Through a Glass, Darkly

Last year I read (and very much enjoyed) Garlic and Sapphires by Ruth Reichl. It tells the story of her adventures as the New York Times food critic.

That book probably got me thinking about food and restaurants a little bit more, and I noticed Heat by Bill Buford, which was on the New York Times bestseller list last summer. I was wandering the stacks, looking for new books to read, and I saw Heat and took it home.

Heat is not as lighthearted as Garlic and Sapphires, but it’s still a very interesting and entertaining story. Bill Buford, because of an interest in food, asks Mario Batali if he can be a “kitchen slave” in his restaurant, Babbo. And that’s where our story begins.

One of the reasons I’d stayed away from Heat is that I thought that it was about the kind of chef who screamed and threw things. There are a couple of times that Mario gets angry, but mostly he is of the opinion that that’s not the kind of atmosphere he wants in his kitchen. Instead, we learn about the ins and outs of a restaurant kitchen – what the prep looks like, how long it takes, what kinds of people work in a kitchen, the different positions in a kitchen that go together to create your meal. A lot of the book is about the different personalities that Buford encountered, as well as his desire to actually figure out what he is doing.

From there, we find that Buford actually does learn enough to actually be a line cook at Babbo, one of the team who actually prepares the food. Then he decides he wants to know about pasta, how it’s made, so he travels to a small town in Italy and learns from a master. From there, he decides to learn about meat from a butcher in Tuscany. His time with the butcher had him thinking about many things I’ve been considering, too – are we hurting ourselves and the planet by demanding that all food be available to us all the time? What’s the balance between the regulations that are meant to protect us and the high-quality food that is available in places with fewer regulations?

Heat is a little more dense than Garlic and Sapphires, and a few times early on I had to put it down and take breaks from it because I needed to absorb what I’d read. At the end, though, I thought it read better in larger chunks than when I read in a stolen minute here and there. I wouldn’t say that I felt a deep connection with this book, but the narrative was clear, and I wanted to know what would happen, what else Buford would learn and experience. I also appreciated the discussion of food, not just what I mentioned above, but also how the food was prepared, what makes restaurant food different than what I can prepare at home, what little tricks he learned. So even if I didn’t connect with this book on an emotional level, it was interesting and thought-provoking, as well as just plain entertaining.

As I read I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman by Nora Ephron, I thought about how, with When Harry Met Sally and then Sleepless in Seattle and then You’ve Got Mail, Nora Ephron kind of . . . defined what it was to be a funny woman for people my age. The way she phrases things is so familiar, because I’ve seen her movies hundreds of times. I sometimes take that same tone when I want to be funny because I learned it from her.

So, of course I thought the book was hilarious, from her thoughts on purses (as I am not a purse person myself, you see, I agree with her) to her revelation that she did not, in fact, have an affair with JFK (just in case anyone was wondering). I read most of it in my car on my lunch break on Friday (it was too nice to be inside, but too cool and windy to actually sit outside, so the compromise was to be in my car with the windows cracked), and I laughed out loud several times. Alone. In my car. I then looked around to see if anyone had heard me. I don’t want to be the crazy car lady, you see.

If you wonder what this book is like, I can give you the perfect example. In the commentary on You’ve Got Mail, there’s a discussion of the fun of slipping mini-essays into movies, like the scene where Tom Hanks discusses Starbucks and how ordering coffee gives a person a defining sense of self. Many of the chapters in this book were riffs like that, a thought turned into a mini-essay.

In the same way that You’ve Got Mail has things to say about a woman discovering who she is in her late 30s, this book is not just about the laughs. It closes with thoughts on friends of hers who have passed away, and, in a humorous way, asks us to consider what it looks like to really live in the time that we have left.

Some of the essays were not as interesting to me as others, but with a book like this, it’s only a few more pages and then you’re on to another subject. If you’re a fan of Nora Ephron’s style, you will probably find some laughs here, whether you are pondering your age or not.

After not really liking the Narnia movie, I decided to put a ban on movies made from my favorite childhood books. No How to Eat Fried Worms. No Charlotte’s Web. And, after seeing the trailer, definitely no Bridge to Terabithia.

I have always thought that Bridge to Terabithia was a very special book. Part of that is because it was given to me by my aunt on my tenth (I think it was tenth) birthday, along with several other Newbery books like It’s Like This, Cat. The other reason I think it’s special is that it seems such an intimate story, not one that I have ever wanted to talk about. I wouldn’t want to spoil my own emotional response to the story by overthinking it. And I definitely wouldn’t want to see a movie that sacrifices the story of their friendship for some snazzy special effects.

This morning, I read this story on Slate about the movie, which I enjoyed very much. It links to this interview Katherine Paterson did with Christianity today, and if you were considering seeing the movie, I highly recommend you read that interview. It is excellent. She, too, calls it a “private” book, and I don’t think I can explain my feelings about it any better than that.

To be honest, her interview has almost convinced me that I might want to see the movie after all, that it’s not so bad. But I think, in the end, the images I want to keep in my head are the ones I still remember my ten-year-old self conjuring up of Leslie and Jesse in Terabithia.

Bea says that the art of reading is slowly dying, that it’s an intimate ritual, that a book is a mirror that offers us only what we already carry inside us, that when we read, we do it with all our heart and mind, and great readers are becoming more scarce by the day.

I think that quotes like that are the reason that so many people seem to agree: The Shadow of the Wind is a book for bibliophiles.

I have to confess, I almost didn’t finish it. When I decided to finish it, I had imaginary blog entries written up in my mind about how much I didn’t like it. But the second half was, for me, much better than the first, and, in the end, I’m glad I persevered, though I wouldn’t give it a whole-hearted recommendation.

This is a book about a novel entitled The Shadow of the Wind by Julián Carax and how a young boy named Daniel finds the novel in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books, a secret library for books abandoned by the outside world. Someone has been systematically destroying copies of Julián Carax’s novels, and Daniel finds that he has the last copy of The Shadow of the Wind in his possession. The novel sparks Daniel’s interest, and he decides to find out more about the life of Julián Carax, which turns to be a dangerous quest full of murder and star-crossed lovers.

So, why didn’t it work for me? I am not sure why, exactly, but this novel, especially the first half, felt kind of distant. It’s written in first person, but I never felt very attached to the main character, never felt like I knew him all that well. I’m not sure whether that was a stylistic choice or whether it was because the book has been translated and, somehow, some connection with the character was lost.

The second half picked up quite a lot, and I finally had all the characters straight and could see what the story was trying to do. I even got involved enough to make some very good guesses about what was going to happen, many of which were right. I finished it on my morning break, and my coworker asked if it was worth it (I’d been complaining about it) and I told her that, in the end, it was. It’s a beautifully imagined tale, but it was very different than what I had expected.

I did not love this book, but I can see why it’s gotten so much praise. I finished it because I had passed the magical “tipping point” – I had invested so much time already that I didn’t want to give up. Someone who is less stubborn than I am might have given up, but she would have missed quite a story in the end.

