Is it safe to talk about books these days?  I think it is, although I may be proven wrong.

I just finished Curtis Sittenfeld’s American Wife, and found it very unsettling, indeed.  Like Prep, I thought it was extremely well-observed, without being particularly engaging–or entertaining.  But, American Wife was a strange, and puzzling, choice, for a novelist to make.  The notion of a stranger publishing an extremely personal and speculative version of a person’s actual life is–I don’t know–unseemly. Rude, even.  It will certainly make the author rich, but I’m pretty confident that the author was already rich, so I’m not sure I see the point.  I would say that the entire project borders on stalking–except that I think it crossed the border, relocated to a new country entirely, settled down and began to grow crops.  (and if you find the Buffy reference in there, you’re good)

I suppose that Primary Colors was an unnecessary novel in a very similar way, but somehow, it seemed less–prurient.  Or, maybe just less scatological.  Then again, Joe Klein, for all his failings as a pundit, is simply a more compelling writer.  I suspect that Ms. Sittenfeld was aiming for Theodore Dreiser–which might have been a damned interesting creative choice, and a really good book–but, ended up with–well–Olivia Goldsmith, instead.  (It doesn’t help that the last third of the novel is a rushed blur, and clearly the result of trying to hit a demanding deadline schedule.)

American Wife is worth reading, and–sort of–ambitious, but after I finished it, I was left feeling as though I should go wash my hands.

I’m currently about halfway through Giles Blunt’s By The Time You Read This, which I’m enjoying.  A nice, solid book.  It won’t reinvent the wheel, but then again, it wasn’t designed to do so.

What else?  The Camera, by Ansel Adams.  Dense, demanding–and very informative.  Actually, I hope to read the entire series, but I’m starting with The Camera.  (Here’s a great article about photography, by the way, on an excellent site.)  Fletcher Knebel and Charles W. Bailey Il’s surprisingly not-as-dated-as-you-would-think Convention. A book about fishermen called Their Fathers’ Work.  Everything the Instructors Never Told You About Mogul Skiing–because, even though such things are probably out of my reach, it can’t hurt to try to improve.  Red Sox Rule–for no other reason than because I feel like it.

And I was completely delighted to pick up an affordable secondhand copy of The New Professional Chef, which I had wanted for a really long time.

I haven’t read The War Within yet, but I assume I will, at some point.

And–it scarcely needs saying–but, go, Red Sox!

Boy, how embarrassing is that?

I joined for the most foolish of reasons–which I can admit here, because it is not a secret.  I, quite frankly, signed up in order to be able to spy on a much-loved child, and make sure no shenanigans were taking place.  The child and I were both quite open about this and, in fact, give each other quite a lot of space.  But, we poke each other regularly and the like (Hey, it’s a Facebook thing; what can I tell you?), and all seemed to be well.

But then, it turns out–oh, the ignominy!–that Facebook has games.  Lots and lots of games.  I like games.

First, I was playing a game called Triumph.  There were soldiers involved.  It seemed like great fun–until it got entirely monotonous, after a remarkably short period of time.  (I have subsequently discovered that most of the people in the game were cheating madly, and creatively, and that was what made it continue to seem entertaining for longer periods of time.)  But, I was bored, so I moved on to Dope Wars, where I joined a predominantly Malayasian drug cartel–and became remarkably good at the game, and made many new friends from all over the world.

However, it was awkward, when a bright-eyed, bespectacled nine-year-old in my life asked, happily, in the elevator, if I was currently selling crystal meth–or heroin?  And I, without thinking, said, “well, the profit margin for the crystal meth seems to be higher.”  I won no friends among our fellow passengers.

However, the Dope Wars application was fatally flawed, and one entirely un-golden day, I could no longer access said game, without encountering dreadful configuration problems.  So, it was on to King of the World.  King of the World is excellent.  I now belong to a large and ruthless multi-national alliance–with an absolutely dreadful reputation within the game; mostly because we play with great abandon, and display remarkable teamwork for people who live in wildly varying time-zones.

But, teamwork requires a non-stop flurry of messages on each other’s Royal Walls, and our discussion boards (plus, the friendly conversations I generally end up having with the people we are attacking), and Facebook decided I must be a spammer, and sent me what is known as The Dreaded Red Box–wherein, I was to be eliminated from the site at once, if I did not mend my garrulous ways.

