Thanks for the help everyone; the puppy was delicious.

Sunday’s book give-away went better than expected. Of the 220 or so books put out for relocation, over half were taken. The rest I am leaving in the window so visitors over the next couple of weeks can browse through them. Visiting Barnes and Noble was discouraging, as they are currently only buying Fiction hardcovers and paperbacks; so whatever is left over at (say) the end of November is going to the public library .

So as I was plowing my way through a breakfast of Donut Holes and Goldfish Crackers I glanced over at the pile of books and one in particular caught my eye: The Master of Petersburg by J.M. Coetzee. In hardcover.

I stared at it for a little while, wondering why that name seemed so familiar. So I looked him up on the internet.

Oh yeah. He just won the Nobel Prize for literature . Guess I’ll be keeping this one.

I opened it, wondering when the book was published, what it was about, etc., and discovered that it was a signed first edition. Hardcover. Nobel Laureate. Etc.

Let me say that again for all the search engines: A signed, first-edition copy of The Master of Petersburg, by the 2003 Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, J.M. Coetzee.

To all the people who stopped by on Sunday, I offer a heartfelt “Thank you”.

And a very quiet “Ha!”

That’s right. I’m weeding my library. This Sunday, October 26 2003, somewhere between 150 and 300 books will be free for the taking. Show up any time between 2:00 and 9:00 pm. Genres include, but are not limited to: science art religion languages philosophy Russian photography poetry literature misc beer design computers martial arts etc. There may also be some CDs in the mix.

There are only three rules:
[1] The books I am NOT giving away will be kept separate from the books I AM giving away. Stay away from the books I am NOT giving away.
[2] Some of you may be tempted to grab an armload of books and drive straight over to Barnes and Noble to sell them. If you do this I will kill you.
[3] This is a book GIVE AWAY , not a book SWAP . Don’t bring books of your own and try to get in on my action.

If there are any books remaining after the GiveAway, I will take them to Barnes and Noble and sell what I can. Any remaining after that will be donated to the Grand Rapids Public Library. Any profit made from the Selling of the Used Books will probably go into … MORE BOOKS. Or beer. Depends on how much I get.

Email me for directions, if you don’t already know where I live.

Now that I am done with The Fountainhead I am plowing through Quicksilver . Sometimes I forget what a joy it is to read the work of someone who is deeply in love with the English language.

On that note, a particular word has wormed its way into my subconscious recently, and probably won’t let me go until I give it a good thinking-about:

Fix. Or, fixed. Probably because I hear it so much at work. “John, can you fix this?” “I fixed it yesterday.” “Fix it again.” “It’s still fixed.” “Then make it even more fixed.” “Consider it fixed.”

Fix can be used in several different confusing and contradictory, not to mention amusing ways:

Fixing a car means making something a little more perfect. Fixing a cat means making something a little less perfect. Fixing a deal means that it will go through according to agreed-upon rules. Fixing a bet means the exact opposite. Being in a fix is a Bad Thing. Getting your fix is a Good Thing. The Fixx was a band in the eighties is still around! Who’d’a thunk???.

So as you can see, when using this word it is important to be a precise as possible.

“Fixing something with pliers?”
“Yes. A boxing match.”

“Dad hurt himself golfing?”
“Dad fixed himself golfing.”

“I just fixed my cat.”
“Good for you.”
“…to the ceiling.”

…etc. In my next lecture I will meditate on the GeoSocioPantheoPolitical ramifications of the Co-option of Tradition in the Acceleration of Nostalgic Meta-Journalism.

In my copious free time I have been reading. It is a skill I picked up a few years back, which seems to have fallen out of fashion. My current stack looks something like this:

The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind by Julian Jaynes
Jaynes posits that consciousness, the “awareness of our awareness of the world” arose as recently as 3000 b.c. A superb book, easy to read, but should be read slowly as the concepts introduced are, well, huge. I became aware of this book through reading Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson.

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
At long last, I am reading Ayn Rand. Oddly enough, I am reading the book because of the intervention of the eviscerated inestimable Bock . I had loaned him my copy of Terry Goodkind’s Faith of the Fallen and, after reading it he said with a snarl, “If I want to read Ayn Rand, I will pick up a book by Ayn Rand.” Though I am but thirty pages into The Fountainhead, I already agree with him.

Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson
Picked it up today. Will be reading it for a while, I think.

BOILED CALF HEAD (without the skin)
Calf’s head, water, a little salt, four tablespoonfuls of melted butter, one tablespoonful of minced parsley, pepper and salt to taste, one tablespoonful of lemon juice.

After the head has been thoroughly cleaned, and the brains removed, soak it in warm water to blanch it. Lay the brains also into warm water to soak, aand let them remain for about an hour. Put the head into a stewpan, with sufficient cold water to cover it, and when it boils, add a little salt; take off every particle of scum as it rises, and boil the head until perfectly tender. Boil the brains, chop them, and mix them with melted butter, minced parseley, pepper, salt, and lemon-juice in the above proportion. Take up the head, skin the tongue, and put it on a small dish with the brains round it. Have ready some parsley and butter, smother the head with it, and the remainder send to the table in a tureen. Bacon, ham, pickled pork, or a pig’s cheek are indispensable with calf’s head. The brains are sometimes chopped with hardboiled eggs.