Alisa let me borrow Tara Leigh Cobble’s Here’s to Hindsight: Letters to My Former Self. The title, to me, is interesting . . . in one chapter, Tara Leigh and a friend talk about how, with hindsight, things come clear and you can see what you were learning and how you were growing. I feel that way in my own life – I can see how some of the things that (Mike and) I have been through have grown me closer to the person I was created to be.

At the same time, I am not sure that everything comes clear with hindsight. Terrible things happen and there seems to be no reason for them. In those cases, sometimes we can look back and see how God has used them in our lives just the same, but sometimes we have to simply take comfort in his presence. I am only in my late 20s, so I don’t consider myself an expert on any of this, but when I look back on some of the things that haven’t made sense, I do remember that those were times when God was so close I could almost touch him.

But that doesn’t have anything to do with the book, really.

I remember Tara Leigh from back when I used to read the Bebo-board (or was it the Beboard?). I remember when Home Sweet Road came out, and she’s been on my radar, and I know she’s friends with Alisa and Carla, but I don’t know any of her music. The only song I’ve heard is her cover of Rich Mullins’ “Hard to Get.” So I don’t feel like I know her music at all. I just thought I should say that before I start talking about the book.

I read the book straight through in a day, and, while I think it would have added an extra level if I actually did know a thing or two about her music, I enjoyed her honesty about her struggles. I’m not a musician, I don’t travel, but I, too, have desired community, to know and to be known, and not had that need met. I have questioned why God was letting certain things happen, where he was, and been given small graces in response.

I read memoirs and books about spiritual journeys because they help me understand myself better, help me put my own story in perspective. I wouldn’t say that this book completely changed my life, but it did put into words some of the struggles that are common for 20-something Christians: what it looks like to trust God, to live authentically, to find out who we are when we aren’t living with our parents anymore. I expected to feel somewhat intimidated by the book, in a, “Her life is cooler than mine,” kind of way (which is funny, because she talks about reading Girl Meets God and feeling that way), but instead, I felt that she was someone who I could talk to over a cup of coffee (not in a Notting Hill “I have believed for some time that we could be best friends” creepy stalker way, I swear). I asked Alisa if I could listen to her CDs sometime, to find out which ones I might like.

I wondered as I was reading it what I would say to my former self, to high school Kari and college Kari if I could. For inspiration, I asked Mike, and he said, “I wouldn’t want to say anything to myself, because if I made different decisions, I wouldn’t be here with you.” I rolled my eyes and ignored him. But, you know, I think he’s right. I started out by trying to write letters to my former self that said things like, “Don’t befriend this person. Don’t waste your time doing this.” But I can’t just erase those things. They are part of who I am, and I am very happy with my life these days. Instead, I think any letters I might write to myself would be some version of the following: “So far what I know is this: It’s going to hurt, but, with God’s help and the help of the wonderful people he’s placed in your life, you’re going to get through it.”

Spoilers for last night’s Gilmore Girls: “I’m a Kayak, Hear Me Roar.”

How great was it to get an episode that had townies and grandparent action and no Christopher? It was like spring came early! No, like Christmas came early!

You know, the really sad thing is that the first half of the season could not have been slower, as far as I was concerned. And now I feel like we’re running out of time for the really important stuff to happen. This was episode 15, you guys. There are only seven left. Seven left this season or seven left of the series . . . I have not yet heard the final decision.

Anyway, I have to confess that I was only halfway paying attention. It had been a long day. But what I saw, I liked indeed. I think we should start with Emily, since that’s what comes to my mind first. I thought we had some great Rory/Lorelai moments as Lorelai tried to work up the courage to tell Emily about the failure of her “marriage” with Christopher. And I don’t think we’ve had an Emily/Lorelai moment quite that good in a while. Drunk on mocktails! Checking the budget! Talking about rowboats and kayaks! And, of course, Emily was back to her ice-cold self in the morning.

But here’s the thing. I titled this post in vino veritas because I think that’s what we (and Lorelai) should remember. I think those are Emily’s true feelings, that she respects what her daughter has done with her life even as she struggles to understand it. And even though Emily was practically Antarctica in the morning, what she didn’t do was say, “You screwed it up again.” Emily knows that Christopher isn’t right for Lorelai, even though it’s been hard for her to let go of that ideal.

What it boils down to for me is that, if this really is the last season, which I imagine we will know in a week or two (I heard at one point the decision would be made by the end of February), we really do have to have some progress. Amy used to say that the show was about family relationships, and how they could be one step forward and two steps back. I think that kind of thing can be fun up to a point, but it’s hard for there to be so little growth between Lorelai and the grandparents, and I blame Amy for deliberately keeping it that way (and this isn’t me just piling on Amy – I felt like this even when I trusted that she had a plan about other things). The writers they have now do seem to be somewhat better about bringing us more closure and tying up loose storylines. I am hopeful that last night’s episode moves us closer to some growth – a little more understanding. It would be a nice cap to that storyline.

I guess the next place to go is Rory/Logan. I still just don’t get it about Logan. Even when I like their scenes, as I did last night, I am left cold by the overall relationship. I honestly don’t think he’ll ever win me over. That’s not that I hate him, just that I feel kind of “meh” about their relationship. But I did like Rory throwing him all the birthdays he’d missed. Very cute. I wish they’d come up with a different way to phrase it than, “You’ve been Huntzbergered.” Really? After we ALREADY had “You’ve Been Gilmored” as an episode title? Okay. I will admit I find the similarities between being Gilmored and being Huntzbergered amusing.

I am of two minds about whether he should have told her about the business deal (which I was apparently right to feel “Danger, Will Robinson!” about) going awry. I totally get that he was trying to protect her, to let her have her fun. And I was okay with that for a while. But the more I think about it, the more I think, “No, if they are in a committed relationship, she deserves to know.” Maybe it’ll be more clear once we know what the impact will be. How much of Logan’s trust fund was up? Was it all of it? I am still unclear on this.

And, of course, I loved the townie action. I can still do without Liz and TJ (well, TJ – I like Luke and Liz scenes, especially now that she has a baby), but I love Miss Patty and Babbette. And I liked Luke a lot in this episode – trying to decide how to proceed. And what was it that Babbette said – the rooster has a face like Stonehenge? Hee.

This was, again, Rebecca Rand Kirshner (yay!), and I didn’t think it was as great as some of her others, but it did what it had to do, and it did it very capably. I certainly liked it. What I think is so weird is that the episodes feel so much more normal without Christopher. He took up so much time. What a waste. There was more time for regular Gilmore Girls stuff without having to deal with him. So here’s to “normal” episodes again.

On Sunday, I did two things that were stretching. First, I spoke at church about prayer and the prayer team, inviting people to join. How do I feel about public speaking? Well, if the joke is that most people would rather be the dead person than the person speaking at the funeral, I must confess I’m probably not quite that bad. But it’s probably pretty close.

