I Have Drunk Deep From the Well of Culture. And Rum. With a Bourbon Chaser.

Saturdays around here don't tend to be a beehive of activity. There's usually some kind of sporting event, for one kid if not both, early in the day, and then some down time and we catch up on Modern Family (Matt and Eve and me), Person of Interest (Matt and Angus and me) and/or House of Cards (Matt and me - Angus hung around for part of one hoping for some kind of salaciousness and almost died of boredom; not a future politician, I guess). Saturdays after Matt has just returned home from a week overseas are usually reserved for stumbling through the required activity and then adjourning to the couch (him) and the reading chair (me) for some recovery time.

As things shook out, he was scheduled to get home from France Friday night, after a week in California and a week in Asia not long ago, but Eve's spring Glee recital was on Saturday morning and I had NAC tickets for Saturday night, AND then we found out that Collette's birthday dinner was reserved for Saturday night also. So I took Collette out for dinner last week, and figured that Saturday I would go to the Glee recital, the NAC event, then stop by Collette's for a civilized drink before heading home to sleep the sleep of the virtuous and well-rounded.

I bet you can guess how well THAT worked out for me.

First, Matt's flight got cancelled. He was rebooked on one that was scheduled to land in Ottawa at 11:30. The recital was at 12:30. We figured it was going to be a Disney-movie-type-thing, except he would probably arrive seconds AFTER Eve performed, not before. Eve was fine - she felt bad that he felt bad, and I said I would try to record it. My mom was coming with us, and Eve's teacher, because she is just that awesome.

The recital was fantastic. Not in the way that Glee the television show is fantastic, because they're all professional singers and actors who are just playing regular kids. These were regular kids who had the balls to sing in public. They weren't all great, but they were mostly quite good (my kid was the best, duh). And their two songs (Break Away and Price Tag) were bookended by ballet and tap performances by five-year-olds, and how better to be bookended than by a dozen little pink-gowned blissed-out darling children reveling in the sheer joy of being small and pink and dancing on a stage? And then at the end we found out that Matt had (by breaking a land-speed record and three traffic laws) actually made it seconds before Eve's class went on. So that was awesome.

Then I went to see Shane Koyczan with a couple of book club friends. Honestly, I bought the ticket in the spirit of trying something a little new, and I wasn't sure how into it I would be, especially given that I was exhausted. I wasn't sure if it would be too earnest, or if I would find it like the symphony where my mind drifts and I can't stay focused on the performance, or if, as my friend Carolyn said, we might get trampled in a mob of besotted hipsters.

It was phenomenal. It was spectacular. It was fantastic, and I say this from the bottom of my cynical, middle-aged, shriveled little heart. It was earnest in the very best way, but the emotional intensity was liberally sprinkled with profane hilarity, and my ears couldn't look away. I can't find most of the poems online either because I can't remember what they were called, or because they're new, but he did this one (without music, which I actually prefer), and don't feel bad if you don't feel like watching it because I almost never watch videos embedded in blogs either, but it's very good. And I have to say, everything he said rang so true, except that he still doesn't go to beaches or public places and hasn't had many relationships, because I have to think that this dude gets so much ass flung at him he must not be able to catch it with both hands and a net.

Then I went to Collette's. Matt had gone to the birthday dinner, which was heroic in the extreme since he had probably been awake for over twenty-four hours now, so he kissed me and went home. And I had a beer. And then the whole night turns into a hazy haze of WTF punctuated by flashes of OH DEAR GOD, and there was a bottle of rum with a kraken on it and some kind of weird hop-flavoured bourbon, and a lengthy, serious discussion about elbows. Then I was towed home like a salvaged galleon through the streets of Barrhaven by three friends who wouldn't let me lie down on someone's lawn for a rest no matter how much I begged. And I slept the sleep of the debauched and repentant.

How was your week-end?

Sorry, November: I love you not.

I just feel gross today. I feel bad, I look bad, the mother of all bad hair days is taking place on top of my head and there's something unspeakable going on in my right nostril. Matt and I went to watch Eve's African drumming class do their last-class performance. It was cool. Then we were supposed to mingle with the other parents, and while they all seemed nice, we didn't know anyone and it was as excruciatingly awkward as you might think that kind of thing would be when you're me.

So here, have some funny stuff that other people showed me.

I got this from Nicole and showed it to Eve when she got home from school. I was walking away and she was yelling "THE BUNNIES ARE SO CUTE". I said "just wait for the duckling" and she said "geez - spoiler much?"