So now, I am trying to be very, very silent–which is hard.  My teammates and I can take ourselves over to MSN, or even use good old-fashioned email–and how scary is it that email seems slow and clunky and antediluvian, in this context?–but, it’s just not the same.  I am trying to stay quiet for an entire week, which is thought to be the amount of time the mysterious Orwellian Facebook Police (who respond to no forms of contact, answer no questions whatsoever, and are known to make arbitrary and final decisions) require, in order not to delete one’s account.

But, this has made me think about a couple of things.  First of all, does it make any sense that a social networking site would go out of its way to discourage–socializing?  If anyone has an answer to that paradox, I would be deeply curious to hear it.

The situation has also made me think about teams.  It is a subject which has come to mind often lately, particularly since I am a member of a few teams–which directly resulted in my being injured in a very frightening, egregiously unsportsmanlike, and unnecessary way last week, with an uncertain prognosis.  (the details are not particularly relevant, or interesting.)  But, this event has–much to my dismay–definitely put me in an “exactly when is it time to hang up the old cleats?” frame of mind.

I have been a Democrat since I was a small child, and always considered that a team, except that once the Party embraced Unity, it turned out that the only change was that it is now making a point of excluding millions of its former members in a startlingly hostile and dimwitted way.  Then again, I continue to be one of those old-fashioned and currently unpopular people who really do support the 1st and 4th Amendments–and believe in the right to privacy, the freedom to marry whomever one wishes to marry, and a person’s unfettered ability to make personal medical decisions for him or herself.   I also do not like off-shore drilling or abrogating  the separation between church and state, or denouncing and repudiating–and insulting–anyone who dares to disagree with me–which means that, apparently, I am no longer a Democrat.

Which leaves me with very limited options politically–and little or no stomach for continuing to follow the current campaign season, except in the most vague and casual way.

Luckily, I have a more reliable and entertaining team to watch.  One of the best right-handed hitters of the modern era was traded to Hollywood–and the Red Sox are so very much better off.  Tremendous talent did not change the fact that he was hurting the team, and his replacement certainly seems to be working out, so far.

Few things interest me less than the New York Jets.

Finally, on the subject of teams, this episode has its moments, but is not one of my favorites.

I want to read this,  and am already reading this one, but expect to have better things to do than spend good money on this.  Fortunately, the world is full of fine libraries.

Which, if you watch Battlestar Galactica, should frighten you a great deal.

He is certainly brilliant, extremely attractive to many, and has a messianic appeal, which baffles and eludes a good number of sensible adults–of which, I like to consider myself one.  And, if these guys show up, I would absolutely expect Senator Obama to respond the same way Baltar did.

What can I say?  For me, it’s Roslin all the way.  Always has been, always will be.

All half-kidding aside, Senator Obama has failed to impress me from the very beginning.  At best, this is the person I see.  Mostly, though–despite knowing that this opinion is likely to make me very unpopular–I see someone who cares more about winning, than he cares about principles, and who is mainly just interested in his own political fortunes–which look very good, at the moment, given the utter and continuing ineptitude of his current opponent.

The FISA vote is just one example of the evolution of The Chosen One to Mr. Expediency.  (Here is the actual text of the bill, if you have a little time on your hands.)  He could have done this, but he didn’t.  Making the convenient choice to abandon public financing doesn’t thrill me.  Waffling on choice really doesn’t thrill me.  (No, NARAL, your check is not now–nor, from now on, will it ever be–in the mail.  I daresay I’ll send a donation here, instead.)  I am also strangely fond of the First Amendment, so the hue and cry over the recent New Yorker cover is very tiresome, indeed.  It does, however, obfuscate the very mixed profile contained within the actual issue, which may have been the campaign’s–clever and opportunistic–intent the entire time.  However, this Slate writer has a nice line:  “Only weak thinkers fear strong images.”