Anyway, I modified some of the thoughts that I wrote in this post, which meant I was very comfortable with the material. I think that helped. Mike also made me read it to him several times, which I didn’t want to do, but it also helped quite a bit. I also managed not to trip and/or fall, which was good. (I set the bar for these things very low after the liturgist debacle.) People were genuinely complimentary afterwards. Either that or Mike paid a lot of people to pretend to be genuinely complimentary. (So THAT’S where our tax refund went.) My former English professor tried to steal all the credit, which was my personal favorite response. “You did so well! Because you took my classes!” Hee.

And then, that evening, I went and served food at Greensboro Urban Ministry for about an hour and a half. I had been to GUM before, in college, but the help that I gave was on the administrative end, not actually serving the community. Our church cooks and serves there on the third Sunday of every month, and I have never been, which is shameful. I can tell you exactly why I have never been, though – no one ever said, “Come with me! I will show you what to do.” No, the idea was that I had to be brave and show up in a brand-new situation all on my own, something I am, frankly, not so good at. But, this time, because of a team I am on at church, I was required to go. I like that I was required to go, even though it meant that . . . I had to go. But I think it’s important for us to be there – I would always have said that in theory. And I like that I can say it now with conviction.

What impressed me the most about the other people from our church who were there to help was that they did know what they were doing, which means that many/most of those people serve regularly. I liked that some families had their kids involved (some with the cooking beforehand, and some with the actual serving), and that the kids also knew what they were doing. I will go again, not because I am required to, but because I want to help. It’s easy to write a check. It’s not as easy to show up and actually serve the homeless. Alisa and I have had some conversations about what ministry to the poor looks like, and she came along with me last night, as well. I enjoyed experiencing something new with her, as well.

So, Sunday was a day of trying new things. One of the things that sticks out to me is that, again and again, the people at my church have provided opportunities for me to stretch and grow as a person, and when I take those opportunities, they meet me on the other side with nothing but encouragement. That’s huge for me, and I think it shows – despite my fear of public speaking, I volunteered to be the one to speak about the prayer team. They have made it easier for me to take that kind of risk, simply by loving me out of my own fear of failure. I, for one, don’t take that for granted.

Not long after I became a librarian, I read Howard’s End. I had seen the movie when I was in high school, but never actually read the book. And what I remembered about the movie was: “I love Emma Thompson.” Because, in case I’ve never expounded upon her greatness: I love Emma Thompson.

So, in my quest to read at least some of the classics, I read Howard’s End, and I enjoyed it, though I probably didn’t appreciate it as much as I should have. I did remember enough of the themes, however, that when I heard that On Beauty by Zadie Smith was an homage to Howard’s End set in modern-day America and setting its conflict through race, gender, and religion (especially where religion intersects with political views) instead of class, I was intrigued. It came out in 2005, and around then, I think I either heard Zadie Smith interviewed on NPR or a discussion of her book. Regardless, it’s been on my radar for a while, but I finally decided to dig in.

I enjoyed On Beauty – I won’t say “best,” but a lot – when I could see its Howard’s End parallels. I think “updating” (for lack of a better word – seriously, I struggled with this sentence for much longer than necessary) the story and using it to work through different issues worked well. After doing a little bit of quick Wikipedia-ing, I am reminded that the main theme of Howard’s End is “Only connect . . .” That applies to On Beauty, as well – the relationships the characters make and the lengths to which some of them go to push each other away or deflect actual emotional connection is a huge part of the book, and another part I appreciated very much.

There were other things about it I liked much less – it seemed to set up stories or characters and then drop them without much of a trace. For example, the first part of the story is emails from Jerome to his father. But then . . . we don’t really see Jerome for much of the book. Which is okay, it’s acceptable to use a different perspective to set up the story, but it was done a few other times, enough to make me lament the loss of these interesting characters who just faded into the background. Basically, there were some things I wish had been explored a little more.

I must admit that I was influenced a bit by Slate’s podcast on The Emperor’s Children – one of the reviewers mentioned that Messud did “academia” better than Zadie Smith. I will agree with that reservedly, since they weren’t trying to do the same thing. I am not sure I would have noticed it if not for the podcast. What I will say is that the academics in this book didn’t necessarily seem to have a handle on exactly what they were talking about, but I feel as if that’s somewhat intentional, since our main academic, Howard, is floundering in his career. I wondered if we were supposed to feel that he didn’t have a handle on what he was talking about because, yes, he was in over his head.

Some of the reviews on Amazon talk about how all the characters are basically unlikable. It’s true that many of them are distasteful, but I didn’t find them all unlikable by any means. Especially Kiki, the matriarch of the Belsey family, and, to a slightly lesser extent, Zora, her daughter. Both of these women were characters who resonated with me. I also think that it’s interesting that what made some of the characters unlikable was how they were trying to find themselves, and in an interview I read, Zadie Smith said that what they should be doing, instead, is finding out what they are interested in, and pursuing that. I think that advice resonates most clearly for Zora, who has killer instincts but is remarkably unfocused. It’s also true for Howard, who seems incapable (probably because of academia) of knowing what he likes and doesn’t like. He is only able, because of his training, to analyze.

I found it interesting that I was extremely aware while reading the book that it was by an African-American author. Not that anything in the book necessarily indicated it, just that the way that I approached the book was affected by my knowledge of that. Many of the characters in the book struggle with issues of “blackness” – what does it mean to be African-American today, especially when given opportunities, both educational and financial, that many other African-Americans don’t have. When I would read about these issues, I noticed that part of me was always reserved: “Is it okay for me to laugh at this joke, even though I’m white?” I am always surprised at my own response to situations like this, how sensitive I can be about it, how uncomfortable it makes me.

As the title suggests, the book also explores the theme of Beauty. I think that people who are much wiser than I am have touched on that theme in other places, so I will just say that this was the idea behind the book that kept me reading. The ideal of female beauty, the beauty of art, how academia can destroy our appreciation of that beauty. How the beauty of art can also be destroyed by the idea of possession or ownership. The beauty that can be found and easily destroyed in human and family relationships.

Overall, I liked On Beauty quite a lot. Some people have said that it dragged, but it kept my attention the whole way through. I hear that it’s pretty different from her older books, but I will definitely give her next book a try, based on my experiences with this one.

I liked The Book Thief. I thought it was a little overhyped, but it was good. It didn’t, you know, change my life or anything. But I liked it.

What I especially liked was the perspective. Not the narrator – I’ll get to that in a second. But it’s set in Germany during World War II, so it gives you both compassion for the German people who were caught up in something awful, acting as a group in ways that they likely would not have acted as individuals (or acting in ways that they felt they couldn’t get out of because of the power of the group), and frustration/anger/disgust with the people who did go along with it, who did act that way. And that, I think, is realistic. That’s life.

