Book Review: UNDER THE MERCY, by Sheldon Vanauken

In the beginning of the book, Vanauken assures the reader that there's something in UNDER THE MERCY to offend everybody. Having read UNDER's predecessor, A Severe Mercy, I found this hard to believe, but even with my guard up, Vanauken did manage to offend me, but in the best sort of way. He made me think, very hard, about lots of important things.

I was definately skeptical of the merit of "A sequel to A Severe Mercy", but Vanauken did well--aside from having plenty of interesting and challenging things to say, he provided a fascinating glimpse of himself post-Mercy, and of the (most wonderful) writing of A Severe Mercy.

A Severe Mercy tells of Vanauken's singular marriage--UNDER THE MERCY tells of the thirty or so years following his wife's death, years that are touched on, however briefly, toward the end of A Severe Mercy, but which are fleshed out here as Vanauken ruminates on his involvement in the Civil Rights, Antiwar and Women's Lib Movements, his departure and return to the faith, and his conversion to Catholicism. He includes several essays and poems and articles written at different periods throughout his life, and is fond of quoting himself (sometimes to the extent of striking me as a bit pompous), but he provides a rather unique perspective, given his experiences, on the state of the Church and Christianity. Some of his writings on feminisim and the Spirit of the Age were particularly good (and offensive), and gave me plenty to ponder.

Despite my skepticism, I was impressed, and while I enjoyed the extra little glimpses he offered of himself and of Davy, after another ten years of reflection (from writing A Severe Mercy), I also found myself enjoying his theological articles much more than I'd anticipated. I somehow didn't pick up on how fiercely opinionated Vanauken is, while reading A Severe Mercy, but perhaps the subject in that book didn't allow for quite so much of his stubbornness to show through. All in all, it was a wonderful follow-up, and I'll be reading it again--probably on alternate years with A Severe Mercy.

RATING: 5

Show off

Mitch took this picture. It's pretty amazing:

Book Review: UNTIL I FIND YOU, by John Irving

Could it be true? A John Irving novel that actually didn't make me cry like a little baby? I guess it is: I made my way through all 820 pages without shedding a single tear, and I'm not sure I could be more surprised. Normally, his novels come with at least one scene that just gets me--he sets it up from page 1, and I see it coming, approaching steadily, growing larger and larger on the horizon, until suddenly it's upon me and I cannot fend it off. Emotionally, John Irving's books tend to just wipe me out.

So how did he make it through 820 pages (that, my friends, is a large book to be lugging around an airport) without breaking my heart even once? Well, this is just a different sort of book, I suspect. It's very vulnerable, and fairly heart-warming, and while I hate to point fingers this way, I'd hazard a guess that the subject (the search for an absent father) is a bit close to our dear author's heart. The way he writes UNTIL I FIND YOU is almost tender.

In my review of The World According to Garp, though, I made mention of Irving's repeated themes. What the heck, I'll quote myself:

Having now, officially, read six Irving novels, I have to admit that I'm growing weary of the repeated themes. In my review of The Hotel New Hampshire, I cited this as an asset, but I think I'm beginning to feel a bit like Irving is dipping from the same pots again and again. The books are still great, but I just feel a little let down when I see pieces of my favorite plots tossed around from book to book, and especially now that themes from my favorite, A Widow for One Year, have made some rather breathtaking appearances in The World According to Garp.

And, though I had high hopes at the start of UNTIL I FIND YOU that Irving would not head down those familiar roads, I was a bit disappointed to find the characters in Amsterdam's Red Light district, yet again--or to find yet another character grow up to become a writer (or musician, or celebrity of some sort).

That criticism aside, I will admit to enjoying UNTIL I FIND YOU, even if I reluctantly won't list it alongside my favorite Irving novels (A Widow for One Year, The Cider House Rules). I loved reading all the stuff about tattoos, and I loved a certain character that I'll leave unnamed who is at last revealed toward the end of the book.

It is a good book, read by a harsh audience. I caught on too late in the story that this wasn't the sort of book that set out to make me cry.