I read this to the kids as Eve was eating before African drumming and Angus was skulking around the kitchen; the sandwich one actually made me cry and gasp for breath.

I often see Coffee With Jesus on Sherri's Facebook page and I LOVE it.

My whole body feels like hangnails. Everything is so Novemberish. Blah.

Wonder

I went in to the school library on Tuesday to shelve books, as usual. I also helped the library tech staple Book Fair flyers, with the help of an absolutely charming 6^th grader named Anna. She told us at length about some of her favourite books, including Rules, Out of My Mind and Wintergirls (“I love books about characters with disabilities or diseases!” she exclaimed, with completely unabashed sweetness and sincerity.) This reminded me that I have to tell you, and all my friends and family, and everyone else I meet ever, that you must not miss reading Wonder.

It’s one of those books where you keep hearing the hype and you think the book can’t possibly live up to the hype (similar to how I thought “oh come on, there’s no way The Bloggess’s book will make me laugh OUT LOUD”, and then my husband stormed downstairs to sleep on the couch) and then it lives up to the hype and more. For me, anyway – if there’s one thing we’ve all learned here, I think it’s that different people can love each other and NOT love the same books, although if I’m totally honest I have to say that there are people I now think an infinitesimally bit less of now, but I try not to dwell on it.

It’s a first novel. If I think about that too much, it makes me weep. It’s SO FUCKING GOOD. It’s deeply moving and revelatory without being preachy, it’s beautifully written without being flowery, it’s funny and honest and the characters are wonderful and the way the family deals with things reminds me a lot of the way my family deals with things. I love it. I LOVE it. Katy, the school librarian, let me borrow it from the school library over the summer, and I wanted Eve to read it to, but she didn’t get a chance, which is fine because I’m buying ONE copy at the VERY least. 

Read it. Get your kids to read it. If you don't love it, that's fine. Just don't tell me. 

Mondays on the Margins: Parenting Illustrated With Crappy Pictures by Amber Dusick OR I TOTALLY Knew Her When

I met Amber Dusick (virtually) when she was still Wood Mouse. I think I met her through this other Amber, and sometimes on my blog I would get double Amber comments. That was cool.

Sometimes Amber Dusick makes stuff. I have a little house that she made.

That's cool too.

Then she made something else. A funny blog post with hastily-drawn pictures. And people really, really liked that blog post. And then I was suddenly in that position where someone you sort of know gets really famous really quickly, and you'd hate them if they weren't so freaking nice and talented and richly deserving of all of it.

And then she emailed me and said I was on her "send a book to this awesome person" list and ASKED if she could send me a copy of her book to review. Objectively, of course.

So now that I've made this all about ME..... you really need to read this book. And then share it with all your friends who are parents. Buy it for a baby shower gift. Pass it around at playgroup. Leave it on your coffee table. Because Amber just freaking gets it, you know? How having kids is kind of like inviting a nuclear weapon to blow up your life. Sure, the nuclear weapon is frequently charming, endearing, adorable and quite entertaining, but it still makes your days and nights a smoking crater of confusion and sleeplessness.

And damned if her simple line drawings don't make her devastatingly true assessment of parenting funnier by an inestimable factor. In fact, I'm a little afraid to even try having someone read me a post without being able to see the pictures because I have a sneaking suspicion it might not be funny AT ALL (this is a complete lie, I don't really suspect that at all, but there's something about the pictures - the wiggly single curl on Crappy Baby's head, the kids' curiously alien eyes, the way food and Lego and bodily fluids are all reduced to representative smudges). Occasionally she illustrates other people's blog posts and really hits it out of the park.

She just strikes the exact right note for me - how kids are hilarious and wonderful, but how it can really suck trying to get them to sleep, or eat, or not embarrass you half to death in front of perfect strangers. In the book, there's more writing to connect the pictures, and some of the anecdotes are longer. The one where they go on vacation and everyone gets diarrhea on the plane and then the last picture is of the whole family peeing (in little yellow dotted lines) on the side of the road and getting caught in another car's headlights brought me to my knees.

Amber is a hilarious writer and crappy-picture-maker and a genuinely nice person. I'm buying extra copies of the book because it feels like cheating that I got this one for free. My kids have also enthusiastically endorsed the book. So has Mayim Bialik - it's right there on the front cover - but my kids are brilliant AND in favour of vaccines, so...

More About Condoms!

Okay, that's a total lie, but clearly that's what you filthy-minded people respond to - don't hate the player, hate the game.

I'm heading out for World Trivia Night shortly to fill my valuable position anchoring our team. And by anchoring I mean I'm dead weight. Seriously, I don't even know why they let me keep coming.