I don’t quite know how to or feel like summarizing it, so I’ll steal the publisher’s summary.

It’s just a small story really, about among other things: a girl, some words, an accordionist, some fanatical Germans, a Jewish fist-fighter, and quite a lot of thievery. . . .

Set during World War II in Germany, Markus Zusak’s groundbreaking new novel is the story of Liesel Meminger, a foster girl living outside of Munich. Liesel scratches out a meager existence for herself by stealing when she encounters something she can’t resist–books. With the help of her accordion-playing foster father, she learns to read and shares her stolen books with her neighbors during bombing raids as well as with the Jewish man hidden in her basement before he is marched to Dachau.

This is an unforgettable story about the ability of books to feed the soul.

Something about this summary actually kept me from reading it before. I saw it when it came in last summer, and I thought it sounded intriguing, but there was also something about it that seemed a little too . . . light or trite or something? Maybe the accordion-playing and the fist-fighting. But then I heard great things about it, and I planned on reading it. And then my pastor’s book club chose it, and he started it and was enjoying it, so I finally finally checked it out.

Of course I enjoyed Liesel’s story of learning how to read, of what books came to mean to her. And I liked the story of the courage of her foster family, hiding a Jewish man and trying to stand for what was right. I liked her best friend, Rudy, and her relationship with the mayor’s wife, and the way that her foster parents were three-dimensional characters: she had a vicious tongue and he could be a little lazy. But they both loved Liesel, even if the mother didn’t always show it in the ways I would have liked her to. And they did stand up against the Nazi party in small but important ways. All of that was, I thought, more nuanced than I would have guessed the book would be.

What I am undecided about, though, was the narration. This book is narrated by Death, and I thought it was very effective, his perspective and the way that he talked about the war and taking people’s souls (so many people . . . I forget how many people died during WWII, not just the numbers from the concentration camps). It gave it a certain poignancy, to think about WWII from that perspective. And yet, it was a little gimmicky. I felt like I read the whole thing with one eyebrow raised, not quite able to buy into it. That’s probably my fault more than the book’s, but I thought I should mention it. (I told my pastor that I found Death a little gimmicky, and he said he wouldn’t be standing near me any time soon. hee.)

With that said, I do think The Book Thief was very good. The ending was very powerful, and I cried several times as I was finishing. The ending made me like the whole book more overall, I think. It’s not light or funny, but Zusak did his research and it’s a different perspective than I’d read before, so if the summary or what you’ve heard about it catches your attention, you should give it a try. The narration is a little choppy in the beginning as it sets up the story, so it’s helpful to be patient there - I flipped back to those first pages several times as I was reading, taking the measure of the story through that. It’s a long book, but it doesn’t necessarily feel that way. And I did feel it was worth the effort of being patient, even if I didn’t get quite as into the story as I had hoped.

Spoilers for Gilmore Girls episode “Farewell, My Pet.”

So, is it just me, or does it sound like Christopher has been reading my blog? He said all the things I’ve been saying! He even said part of it in a more clever way, like the “disengagement” line. I totally could have thought of that! Lorelai needed to disengage before jumping into a relationship with Christopher! My heart is so sad that Christopher came up with that and I didn’t. I feel I have let you all down.

Anyway, I mostly loved this episode. Because Lorelai gave Christopher the boot. Huzzah! Actually, let me list all the things I enjoyed about the episode before I give my (very few) negatives. Sookie was great in this episode. She was a real friend, asking the hard questions. Being honest. I love it when we get to see that part of their friendship. Michel got a story, and I have to admit that I see how they are paralleling season 1 (Richard in the hospital episode, dead pet funeral episode), but I liked the “Cinnamon’s Wake” Redux. I liked seeing the Dragonfly Inn – we have definitely been missing it. I liked Zack not wanting to sing “My Heart Will Go On.” I like the new cute TA. hee hee. I liked Paris wanting the boys to get tattoos since it would be like branding them.

I liked Lorelai and Christopher all finally saying what they really think and feel, and I like that I was right about that plotline – she does want to want you, Christopher. It would make sense if she did. You’re her first love, her babydaddy (hee), that guy that she always thought she could make it work with. I like that this breakup wasn’t about Luke . . . let me start over. The breakup was about Luke, because it was about how Lorelai’s feelings for Luke make her realize she can’t settle with Christopher. And we, the audience, know that Luke still loves Lorelai. But I don’t think Lorelai knows that. I don’t think she’s expecting to be with Luke now that she and Christopher have called it quits. And I like that. I don’t want her to jump from Luke to Christopher and back again. I want her to figure out why all this happened first.

So, Zack playing Celine Dion is classic Gilmore Girls, I think. And I think it was very effective to have Lorelai “see Luke’s face” then. But . . . it did seem a little cheesy for Gilmore Girls, don’t you think? I think it all came together really well, with the pet funeral helping Lorelai’s realization. But it was a little cheesy. That’s my only complaint, though. Since the winter break, the show has really seemed like it was back on track, with good, strong episodes and good, classic scenes. I know it is nitpicky of me to complain about this one thing. But I have been this show’s biggest cheerleader, so I think I have earned it.

And on that same note, I love that Gilmore Girls never does traditional Valentine’s Day episodes. This season, Lorelai and Christopher ended their marriage. Last season, Lorelai and Luke had a miserable time on Martha’s Vineyard. Two seasons ago, the vow renewal was right before Valentine’s Day and Luke and Lorelai’s big fight/breakup was right after it. In season 4, when the Luke/Lorelai storyline was building, the only nod we got to Valentine’s Day was that he got drunk and talked about his feelings and then gave her some earrings his sister made. Season 3’s episode was Jess showing up at the grandparents’ house with a black eye and Rory telling her mom she was thinking about sleeping with Jess. Season 2, Christopher’s baby was born. And season 1 had . . . nothing. hehe. I bet you thought I was going to say the Firelight Festival, but it aired in March! Tricky! I know you want to know how many of those I knew and how many I had to look up. I knew seasons 4, 5, and 6, and I had to look up seasons 1-3. Anyway, the show doesn’t get all sentimental most of the time, and I like that. So I guess I can forgive a little revelation during Celine Dion. But I did want to note that it made me a little squirmy.

I don’t want to downplay the fact, though, that last night’s episode was really good. That writer? She can stay. (I think her name was Jennie Snyder. Oooh, I just looked, and she wrote the episode earlier in the season where Rory got pissed at Lorelai and Chris for getting married in Paris. She can definitely stay.) It had townies, but not too much quirk. It had humor. It had actual conversations. I didn’t feel ashamed or disappointed to be a fan.

So, from here, I guess what we need to see is Lorelai and Christopher end the “marriage” (find out it’s not real!), Emily and Richard be on Lorelai’s side (like I said last week), and Luke and Lorelai moving toward each other. As far as Rory, I am still not all that into Logan, no matter how cute they are together. I just can’t do it. I am sorry, Susan. But I would like to see Rory get a job or go to grad school or something. And I would like to see her keep hanging out with Paris. And I would like to see her be there when Lane has her babies. And I would like to see more of Lucy and . . . whatever that other girl’s name is. These are not all that much to ask. Please let these things happen.

