February 12th, 2004

there!, Hello

A Life in the Day...

Last night I finished Laymon's *Blood Games*. Interesting and surprising for its small body count... The end was so-so, read better, read worse. It was a page turner, though.

I then waded into T.M.Wright's *The House On Orchid Street*. Not quite my cup of tea. I'm 102 pages in. An artistic woman decides to do something for herself, to buy a house. She breaks up her current destructive relationship to an emotionally dominant and abusive fellow, and turns her back on the trend she's set of being a follower (apparently, she joined a questionable Religious Cult at some point, as well as showing all the signs of the sycophantic personality) and moves to the country, to a weird little house. There's a dark presence around the place however (of course). A fellow who asks the one question, "What is your name?" constantly. Since 1931, he's been doing this, asking the question. He smothers those who answer it, with professions of "I love you, ___." He's ageless, and he'll undoubtedly come into this woman's life. The course of events is mildly interesting, the writing style is decent. Not quite as gripping as some of the other books I've read lately... Ah well.

Last night we watched two episodes of CSI, Season 2. The first episode was about a bus crash, and it was interesting. The best part was Grissom's reaction to Warick winning a game of chess. The second episode had a style of suspense that was killer! Quite well done, though the end part -- where the psycho gets a chance to talk -- sort of wrecked the mood. This is the problem with a lot of suspense, psycho stories. The situation is eerie, the buildup is intense, but as soon as the monster is unmasked and revealed to be an Other (that is someone so far removed from the viewers that he could be an alien or a rubber suit monster) the atmosphere breaks down. I suppose that old adage of the unknown is scarier than the known holds true.

This afternoon, at lunch, Mellonie told me that the last five years of my college education were wasted. She didn't intend it this way, but I caught the unintentional inference. She said, "If you read a book that way (picking at the author's devices, tools, themes, symbols, etc.), then you're reading too closely, and you should put the book down and walk away." I helpfully pointed out that this invalidated my earning English degrees. She was embarassed, and then added that she didn't mean that at all, she was only talking about brain candy books.

My strange life, indeed.
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