What I Am Reading - A Close to the 2011 Stack

What I Am Reading – A Close to the 2011 Stack

Well Fuck…

We are fast approaching my end goal of thirty books and I am quite frankly, not going to make it.  If I had to attribute my failure to something I would choose Martin and my efforts at World Project.  Both have swallowed the back half of my year completely.  With World Project in the mix it is hard to devote time to the finer things, like the vast osmosis of words into my brain.  All of my available reading time went to Martin and his ponderous tale.

Since I started keeping track in May, I have read sixteen books.  If I count what I read since the first of January, I might have peaked closer to the mid-twenties, but alas I did not.  Overall I read 7,338 pages of printed recreational reading.  If I split that across an average book size of 300 pages, I was much closer to my goal with 24.46 books.  Not too shabby I suppose.

Out of all the books I started, I only failed to complete one which is much better than previous years where the uncompleted count is higher, roughly four to five.  This means I am getting better at picking when I peruse and that people are getting better with their recommendations, fantastic.  I has a lot of fun reading through “The Song of Ice and Fire” with everyone and the ad-hoc book club meetings at the Joker where the tits.  Thanks everyone for that, your excitement and interest around the series is fueling World Project and allowed A Feast of Thrones.   In the future I hope we can do it again, although with all of our different reading habits and interests it may be hard.  Perhaps we should start a book club of sorts.  Something to mule over in 2012 I suppose.  It seems like a lot of effort.

At this point it is time to nominate my favorite books of the year that I read.  The criteria itself is completely subjective to what I enjoy with no data matrix or reasoning at all.  Starting with my least favorite and culminating in my number one pick of the year.  This is actually going to be kind of hard…

Without further ado, the stack ranking for 2011 (from least enjoyable to most):

“The Dead Path” – The first horror novel I have read in a while.  It wasn’t terrible, in fact only the books I don’t finish would I consider terrible.  The author has a terrible habit of going super granular on plant species in his descriptions.   I am no botanist so this means I have to either look it up or just not get the description reference at all which is what I ended up doing.  I just don’t need the description as a genus of species.  The story itself was entertaining but predictable and not all that scary at all.

“Songs of Love & Death” – It is low because it is a book of shorts.  Shorts are always entertaining but as a volume in itself there will be good and bad stories.  It is just the nature of the beast with a volume like this.   With shorts there is no consistency between subject matter except the universal theme that binds them to the tomb.  In this instance, almost all of the stories pertained to love, but not all had death.

“A Game of Thrones” – Why so low you say? Well because I had already read it and managed to have just watched the show before picking this up again.  I had had the refresher which left nothing to do but attempt to search for more.  It was rewarding as a labor of love but difficult when it took ten years to overcome some of the character loss that hits you in this first book.

“Soft Apocalypse” – This was the author’s first attempt at a novel, as he had done incredibly well on the short story front.  I am only putting this so far down on the list because of the manner in which the story is delivered.  It makes sense the way he did it but I wanted the full story, not peeks into significant events as the Apocalypse closes in.  It’s hard to fault a writer for that but I am.  At least he did what needed to be done at the near end of the story. 

“Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief” – Seems like it was riding on the heels of Harry Potter and to provide a replacement for those kids.  Predictable but fun to read.  I put it here because I like realism and rawness to my books, and this just doesn’t have it, but no fault of the author as he is not writing to my demographic.

“Hart’s Hope” – This probably deserves to be higher on the list but the story seemed to me to read one way half the book and another nearer to the end, as if it had two writers.  My assumption is that the author ended up writing one piece of the story and then returned to the story for completion some time later, perhaps in the interim writing other stories.  I will probably always remember Gallowglass and his twisted being.

“A Feast of Crows” – Too disjointed, too ad-hoc, and it added elements to the story that just did not need to be there or could have been combined into other areas of the story.  It almost felt like I was derailing from the previous three books, which is why I put it here.  Overall I don’t give this book enough credit or Martin for writing it.  If he had decided not to we might be much farther in the story but there would be a lot of missing pieces.

“The Road” – I was too skewed from seeing the movie and I knew all the “oh my goshes!”  The movie I felt also illustrated the emotion and suspense in a way that was more affective then the book whence it came.  Still a solid read and I am uber excited to read “Blood Meridian” next year.

“The ScrewTape Letters” – If the dialog\letters had shown us the reciprocation of the letters I might have put this near the top.  As it is, I felt the author shorted himself on the grand scheme.  The toast included at the end sums up what I wanted throughout the entirety of the book.

“A Clash of Kings” – The first book brought us a world in turmoil, this continues the story.  It’s here because it is the sequel to a marvelous first book and still fails to move the story in leaps in bounds.  Were the first book hooked you this one reals you in.  It is fantastic, well structured, and well written (as they all are).  The ending is just as much as a cliff hanger as the first which is infuriating and so rewarding as a reader.  After all you did just consume 728 pages of rich tapestry. 

 “A Dance With Dragons” – The first half of this book has the same faults as “A Feast With Crows” but ends much like “A Clash of Kings.”  I am excited for the next book, so so excited if I am correct the cadence of his releases.

“The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through the Madness Industry” – Quality read that was interesting and informative.  It was good to throw some fiction into the mix and I do want to read some of his other works.  Maybe next year, maybe not.  The author delivers the story in an easily consumable way which was great.

“Jasmyn” – While it was not as good as her other work, “The Ninth Circle,” which just so happened to be my favorite of book of last year, the book still kept the same style which I really enjoy reading.  The blend of fantasy into modern is superb and that upstart Jim Butcher could really take a note from Alex.  I wish her all the luck in her screen play writing for “The Ninth Circle” and am hoping for really good things.  I will continue to watch this author and read her more mature orientated books.

“The Giver” – Had not read this since middle school and I am so glad someone told me to re-read it.  Not because I had forgotten the book but because it is good enough and short enough to probably read once a year.  The message the author conveys is solid and continues to echo in my daily life.

“Galapagos” – This ended up being a blast and I was happy that another book club shared it with me.  Looking back on this book I really realize the importance of the message and appreciate the candid manner of its delivery.  Kurt, you slay the style with the best of them.

