Book #84: "Camp Foxtrot"

When I can, I have endeavored to relate where I acquired the book I am currently writing about. Sometimes I can't remember, or have only a guess. In this case, however, I am just about certain of this title's provenance, and it's a good one. 

I lived in Utah for five years in my twenties, and the first place I lived was a condo, chosen for me by my sister due mostly to a room with built-in bookshelves. The majority of the living space was on one floor, but there was a long staircase down to a hallway, which led to a door, which opened into the parking for the complex. Also downstairs was the aforementioned bookshelf room, which was fortunate because it was also the only space big enough for the library (which was not half the size it is now.) So every time I started a new book I'd have to trek up and down the stairs, and it was COLD down there (colder still because I moved there in January and my roommates thought the heat was too expensive. Young adults are dumb.)

Anyway, one day in the summer when we'd all mostly defrosted, my roommates discovered a cupboard under the stairs and rummaged through it. It transpired that previous tenants had left a box containing several books, and with no way to locate the birth parents, I adopted the poor little orphaned waifs. (Providing shelter to the abandoned will become something of a recurring theme in this series. I may be in danger of overextending the metaphor.) 

One of the forsaken foundlings (yeah, I did it and I don't care) was this one. At times when I have regular access to a newspaper, I enjoy comics, and Foxtrot is one of my favorites; it's always felt familiar to me, like a friend from elementary school that moved across town and then years later runs into you at a high school dance. (That wasn't a simile; that happened to me once.) It's clever and situational and feels true, as humor should.

Author: Bill Amend

Potentially objectionable content: I can't think of any

Book #83: "Brief Chronicle of Another Stupid Heartbreak"

I really want this title to start with "A", as in "A Brief Chronicle" and it doesn't and it annoys me that it doesn't and I find the omission discombobulating. I find it hard enough to stay combobulated on my own, book title! (Let's just pause for a moment here to acknowledge that either the internet or my phone–don't know for sure–doesn't care for "discombobulating" which actually IS a real word, but has no issue whatever with "combobulated" which isn't. Spell check. Pffft.)

My unreasonable demand for indefinite articles aside, I loved this book wholeheartedly. I'm sure part of that was the drastic tonal shift from my previous read; I finished that and started this in the Chicago airport on my way home. But mostly I fell in love with the writing, the characters, the teenage angst. At this point in my life, twenty-something years after graduating high school, I remember that everything turned up to 11 mentality vividly, but with enough perspective on it to feel some impatience with the protagonist's inability to face what was in front of her the whole time. Especially with a college scholarship to NYU and a real actual writing job hanging in the balance! I'm certainly no paragon of getting things done by a deadline, even now, but seeing opportunities I would have killed for at that age (and this one!) being treated so cavalierly made me itchy.

Still, it's a lovely, lyrical, lilting little story that made me a trifle wistful for a time when all I could see was how much was ahead of me. To have those heart-stopping seconds of realizing first love; to feel the anguish of a dream shattered and a future reorganized; to be in the summer after high school when your child self was finished and your adult self was endless possibilities. I try not to live with regrets–even my worst choices have given me valuable experiences, and I'm happy with who I am because of them–but occasionally, with the right inspiration, I wander into a fantasy of all the Mes I could have been. 

Author: Adi Alsaid

Potentially objectionable content: Some language and sexual references (nothing graphic or overt)

Book #82: "Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man"

 

For some reason, I had it in my head that the cover of this book was red; it definitely isn't. Maybe I was thinking of this one still? 

I took this with me to Florida and read it entirely on the plane/in the airport. It's a good type of book for that; there's no narrative thread to lose, so it's easy to stop and start again in a way that travel makes necessary. 

Apart from the ease of reading, I wouldn't really recommend it, though. It' amusing enough in places, but it's also fairly crude and not as funny as I thought it would be. It felt like he couldn't make up his mind whether he was writing a memoir or his next set at the Comedy Castle. It's also somewhat disjointed, and not just in the "this is a book full of bits and random funny thoughts" way that humor books often are, but in a "I'm just putting words on a page with no idea where the next sentence will lead" way that makes it hard to ever really settle in. Even for a book you read in fits and starts during travel, you need some definite pit stops: moments where it's clear the author is saying, "Okay, that was fun, and now something different." Such moments in this book are not nearly frequent or apparent enough.

Overall, I prefer his more family-friendly fare, and after reading this, as an actor rather than as a writer. I'm not sorry I read it but I doubt I'll read it, or anything else by him, again.

Author: Tim Allen

Potentially objectionable content: Language, crude humor, etc.

Book #81: "Knitting for Dummies"

Growing up, my mom almost always had either a sewing or cross-stitch project going on. There were often little bits of embroidery floss on the arm of the couch where she sat (something my brothers used for evil during a memorable late-night viewing of "Arachnophobia".) When I was probably 8 or 9, I decided I wanted to learn to cross-stitch, and the first thing I ever did was a bookmark that said, "I ♡ Dad" for a Father's Day gift.

I have dabbled in this hobby all my life, though I do it pretty much exclusively for gifts rather than for the joy of the task. I like being able to give something handmade and unique, but I find some aspects of cross-stitching frustrating enough that I don't make anything for myself. This was made especially clear to me in 2019, when I made Christmas gifts for my coworkers and spent WEEKS on an incredibly detailed and dense "Game of Thrones" project for one of them. (He loved it, so I suppose it was worth it.)

Anyway, cross-stitch requires a lot of focus and attention, so it's a hard thing to do while watching TV, for instance. (I usually have something on, but it must be something I know well, as I end up listening more than watching.) So several years ago I told my mom that I wanted to learn how to knit, and she got me this book for Christmas. At the time, I read enough to grasp knitting and purling (more or less) and then I promptly put it down and forgot about it; I haven't picked up my needles since. 

This time I did read the whole thing, and found it interesting enough that I might pick it up again and really put some effort into it. Like cross-stitch, it would be a nice way to make unique gifts for people; unlike cross-stitch, I may learn to look away from my hands, and probably won't jab myself with the needle a lot. (Though it IS me and I am just stupidly clumsy, so if there's a way, I will definitely find it.) 

Author(s): Pam Allen, Tracy L. Barr and Shannon Okey

Potentially objectionable content: You...might be insulted by the title?