Is it possible that the invariable humorlessness of the Obama campaign is what I dislike most of all?  Yes.  The fall-out from the not-all-that-shocking cover reminds me of Robert Redford’s lament to Barbra Streisand in The Way We Were, when he tells her (I paraphrase), after she falls apart when being heckled during an impassioned political speech, “You had them, Katie. If only you had just laughed.”  It is probably very, very wrong of me to think this article is funny.  (I am sure this is funny–but, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been wrong.)

And, since I’m one of those wacky people who deplores the death penalty, and thinks the Second Amendment does not mandate an individual’s right to own firearms, you can imagine how excited I am about the Senator’s slippery positions on those two issues.  The idea of spending four to eight years of living in this world is just exhausting.  If we’re very, very lucky, we may catch a break for the next few days, and neither Senator Obama, nor any members of his campaign, will feel the need to denounce or repudiate anyone.  But, there seems to be no shortage of people for them to insult, so, don’t hold your breath.

Yet, I am a pragmatist, and–by relying on precedents like Griswold v. Connecticut–I would be willing to allow the current misinterpretation of the Second Amendment remain permanently unchanged (with the proviso that the phrase “well regulated” be applied, as well), in exchange for an ironclad agreement that Roe v. Wade would also remain untouched, in perpetuity.  Seems like a fair trade to me, and could, in fact, be justified by accepting the notion that in the United States, an individual does retain a right to privacy, and that the government should not be allowed to interfere with a person’s ability to exercise that right.  (which, all things being equal, means that the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” disastrous policy would also be struck down at once, that Proposition 8 would be defeated in California, and that euthanasia would no longer be an area in which the government is permitted to interfere in any way.)

Not that it will ever happen–but, wouldn’t that strategy solve a lot of huge problems and issues which divide so many Americans, in a matter of seconds?

Remind me why Mr. Gore didn’t run again?

By the way, nice work, if you can get it.

I’d kind of like to read this, although I might wait until fall, and I think this one can definitely wait for a paperback edition, or a trip to the library.  But, even though I was underwhelmed by the first two books this writer published, I’m not going to lie–I’m really might curious about this.  It looks like good, trashy fun.

I never thought I would be entertained by fifteen endless innings of an All-Star game–but, I was.  Three cheers for J.D. Drew!

I like history.

I have always liked history.

And although it is on another, very grim topic, this, in my opinion, is an beautifully written piece of history.  So is this.  But when I was trying–and failing–to get my PhD in–you guessed it!–history, I was told that, over and over, that I was defining history incorrectly.

However, I am really quite certain that last night actually does fall into the category of history.    Setting aside any personal political preferences I may or may not have, my response is: mazel tov!

As far as I can tell, no one has more fun than these guys.  I never imagined a world where the Red Sox would get to celebrate, on a regular basis.  Life as a Red Sox fan always felt like this.

But, last night, something extra-special happened.  Two years ago, Jon Lester was a twenty-two year old rookie–with some back pain.  Unfortunately, to the shock of everyone involved, the diagnosis turned out to be cancer.  (Mike Lowell, the Red Sox third baseman, is also a cancer survivor, as it happens.)   Thankfully, he was able to fight the disease off, and resume his career–and in October 2007, guess who won the last game of the World Series?  Yes, that would be Jon Lester.

And last night, the man (nope, I’m not going to call him a “kid,” because I think he’s a Man) threw a no-hitter.  The last time a Red Sox left-hander accomplished that feat was in 1956.  So, what Mr. Lester did was very special–and his back-story only makes it more so.   It was great.  Really, really great.

This week, another young Red Sox player was diagnosed with cancer, and I just heard the sad news about Ted Kennedy, also.  And we can’t forget all of the people who are bravely fighting this disease (and other terrible diseases), day in and day out–but, not in the public eye.  I know–and admire–a few of them; I bet you do, too.

I am going to go right now and send a donation to one of my favorite charities, The Jimmy Fund.

It is a small state, but a delightful one–where, as it happens, I grew up.

Rhode Island makes the best lemonade in the world.

We enjoy tasty treats like coffee milk and johnnycakes. And if you are homesick, you can always order delicacies from the Ocean State, or attempt to prepare them yourself.

There are great beaches–and if you are peculiar enough to enjoy seafood, there are many fine spots to sample local traditions like clam cakes. (I do not care for them, but I am very much in the minority. The restaurants are nifty, in any case.)