Drum roll please…the winner of Ryan’s 2011 stack goes to…

“A Storm of Swords” – This book is the culmination of the first two books in the series and does not fail to disappoint from start to stop.  With overt fifteen hundred pages of buildup, Martin needed to reduce scope and consolidate plot lines.  This is by far my favorite book out of the series and just so happened to be my favorite book of 2011. Hopefully the next iteration in this series (The Winds of Winter) has the same effect that this book provided.  A stepping stone in a current of intrigue, lies, violence, power, incest, morality, and everything else that this book brings to the table.   It’s treacherous and only the most daring should undertake this brilliant tomb.

That’s the list. 

Keep reading because:

 “A sharp mind needs books like a sword needs a wet stone.” – Tyrion Lannister. George R.R. Martin 

How Life Comes Today - The Caffeinated Oasis

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and observations.

The Caffeinated Oasis

Maybe I have an 8AM meeting, maybe I am lucky enough that it is a weekend and we are rounding on noon.  Perhaps I have skipped past my alarm, snoring loudly like a logger with an old toothed saw.  Either way I wake eventually, in some contorted position that was comfy while my subconscious played, the light hits me in the face as I am birthed into the day.  It is more pleasant than the alarm but each day it’s always the same. 

No matter where I live I always, if able, try to position my bed so that I am greeted by Sol.  I know some people prefer their beds to always face north or what not, but for me it’s towards whatever window let’s in the sun.  Be it behind my bed, cascading across the tapestry of twisted blankets, or smashing through the blinds to lift my heavy lids.  I am glad I am not the only one with the affinity for the Sun.  It has appeared as a central figure in nearly every strain of humanity during our early development.  The ancient Greeks believed that the sun was a Titan named Helios.  Ancient Egyptians believed it was the sacred seat of Ra, the king of the gods.  In Hinduism, the sun is considered a visible form of a god so that we can bask in their glory and be reminded every day.  Even the Roman’s had a celebration for ‘The Birth of the Undefeated Sun’ which was held on the 25^th of every December.  No wonder I like to wake to its licking tendrils.   

Waking up is always a tedious affair.  My mattress is ancient.  The mattress itself has been owned by me for at least 12 years and it was a few years old when I got it.  It divots in the center so when I sleep I naturally puddle in the middle.  You would think this is horrible but when I sleep by myself I do not have to worry about rolling off the bed and when I have another sharing, we naturally roll together.  Despite these wonderful things, my positioning is always wrong.  Maybe my dog decided he wanted half the bed, or maybe the sheets got rolled up around my appendages or I decided to kick out a pillow instead of using it and now I am rewarded with a cruel wrinkle in my back or neck.  One day it was so bad that I actually felt and looked off balance.  So that is the scene, a 170lbs dog using one of my blanket twisted appendages as a pillow, in the center of my bed with the sun blasting me in the face.

Arise Ryan, arise.  I kick my dog from me and assess the situation.  The situation is different every day as I am not a consistent person.  What will it be today and did I wake up before my alarm? Did I wake with an hour to spare before work or will I be running out the door as fast as possible?  Do I even have to work today?  Was there something important I was supposed to do?  These are the things that are racing through my head as I try to part the fog of dawn. 

I shower in the morning, it’s essential if I am going to be productive.   I will spare you the details on that endeavor.  I used to have a bad habit of falling asleep in the shower, but that was back when we used to game into the late hours of the night and I was running on fumes for work the next day.  That ended after I came crashing through the curtain a few times.  Pain is always a good way to fix bad habits.

After the shower it is time for me to get dressed and figure out what I need to do to be productive.  An essential part of that productiveness is coffee.  I prefer to call it the ambrosia of the gods.  Whether I brew it at home or spend my $2.35 on a cup to go, it does not matter as long as I put it in my body.  Coffee, which was thought to have been discovered around the 15^th century is a dark brewed beverage with an acidic flavor, is brewed from the roasted seeds of the coffee plant.  Unroasted coffee beans are one of the largest traded commodities in the world and Brazil holds that title with 2,249,010 tons a year.  Why you say?  Caffeine.

“A beverage as black as ink, useful against numerous illnesses, particularly those of the stomach. Its consumers take it in the morning, quite frankly, in a porcelain cup that is passed around and from which each one drinks a cupful. It is composed of water and the fruit from a bush called bunnu.”

—Léonard Rauwolf, Reise in die Morgenländer

It is said that the Oromo people would customarily plant a coffee tree on the graves of powerful sorcerers because they believed that the first coffee bush sprang up from the tears that the god of heaven shed over the corpse of a dead sorcerer.  That is powerful stuff, who wouldn’t want to inject the tears of powerful sorcerers?  I know I do and crave it.  I love it.  Even when I have too much and I get all jittery, I still wish I had more.

I first started drinking coffee regularly when I was sixteen, but have been a constant in a coffee shop since I was four when my parents would meet with friends in an assortment of shops and waste away the day after some athletic stimulation.  Back then there where coffee shops everywhere and I don’t mean the Starbuck monopoly that we see today.  Sadly, the rise of Starbucks has really mainstreamed what a coffee shop was.  The ideals of a shop used to be to present a very quiet interment space where people could escape.  The shop often had local art for sale and bookshelves of books you could “borrow” and board games.  My particular favorite was a small coffee shop in Redmond where the Matador now resides, and before that Big Time Pizza.  Although I do not remember its name anymore I do remember that it spanned the entirety of the old brick building.  Inside you were greeted with the baristas, cash register, coffee machine, and the treat case.  This is still something you see in all Starbucks across the land and has been very successful.  In the main area of this particular shop there were a standard assortment of chairs and tables where students and groups of people could be seen enduring the noise and working on whatever.  It wasn’t infrequent to see tutors with pupils in this area.  From there you could go up a steep staircase to an enclosed loft that had a large table on one end and bean bags at the other.  At the time, this was my favorite place.  I could go up and play with my Legos, draw or anything else my young mind could conceive of doing.  I would often be left alone up there while the adults played down below and there was rarely anyone up there.  If you opted to not go up the steep steps and turned right you could traverse through an archway into a room that was bursting with book shelves and windows.  The shelves where full of books of varying genres and the room was complete with comfortable couches that many patrons would use to sleep or discuss politics, poetry, philosophy, or anything else.  This is often where my parents were with their rather robust group of friends.  The place closed down before I could ever call myself a patron and even longer before I could navigate around an automobile, but this one establishment has always been a pinnacle of what a coffee shop was supposed to be and was until the success of Starbucks.

