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.

I am not enjoying this campaign cycle.  I am not looking forward to November.  I have actually been surly and a bit short-tempered lately, as a direct result, which is–one likes to think–somewhat out of character.  So, it’s clearly time for a break.

Lucky for me, the Beloved Team can fill the breach!  After the long trip to Japan, the bizarre exhibition games in Los Angeles, and now, games in Oakland and Toronto, I expect the team to be somewhat sluggish out of the gate, but it’s a long season, and many days and nights of fun await one and all.  Recently, I happened to be talking to a Yankees fan (the team also known as The Evil Ones) on the street and was able to say, very kindly, something to the effect of “You all have a nice, little team.  Perhaps one of these years, you will be able to win a pennant again.”  Frankly, it made my day.  Possibly my century.

I saw Stop-Loss, and recommend it, but without wild enthusiasm.  It’s certainly not a great movie–and it might not even be a good one, but it’s a strong, and probably unnecessary, reminder that the situation in Iraq is an absolute disaster, and is almost certainly going to continue to be so for many, many years.  And Joseph Gordon-Levitt has–somewhat to my surprise, since I mostly just associate him with the fluffy, if fun, Third Rock from the Sun–become quite an interesting actor.

For anyone who hasn’t already heard that Joss Whedon has a new show coming out, starring Eliza Dushku, the plot sounds intriguing and I have already begun my official countdown, as I wait for the first episode to air. Ever since Ms. Dushku first swaggered onto the screen as Faith, I’ve been a fan, and am curious to see whether she really does have the untapped range I suspect lurks somewhere inside.

I enjoyed a Del’s Lemonade over the weekend.  It was from a mix, I think, and so, lacked the pieces of fresh lemon a sensible person prefers–but, I was still delighted to drink it.

And life is good when you get to have a traditional New England supper on a Saturday night.  Ours included home-made cole-slaw, with no mayonnaise, of course–since it is well-known among my people that the substance almost always dooms your salad to utter mediocrity.

Yesterday, a pal alerted me to the fact that Drugs are probably Bad.  Be warned!

Senator Obama did not ask for my advice. Surprisingly, his campaign rarely calls me, and almost never writes. (and when they do, they just want money.)

But, tomorrow–today, actually, as I look at the clock–the Senator should, in my opinion, not opt for lofty rhetoric, or defensiveness, or repudiate anyone. He should not prevaricate, or obfuscate, or even hesitate. It will, no doubt, be tempting to try and walk down the road Dr. Martin Luther King so brilliantly paved, and I’m sure Senator Obama could deliver an inspiring speech, albeit an inevitably less ground-breaking and indelible one. But, with the Democratic Party–and, in too many ways, and for too many reasons, the entire country–currently teetering angrily on the edge of despair, I think he should channel Harry S. Truman, instead.

Be honest. Be direct. Be humble. Tell the truth. Don’t mince words. Shoot straight. (And one must never forget that President Truman was a man who abruptly made history with a single bold signature on a vital document.)

I will quote the crucial passage: “It is hereby declared to be the policy of the President that there shall be equality of treatment and opportunity for all persons in the armed services without regard to race, color, religion or national origin.” (Would I like to see gender and sexual orientation in there, too? You bet. But, life is flawed, and in recent years, the formerly glorious concept of a sweeping executive order has been egregiously abused.)

America has a tangled, and distressing, racial history. It is endlessly confusing, and complicated, and infuriating, and it is hard to believe that there is anyone who has ever even been to the United States, who doesn’t have strong opinions about race–and the other categories and concepts which are used to try and put people in tiny little boxes, and limit and diminish us all. People hear coded words where they don’t exist–and sometimes miss them entirely in what appear to be benign remarks. Everyone, invariably, feels as though they have to walk on those proverbial eggshells–and I daresay that most of us bitterly resent it, on the occasions when we feel as though we are being pushed in directions where we don’t want to go.

I, personally, have never cared whether anyone agrees with my opinion, but I unfailingly want to be treated with respect–even on those (one likes to think, very rare) occasions when I don’t particularly deserve it. And, I operate under the presumption that, if I make my best effort to treat others with respect, too, they will be kind enough to overlook my mistakes, and I will try as hard as I can to respond accordingly.

Sometimes, I fail. That’s the way it goes. Ideally, though, you try again–and, with luck, do better the next time out.

I have many very strong opinions–about faith, politics, race, gender, sports, you name it. And I know that sometimes I make assumptions about people based upon things as seemingly trivial as whether they like cats. (Full disclosure: I like cats. It is not required for other people to like cats, but I expect them never to say anything offensive about my cats. Because, frankly, that would be impolite.)

I don’t like guns. Many other people do. I don’t get it. But, that doesn’t mean that we can’t try to find common ground. (Unless, of course, someone tries to shoot one of my cats–but, I hope not to encounter that particular situation.)

