below (As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases):

… And so it begins

Hello world, and welcome to my blog!

I consume mass quantities of coffee, and inhale all media-related items like a cocaine addict who doesn’t have a job (… I assume. Since I have never actually tried cocaine, and I do have a job. But I read a lot of books, watch a lot of TVs/movies, and have a husband and sons who will freak the fuck out if they don’t get their hours of daily music.)

Currently living in Southeast Michigan, I have a propensity for cursing and calling people “bitch.”

Not intended to be offensive, it’s just my vocabulary – but I don’t plan to change my vocabulary for anyone else, so if you don’t like it, you probably shouldn’t read my shit. I’m also opinionated, and am happy to hear other thoughts and viewpoints, though my opinions, once forged, are not easy to sway. People like this strength in their fantasy/sci-fi jewelry quests, but sometimes like it less from a woman. Hopefully, you’re not a misogynist asshole – but if you are, you probably won’t like this blog.

#wentthere

If you like women, like strong opinions about things that are often meaningless, or like reading people who swear like a sailor, on the other hand – this may be the blog for you.

Welcome aboard the SS Shit Talker…

Either way, thanks for reading –  I hope you will continue reading, that you enjoy my thoughts, and that I will soon read some of yours, as well.