 Starbucks changed the game for everyone and some might even say in a bad way.  I don’t know if I agree or disagree but I know I will never see a shop like the above in a community that has a Starbucks and Issaquah has three within three miles of each other.  Up the hill in Sammamish we have four.  There are seven institutions within ten miles of each other and an assortment of drive through dispensaries, which are convenient if not completely ridiculous.  In either of the above communities you would be hard pressed to find a dedicated coffee shop at all like the one I mentioned.  This of course does not mean that I won’t go to a Starbucks, in fact I go nearly every day.

I still frequent coffee shops; I am a patron known by name and order at most of the shops in my area.  I still love to park down in a chair with a book or my laptop and waste away the day.  It’s my vacation in a world when I get next to no time off. 

Over the years coffee has become as important to me as waking to Sol.  Sol and coffee have become an integral part of my day, my life, and my routine.  Much like the Wonderful Ritual, not a day goes by without its acidic brown happiness goes down my throat.  I will take it as a shot, mixed with sugary syrups, or have it in my favorite way straight with half and half.  It does not really matter, I have my preferred methods, but it’s the drink and more importantly the caffeine I want. 

What I Am Reading - Feasting on Crows while Dancing With Dragons

George R.R. Martin

A Feast for Crows - Hardback - 753pgs.

A Dance with Dragons - Hardback - 1044pgs.

Tread at your own peril, spoilers ahead.

I always struggle to write reviews for Martin's books so instead of covering these independently as they were published, I will take Martin's intent to publish together as a sign that I should write as if they are one.  This of course has its own challenges since the books together put us at 1,797 pages.

I had already read one through three when four dropped on 10.17.2005 and decided to go pick it up.  At the time I had intended to read it but after hearing from Martin at a book signing event  that Feast was only half of what he had intended to publish, I had to wait.  At the time I didn’t know that I was going to have to wait five god damn years.  I think as a reader, you have a right to be mad when a release cadence for a book in a series is five years.  Who wouldn’t be mad, I was.  Waiting for a Dance meant that I waited roughly nine years to read these two books.  So at that point I just decided to read them all again.  I have to say that I am glad I did.  While I had remembered all of the major plot points from the first three books, I had thoroughly mixed up the contents of books two and three and the precedent in which they are delivered.  For instance, I had convinced myself that Jon's ascension to Lord Commander of the Nights Watch actually   happened in book two along with the infamous Red Wedding, while I had thought that the Battle of the Blackwater happened at the end of three.  Re-reading these obviously shattered those misconceptions and reasserted the correct time line.

Book four wasn’t a disappointment for me at all and I thought a lot of the setup that took place in this book is actually an interesting addition to what people conceive to be the plot of the story.  While the shenanigans with House Greyjoy may appear to be encumbering to the story I think they will add some really interesting flavor down the way and most definitely provide what I think will be some unexpected twists into this legend.  I found Brienne to be a relief to a book that was otherwise shallow in it's locales and a bastion of an adventure in a series that offers grand epics with complicated inter-connected character depth.  The adventure aspect is something that is generally the center plot point for every sort of fantasy except this, perhaps that is why this is such a success.  Not to say that we haven't seen it as it seems that at least one character perspective per book is still undergoing some sort event that could be classified as an adventure.  Unlike some readers, I felt that Dorne and the expansion provided in this book where important.  Martin needed to expand on Dorne, so much talk about the perceived power of this kingdom meant that he couldn’t continue to keep it in the dark.  I respect his decision to show it to us how he did even if it felt as if several plot perspectives could have been rolled into one.  For instance,  Ser Arys Oakheart did not need the two point of view chapters he was allotted and they could have been easily rolled into any other Dornish point of view character in Feast.  I often wonder how much more interesting it would have been if those two simple chapters were from the point of view of the Darkstar, it surely would have helped advance the story and shed light on some things.  I suppose.   I think this is the resounding problem with Feast.  Simply to many point of views are added that don't need to be there and while interesting and well written, they simply do not move the story forward at all.

This follows cadence into a Dance, but luckily he seems to have been able to shake it off within the first quarter of the book without eliminating every single person.  It is hard with a Feast and a Dance when you do not have all of the characters that you are used to.  I personally thought that a Dance possessed too much Tyrion, maybe I am bias against the little Imp but I felt a lot of Tyrion's eastward march was not needed in the level of depth provided.  Furthermore the re-introduction of Morment leaves me reeling.  Not that I hate Morment but his reintroduction seems ridiculous.  Unless he kills Dany or sacrifices himself for something else, there really isn't any point as he proved through out the course of a Dance.  Furthermore we see Stannis pitched in the snow, famished and dying with his host with convoluted hints that they may or may not have perished.  The letter to Jon Snow from Ramsey certainly hints that everything is shored up but I wonder how much of Ramsey's letter is true/known fact and speculation.  Jon's involvement in the affairs of the realm was justification enough for his stabbing.  I am not going to sugar coat it.  Nor do I feel sorry for him.  With that said though, I don’t think he is dead.  The general rule of thumb for me to accept the death of another character in this series is for it to be witnessed by another point of view character or talked about in subsequent chapters as known fact.  After the aggregated 1,797 pages of these two books he quiet simply had to kick Jon, Dany, or Tyrion in this way.  People were expecting a meaningful death in the course of these books, after all he did set that precedent with books one-through-three.  The death of Quentin wouldn't do it, even if he did manage to set loose the dragons on Mareen.  It had to be one of the big remaining three and Jon was the most likely in my opinion.  Furthermore, I knew as soon as I saw the title that Dany was going to slap those legs around a dragon and fly, I don't think that was going to be a mystery to anyone.  The problem of course is that that event should have been a pinnacle to some plot point that would allow the story to speed up and perhaps close loops but instead Martin opened more.  I was hoping the flight would settle everything in Mereen and give her the flexibility to start looking back at Westeros.  No dice.  So no we are grid locked in the North and Grid locked in the East, with minor characters flittering around everywhere.