I have wildly conflicting opinions about religion, and worry about this quite a lot. Once, at a church I had attended for many years, the priest–and the congregation, as a whole–did something which offended my sensibilities to the degree that, once they had all settled down, I walked out in the most dramatic way imaginable, and even slammed the door. I like to think they noticed–but, maybe not.

I deplore a number of things that the United States government has done in my name–but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get very upset when people don’t bother taking their hats off while the National Anthem plays at baseball games. And yet, by virtue of the First Amendment, they are certainly free not to do so–and I guess I am equally free to find it extremely disrespectful.

I don’t like war; I do like soldiers. I don’t like rules, but I do like laws. I think Harry Potter is just silly, but Buffy is cool.

Life is a muddle.

I want Senator Obama to be direct tomorrow. Unflinching. Clear. Brave.

He has a chance for A Moment.

I hope he grabs it.

I want to wake up, and have Al Gore getting ready to finish his second term. We all have health care. The economy continues to operate with a large surplus. The Kyoto Accord has been scrapped–because it wasn’t ambitious enough, and the new treaty is much better. Since we now have independent, renewable sources of energy, Saudi Arabia has lost much of its influence–and the rulers have been forced to start being nicer to women. (of all things!) Saddam is probably still in power, but he’s a completely marginalized loon, and the Gore Administration has been focused on trying to help Israel’s neighbors learn how to co-exist with an actual staunch democracy, and treat other countries in the region as genuine allies.

Many things have happened during the past eight years, but the best part of all is that the World Trade Center is standing right where it always was. It’s still not attractive, but it’s tall, and we’re fond of it, and thousands of people go to work there every day–and come home safely at night.

Sigh.

Instead, we’re living in a nightmare, and increasingly, Democrats are part of the problem. I’m not sure I want to post any links, because even space aliens have been sitting at their dinner tables all week saying, “whoa, this is out of control, when’s Opening Day?” (Side-note: life really is topsy-turvy, because President Bush was pretty funny.)

And James Carville is suddenly the voice of reason. I’m starting to think that we actually are living in a world without shrimp.

My grandmother–a person I miss absolutely every day–used to have a saying, “God don’t love ugly.” Mostly, she said it when my sisters and I quarreled–which was often. And if she were watching this current election campaign, I believe she would have me pour her some more sherry and say, “Honey, let’s put on some stories.” (”Stories,” being soap operas or television dramas.) We would be entertained. We would enjoy snacks. Life would be delightful.

I was watching CNN today, which showed a very lengthy clip of an angry reverend’s sermon, after which, the commentator said–with no sense of irony, “That was given on December 25th, 2007″ or words to that effect. In other words, it was Christmas. Which, within the context of the Christian faith, is generally considered kind of a Happy Day. Instead, the parishioners were bombarded with a stream of invective. I have to say, that is not a church I would attend twice–nor would I buy the CDs/DVDs/whatever, in order to listen to the shouting again at my leisure. (So, it goes without saying that I would not go again and again for twenty years–until, finally, my own personal ambition forced me to take the spiritual mentor from whom I purloined the title of my best-selling book–and throw him under a bus.)

This, of course, after tossing Samantha Power onto the subway tracks, while the other campaign hurled Geraldine Ferraro out of an airplane–and, well, God don’t love ugly. (obviously, insert your own higher-power-of-choice–or no higher power whatsoever–into that statement, to make it fit within your personal belief system.)

Can the grown-ups come out and play now? Are there any grown-ups left?

Here is what I think is going to happen. Senator Obama will be the nominee in November–and he will lose. It won’t be pretty, and if Senator McCain is wily enough to pick Colin Powell or Elizabeth Dole or someone of similar stature as a running mate, it will be an absolute landslide. You can crunch the numbers right and left, but Senator Clinton isn’t going to be able to pull the Democratic nomination out–without half of the Party sitting at home in November and sulking, as they toss their beanbags up and down in the air. I think the smart move would have been for her to pull out quite some time ago, let Senator Obama take the complete blame for the upcoming November debacle, and then learn from her mistakes and run a much better campaign in 2012. But, I’m pretty sure she is going to keep scuffling all the way to Denver–and the end result will be that two potentially fine Presidents are going to crash and burn. There’s something to be said for being a statesman or woman–and I sure as hell haven’t seen one in either campaign lately.

So disappointing. So unnecessary. So incredibly short-sighted, and stupid. The only thing I can say with reasonable certainty is that I have no intention of voting for anyone I do not consider a grown-up. Which puts me in quite a pickle.

All things being equal, I found this site more interesting than anything else I read today–although it is, by no means, cheery.

However, I was here recently, and it was excellent.

And I don’t like the war, but this is cool.

Finally saw Juno. Totally dug it. If I were ever involved with a movie–a scenario I do not anticipate, frankly–I would want Ellen Page to be in it. I am looking forward to seeing Smart People next month.

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.

–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.