I'm hoping to post again before midnight, but if I don't get a chance you could do worse than to read this and this. One of these women I know nothing about, and one I heard read at Voices of the Year at BlogHer in August, but when I saw the letters this morning I thought to myself that if I did nothing but read these today it would still have been a great day.

The King's Last Song, by Geoff Ryman

I just finished The King's Last Song by Geoff Ryman, which I read while in the throes of a head-poundingly miserable virus. This left me in awe not only of Ryman's breathtaking talent but my own ability, even when reading about centuries of war and almost unimaginable human suffering, to maintain a really impressive level of self-pity. I mean, sure, millions of Cambodian people lack the basic necessities of life and have lost family members and the situation is horrifying, but I feel like I have spikes being driven into my ears, I've pulled every muscle in my torso coughing, and I am a dictionary, nay, a veritable encyclopedia of snot. It's all about my pain, people.

I've only ever written (e-mailed) three fan letters, and they've all been to fantasy writers. My husband says he always wants to meet people he admires, because he has this fantasy that he'll be able to come up with something witty and brilliant to say that will impress them and make him memorable. The only time I've ever handed an author I loved a book to be autographed, I just stood there beaming like a slightly backward three-year-old after one too many trips to the sundae bar until she cleared her throat politely and said "um... what's your name?"

Anyway, one of my fan letters was to Geoff Ryman for his book The Child Garden, which was amazing -- one of the few books that made me feel like I'd truly never read anything like this before. He wrote back and was very gracious (all three of them were). Unfortunately (for me) I didn't love his next few books as much. Still, one of the things I admired about him was how he could differ in style and approach so much from book to book -- he's the furthest thing you can find from a formulaic writer. The Child Garden was fantasy -- subversive and thought-provoking fantasy, dealing with themes of social engineering, thought control and repression, among others. The King's Last Song moves between fiction and historical fiction. The modern narrative deals with the archaeological discovery of an ancient book written on gold leaves at Angkor Wat. Luc Andrade, a professor who grew up in Cambodia, is kidnapped along with the book. William, Andrade's motoboy, guide and friend, and Map, an ex-Khmer Rouge member, are two of the men involved in the attempt to rescue Andrade and the book. The other narrative is the story of Jayavarman VII, the Buddhist King who ruled Cambodia in the twelfth century.

Usually when a book alternates narratives, especially one in the present with one in the distant past, I find myself rushing through one of them in order to get back to the other. I didn't feel that way in the least with this book -- both stories are equally riveting, and wrenching. Perhaps Ryman's greatest strength is his characterization. His characters are so fully realized, so nuanced and multi-dimensional, that you can almost see them right in front of you. There are no types here -- good people commit unthinkable atrocities, and evil men are capable of amazing feats of generosity. Ryman also evokes Cambodia vividly, its heat and beauty and poverty and desperation.

I've heard that connecting something you're learning with a strong emotion makes it much more likely that you'll retain it. I feel as if the events and characters in this book are burned into my mind permanently. Luc Andrade, the French professor who grew up in Cambodia -- he's taken prisoner, held hostage and in fear for his life, and he still cares more about the people of Cambodia and protecting the book than he does about himself. William, the touchingly earnest motoboy who keeps files on everyone he meets in order to learn from them, who "buys fruit and offers you some, relying on your goodness to pay him back. When you do, he looks not only pleased, but justified." Map, who confronts every situation with a frightening zeal and hilarity, who acts with the single-minded fearlessness of someone who has nothing at all left to lose. Jayavarman, the prince who becomes a slave and then a King, a rare King who thinks about the lives and needs of all of his people. Jayarajadevi, his first wife, wise and enlightened but tormented by the need to accept the second wife he brings home from his period of enslavement. Rajapati, the king's son, born with twisted legs and struggling to temper his bitterness by finding a way to be useful.
Nothing happens the way you expect it to in this book, which I guess is also one of the themes. At one point it says that 1985 was the worst year of Map's life, and then a number of good things happen, which naturally you read with a sick feeling of foreboding because clearly something horrifying is coming. The Khmers Rouges committed unthinkable atrocities, and yet many of them were just poor, uneducated young boys who joined the army out of desperation or ignorance. The book is full of searing moments of honesty and unlikely friendships that make small redemptions seem possible, in the midst of despair, which seems the very best one can hope for (for which one can hope?) It is a passionate, eloquent, moving, disturbing story. I am now going to buy a copy (I got it from the library) and obnoxiously demand that everyone I know read it.