I don't mean to question the great I suppose but this series has to conclude sometime and simply killing characters does not provide an adequate resolution that readers will be happy with.   As of now, in his future work "The Winds of Winter," I estimate that he will need to kill roughly 25% of the point of view characters and 25% of the non-point of view characters to wrap up the series in seven books.  I did some thinking on this and he could be inundating us with new point of view characters because he plans on killing off a significant amount of characters in "The Winds of Winter" and he would need the new point of views he created in a Feast and a Dance to continue the story.  It has been said that Martin knows, and has documented, the entirety of this epic.  I believe that and I think as a dedicated reader to this series I don't have any other choice but to believe it.  If not, we should be expecting a long disappointing road to the culmination of this series.  Hopefully we wont have to wait another five years for "The Winds of Winter."  

How Life Comes Today - The Trouble With Owning a Thane

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and observations.

The Trouble with Owning a Thane

I own a Thane.  A Thane is big, and by no means am I exaggerating.  A mature Thane will in fact often block an entire hallway, entry way, or staircase with ease.  Just right now, he chose to block the 48 inch TV like some unnatural eclipse.  Most of the time a Thane cannot comprehend the amount of space is required to fit between two objects and while he has only gotten stuck once, it is not unusual for him to tumble chairs or anything else that may be in his way.  To make matters worse, a Thane comes equipped with a tail.  It is about 4 inches thick at the base and extends outwards from his ass.  It essentially covers his primary output orifice and is best thought of as an exaggerated hatch.  A Thane’s tail wags whenever he is pleased with the situation at hand or even moderately stimulated in what a Thane conceives to be a pleasurable way.  What this may be is widely up for speculation.  This wagging activity causes his tail to move at different intervals indicative of his excitement in the situation.  The faster the tail moves the more he likes what is going on.  At high speeds the tail will destroy glasses, cause bruises, and trip children.  If you are male I would advise covering your sensitive areas when Thane comes wagging.  In some instances of intense excitement a Thane will contort his body into a ball and attempt to spin in a circle which creates a whirl wind of destruction.   This activity is most notable at times of feeding or if I have been away from my Thane for a prolonged period of time.  In some instances the whirl wind can come with the accompaniment of a vocal element which is impossible to describe with words.  It is terrifying and exciting at the same time.  This could possibly mean that a Thane is upset, excited, fearful or a combination of any of the above. 

A Thane is covered in black fur with the accessory of brindle apricot highlights; this gives him the appearance of being dirty all of the time which is fitting because he generally is.  A Thane loves to wallow, much like a pig, in dirt or mud.  Once positioned in the wallow he will often do his best to ensure that he is covered in dirt.  My particular Thane has a black mask, devoid of apricot, and a black nose giving him the sense of some brooding physical shadow.  Researchers believe that this helps aid a Thane conceal himself at night.  My particular Thane has bronze eyes which glow eerily as they reflect the light in the darkness.  A Thane is sneaky at night.  While during the day he easily stands out, at night while blanketed in darkness he moves quietly and nimbly.

A Thane is always hungry.  No matter how much he consumes he will always eat more, unless it is kibble.  Apparently his daily ration of 8 cups a day has made him weary of kibble, A Thane much prefers the leavings of any human.  Kibble is just too drab for a Thane.  Thane’s favorite food is meat, cooked or uncooked, a Thane is able to consume raw flesh as easily as cooked.  Watching a Thane consume a steak is akin to watching a Tyrannosaurus Rex gobble down an infant.  The steak is rarely chewed more than twice before disappearing down his gullet.  I have tried to cut a steak into small bits; I have attempted to get steaks so large that a Thane would be forced to chew.  Neither method requires any delay in consumption.  A Thane is defenseless against the wiles of food.  If you refuse to immediately satiate his desires for whatever you are eating, a Thane will sit or stand in front of you for the duration in which you are enjoying your meal, hoping that you will notice that he would like to share with you.  In this process a Thane’s eyes will droop and he may whine, attempt to shake, or he may start to drool.  If he is seated you will be greeted by his throbbing pink bobber, un-shamefully pointed like a standard to the sky.  A Thane is so excited about eating that he often goes erect in the presence of food.  A Thane is perfectly comfortable brandishing an erection, for a Thane is confident in all situations, especially if the situation is a food related one.  There are very few things that a Thane does not consider food.  Namely anything synthetic, but it is easy to trick him into eating just about anything if you know how to do it.  Drinking water for a Thane is a big ordeal.  One that a Thane must condition and work up to for a Thane drinks his entire ration of water in one sitting.  Much the same as a camel does to refill its hump after a long desert journey.  A Thane consumes water by lapping it up with his ill-suited tongue.  A Thane’s tongue is just not ideal for such applications and in the process a Thane spills water every which way but down his throat.  A Thane takes at least five straight minutes to drink his ration; afterwards a Thane will cough from the intensity and often blow water out of his mouth.  When first I witnessed this activity I was fearful that my Thane was choking.  His eyes appeared glazed over; he was coughing monstrously, and spittle was set to the wind in all directions.  I now know this is how he drinks and that you must be weary to make contact directly after the action for a Thane drools long slimy tendrils.  For obvious reason you do not under any situation want to be in his vicinity when drool is pouring from his face.

