tweets is for gossip!

I've finally figured out what Twitter is really good for. There was a bit of an upset in the Tour de France today--the Garmin team didn't let George Hencapie take the yellow jersey, which everyone wanted him to get since he helped Armstrong to win all his Tours.

But forget the news reporters--the best thing to do is go to Lance Armstrong's Twitter page, and the twitters of those twittering with him. Gossip! Even the news sources are turning to twitter as a source.

If this were an Agatha Christie mystery, Poirot would be guessing that a murder is gonna happen anytime soon. And we'd find out that Hencapie's been sleeping with the wife of someone on the Garmin Slipstream team!

Alas... it's more likely something as boring as dissing each other's TTT.

Love song of the Day: For the Buffies & Spikes

"I Do What I Have to Do" - Sarah McLachlan

I've always read this as a I'm-in-a-fucked-up-relationship-and-can't-get-out song...

Deep within I'm shaken by the violence of existing for only you

But that's just my take. A lot of people see it as a romantic love song.


And then the Teen Angst version. (How did I know there would be multiple Buffy & Spike videos for this song?) "Addicted" by Kelly Clarkson.

My favourite youtube comments of the day

...You know... you could make a whole blog based on funny youtube comments. Send me your faves as you come across them, and I'll post them!

Posted at "Where Do the Children Play" by Yusuf Islam

GreatGrumbledook (2 days ago)
@obdaddy: We do not have such words like "redneck" in France but we do have virtue and horror: For virtue is helpless without the horror and without virtue the horror would be pernicious, as citizen Robespierre said once; and with both Cat Stevens and the likes of his are easily dispatched and it is high time as I will not dine until I see the same done!

obdaddy (1 day ago)

Don't sell yourself short, Grumbledouche, you can be both French and a redneck, and your thoughts can be both bloody and worth nothing.

Love song of the Day: The First Cut is the Deepest

Okay, it's not like I post a love song each day. But I like calling things "of the day." Good ole Cat Stevens... he wrote some beeootiful songs. (Like this one. And this one [check out the funky pianist]. And this one. And he's so cute and funny!)

The Geographical Organization of Books

I'm done organizing my fiction books, though the non-fiction still needs taking care of. I've pulled a few already-reads to get rid of. And there are others that I could get rid of if I were moving, without too much heartache--mostly from the cheap book sales Cher and I used to go to.

The cataloging is slow-going. The genres are done, I'm about halfway through the general fiction, and there are still the plays and poetry to do. Right now the tally is at 603 books.

Part of the fun of organizing books is figuring out how to sort them, This Time. That's why this is my favourite scene in High Fidelity:



Last time I went by genre and alphabetical. This time I went by genre and then mood--and if there's still a lot, then alphabetical. So I separated Fantasy from Sci Fi, cause Fernando's in a Fantasy mood right now. And in Sci Fi I separated out the old-timer authors who I'm less interested in, and shoved them at the back. And I made a separate pile for humorous authors.

In Romance (where I put some chick lit or historical fiction too) I separated historical from contemporary.

Mystery is mixed with horror and thriller, and basically alphabetical. My Agatha Christies are separate, and they 're by detective.

General Fiction I decided to divide by country... not the country of the author, but where the book mostly takes place. Cause that's often how my mood works. For example, Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy is in "Eastern & Southern" lit, because it takes place in India, and is very India-focused. But his A Suitable Music takes place in England (and Venice?) so it's with the British lit. On the other hand, the book about the Muslim Indian woman who moves to Paris and ditches her arranged-fiancé is with "Eastern/Southern" and not with "European & Other" because the issues she faces tie back to her country of origin. So if I ever get the chance to teach a course on Developing Areas, I could draw on the "Eastern/Southern" books.

And then there's a separate pile for French language, whether it's a play, poetry, etc. because I have to be in a different mood to read French--ready to put out more effort.

The division between "genre" and "general" is of course arbitrary... but's it's my collection, so I'm allowed to be arbitrary.

good old xkcd

This is so funny. I've often been on the metro in the morning and thought that everyone looks like the "glass eyed automatons" of this comic, AND that it wasn't the case, but that we all look like that to each other. Cause we're all frickin' tired! But I imagine that it's this "loo loo loo yawn being transported to my stop" facial expression that causes so much Trainspotting-like disdain amongst the *rebels*.

Today at work my boss paged me because he was helping an old lady find some books, and she also wanted a recommendation on becoming vegetarian. When I came to help her I discovered she was buying Fastfood Nation (which I haven't read) and the two Michael Pollans I've read (and as you must know by now, LOVED.)

We started talking about The Omnivore's Dilemma, and she was telling me, with tears in her eyes, how she was having trouble reading the book because it was upsetting her so much. (She had it from the library and wanted to buy a copy.) At one point he describes the life of cattle in feedlots, and she said she just bawling as she read it. And understand, Pollan isn't a shock-jock-animal-rights writer--his description is thoughtful, but not strident.

She didn't want to eat meat anymore, and she was so distraught by the state of the world in general. She wrote a letter to Michael Pollan, telling him she's only one person and she knows she can't make a difference, but she still has to do what she believes is right. She tried to order all these books online but something wasn't working, so she drove into town for the first time in 2 years, because she had to have these books. (I helped her place an online order too, since our 1-800 number had failed her.)

She was just the kindest lady I've met in awhile. We spent about half an hour together, lamenting the state of the world, talking about vegetarianism. By the end I gave her my card and told her to call me if she has ordering trouble in future; and I told her that what gives me optimism in this crappy world is meeting people like her. And having the chat seemed to cheer her up, and she gave me a hug. (Luckily the rest of the book has some nicer stories, like the description of how well animals are treated on Polyface Farms.)

Honestly, it's because of encounters like this that I can't be a cynic. Whatever is happening on this planet, whatever continues to happen, there are still people with hearts. Like this old, widowed lady with horrible back pain, who's been recycling for years, and who was moved to tears by the description of a calf being taken from its mother, who despite the internets thwarting her took the long drive into town to an area she doesn't know well, and who wants to make a change to her life even though she thinks it won't make a difference, just because it's what she believes is right. That's the reason I make these changes too--for my own personal integrity.

So in honor of my lovely customer...

Here is one of the most depressing songs/poems I know of, that so well describes our world at its worst: "Slouching Towards Bethlehem" by Joni Mitchell. I love the line: "The best lack conviction, given time to think / And the worst are full of passion without mercy." Especially the latter line, since those are the people who make my monkey the craziest. But Joni and Yeats missed out on the category for old ladies filled with passion and compassion.



And then, since I've been listening to lots of Cohen--one of Cohen's most beautiful, healing songs: "The Sisters of Mercy." Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone. They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can't go on.