Kate called me out yesterday, noting that it had been eight days and I still had not updated my blog. Her blog, however, is partly to blame, as I spent all my spare time crafting long winded comments in response to her short and concise ones. See what I did there - totally flipping it onto her. Yeah, I'm cool like that.
The problem is that half of what has consumed the last week of my life, I cannot really disclose. I genuinely feared for my safety for at least a day or two, as I watched an attorney roll the dice and throw his entire career away. I am fairly sure that he never meant to let it get as far as it did and he has taken the steps necessary and turned himself in to the authorities, but it is quite possible the worse is not over yet.
I also have not been able to sleep. This has done wonders for my reading. I finished some book this week that Stephen King called the best mystery of the decade, which makes it quite obvious to me that Mr. King does not read. Ok, maybe he reads, but he certainly does not read mysteries. What a waste of my life that book was. I thought the author's writing style - when she was not hopping back and forth across the story time line and switching character point of view at the drop of a hat - was really interesting. Some of the techniques she used to paint the scenes were really cool, but the storyline itself seemed to be a waste of pages that never really led to the climax that I had hoped so desperately for.
On the bright side, the last Harry Potter novel comes out this week. I recently disclosed to my girlfriend that I have my doubts that J.K. Rowling actually wrote any of the books past Book 2. I imagine she may have written the rough drafts or something, but those books (Books 3 through 6, thus far), when you compare them to the first two, are just leaps and bounds beyond anything that J.K. Rowling seemed capable of. I am sure many die-hard Rowling fans would want to lynch me for such blasphemy, but seriously, either she invested in some serious writing classes with the proceeds from the first two books, or she found someone to do the grunt work for her, knowing that Harry Potter had a momentum all its own and she was now just the figurehead for all of it. A cog in the wheel. Either way, she was going to have enough money at the end of the trip to retire. Hell, she'll have enough money for her and at least four other families of four to retire.
I just read Stephanie Klein's latest post, and it was so sad to read. Stephanie was one of the first bloggers I ever read regularly and based upon the comments I see there, ever since she got married and had children, I seem to be one of the few men that still reads her. It's become a virtual estrogen love-fest/hate-fest for the ages. Well, she recently had twins, and she just had to take her son to the ER yesterday. They had to perform some sort of surgery to relieve a very abnormal amount of pressure in his brain and have determined that he has some sort of illness that I know nothing about. He is now hooked-up to monitors and such and they do not seem to know if he will recover and be healthy. They really do not seem to know much of anything. I feel so sad for her and her son.
The problem is that half of what has consumed the last week of my life, I cannot really disclose. I genuinely feared for my safety for at least a day or two, as I watched an attorney roll the dice and throw his entire career away. I am fairly sure that he never meant to let it get as far as it did and he has taken the steps necessary and turned himself in to the authorities, but it is quite possible the worse is not over yet.
I also have not been able to sleep. This has done wonders for my reading. I finished some book this week that Stephen King called the best mystery of the decade, which makes it quite obvious to me that Mr. King does not read. Ok, maybe he reads, but he certainly does not read mysteries. What a waste of my life that book was. I thought the author's writing style - when she was not hopping back and forth across the story time line and switching character point of view at the drop of a hat - was really interesting. Some of the techniques she used to paint the scenes were really cool, but the storyline itself seemed to be a waste of pages that never really led to the climax that I had hoped so desperately for.
On the bright side, the last Harry Potter novel comes out this week. I recently disclosed to my girlfriend that I have my doubts that J.K. Rowling actually wrote any of the books past Book 2. I imagine she may have written the rough drafts or something, but those books (Books 3 through 6, thus far), when you compare them to the first two, are just leaps and bounds beyond anything that J.K. Rowling seemed capable of. I am sure many die-hard Rowling fans would want to lynch me for such blasphemy, but seriously, either she invested in some serious writing classes with the proceeds from the first two books, or she found someone to do the grunt work for her, knowing that Harry Potter had a momentum all its own and she was now just the figurehead for all of it. A cog in the wheel. Either way, she was going to have enough money at the end of the trip to retire. Hell, she'll have enough money for her and at least four other families of four to retire.
I just read Stephanie Klein's latest post, and it was so sad to read. Stephanie was one of the first bloggers I ever read regularly and based upon the comments I see there, ever since she got married and had children, I seem to be one of the few men that still reads her. It's become a virtual estrogen love-fest/hate-fest for the ages. Well, she recently had twins, and she just had to take her son to the ER yesterday. They had to perform some sort of surgery to relieve a very abnormal amount of pressure in his brain and have determined that he has some sort of illness that I know nothing about. He is now hooked-up to monitors and such and they do not seem to know if he will recover and be healthy. They really do not seem to know much of anything. I feel so sad for her and her son.