A Thane loves to sleep and he will sleep anywhere.  A Thane sleeps in just about any position, be it belly to the sky with his longs legs like masts or spread out on the carpet looking like a tube of toothpaste.  Often a Thane’s face will puddle on the ground in front of him, a meaty jowl pancake.  A Thane does not care where he sleeps.  A Thane’s favorite place to sleep is of course my bed, preferably to himself.  There he can roll in the blankets, lay his encumbered head upon a pillow, and dream Thane dreams.  These always seem to include a lot of running, which is surprising because a Thane rarely runs at all.  When a Thane does run he sounds as some war horse galloping to battle with his face flappy like banners.  If I am in my bed a Thane demands to join the party.  He will stamp his feet, whimper, paw at my face or back, or he will simply find a gap and barge his way onto the bed.  When a Thane barges onto the bed, he is sure to get as low as he can as quickly as he can.  In this way it is significantly harder dispose of him from the bed.   Once he feels that I have given up trying to remove him from the bed a Thane does everything in his power to get as comfy as he can.  His other interests are put aside and he never takes anyone else’s wellbeing into consideration, all that matters is getting the position he wants to sleep in.  Perhaps he wishes to use my leg, ankle, abdomen, or neck as a pillow.  Perhaps he does not want me or another on the bed with him and will attempt to push them off.  He does so by getting as close as he can, turning so that his legs are facing the victim and then extending his paws and legs out from his body with a great show of force.  He refuses to make eye contact throughout this endeavor and generally looks directly away.  The tough pads on the bottom of his feet are hard and scratchy so I often have scratches on me from where my Thane has tried to displace me from my own bed.  This is something we are working on and it has taken a long time for my Thane to sleep on his own, it is true and I won’t deny it.  In the beginning he was spoiled and so small.  The first few weeks I actually had to pick him up to get him on the bed.  Once he was on the bed he just slept in a little ball and loved it.  Those where definitely the glory days.  Now a Thane believes that my bed is in fact his.  If he tires of our nighttime antics he will put himself to bed, and I mean mine.  Food is not always a guarantee to rouse him from his position.  Some nights I have to grab him by his front paws and drag him off the bed, which is always accompanied by the saddest grunt.  In the morning when my alarm clock goes off I am immediately greeted with a Thane.  He does not even ask permission he just steps up onto the bed and looks for a place to hunker down.  My Thane knows that I am weak in the morning and easy to manipulate. 

A Thane likes to fight.  This became very apparent when my Thane was young.  I was not prepared and in the ensuing altercation my Thane almost killed a dog.  Since that day my Thane has been in a few more fights, shed blood and lost his own.  My Thane will not back down from a fight; a Thane is never scared after all.  His preferred fighting style is to rush in with his mouth open at the highest velocity that he can maintain.  Once initial contact is eminent, my Thane will go for the neck.  I must admit that this at least demonstrates some forethought and intelligence, but once he has hold of a neck he will shake violently in an effort to snap or rip an adversaries’ neck.  Once this ripping has begun there is no longer any shred of forethought or intelligence.  My Thane turns into a primal beast which can only be sedated by blood or through dramatic restraint.  On one such occasion my Thane decided to pick a fight with Ser Preston, a thick cut Arnold Schwarzenegger boxer who has probably suffered a stroke, over a bone.  This particular endeavor did not pan out in a fortunate way for my Thane.  Shortly after he was bleeding and acting the bitch in the bathroom as I cleaned his wounds.  That was the last altercation that he got into, although I fear it won’t be the last.  Since my Thane is unable to control his primal side I am unable to enjoy the off leash areas around Washington and must also be weary while out in public.  I never fear when my Thane is around people however as he seems to enjoy people in all of their guises, shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.  This is a good thing or else I would not own a Thane.

A Thane is a dog and like all dogs my dog is fearless and stupid, yet surprisingly clever at times.  Like most dogs, Thane is incredibly loyal.  Mastiff breed standard takes this loyalty above and beyond what I have ever experienced with other breeds.  He will always position himself so that any perceived threat is in front of him instead of me.  When I am camped out on the deck without the other dogs I have noticed that he will put himself at the top of the stairs with his head towards the yard.  When we are on walks he prefers to be on the outside, even attempting to force me out of the way when a car comes.  I like to say that Thane is stupid but that is not entirely accurate.  I spent very little time or effort teaching him much of anything.  The sit command took the longest out of all, about a solid week, but I feel that asking Thane to do anything that requires a lot of movement isn’t always fair and comes with a lot of resistance.   I could have probably taught him more if I had invested the time and I often wonder how magnificent he could have been if I had taken him to classes like I had wanted to.  I say Thane is clever because I see him look both ways when we cross the street to the mailbox.  He knows the difference between when a door is shut and latched and when it is just resting in the frame and he will use his big club head to push it open and peek in.  He will go to the back of the car in an attempt to go on a drive, which he likes.  When we vacuum and put all of their toys away the first thing that he will do is to run where the toys are housed and pull them out.  I have seen Thane wiggle under blankets and use his mass to position himself favorably.  I complain a lot about Thane but as we cruise through year two I wonder what I will do when he’s gone.

How Life Comes Today - Mr. Bad Vibe Guy

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and observations.

Mr. Bad Vibe Guy

Everyone has neighbors; it is unavoidable if you want to be a recognizable part of society.  Sadly, you don’t get to pick them.  When purchasing a house I think the potential owner should have to submit to a panel of neighbors.  This would do two things, allow the current residence to preview the potential addition to their community and also allow the buyer to see whom they might be living next to.  If this was a standard process then I wouldn’t have to deal with Mr. Bad Vibe Guy.

Anyone who has spent any amount of time at our house has experienced or heard of Bad Vibe Guy.  I first encountered him one early March morning while I was feeding Thane. The sun was shining and there was dew on the grass, drooping wet spider webs spread between branches in the morning light.  Thane had his head buried in his kibble, crunching away, when suddenly he stopped and peered up the driveway.  I usually watch Thane eat to ensure he finishes and I like to talk at him, which means that my back was facing the driveway and subsequently the road.  From the entrance to the garage we have a level paved section before the driveway turns to gravel and raises in elevation until it meets the paved road we live off of.  Turning to follow Thane’s gaze I see a man standing at the top of our driveway.  I have never seen this man before and I wish I never had.  He wore knee high green rain boots, thick black Carrhartt workpants which are tucked into the boots, a think gray hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, gardening gloves, and a pair of black sunglasses with a heavy tint.    A cigarette passed from his gloved hand to his mouth where a thick long yellow moustache consumed the smoke with each inhale.  He could have only been staring at me, I knew this even behind the looming black shades. 