You can get an excellent education, even though you may speak with an odd accent. Regardless, we tend to be a happy group of people, because things like this make us laugh our heads off.

Proms are held at fun places.

It is possible to watch the Baby Red Sox for less than ten dollars a ticket.

I learned how to ski in Rhode Island.

The mayor of Providence was my pal in high school. I hope he runs for governor, during the next election cycle–and have no doubt that he would win.

I love the way the state votes!

After months of huffing and puffing, we now have some Actual Results–and I, for one, was left disappointed in a way that I don’t think I would have predicted, even though I’m pretty sure we’re all supposed to be really happy. In fact, my friend Barbara and I spent a very long time on the telephone afterwards, moping and fretting and engaging in pre-game analysis of New Hampshire, South Carolina, and Nevada. Is it, in the end, about really wanting a woman to win, even if one is not a huge fan of the particular person running? Possibly so, because I felt a certain sense of despair watching her get trounced. (Third place, and 9 percentage points behind, with 100% of the precincts reporting. Wow. Are heads rolling up and down the aisle of the campaign plane tonight? One can only assume so.)

And–yes–I’m disappointed. Miles to go before we sleep, and all of that–but, disappointed. Granted, my horse, Senator Feingold, wasn’t even in the race, but it doesn’t seem like a good sign when you’re sitting around thinking, well, okay, if the junior Senator from Illinois with no legislative accomplishments whatsoever–and a disgraceful attendance record, to boot–wins the Big Prize, at least he’s smart, and that will be a nice change.

Barack reminds me of the guy with whom you have an absolutely glorious first date, and you run home and tell everyone you know that you met someone intelligent, and good-looking, and funny, and he’s perfect, and they should maybe start saving up for your favorite silverware–except then, you go out with him again. And you’re dying to fall in love with him, because on paper, he just seems so wonderful–but, for some reason, privately, you’re already losing interest, and like Buffy, you’re kind of going through the motions. And, your loved ones say, gosh, you have not mentioned Barack at all lately, what’s up with that?–and you sigh and shrug, and mumble a lot.

Which was an embarrassingly banal description, but I am from New England, and many of My People are not good at expressing the way we feel about things.

Maureen Dowd did a fine job, though, and quite effectively pinned down part of what is bothering me the most about the winner of the Iowa Caucus–and the person who came in third. (is it wrong to say that the notion of 4–or 8–years of Michelle just makes me tired? In fact, even writing those words means that I may have to go over to the cupboard and help myself to some of The Wonder Drug immediately. The Caucus has only been over for a few hours–and I already want her to go away and leave me alone. Which was true the very first time I saw her interviewed, actually. Way too passive-aggressive–and simultaneously garden-variety aggressive, to wear well over the long haul. Or, in my case, the very short haul.)

But, regardless, it has all Begun–and until February 5th, we are looking at non-stop pundits, and talking points. Sigh. Deep sigh. Exhaustion. More Wonder Drug. And, perhaps, I’ll chase that with a glass of Rhode Island Elixir.

Is anyone else awfully damn sick of the word “Change” every four seconds? It beats “Tyranny,” a word I have come to despise during the past seven years–but, not by much.

By the way, Mike Huckabee won, too. I kind of like the guy, but I still laughed my head off.

On a more positive note, the Red Sox have not traded Jacoby Ellsbury yet, and a week ago, I was lucky enough to witness this, from the second-to-the-last row of the stadium. Although the friend I was with would assure you otherwise, (I was grouchy and tense and no fun at all for more than three full quarters), I enjoyed the game very much, once Eli finally coughed up the predictable crucial interception.

Forget February 5th; I am waiting for January 12th.

In fact, if he were running for President, I would probably be in Iowa (nah, more likely, New Hampshire–to try and get a little early season skiing in, too) at this very moment. 

 I was thinking about this because yesterday, oddly, when I mentioned that I was from Atlanta orginally, someone gave me a grim look and asked if that meant I was a Southern conservative.  This befuddled me, and I said, well, my positions line up almost identically with Russ Feingold’s, if that helps you.  Which it didn’t.  (The Senator likes guns more than I do, but that may be the difference between living in an urban area and a rural one.)