RATING: 4

Book Review: A SEVERE MERCY, by Sheldon Vanauken

A SEVERE MERCY is the sort of book that tends to be given as a gift. Example: one of Mitch's best friends gave him a copy less than a month before Mitch and I "met", feel in love, etc. We read the book aloud together during our engagement, and the influence Van and Davy's Shining Barrier has had in our relationship is incalculable--I recently reread A SEVERE MERCY and was struck anew by how many aspects of our marriage have been influenced by Vanauken's book. I was also quite grateful that A SEVERE MERCY found us when it did.

A second example: This led me to give a copy to a Mitch's cousin's fiancee (whew!) at her bridal shower. A few months later, I received the most heartfelt thank-you letter I've ever read--it's just that sort of book.

What's the big deal? Well, it's a memoir of sorts. In it, Vanauken chronicles his romance and marriage to the marvellous Davy, and while it is a love story, it is the most honest and thorough love story you will ever read--complete with journal entries, poems they wrote separately and together, and the many little vows that they made to one another, Vanauken tells how he and Davy eventually wove "one thousand sharings" to bind them together in a way you rarely (if ever) see in common love stories.

Also, it's a story of conversion. The one big breach in Van and Davy's protected love comes in the form of Christ ("invading", as Vanauken says). Probably the only reason this book, with it's small but fiercely devoted following, is still in print is because it includes a handful of otherwise unpublished letters to Van from C.S. Lewis--in fact, if you're having trouble finding a copy at the bookstore, check under "C.S. Lewis," where it's most likely been shelved. (And if you're in Bellingham, I can tell you right now that Henderson Books has a whopping three copies in stock! Amazing!)

I have to warn you, though--while it's beautiful, inspiring, honest and humbling, A SEVERE MERCY is also probably the saddest book you'll ever read. You'll cry. I guarantee it. No matter how tough you think you are, you'll get good and choked up. But don't let that stop you--please finish the whole thing. When Mitch and I read it together, we were so bitterly broken-hearted at a certain point that we found it difficult to keep going--so we didn't. It wasn't until two years later, when I reread the whole book, that I realized that the rest of the book was absolutely worth a few tears shed over lunch (in an embarrassingly public place--I did, in fact, have to leave the co-op to go sit in my car and weep).

Another small warning: I've given copies of this book to single friends who shrugged and weren't moved to finish the book, so I'd venture to say that this is possibly a two-person book--read it with your beloved, and it'll be that much more meaningful.

RATING: 5

Oh no, not another addiction...

That's right, I found out about podcasts. Here are some of my favorites so far:

Democracy Now! To help myself in my conquest to feel semi-informed. The cast is about an hour long--about the time it takes me to (walk/stop for coffee/ride the bus/walk some more) get to work.

Oikos Fellowship. That's right, our church has it's very own podcast. I'm getting caught up on some of the back-sermons from before we started attending (about a month ago).

The Writer's Almanac. We can thank Rogue for this one. Nerdy factoids about the literary world and a poem of the day, read by the magnificent Garrison Keillor.

Donald Miller. A few twenty-minute segments of him reading from his books. What more could I need?

IndieFeed. I'm hooked on the "Blues" and "Electronica" segments--each cast is one song that you've never heard of.

These are just the ones I'm still subcribed to after listening to a few episodes--I've downloaded several others (including a few Harry Potter casts--but how many hours can you really devote to Book 7 theories? Plenty, I guess), but most of them weren't up to snuff. These are just the current favorites.

Ode to Casa Que Pasa

I can't believe it.

They shut down Case Que Pasa.

Now, I've heard the rumors (unpaid taxes, drugs, gambling, reckless defiance of the smoking ban), and I've read the article in the Whatcom Independent, but still: like a table with one missing leg, this town feels terribly off-balance without Casa.

See, on those nights when we'd be at a loss for someplace to go, my friends (through high school, college and these odd post-college years) had a saying. It went like this: after several failed suggestions, we'd look at each other, smile and say, "Well, there's always Casa."

But there's not. Not anymore.

O Casa! What memories I have of you! Napping in the booths after midnight, as I waited for Mitch to finish his closing shift as a disreputable Casa cashier; ordering potato burritos, my fifteenth summer, after a swim at the lake; afternoons spent in the sticky green booths of the cantina, sipping margueritas and studying those strange Brandi Fairbanks paintings...Alas! On my twenty-first birthday, I came to you, dear Casa, for my first marguerita. But those days are gone, now.