Obviously this course of action is generally regarded as weird behavior.  No greeting parted from his lips. No friendly wave which I would normally expect from someone on an initial greeting.  Instead, he stood just gazing like a sentinel.  I remember thinking to myself, ‘ok, what’s the game plan here.’   

Is this how it ends for me?  Could it be a bullet to shatter the silence in the crisp morning air?  Maybe he has a hidden knife in the folds of his sweatshirt to put in my belly so that I can bleed out amongst the dew covered lawn? I scanned the garage looking for anything that I could use to neutralize this man should he choose to end me.  A baseball bat, a dull wood splitting axe, a host of assorted screwdrivers; at least if it came to a physical altercation I would have a chance.  I think anyone can be moderately decent with a bat in a melee; it’s the most fundamental of maiming instruments and can be devastating if you know how to properly swing it.  A quick left handed swing to his knee should leave him on the ground long enough for me to bring the bat down again on his shoulder which would completely render his offensive capabilities to nothing.  A quick phone call to the police and the situation would be resolved.  Alright, plan established.

Thane still had not resumed eating and the statue remained.  The tense silence needed to be broken before this went any further and it was obvious he wasn’t going to say a word, just watch.  Remaining in place I released a short salutation.  Apparently for this man recognition of his presence opens the door for him to close the ground.  Green knee highs crackled above gravel as his first foot left the paved road and started down the driveway, the cigarette bobbled from his mouth, thick grey smoke filtering through his moustache and billowed into his hood.  Still the glasses remained.   At this point I have to make a decision.  He’s coming towards the open garage.  Thane is motionless with his tail half raised and head positioned inquisitively, fur bristled.  I am closer to the axe then the bat. Thane is not wearing a collar. I am not wearing shoes. No one else is home.  My cell phone is inside.  There are no witnesses.  Will I die alone? Will Thane help defend me against this man?  My brain was busy processing every option, observing every action, a human fight or flight mechanic perfected through evolution now spreading through my system by means of adrenaline.  Not yet at flight, I took a step forward.

I met him at the point in which the paved portion of the drive way met the gravel and used body language to explain that that was far enough for him to come.  The conversation was brief, he wanted to introduce himself and let me know that he was living with his brother down the street.  He says he is from Forks but didn’t bother to say how long he was staying.  What was most unsettling was his constant need to remind me that he was not threatening.  He told me just how non-threatening he was three times in the course of our three minute exchange.  All the while he wore those black glasses and attempted to look past me into the garage, talking through broken brown teeth.  Keeping conversation brief, I turned and returned to Thane ushering him into the back yard.  Shut the gate, and quickly hurried into the garage pounding on the button as soon as it was within arms-length.  The long steel door descended as Bad Vibe Guy stood at the top of the driveway staring down.

Since my first encounter, I have seen him almost every day.  Neither rain nor darkness keeps him from his rounds in the neighborhood.  More often than not he has a Golden Retriever on a long rope leash which he keeps coiled around him, at its full length it must be twenty feet.  The dog is unruly, despite his constant attempts to herd the dog via a series of whistles and clicks.   Many of the other dogs in the neighborhood are behind invisible fences.  For whatever reason Bad Vibe Guy has decided to stop at these junctions and click and whistle with his dog at the leashes max capacity, meters from the excited and encouraged neighbor dog going ballistic at the sound of the whistles and site of the other dog.  Once the dog is thoroughly shaken up, foaming and snarling, and nearly at the point of enduring the pain to attack Bad Vibe Guy will move on to the next.  Sometimes he will just watch kids play or someone doing housework.  Other times he won’t have the dog and will mount himself on an aluminum stead, peddling forward and expanding his reach into the other parts of the neighborhood.   Where Bad Vibe Guy goes on these expeditions and what he does in the other parts is a mystery to me, but I would assume that he is making people everywhere just as uncomfortable as I am in his presence.  

I don’t like to leave Claire here alone when I know he is out.  If people have to run to their car to get something I try to make sure that someone is watching.  Most everyone that comes over to our house has seen him and some have even had experiences of their own.  I wish he would leave, I wish he never came.  He will be the first person I look to if I hear that someone has gone missing in the neighborhood.  I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he has killed, that he has raped, or that he has committed some other terrible crime. 

He exudes bad vibes…he is Bad Vibe Guy.

What I Am Reading - The Dead Path

The Dead Path

Stephen M. Irwin

Hardback, 384 pgs.

I had needed a break from the rich tapestry of Martin and I found this during my local Boarders going out of business sale which offered 70% off hard backs.  Why not?  I never read horror and Fall was approaching rapidly.  I had picked up a decent amount of Halloween reading but I don’t think I will get to the bulk of it until November once I have closed out a "Song of Ice and Fire."  Oh well, that is why I have a stack of books. 

On a side note, I need to find some book ends.  The fancy little decorative things with a hefty weight.  If you come across some for cheap, let me know.  I should start checking garage sales.

'The Dead Path' was my first foray into horror beyond Mr. King and Miss Rice.  I don't generally read horror at all simply for the fact that I find horror really subjective and writers seem to write about what is scary to them.  If you align with the same fears it is generally a success, otherwise its just kind of dark fiction.  For instance, in The Dead Path uses spiders.  I hate spiders but they are not scary to read about for me so that is a complete miss, even if they are the size of a small dog. 

The author Stephen Irwin is from Australia, he has a happy life and seems pretty ordinary as far as authors go.  Irwin graduated from Queensland College with qualifications in Film and Television production.  He has produced some movies but I don’t know of any of them and have not bothered to look.  He has two kids and a loving wife, wonderful.  He has one some praise for his shorts and had a second book published in Australia, it is unclear if this is a sequel to 'The Dead Path' or not.

The book starts off with a brief introduction to the main character, Nicolas Close.  Nicolas is a 'picker.' Just like the History show he roams around looking for crap to sell to people with dramatic interior design desires.  He makes a decent living and his wife and himself have just purchased a nice flat which they are renovating.  Nicolas is off to the store to pick up some supplies.  As he motorcycles down he gets into an accident and although he is fine, he immediately decides to phone his wife.  As his wife travels down a latter to answer the phone, she slips and breaks her neck.  Now, Nicolas sees ghosts of the murdered or suicide variety in vivid detail playing out their final moments over and over.  Obviously this is drastically effecting him so he runs home to his mother to try and come to grips with the whole thing.  Of course this is when things get crazier and weirder.