I am going to have to watch this one again, I think, because I know I have forgotten some things, but these are my disjointed thoughts this morning.

I know that even the word “midwives” can raise hackles. Everyone has an opinion on midwives and home births, and I have seen discussions of the topic get rather heated. While this book is about a midwife who is on trial for a death that occurred while she was assisting a woman in labor, it’s not really about whether midwives should be allowed to assist in homebirths in this country (I would say that it offers both sides fairly well). So that’s just a little disclaimer before we start.

Not counting the classics (who am I to argue with Anna Karenina?), Midwives is, hands down, the best Oprah book I have read. I could not put it down. I had to know what was going to happen. And the payoff? Was worth every minute of frantic reading.

Midwives tells the story of Sibyl Danforth, a respected midwife who feels strongly that women should be able to have their babies at home, if they so choose. She has worked as a midwife for many years, and she doesn’t fear the medical community – at the first sign of danger, she takes the mother to the hospital. Her statistics are as good or better than any doctor’s. She takes her job very seriously, and treats her patients with love and care and respect.

The night that Charlotte Bedford goes into labor, though, an ice storm makes a trip to the hospital impossible. Sibyl does the best that she can, but Charlotte has a stroke and dies. Sibyl performs a c-section on the dead woman and saves the baby. But . . . was Charlotte really dead? Or did the c-section kill her? Sibyl believes that Charlotte was dead. The doctor who performs the autopsy isn’t so sure. Neither is Sibyl’s assistant or Charlotte’s husband. And, suddenly, Sibyl is on trial for murder.

The story is told by Sibyl’s daughter, Connie, who was 14 at the time of the trial and has since grown up to be an obstetrician. This is Connie’s coming-of-age story as much as her the story of her mother’s trial – she learns, in many ways, to take care of herself as her parents are consumed with the details of the trial. Connie includes her mother’s journals at the beginning of many of the chapters, and those journals come to play a crucial role in the story. Therefore, all the words in the story are either Connie’s or Sibyl’s, which is even more interesting when you remember that the author, Chris Bohjalian, is a man. Sometimes I read a book about a woman that is written by a man, and I laugh. We have talked about that in my book club before. I definitely did not feel that way during this book - Chris Bohjalian sold me on these women from the very beginning.

Many reviews I read compared this story to To Kill a Mockingbird, probably because of the court drama and the daughter’s perspective. I can see those comparisons, but I didn’t think of To Kill a Mockingbird while I was reading it, and now, in retrospect, I see those echoes only in the structure of the story, not in the story itself.

Midwives is about right and wrong, the resentment and dichotomy between the medical community and midwives, and about what these issues mean for one family in Vermont. The novel is sympathetic to midwives while asking difficult questions about the safety of homebirths. It didn’t offer easy answers to any of the questions that it raised. It simply told the story of the consequences of Sibyl’s actions that night, how it changed her, and how it changed her family.

I couldn’t necessarily tell you why this book resonated so deeply with me. I am only interested in the idea of homebirths in that I know people who have had them, not because it’s something I myself would like to experience or pursue. My parents have never been involved in something as serious as Sibyl’s trial. My adolescence didn’t unfold in the same way that Connie’s did. The characters in this novel, though, were caring, interesting, flawed individuals, and I think that, in the end, that’s why I was so hooked that I had to be forced to turn my light off at night. And I really like sleep.

If this entry is a bit stilted, it’s because one of the things that resonated most deeply with me was the ending. I think some people could see the ending as cheap or shocking, but I thought the pacing (and thus the end) was set up exactly how a daughter would tell the story of her mother’s trial. What I liked most about this story is that, at the center of it was the quest for truth, and how, in the pursuit of truth, both mother and daughter sought to protect each other.

Sixty years ago, Leo Gursky wrote a book called The History of Love, and named all the female characters in it Alma, after his own true love, now lost to him. Leo thought his book was also lost, but it actually survived and was published. Now, Alma, a 15-year-old girl who was named after the character(s) in the book, seeks out the book and its author in an attempt to understand herself and her late father better. The book alternates between their two distinct voices as we see how The History of Love will bring their lives together.

This is a book about love and death and mystery, and it unfolds very slowly and deliberately. There were a few major things I was confused about for, oh, maybe the middle third of the book, to the point that I was wondering if maybe I’d missed something, but, suddenly, sharply, it was made clear. There were still some things that I found a little confusing in the end, but some thought and some online discussion cleared up some of my questions. It’s not a book that ties everything up neatly, and you really have to be paying attention. I found it hard to read small pieces of it – it was easier to read big chunks at a time than a page here and a page there. I think that I also read it too quickly, missing some important details, though it’s easier to see that in retrospect. Now that I have the story straight in my head, I will probably read through it again another time, maybe later this year.

Besides being about love and loss, this is also a book about survival. In an interview I read, Nicole Krauss talked about that, and, to be honest, the survival aspect was probably my favorite part of the book. Leo is afraid of disappearing, so he goes out in public and drops his change at the store, spills his popcorn at the movie theater, makes a mess of the milk at Starbucks, poses nude for an art class . . . all so people will see him and he won’t die unnoticed. Alma, too, is trying to figure out how to be seen. Her mother is busy with her work as a book translator, and her brother thinks he might possibly be the Messiah. She reads and rereads her Wilderness Survival Guide: Alma desperately wants to be normal, but not to be invisible. Isn’t that what we all want - for people to notice us? No matter how ordinary we are, we don’t want to die without our lives leaving a trace.

There are other elements to this story that I haven’t yet touched on - the author Zvi Litvinoff, and how he affects the lives of both Leo and Alma; Leo’s quest to know his son; and Leo’s mysterious neighbor, Bruno. These are the details that make the story, that I wish I had paid closer attention to.

Several years ago, Mike and I listened to the director commentary on Moulin Rouge, and Baz Luhrmann talked a lot about the “deal” or the “contract” that a movie and its director make with the audience. I think in this book, the same thing occurs – the reader has to buy into what the author is doing with the story, or the reader may find lines like, “Her kiss was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering,” to be too sentimental or twee for words (that idea is explored in the review I linked). I personally loved the language and story of the book, and think that, after another read, it may be an all-time favorite because of how it all comes together in the end.

This book is a prime example of why I often skip to the end of a book so that I will know what is coming. I didn’t for The History of Love, and I would have enjoyed this book a lot more if I had known what was going to happen and how it was all going to unfold. Which is why I will definitely give it another try.

I read some books I enjoyed very much in the past week, including The History of Love by Nicole Krauss and Midwives by Chris Bohjalian (which, oh my goodness, I could not put down, and I will probably write about later) . But I’m going to skip those and talk about Because She Can by Bridie Clark instead.