Yes, your food was notoriously inconsistent, and I did notice that the margueritas grew weaker and more watered down as the evenings wore on (and yes, Casa, I knew about the mice in the dining room), but still: perhaps a good carnitas burrito was that much better for all the mediocre ones that proceeded it.

In all your seediness, sweet Casa, you were a place of comfort for me.

I stood outside your darkened (broken and duct-taped) windows last night and shook my fist at your CLOSED sign. They cannot close you! I cried, not as long as you live on in my heart! Then I sought out an inferior marguerita at Chiribin's and drank it, with head bowed.

Book Review: THE BEACH, by Alex Garland

Like Fight Club or The Stepford Wives, THE BEACH is yet another book that has been eclipsed by the movie it inspired--the sort of book that, when you tell people what you're reading, tends to elicit the response, "You mean, like the movie?" Yes, this is THE BEACH, like the movie, but judging from the trailer alone, I'd be willing to say "like the movie, but better" (I can already tell what facets of the plot they blasphemously altered).

And no, I haven't seen the movie. After reading the book, I'm pretty sure I don't want to see the movie, as the book was disturbing enough--brilliant, but disturbing. THE BEACH is the first book I've read in a long time, probably since House of Leaves, that has kept me up at night, thoroughly creeped out (but only at the very end--it's the last ten pages that does it). It is also the first book in a little while to completely suck me in. I read the first half in a single sitting (alright, it was on a airplane, so it's not like I had choices, but still), and after that I was stuck sneaking peeks between family reunion activities, trying to inch my way forward, one page at a time.

I loved Garland's The Coma, but I'd be willing to pronounce THE BEACH an even better novel--slightly less advanced (which is to say, Garland seems to have grown as a writer between THE BEACH and The Coma, and that's obviously not a criticism), but a more engrossing read, with a more noticable point. An excellent book for a long flight.

RATING: 4

Book Review: THE SILMARILLION, by J.R.R. Tolkien

In short, THE SILMARILLION is the Bible of Middle-Earth. Epic battles, the struggles of certain chosen individuals, the creation of the world and more, all told in a beautiful "and so it was" sort of tone. True to form, even the names are difficult to remember (thank goodness for the "Index of Names": I read almost half the book before I discovered this handy tool tucked away in the back of the book)--think Finwe, Fingon, Finrod, Fingolfin, Finduilin and, my personal favorite, Finarfin.

But if I sound flippant, forgive me, because I mean absolutely no disservice to THE SILMARILLION. It's a doozie of a summer read, sure, and if you haven't read The Lord of the Rings AND The Hobbit several times, you probably won't care enough to make it past the first hundred pages--but if you loved Lord of the Rings enough to read it twice then please, read THE SILMARILLION, because it is an absolute work of art and it fills in all the gaps that The Lord of the Rings doesn't have time to touch.

Beginning with the very beginning of Middle-Earth, and ending approximately one second before The Lord of the Rings picks up, THE SILMARILLION covers a lot of ground and an awful lot of history. I was surprised by how vast the book is, and I loved reading the stories of Earendil and of Numenor and the Grey Havens, just as I loved learning more about Galadriel, Elrond and Sauron (who are, surprisingly, just about the only characters you'd recognize for LOTR who are old enough to appear in THE SILMARILLION). The book is all the backstory you could possibly want, and I tip my hat to Mr. Tolkien and his amazing imagination.

And about his imagination: one of the things I loved best about THE SILMARILLION was the way the history of Middle-earth ties in with the lore of our own, by way of stories that connect loosely with the myths we tell ("Atalante" seems a bit reminscent of "Atlantis", especially given the context). This connection shows up in the way that The Lord of the Rings leaves off (welcome to the Age of Men, and all that), but is even more apparent in THE SILMARILLION--I don't dare give anything away, but you'll see.

So, any of you who love The Lord of the Rings enough to read the whole series multiple times, who own all three extended versions of the movie and have considered naming your first born child either Pippin or Galadriel (depending, of course, on the gender of the kid), get out there and read THE SILMARILLION right now. If you haven't read the book, liked the first movie, but was too sad about Gandalf to watch the second one, don't bother. You'll be bored out of your mind.