Overall the book wasn’t scary.  A couple of weird things, some dibble dabble with old mythos and that is about it.

What I Am Reading - A Storm of Swords

A Storm of Swords

George R.R. Martin

Read it in Hardback - 924pgs.

First and fore-most there are spoilers and speculations ahead, tread at your own peril.

I won't do the re-cap, in fact I am going to skip anything  about the first or second book at all.

If book two was the builder than this is the death-stroke to put the reader six feet under.  Since it had been ten years since I last read one through three, I had jumbled most of what happens in ‘A Clash’ and ‘A Storm.’  This is by far my favorite book of the series thus far (and I have completed four.)

A lot happens in this book, especially the last 1/3rd of the book.

“It’s Fall and Kings are falling like leaves.”

Westeros-

Well a ‘Clash of Kings’ saw the death of Renly but this was just the beginning.   Robb had to have seen it coming, right? Marrying Jane might have cost him the war at best and obviously you know at worst.  The Frey's were pretty pot committed until this little blunder.  With the exception of those married off to the Lannisters, they had that great house on their side.  To make matters worse, Caetlyn decided it was a good idea to free Jamie which lost him a  pillar of support in the North and meant the eventual beheading of Richard Karstark.  Well he couldn’t kill his own mother, Kinslaying is an agreed upon affront but he should have sent her off a long long time ago.  The joy of being a boy king I suppose.

Well luckily for the Starks, he took precautions for the event none the less.  This puts Jon in several interesting positions without even knowing it and foreshadows a lot in my opinion.  With nearly every seal of the Northman on this document, save the Bolton’s and Karstarks, it will eventually surface that Jon is the heir to Winterfell.  Oh, but Jon is on the wall, he can’t possibly leave the wall, especially not if he is Lord Commander… He can, Stannis has offered it to him, and I think Daeny will in time too.  But the thing that will truly push it will be Robb’s efforts to seal the document and Brann’s death.  Yep, I said it.  It hasn’t happened yet but I think it might the more I think on it.  Rickon being a child, and with a wilding will probably never resurface again despite the fact that the other wolves can sense Shaggy.  I have a feeling Melisandre kills Brann, burns him up like the other warg. Again, just speculations.

Joffrey got his as he choked/poisoned on his wedding night with the pigeon pie and Tywin at the hands of Tyrion for that matter which ultimately seals the deal for Lannister.  Why you say?  Jaimie has undergone a transformation with the loss of his sword hand and is seeing things differently.  He wants to make his wrongs right which means he won’t be helping his sister do a damn thing unless it aligns with that sense of right.  Cersei is a cunt and ineffectual as a leader and the rest of the Lannisters are spreading in the wind.  Thommen is too young to stand up to his mother so the only pinion of Lannister power lies with Cersei.  Tyrion has obviously fled and will play a march bigger part in things later and I have a feeling will end up ruling Casterly Rock.

A major house (Stark) fell but it took a large part of the Lannister’s down with them.  With the Lannister’s gone, Frey will fill the gap in time, at least until they get theirs and I think they will. 

Balon’s dead.  Another king down.  HIs death isn’t detailed, apparently he got blown off a causeway. I know book four (A Feast for Crows) goes into much more detail about the Iron Men so I am looking forward to that.  With Balon’s death this in theory leaves Theon in charge but Theon is with the Bastard of Bolton as a captive, nor is he respected enough to ever be permitted as Balon’s heir.  Wonder if he’s going to get flayed by a Bolton.  Asha will want the throne but Balon has two brothers who take precedent over her.  Interesting to see how the Iron Men fill the gap.

So in theory, Stannis could act but he went gallivanting to save the Wall and pursue the greater threat or some shenanigans. I think Stannis is rather droll, even if he is the heir apparent to Robert.  He will die with the false light sword in his hand, definitely certain.

Free Cities

Daeny is clever, Daeny is rich, Daeny has dragons.  She is plundering and freeing cities in the far east.  We discovered some more about the people around her and the things they do, but really at this point I feel like Daeny is filler and I hope that changes in 5.

Hate to say it but this character is ‘meh’ for me.  I hope in 5 she really brings it to the plate.  Westeros has always been more interesting to me.

Onto Four, A Feast for Crows.

How Life Comes Today - The Wonderful Ritual

How Life Comes Today – A series of some of my more obsessive traits and obervations.

The Wonderful Ritual

It’s been a long day.  I’ve procrastinated long enough on my responsibility at work that I must now complete a week’s work in one day. Not to say I don’t work throughout the week but I leave the majority of my plate for a meeting-less day when I can throw on an a few albums and crank out the work items,  but while work place phenomena is a whole ritual in itself that is not the point of this particular entry.

But alas, I have made it to the Promised Land; I have made it home to what has been named ‘Where the Wild Things Live.’  After getting acquainted with the landscape and changing my clothes like Mr. Rogers.  Unbutton the shirt to be replaced with some nasty old shirt, replace the Jeans with Sweatpants, throw on a hoodie, and look the part.  That is when I begin the ritual, a small thing really. I locate the Tupperware which has been haphazardly strewn across the room.  There is no rhyme or reason why it does not have a permanent place but I know each day it is a scavenger hunt to locate it.  Once I have located it I have to dig through its contents.  The contents of which consist of empty plastic bags, loose cigarette filters, and a host of wraps in a variety of flavors and compositions, a few toothpicks, and a little plastic spoon.  My fingers flip through flavored wraps titled honey, strawberry-kiwi, grape, peach, and even more exotic varieties.  My favorites are these pure unbleached and unflavored wonders.  They roll right and stay together when you put them to the flame.  Some people insist on blunts or pipes but for me, if it’s not going in a bong it’s going to get rolled up in a joint, hence the excess of papers, and filters in the Tupperware.  A long time ago I forgot how to wrap a proper joint, so now I just use this fancy cigarette machine when I roll my joints. But I digress. 

