Wednesday, September 18, 2019

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood


There is no fucking way I am going to buy gas from a gas station that makes you pay for air. Will not happen. Now I will admit that there is some debate in my family as to whether or not I should be driving at all "at my age," but my mind is sharp as an executioner's blade, and if Ms. Atwood can write a book this good at her age, surely I can handle going to HyVee for some Lean Cuisines and Metamucil.

But back to my point. It does not cost a gas station anything to provide air for you to fill your tires. But one after another, they are installing these indecipherable new air machines that cost 3 dollars and flash a bunch of lights at you while you check your tire pressure. And do you know why? Because people like you let them! You just shrug your shoulders, swipe your Kwik Trip reward card (Hey, free 264 oz. soda!), and surrender. You know where this leads, right? To a corporofascist state that will make Gilead look like Disneyland!

We have been here before, people. I can remember a time 30 years ago when I stopped by my son's house to criticize his lawn care and he offered me bottled water. "How can you buy this stuff?!?!," I exclaimed. "If you do that, people will think it is normal!" He assured me that he had gotten it at a conference and that no one would ever think it would be normal to buy the same water you can get for free, and now look at us! A bunch of brainless sheeple buying bottled water every day like our house was on fire. The only legitimate reason to buy bottled water is to smuggle gin into a baseball game. If you put a little hot glue on the cap, you can make it look unopened. But I digress.

The point is, if you think they will stop at air for tires, you are beyond naive. If you legitimize buying air, you will soon be buying the air you breathe. Giant air conglomerates will control the world's oxygen supply, and they will use it to oppress us all just like on Mars in Total Recall. I knew that movie would come true in the end! And so, even though the cruel irony of burning through gas driving across town to buy gas makes me want to stick a fork in my eye, I will keep doing it. For you. For Offred. For the children.

Friday, September 13, 2019

A Different Time by Michael K. Hill


This is a charming love story with the unique twist that the lovers are connected across decades by the quirk of a magical Camcorder. Which rang true to me, because when we got our first Camcorder, it sure as hell felt like magic. And at my age, I am particularly susceptible to a story that messes with the continuum of time, and it got me thinking about all the things I might do if I could go back and have a second go at it.

Now I recognize that it is convention to say that if you could travel in time that you would first go back and kill Hitler. And I do appreciate that, so yes, first I would kill Hitler. Hooray for me! But then, I have quite a list of important things to get done while in possession of time traveling powers. Top of the agenda is to prevent the invention of many things that have done irreparable damage to modern society. These things include Roombas, clothing for dogs, Tickle Me Elmo, buttonfly jeans, the Macarena, pumpkin spice anything, skateboards, sweet pickles, and guns.

It would be tempting to stop there, having virtually saved modern culture. But I am just too altruistic for my own good. So I would go back and eliminate all acts of major injustice in the world. Like that time in 2005 when Pedro Mendes took a shot from midfield in the last minute of the game and Roy Carroll fumbled it over the line, but a goal was not given because referees always cheat for Manchester United and they always will. I would rectify that bullshit. Also, while I'm at it, racism, sexism, homophobia, and global warming. You're welcome.

But, as a romantic at heart, and inspired by this book, I couldn't stop without finding a way to bring together the lovers whom fate or history deprived of their possibilities - those real life Romeos and Juliets who deserve a second chance. I'm thinking about people like Cleopatra and Marc Antony, Heloise and Abelard, John Keats and Fanny Brawne, Lancelot and Guinevere, Harry and Hermione, my son-in-law Gerry and literally any other human being in the world other than my daughter, Donald Trump and a Kraken, and Bette Davis and yours, truly. You get one guess as to whether or not I will be returning to the present.


Tuesday, September 3, 2019

The Death and Life of the Great Lakes by Dan Egan


You know what really pisses me off? CLAMS!! For the life of me, I can not figure out what people see in these terrible creatures. Tell me, what is the point of a clam? No, really, I want to know. These ubiquitous little fuckers are ugly, useless, and prone to bring on an existential crisis. I mean it - go open up a clam, take one look and tell me that you still believe in intelligent design. Jesus.

Now that I have that off my chest, I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Egan for this book, because he has provided me with a whole list of additional aquatic animals to be angry at. Sea lampreys, quagga mussels, Asian carp, just to name a few. These are some real nefarious little bastards wreaking havoc on our lakes. I happen to live in a Great Lake state, and I am old enough to remember catching lake trout and not ending up with botulism from out of control algae blooms. It was a beautiful time. Never to be seen again, from what I gather.

I kept waiting for the part of the book that would lay bare the evil of clams, but it never came! And that's what really gets me about these sea-weasels - they have everyone fooled. I mean, everyone knows that zebra mussels are demon spawn, but people think clams are so nice! And tasty! And happy! Bullshit! Happy as a clam? What the hell does a clam have to be happy about? It is immobile, repulsive, and eats algae all day. Kind of reminds me of my mother-in-law, especially in her later years (may she rest in peace).

A little while ago, my son and his girlfriend (yes, miraculously, they are still together) invited me to a "clambake." I do not make a habit of accepting invitations from family (or anyone else for that matter), but I was excited about this because I mistakenly thought it was some kind of ritual in which we would get to kill a shit ton of clams. To my chagrin, they were already dead when we got there, and we were supposed to eat them! Can you believe this shit? But there was gin, so it worked out. In summary, great book!