Because She Can is basically The Devil Wears Prada in the book publishing world. Here is what’s likely to be a hugely unpopular opinion: I vastly preferred Because She Can to The Devil Wears Prada, which I read in 2003. Here are my reasons why.

1. Claire was a more sympathetic main character than Andrea (did she go by Andy? I can’t remember). When reading The Devil Wears Prada, I thought Andrea came across as incredibly smug and judgmental, probably because Lauren Weisberger (allegedly) based the book and the character on her own experiences at Vogue. Bridie Clark did work for an alleged she-devil boss in the publishing industry, but the book did not feel as personal, and therefore Claire felt less judgmental.

2. Claire already worked in the book publishing world, so, even though she looked down on the trash that Vivan Grant chose to publish, there was less distance between the character and the world of the book. Andrea wanted to work for a newspaper or The New Yorker or something, and she clearly thought that Runway was beneath her. (See reason number one, and this leads into reason number three . . . )

3. In addition, Claire knew . . . if not exactly what she was getting into, she at least had somewhat of an idea of what she was getting into. She chose to take a calculated risk that working for a she-devil like Vivian Grant would help her in the long run. She decided that a year with Vivian Grant would help progress her career faster than waiting around for someone to pay attention to her at her current job. The Devil Wears Prada movie made more of Andrea wanting to work at Runway for a year to get it on her resume, but I don’t remember Andrea in the book having such a specific plan. I could be wrong about that. Regardless, the idea that Claire knew what she was getting into and that she made the decision to go there (not just the decision to stay, as Andrea did) for the sake of her career made the abuse that she took more palatable to me. I never felt as if Claire was in danger of being sucked into the world or losing who she was. She got busy and overwhelmed by the work, but, in regards to work, she knew who she was and what she wanted the entire time.

4. Because She Can was more deliberately over the top (similar to Ugly Betty in that way) and derived much of its humor from that. The book opens at Claire’s wedding, and her boss barges in before the ceremony and demands to talk to her about a few things. And Claire says she’ll talk to her for five minutes! That’s so intentionally unrealistic that it was easier for me to take than The Devil Wears Prada. Vivian’s demands and her whole personality were more humorous because of this. She also asked Claire to do things that were related to her job of book publishing rather than, you know, finding copies of the latest Harry Potter manuscript or something. I know Andrea was a personal assistant and that that job description covers many things, but I got tired of Andrea being asked to do things that were, frankly, impossible. Claire was given too much work, too many books, but at least there were reasons for it (Vivian fired or ran off the people who had been in charge of those books in the past) and there were goals behind it (best-sellers, not bratty children).

5. All of this together means that I never during the book thought, “Why don’t you just QUIT AND PUT US ALL OUT OF OUR MISERY!!!” I didn’t get so stressed out while reading it. It was funny and silly and I breezed through it yesterday without wanting to throw it against the wall.

6. The boyfriend in this book was really busy with his own job, so I felt less stressed out about her personal relationships as well. That was huge in regards to my satisfaction level, I think. There were relationship stressors, but they were of a different sort that, again, I found more palatable.

7. It’s possible that, on a more personal note, I found the book publishing world more interesting than the magazine publishing world. I thought I should say that, in the interest of full disclosure.

Is this book a classic? No, it is not. But I did enjoy it, and if you’re looking for a light read, you could probably do worse. If you liked The Devil Wears Prada, you will probably like this one, too. The plot is predictable and the love triangle is obvious, but it was exactly what I wanted – a nice, light chick lit book to read in between some heavier fare. For what it was, I enjoyed it very much.

Alisa tagged me for “six weird things.” Do you know how hard it is to find weird things I haven’t already talked about extensively that aren’t too personal to share on the internets?

1. The toenails on my big toes grow in such a way that they poke holes in my shoes. It has been this way for as long as I can remember – I always had holes in my Keds in middle school, for example. I apparently got this from my dad – I learned that when my mom pointed out that my toenails might look nice if I’d let them grow a little longer, and I informed her that wasn’t really possible. I have to keep them trimmed or constantly buy new shoes. Thanks, Dad.

2. I alternate between “typing” the letters of things that I’m thinking about and signing the letters of the things I’m thinking about. I do the typing more when I’m stressed out – I find signing more calming.

3. I am more likely to check the end of a novel than to let the story unfold. This is partly just because I think I can enjoy the story better if I know what’s happening, what the author is doing, and partly maybe because I have some control issues and some issues about being informed/not being left out.

4. This sounds similar to the last one, but is actually pretty different. When I read a magazine, unless there’s a story I am particularly looking for, I am more likely to start at the end and work my way to the front than to start at the beginning and work backwards. When I was in school, that was also how I preferred to take tests. (I hated the GRE for that reason – I was forced to work within the confines of how THE MAN/the computer said I had to take the test.)

5. I love to drink milk when I eat Italian food or when I eat chips and salsa. I know this is not uncommon, but Mike thinks it’s weird, so I’m including it.

6. I haven’t seen a lot of movies that I really should have seen at some point and will now probably not bother to see, including but not limited to: Braveheart, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, The Matrix, Die Hard, Pulp Fiction, Groundhog Day, Caddyshack . . . I can’t think of any more. But I’m sure that Mike and Brian can remind me of some others. Because there are a lot. Also, I hate E.T. I am pretty sure this makes me un-American. And I only saw Goonies once.

(I make my bed every morning, unless I’m planning to change the sheets that afternoon. And at some point that day, I will still make up the bed completely. But I choose to believe that is not weird.)

I am not going to tag anyone, but if you haven’t done it and you’d like to, you’re it!

Two years ago, I read Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld on our spring vacation. I thought it was a well-written story, but, like Brandi, I thought the end was a bit of a cop-out. It was good enough, though, to make me want to read her second book when it came out last year. It just took me a while to get around to it.

I have to admit that I also wanted to read it to see if I thought it was chick lit. Because Curtis Sittenfeld wrote a scathing review of Melissa Bank’s latest book, The Wonder Spot, back when it came out, derisively calling it chick lit. I remember, when this all happened, reading an interesting article at the time, talking about the dichotomy between chicks who write literature and “chick lit.” Jennifer Weiner also did an interesting dissection of the review on her blog that is worth checking out if you care about this issue at all. It’s a little unkind, but Jennifer Weiner writes chick lit, so I suppose she’s allowed to be a little unkind in this situation.

Anyway. I happened to think that both of Melissa Bank’s books ultimately held together better than Prep did (I vastly preferred The Wonder Spot to A Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing, if you were wondering, which you probably weren’t), but I wanted to see what she could do with her second chance. The Man of My Dreams is about Hannah, a shy insecure girl who comes from a family with an abusive father, as she navigates her way through college and her 20s. It focuses both on her relationships with men and her relationships with the women in her life, specifically her older sister and her cousin, who is almost the same age.