Finally my fingers wrap themselves around a bag with something light and squishy inside.  The gold has been discovered without the help of a map.  I pull the bag out and measure the contents with my eyes.  Never as much as I would like but always enough and I slide my fingers in and pluck a decent sized bud out.  This particular treasure is a deep forest green with splotches of orange, with short bushy orange hairs.  I don’t know the name of this strain particularly, for whatever reason stoners need to create whimsical designations for what they smoke.  I myself never cared but I knew a girl once who used to always ask me to describe what it was that I was smoking and would try to piece together what it was.  We still talk every once and a while but she doesn’t ask and we never hang out due to other complications.  The bud is floral, it’s spongy, it’s dank and the smell permeates the room as soon as I open the bag.  I am used to my room smelling of such and I never have to light incenses.  Sometimes, I will light some fragrant candles, but those only highlight the perfume.

Once I have selected the particular bud for consumption, it’s off to find the grinder.  Much like the Tupperware it is always hard to locate.  Is it in the kitchen?  Perhaps it is on the coffee table, on the counter, by the pool table, on top of the aquarium, in my room?  No one knows and I am sure it will take me at least fifteen minutes to locate the little black cylinder.  Grinding is an important part of my Wonderful Ritual.  Not everyone does it, you don’t have to if it is going in a pipe or a bong but it does give you more bang for your buck, creates a mellower smoke, and is a more balanced burn which is important in these endeavors.   The grinder itself is a simple and elegant machine drilled cylinder.  When you hold it you can feel where the machine has carved its existence from a block of Aluminum.  The machine is precise but still leaves milling rings along its short black exterior.  The grinder itself has three chambers.  The first is what does all of the heavy lifting in the process and is where the raw bud goes in.  It has metal prongs on the lid and on the base, once the lid is fitted; the bud is squished between these prongs.  Once sealed you simply turn the lid and the prongs shred the bud into mulch.  Holes drilled at the bottom of the chamber allow the mulch to feed down into the second chamber.  The second chamber has two uses, one of which is optional.  Its primary use is to capture the mulch as a repository.  The floor of the second chamber is a screen and if used in tandem with a disk, like a nickel, you can actually shake the grinder with the mulch around and force small mulch particulates through the screen.  The particles are pure THC, the active ingredient everyone’s always clamoring about and is held in the third chamber.   At this point it is time to find the Bong which is just as difficult as finding the Tupperware and the grinder.  Curse my bones; did I leave it outside again?  The landlord does not like when I leave my bong out amongst the wild.  It’s a fair request but one I am terrible with.  One of my roommates prefers the three foot monstrosities built for indulging a group of people, while I myself prefer a more manageable ‘solo occupant’ approach to my utensils.  I played around with a few but have finally settled on this piece I got in Montana.  It’s about 10 inches from the bottom of the water-chamber to the top of the spout.  It is glass, simple, and dare I say elegant? There really isn’t much color on it save a few green lines that circle the water-chamber and a few more at the top spout.  I don’t know who decided that glass bongs should be clear but cleaning the damn things is always a nightmare and there just is not a good option for cleaning them.  Instead the expended carbon just sits on the bottom or coagulates on the rim of the water-chamber, a real nightmare.

 The best way I have found to fill what is commonly called the ‘bowl’ is to remove the piece itself and hold it over the first opened cylinder while I use a pinching mechanic to shuffle mulch into the bowl piece.  I do this so that if I drop it anywhere while trying to fill, it just falls back into its home to be pinched again.  Every time I skip this step of my Wonderful Ritual I leave green confetti everywhere and depending on my state of mind when I find it, it may or may not be cleaned up adequately.  Once it’s loaded it is spongy and loose so I use the back of a pen, or any other flat cylindrical surface to pack it down.  Not so tight that I can’t get a good draw, but enough to create a thick wonderful white smoke without torching the entire face.  This is a lot of technical jargon for something that is pretty easy and I am probably going over board, but it’s my Wonderful Ritual.

Once packing is complete I hit the deck, we don’t smoke inside, but we do however have an outside gas fed fire with an assortment of uncomfortable chairs.  If I am alone on my endeavor I will pull up two chairs to create a haphazard place to recline.  It’s only comfortable for a limited time but as soon as I complete the Wonderful Ritual I can sit, statue like, staring at the sky or the trees or whatever.  All while being serenaded by the speaker box which is belting out whatever designation I or my roommates choose.  Rarely is there something to complain about.          

The Wonderful Ritual is about to close.  I am an addict.  I know what’s coming and while it might not be as exaggerated as other drugs, I look forward to it.  Knowing I am an addict means that I also know this is all I get.  I know my boundaries and I know what I am comfortable with.  I know that shifting to anything harder would be my doom and the destruction of everything I have built my life on.  I also know that one day I will have to give up my Wonderful Ritual.  So today I get to indulge. 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  As I release that breadth I flick the green Bic in my hand to create a small adequate flame and lower that to the top of the bowl.  The mulch turns black, peels, and turns into a little ember as I suck through the spout.  I suck lightly, enough to create a vacuum which pulls the smoke from the bowl and into the water chamber where I am rewarded with a bubbling sound as the smoke rises and coils around the spout.  Another deep breadth but this time instead of pulling clean air I pull the thick white smoke into my lungs and let it simmer.  Cigarette smoke is blue grey mess that hangs in the air, when you pull of a cigarette you pull it into your mouth and mix it with air as you inhale.  Smoking a cigarette is two part mechanic, a draw from the cigarette and then a draw of oxygen into your mouth.   Smoking Marijuana is different; it’s a direct draw system.  Some people seem convinced that the longer you hold it in the better but the reality is that your lungs pull the majority of what they will get in three seconds.  Anything longer than that won’t do much except make it more likely that you will cough strait for the next five minutes.

Some strains I can feel right away, creeping through my body and then my brain as my body reacts to the THC.  Other strains need to mellow and as they do so you get a slow steady affect.  It’s not a hallucinogen, it’s not a psychedelic.  Every strain is different and so are the effects but the one universal is the elevated feeling.  Your brain is still processing information it is just doing so through a filter.

Exhaling towards the stars, my Wonderful Ritual is complete.