TO CURE TOOTHACHE
The worst toothache, or neuralgia coming from the teeth, may be speedily and delightfully ended by the application of a bit of clean cotton, saturated in a solution of ammonia to the defective tooth. Sometimes the late sufferer is prompted to momentary laughter by the application, but the pain will disappear.

TO RESTORE FROM STROKE OF LIGHTNING
Shower with cold water for two hours; if the patient does not show signs of life, put salt in the water, and continue to shower an hour longer.

Taken from The Everyday Cookbook and Encyclopedia of Practical Recipes, For Family Uses , by Miss E. Neill (Economic, Reliable and Excellent). Manufactured for The Busy Bee Hive , Jackson, Michigan, c.1890

The latest volume of the Harry Potter series hits the shelves tonight at Midnight. Local bookstores, which will be staying open until at least 1am, are full of witches and warlocks and all manner of pointy hats and broomsticks.

So, out of sympathy for my low-wage comrades in the retail industry, the following is a brief contemplation of Harry Potter: Order of the Phoenix.

Who knew Rowlings had it in her to write such an appealing coming- of- age, coming- out- of- the- closet book? And it was done so well, too! I mean, when Harry got Hermione pregnant I assumed they would get married and settle down together, but no , Harry spends most of the last two hundred pages playing tonsil hockey with the entirety of House Slitheryn. And polishing his black latex wand.

In chapter 5, Harry gets initiated into the Order of Priapus. Boy, I thought he was done for during the chase scene at the end of his quest for Wyckham’s Ball Gag.

Yup. Poor Hermione. Sleeping with the fishes.

You know, it’s all good clean family entertainment. Kids will especially get a kick out of Harry’s clever use of the Tony’s Turgid Timber spell which he used to defeat the Harrowing Harem.

So run to your nearest bookstore and stand in line for two more hours and get the latest volume of this wonderful series, because Ba’al knows, if you don’t get the book before your friends you could end up ostracized and cursed with Eternal Catcher-dom.

Just like poor Draco.

I made all of this up. I haven’t actually read the book. Don’t sue me. This is a legal disclaimer. If you can’t read this, why are you bothering to buy a book? Allow me to say again, for the search engines, Harry Potter. Fnord.

I began to read Jim Harrison when one of my college professors came in to the bookstore to pick up a copy of Wolf. This was about the time that the movie of the same name, written by the same author, but having nothing to do with the book, was in the theaters.

So, being fresh enough out of college that I still wanted to read everything the professors were reading, I picked it up. Since then I have read just about everything Harrison has written, and even attempted to read things others have written about him. The latter tend to be kind of shallow and boring. There are two collections of his articles and essays currently in print, and some collections which contain his work.

Harrison has a new book out – a conversation in verse with longtime friend Ted Kooser, called Braided River. The conversation takes the form of short verses – three to six lines, usually, which can easily be imagined scribbled on the back of postcards in the midst of cross-country drives. The tone of the verses, which alternate between Harrison and Kooser, feels like gentle jazz riffs on traditional haiku:

We flap our gums, our wattles, our
featherless wings in non-native air
to avoid being planted in earth,
watching the bellies of passing birds.

On its stand on the empty stage
the tuba with its big brass ear
enjoys the silence

The verses alternate between authors, but there is no mention of who wrote what. The back cover of the book says When asked about attributions for the individual poems, one of them replied, “Everyone gets tired of of this continuing cult of the personality… This book is an assertion in favor of poetry and against credentials.”

Having not yet read any of Kooser’s individual work I can’t say for certain which verses are his, but many of Harrison’s are obvious, and read like inside jokes to his old friend.

Braided Creek is a thoroughly enjoyable read. With so much of what is published today relying on pop culture references and turgid vocabularies, the simple, real verses within are a refreshing change, like cold water on a sunburned scalp.

The one-eyed man must be fearful
of being taken for a birdhouse.

What is it the wind has lost
that she keeps looking for
under each leaf?

To have reverence for life
you must have reverence for death.
The dogs we love are not taken from us
but leave when summoned by the gods.

“……sober thought in our time is all but impossible: it costs too much. It is true that people buy read-made ideas. They are sold everywhere, and even given away; but the ones that come free of charge prove to be even more expensive, and people are already beginning to realize that. The result is benefit to none and the same old disorder.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky, 1873

The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine o:
“O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine o?”

O up and spake an eldern-knight,
Sat at the king’s right knee:
“Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever saild the sea.”

Our king has written a braid letter,
And seald it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o me,
To send us out, at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?”

“Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a’!
Our gude ship sails the morn.”
“Now ever alake, my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!

I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi’ the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we’ll come to harm.”

O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heel’d shoon!
But lang or a the play was play’d
They wat their hats aboon,

O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi’ their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair,
A’ waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they’ll see na mair.

O forty miles off Aberdeen,
‘Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet.

–Anonymous, Sir Patrick Spens

Think about it.