I have to say that, rereading Sittenfeld’s review of The Wonder Spot, it’s interesting to note that she called it “jumpy.” That’s one thing I would have said about The Man of My Dreams. At least, I thought that the way that it moved through time and events was similar to The Wonder Spot, so, according to Sittenfeld’s own words, that would make it jumpy. It was a fast read, though, and I was involved in the story as it was taking place. I told Brandi that I don’t think it was quite as good as Prep overall, but I liked the way that it ended better. The New Yorker didn’t agree with me about the ending, calling it “disastrously clunky” and “intended to temper the conventional happy ending that would place this novel squarely in the ‘chick lit’ category.” I won’t argue with that; I do think that the ending was an attempt to be more literary. I wish that Hannah had gotten a more traditional ending instead. But at least this ending didn’t feel like a cop-out. The story felt completed, and I felt that Hannah got somewhere in her journey.

I don’t have a problem with the phrase “chick lit,” but I think Curtis Sittenfeld does. The Man of My Dreams does strive, in its tone and approach to be somehow “more” than just the chick lit genre, but despite these efforts, it’s still a book about a girl making her way through the world and looking for a man. Doesn’t that sound like chick lit to you?

And isn’t it okay for that to be the case?

(It took me so long to write about The Emperor’s Children that I am a little behind on writing about some of my other books as well. Don’t ask me why I have to write about them in order. I just do.)

This was an enjoyable read. Jancee Dunn is a contributing editor at Rolling Stone, and this is the story of how she got that job, what it was like to live the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, and some of her more memorable interviews. It wasn’t a life-changing book, but I liked her stories of interviewing Madonna and Dolly Parton and Ben Affleck and Barry White and Loretta Lynn and Brad Pitt (I couldn’t choose a favorite, so I just listed all the ones I remember off the top of my head). She was funny and self-deprecating, and the book kind of made me wish I didn’t hate Rolling Stone so much. All in all, a fun book, especially if you are interested in music writing or the cult of celebrity (and, hello, I read Entertainment Weekly cover to cover every week, so I am definitely not pointing fingers when I say that). I’m glad I put it on my list, and I’m even more glad that I finally got around to reading it.

I finished this book last week, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. I was still processing it, and for this one, I needed a little more time, though I will go ahead and say that I did like it, very much. I read it on the recommendation of 50 Books (I just noticed that, in that same post, she mentions a book I just checked out, The Shadow of the Wind. And I also checked out On Beauty based on her recommendation. I like a lot of the same stuff that she does), and, in this post, she called the book “deceptively simple” and filled with “moral ambiguity.” I’d agree with both of those statements. It was incredibly interesting to read about these people who were caught between what they imagine they are capable of and what their lives are really like. I have had some conversations about how many people in their 20s and 30s seem to be more aimless than you’d expect, that many of us are acting as if we’re not yet ready to be the grownups that we are. The book is not only about the expectations that the three 30-year-olds in the book have for themselves, it’s also about why they have those expectations, what their parents expect of them, and whether they believe they can live up to that. One of the main themes is entitlement, which seems to be crippling these 30-year-olds rather than offering them the freedom they might expect.

This book is also about perspective, and how everyone has their own ideas about how things should be, about what’s going on. It touched on the fact that we are all the lead actors in our own shows, even when we accuse other people of doing exactly the same thing. That resonated with me, because something I have learned/am still learning is that I can’t force people to see my point of view. Even when my point of view is the correct one. (hee.)

I think this review is similar to how I felt about the book (and I talked in this entry about the ideas of the book and not what the book was actually about, so that review might be a good place to check if you were curious about the plot) – I do think the ending left some things unexplored, and that made it slightly disappointing. However, the New York Times named The Emperor’s Children one of its 10 Best Books of 2006, and I can definitely see why. It was, to put it simply, a very good book.

(I reserve the right to talk about this book more when I’ve listened to Slate’s audio discussion of it, which will hopefully be this weekend.)

Spoilers for Gilmore Girls episode “I’d Rather Be In Philadelphia.”

Again (Rebecca Rand Kirshner), last night’s episode had a certain sweetness to it that the Palladinos often eschewed in favor of quirkiness. Not that we didn’t get quirkiness last night – Babette was her lovable self, with the jungle bedroom and the dog walking. And the Luke/Zach stuff was, I thought, very funny. I do . . . actually . . . miss Kirk a little bit. And Taylor. Just a little. And town meetings. When the show is so focused on romantic relationships, we miss some of the stuff that made it so appealing to begin with. But Babette is enough, at least for now.

I was going to start and ask if there was any way to excuse Christopher not showing up at the hospital. Look, I can be fair. Perhaps, instead of sulking (which is what I like to imagine he’s doing), he was actually tied up with work (does he really work, or was that just something Lorelai told Babette?). But . . . if he couldn’t make it right away, there’s not really an excuse for him not to call. So, despite my efforts to be fair, I’m not sure there’s any plausible excuse for what he did.

Enter Luke Danes! Who is, except for maybe last year, consistently good in a crisis. Of course I loved that he showed up and did exactly what Emily asked and was considerate of what Lorelai might want re: Christopher. Speaking of which, again, there was just no excuse for Christopher to be so rude to Luke at the end. When Luke said he should go and Christopher said, “Yeah, you should,” I . . . was really disappointed in him. Seriously, Chris, it’s not the playground. You aren’t 12. There’s no need to be so aggressive. As much as I love to hate Christopher (and I really love to hate Christopher), it’s disappointing that his character hasn’t grown in any meaningful way in the seven seasons this show has been on. Sure, he’s a little more responsible, sure, he’s got money and is more settled, sure, it appears that he’s doing a pretty good job with GiGi. I said way back at the beginning of this round of Lorelai and Christopher that if he had been more patient and selfless, I would have admitted defeat (or at least said that he had changed and given him the point). But, instead, he has consistently behaved in the opposite way, being childish and petulant rather than choosing otherwise. It’s really a shame – in my perfect Gilmore Girls world, of course we wouldn’t have had this final round of Lorelai and Christopher, but I hate that it ultimately comes down to the fact that he’s still the same as he was at 16. I don’t blame Rosenthal for this, though I know a lot of critics are blaming him for this season and wishing the Palladinos were still around. I think that Rosenthal has made an effort to get the story where it needed to go (after the ending of last season) in a reasonable amount of time, since this is very likely to be the last season. Anyway. Regarding (my boyfriend) Luke Danes, I really didn’t think he was coming back to the hospital. And when he showed up and they were talking, and then Christopher rounded that corner, it was all Mike could do to keep me from standing and cheering.