I wish Feingold had thrown his little hat in the ring, but I suppose–since he makes so damn much sense–that he wouldn’t have had a chance. 

For some reason, that area of the country produces some unusually interesting politicians, mostly notably Paul Wellstone–who left us far too soon, alas.  (Hubert Humphrey and Eugene McCarthy also hailed from that neck of the woods, although dare a former Southerner like me mention such a thing?)

This is a good book, but I resent the fact that liberals now feel compelled to call themselves Progressives.  It offends me that the word “liberal” has suddenly found itself ranked among the worst insults in the world.  (A cheery example I invariably use is, if someone has just offered you some absolutely fabulous homemade ice cream, would you want a liberal serving of it–or a conservative one?  Me, I want the big old liberal serving) 

Although I do prefer pragmatic liberals, to the outraged-to-the-point-of-hysteria version, who never manage to do much more than be annoying and shrill.

Insofar as the South goes, I miss good old-fashioned yellow dog Democrats. 

Joe Biden is still doing extremely well in the debates–entirely under the radar, in my opinion–but I really wish he had risen above the temptation to announce that he spoke to both Musharraf and Bhutto, before the President did.  It may be true, but it was unseemly to toss it into a debate, I thought. 

Then again, the debate–in general–was fairly unseemly, and not wildly interesting.  Hillary had a better night, but I’m still looking for some genuine leadership, and not the calculated caution.  Which doesn’t mean that John McCain shouldn’t be ashamed of himself for allowing this insult to go essentially unremarked.  (Had the woman who made the remark been slightly less smug in her own right, it might not have seemed quite as gratuitous and unpleasant.) 

Iowa polls to the contrary, Barack still seems to be in free-fall, and the debate didn’t help him at all, in my opinion.  This piece has to have Adlai Stevenson rolling over in his grave.   There is no question that both men are smart, but I didn’t find the article at all convincing, in its attempt to paint Barack as Adlai’s ineffectual heir.   

And this latest Beltway story is just odd.  (although, as usual, Senator Obama’s staff handled it poorly–which continues to make me really nervous.  He seems to surround himself with low-level minor league talent, at best–and I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking for that in our next President.  I want the best and brightest minds in the country to fill important positions in the next Administration–in extreme contrast to the current one.)

Ah, enough politics for now.  Except that I am reading this, and recommend it.  I think he is a much more interesting and ambitious novelist than he ever seems to get credit for being–possibly because he has the bad luck to share a last name with a cottage-industry, heavily ghostwritten thriller writer?  Anyway, I’m not always crazy about his courtroom books, but the political ones are nifty, and fun–yet, also well-researched. 

I am not sure whether I want to read this.  Back in college, I would have been eager to grab it immediately.  Now?  Alas, no. 

Saw Razor on 42nd Street this week, and enjoyed it.  (Here is a review with spoilers; click at your own risk.  I liked it better than he did, especially up on the big screen.  Here are some more spoilers)  I was afraid that there would be people in costumes everywhere, but it was an after-work crowd in business clothes.  Total Battlestar addicts–but, comfortingly non-geeky ones.

Sign Mike Lowell, already, Theo!

Stowe opened for the season.  Life is good.

–makes me very dull.  I remember when I used to be a speedy and efficient worker; now, I am plodding and slow.  Or, it may just be some post-Post-Season malaise.  And the other Beloved Team has a bye week right now, so what is one to do?

My pal is dealing with a terrible scandal.  Oh, the horror!

With the strike, it looks as though we’re all going to be watching a lot of re-runs.  Recently, I have found that I need a Mary Cherry fix, and must address that.  Was it a flawed show?  Yes.  But, when it was on its game, it was genuinely hilarious.  It had a certain rhythm and style, which made it a complete giggle to watch.  Unfortunately, by adding a serious plot-thread during the second season, the show doomed itself, and sputtered to a finish.  Too bad.  I really liked it.

I caught my chum in the middle of a Buffy marathon recently, and was very jealous, even though he was–for unknown reasons–plowing through the disaster that was Season Six.  (with the notable exception of the musical, of course.)  I think I want to watch “Hush,” which has my single favorite scene of the entire series, and “Doppelgangland,” and “Passion,” and “Helpless,” and “Prophecy Girl,” and maybe even “Band Candy,” because I enjoy Jane Espenson’s sense of humor.  I do not particularly like Marti Noxon’s writing, but “The Wish” was actually pretty damn excellent. 