I enjoyed Emily in this episode, powering through as only Emily can do, and then tearfully explaining to Lorelai exactly how she was feeling. It seemed completely realistic to me that Emily would act exactly as she did. And I can’t tell you how delighted I was to see her in that track suit. I especially enjoyed her cliché exchange with Lorelai – and I think the end was significant as far as Emily’s relationship with Christopher. Every cloud has a silver lining/Blood is thicker than water perhaps means that the bright spot in Richard’s health crisis is that all the Gilmores are on the same page as far as Christopher’s jerkiness, and maybe (maybe?) the grandparents will stand by Lorelai if (when?) she kicks Christopher to the curb (or if they mutually decide to part, though it has to be at least partially Lorelai’s decision, since nothing else about their relationship has been).

I wish I had more to say about Rory and Logan. I just . . . don’t. Except that conversation about the internet company gave me the, “Danger, Will Robinson!” feeling. And . . . even Logan, who is not one of my favorites, managed to show up at the hospital. Christopher: Do you understand how lame that makes you look?

I’m definitely starting to get the feeling that this is a season I’ll enjoy better on DVD, after I know where it’s heading. But based on the past three episodes, I would be willing to purchase this season, despite the Paris (the city, not the girl) debacle, despite all the lame mushiness. Because if Christopher finally finally gets kicked to the curb (as it appears will happen), it will be worth rewatching.

I never wrote anything about last week’s episode of Gilmore Girls. No particular reason – I just got sidetracked by snow and a rough week and a busy weekend. And here it is Tuesday already, and I haven’t written anything about last week.

Of course, with things progressing as they are, I don’t have much to say. The episode pretty much speaks for itself – Christopher moved out, Luke called and said, “I won!” That’s so true, my friend. So true. I did think it was a nice touch that Luke called Lorelai to tell her about the custody case. Way back in season 4, when he listened to the self-help tapes, they asked him who he wanted to tell when he had big news, whose face he imagined when he wanted to share something like that. So it’s a nice bit of continuity that, despite everything that’s happened, Lorelai is still tops on his list.

On one hand, sure, I felt sorry for Christopher, because he is so clearly in over his head. Lorelai has, in truth, been using him to get her ideal perfect family, in the hopes that that will satisfy her. And now that he realizes that he’s not what she wanted after all, he’s upset about being her “second choice.” Christopher. Are you kidding me? You slept with her about five seconds after she broke up with Luke, broke her engagement with Luke. And now you complain about being the rebound? Come on, dude, I can be sympathetic, but . . . please. She has, unconsciously I believe, been using you. But you used and manipulated her to get what you wanted, too – to get your own version of the “perfect family.” She told you that she wasn’t ready to sleep with you but you pushed ahead. She didn’t want to get married in Paris, and yet you did after all. She said she didn’t want to have more babies just yet, and you pitched a fit. It’s awfully hard to be sympathetic to your position, since you got to your position by, well, whining and cajoling. A lot.

I don’t have much else to say except . . . sometimes Paris drives me nuts, but then she sets up whiteboards in her apartment and plans the last few months of her college career, she fixes Rory’s relationship with Lucy, and I forget why I ever disliked her to begin with. Oh, Paris.

Oh, and I hate Anna. Please tell me that’s the last we’ll see of her.

A little birdie told me that Rebecca Rand Kirshner wrote tonight’s episode. Rebecca Rand Kirshner. And so, I, of course, am hoping that it will be excellent. And also I am hoping that Grandpa doesn’t die. Please don’t kill Grandpa, Rebecca Rand Kirshner! Please!

It’s time, once again, for everyone’s favorite Super Bowl tradition: the Male Bakeoff. But how to top last year’s stunning victory? That was a question Mike struggled with for most of the year. And then, in the fall, I purchased the Classic Batter Bowl from Pampered Chef, and, suddenly, Mike had a theme.

You see, if you take the Classic Batter Bowl and bake a cake in it, it comes out rounded. You can use this rounded cake to do all kinds of things – Mike’s sister made a cake that looked like a soccer ball, for example. But the most well-known thing to do with a rounded cake is to stick a doll in the top part of it and make it look like a woman’s dress. With this idea in mind, it was just a matter of finding a female Bible character to illustrate. And what character did Mike choose?

Why, the Whore of Babylon, of course.

This year’s entry was a red velvet cake with white chocolate/cream cheese icing, covered in a dark chocolate shell. It was, in a word, delicious. As far as the actual baking, I think Mike really outdid himself. While I was at work on Saturday morning, he bought all the ingredients and baked the cake. It’s hard to know how much batter to use in the batter bowl, so he had a bit of trouble with that, but it turned out okay in the end. My one regret is that I didn’t take pictures of the stages of the cake as he was making it. He made the icing, iced it, and then melted chocolate and coated it. After that, he put the Barbie doll (sans legs) in the cake, with toothpicks to anchor her. Then (being very careful not to melt Barbie) he used our crème brulee torch to give the chocolate a nice shine. THEN he decorated her “dress” with pink icing. It was quite an ordeal. Of course, for the finishing touches, he had to fix her hair. And make a sign so everyone would know exactly who she was supposed to be. Whore of Babylon Red Velvet Cake, thankyouverymuch.

I drove to church, because I didn’t want to be responsible for holding the “lady.” We were both a little bit afraid that this year’s theme had maybe been done before, at some point, but we shouldn’t have been concerned. People’s responses soon made it clear that Mike’s idea was very original.

We had, as usual, a great time viewing the other entries and eating soup and cornbread with our friends as we waited for the awards to be announced. One thing I don’t know if I’ve mentioned before is that we always get judges from outside the church to come and decide on the prizes. That’s how serious this event has become. This year, we thought that Mike could perhaps win Most Biblical again, but we knew that he had a shot at some other trophies, possibly Muy Macho or (this was the one I really wanted) Best Looking. I mean, his was the only cake with a girl in it. It totally could have been Best Looking. In the end, Mike walked away with the Muy Macho award. I think this is somewhat questionable – there was, after all, a doll in his cake. I guess the “whore” part tipped the scale. hee hee. I don’t have a good picture of it, but the Muy Macho trophy has a man on the top holding a gun. Last year’s trophy had a bodybuilder on top. We’re getting quite a collection.

We took pictures of some other entries, just to show you what the competition looks like.

Jesus walks on water:

A real entry, just to prove that some people do play it straight - Golden Anniversary Cake (it was DELICIOUS):

This year’s Most Biblical - The Lake of Fire:

Our pastor’s Cinnamon/Sin of Men muffins:

Collin’s Colts:

The Colt X-press:

My plate:

Seth (Best Chocolate for his No-Frills Fudge) and Mike with their trophies.

Many people say that this is their favorite “event” that the church puts on, and I’d have to agree. We always have a great time, and it’s always fun watching the little boys and the teenagers with their trophies. I made sure to congratulate one young man who had his first entry this year, and the death grip he had on his trophy says it all, I think, about what fun this is for the guys of all ages.

Here are the remains of the lady of the evening . . . we put Barbie on someone else’s cake as we were cleaning up.

Because I’ve got to reread the first six Harry Potter books before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows comes out.