I adore Giles in every way–so, why am I Tara in this quiz?

Joss Whedon has a new series coming.  I am tentatively elated.

I think the Democratic Party, such as it is, had a really bad week.  Having major candidates conveniently skip the vote was extremely disappointing.  The next President is going to need to be bold and courageous–in order to try and fix the plethora of problems which s/he will face–and no one currently running seems to fall into that category. 

I don’t agree with her politics, but Peggy Noonan knows how to write.  Unfortunately, so does this guy, albeit not as well.  Luckily, Maureen Dowd does, too–and extremely well, indeed.

As ever, we really do need Laura Roslin to come back soon.  Until then, this will have to suffice.

Yeah, I’m probably going to talk about Iraq–but first, the Patriots need some praise.  Neither team was really sharp–and the officiating crew made what seemed like an intentional effort to insert themselves into the outcome–but, in the end, the Patriots did precisely what needed to be done.  Addai nearly won the game all by himself, though–it was a very impressive day on his part.  Bill Belichick may not be the most charming fellow ever (although I confess that I find him strangely–or maybe not so strangely–attractive), but seriously, if we had to go through D-Day again, wouldn’t you want him to be the guy planning it?  And read this, if you want to see why he is legitimately furious about the NFL using selective injustice against him earlier this season.  (Welcome to karma, dude.)

For those of you who dislike sports, you may stop skimming now, if so inclined.  But, if you hate politics, resume skimming at once. 

I don’t like the war in Iraq.  I thought it was stupid when it first came up; I think it’s stupid now.  I did support taking action in Afghanistan–even before September 11th.   After all, this was happening long before that terrible day.  By “action,” I don’t mean war, as such, but I think the international community could have been convinced to try and suppress the Taliban–and this could well have changed history.  Even this country might have agreed to help out, and that would certainly have had an impact on what is happening currently.  In fact, with intelligent leadership, we might have lots of friends we don’t have right now–and may never have again.  But, that is precisely the type of leadership we did not have–not even close–and it certainly hasn’t turned out very well.  There is no way anyone will ever know for sure, but I am quite convinced that if five members of the Supreme Court hadn’t decided to appoint a President of the United States all by themselves in 2000, the world would be entirely different–and some iconic buildings in lower Manhattan would still be standing. 

But, I digress.  Because, alas, we are in Iraq, and there is a dreadful mess to clean up.  On a short-term basis, the surge may be working a little bit, but unless our soldiers stay there indefinitely, that surely won’t be sustained, and that will have a devastating impact on the country for decades to come, I fear.  Both countries, actually.  If we were going to invade, there should have been a coherent plan–and the reality, I think, is that part of that plan would have required reinstating the draft.  Charlie Rangel may be a wacky guy, but I do think that he is right about this.  If there is going to be a major war, there really must be a sense of “shared sacrifice” across the country–or what you will end up with is….a defeat.  I very strongly believe that national service (not necessarily military, of course) should be a requirement for all citizens, and while I shudder at the thought of bringing back the draft, if we had a draft–with no loopholes–I suspect even the most bellicose Administration in history still wouldn’t be able to take the country to war against its will. 

But then again, as we know, this Administration’s idea of shared sacrifice is to say: “I encourage you all to go shopping more.”  Would it be that hard to suggest–for starters–oh, say, conserving energy?  Just a thought.

It is strange, actually, that yapping about the Patriots led me into thinking about Iraq so intensely.  But, really, Belichick’s win-at-all-costs; who-cares-if-it-is-pretty attitude is actually exactly what you need to win a war.  (Ever seen this page?  It’s quite damning.)  Yeah, it’s only football, but there’s a serious mind working there, and if he had taken a different life path and had been the Secretary of Defense back in 2003, it would be hard to convince me that the war–if, in fact, he had recommended such a thing, which it’s entirely possible he would have been far too intelligent to do–would not have turned out differently.

Right now, I am reading this.  But I think I would maybe rather be reading this.

Or possibly these, which I adored as a child.