RATING: 4

Book Review: OTHER VOICES, OTHER ROOMS, by Truman Capote

OTHER VOICES, OTHER ROOMS is Capote's first novel. He wrote it when he was something like 21, which is very impressive. Set in spooky rural Kansas (right?), the novel follows Joel Knox as he sets off, after the death of his mother, to live with the father he's never met. Full of ominous, inconclusive scenes and characters that made me vaguely uneasy OTHER VOICES, OTHER ROOMS is told in the gorgeous sort of prose that is meant to be read aloud.

I think I ultimately prefer both Breakfast at Tiffany's and In Cold Blood to Capote's first work, but OTHER VOICES, OTHER ROOMS is not a bit disappointing.

RATING: 4

I've been interviewed!

How it works:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Here it goes (my answers for Bugorama):

1. if you could force everyone you know to read one book, what would it be and why?
A People's History of the United States. It's huge, but everybody should know this stuff.

2. tell me about the book you’re writing (in your head or otherwise).
Actually, on the plane ride home from Missouri, yesterday, I hatched a scheme for a story about a big Missouran family that right now resembles Mitch's family in a dangerous way--I will tweak it, little by little, into its own family. I'm hoping to have tons of notes and outlines and characters by November 1, so that I can write something coherent for this year's NaNoWriMo.

3. what’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t. what’s holding you back?
Hmmm. I suppose live someplace else, and as for what holds me back, it changes all the time. Used to be school, then it was my job. Now it's just the fact that I love it here--there is so much happening, and I'm thoroughly enjoying playing music in such a musical place.

4. if you and mitch were to move away from b’ham, where would you want to go? why? what would you want to do there?
Idaho. I've sort of fallen in love with northern Idaho since we drove through it last summer--but I'd miss the ocean. Colorado is also nice, so long as you're in the mountains. But I've liked almost every place I've ever been...almost. For a while I was quite enamoured with Snoqualmie. I think I still am.

5. what’s your favorite memory?
I have many. But for a most significant favorite memory I'll choose: sitting in a side storage room at the church just before my wedding. It's raining outside and there are windows on three sides of the small room, so I can see the water hit the glass. I'm in my wedding dress, and I'm holding the box with our wedding rings in it in my hands. I keep taking both rings off and fitting them onto my fingers. Mitch's fits on my right thumb. The box is bright red. We still have it.

6. where do you picture yourself being in 10 years (career, personal life, geographic location, etc.)? this doesn’t need to be a prophecy or anything, just a sense of your current goals.
With kids, writing. Somehow it'll work. Mitch would have a job that he loves, and that would allow me to work very little. Maybe one day a week, maybe two. I don't know where we'll live--where he can find a job, I suppose. Someplace with a good used bookstore, or at least a big library. Our house will be tiny, but with a guest bedroom, so that people can always stay over. Maybe with a small shed/studio in the backyard, and a garden. Probably we'll live in town, since we tried the county and couldn't bear all the driving.

Down home cookin'

The weather report for Rolla, Missouri? Hot. Stinkin' hot. I know this because I just got back from spending five days there with my husband and his eNORmous extended family--163 people turned out for the family reunion, which was in his great-aunt's backyard. And we had a great time, better than I think either of us dared hope. Here are some fun things we did:

Ate our body weight in fried chicken, baked beans, butter cake, brownies, casseroles, ham, sweet tea, chocolate cream pie and more that I have forgotten, but that my belly has not.

Went cruising down a river at 30 miles an hour on a river boat. It was gorgeous--we saw turtles, turkey vultures, bald eagles, dragonflies, butterflies and a spider the size of my hand.

Jumped on a trampoline with Mitch and his cousin--we are not so small anymore, and we nearly launched one another off onto the lawn several times. In 100-degree, high-humidity weather, this made me sweat like crazy.

Swam a lot, both in the river and in an aunt's swimming pool.

Read up on Rosenburg family history. Got a chance to read Mitch's great-grandmother's Bible, which is roughly 100 years old.

Went horseback riding. I've riden maybe twice, and Mitch never, so it was colorful. Especially as I ended up on a momma horse who would not leave her colt behind--she was constantly trying to turn back and nip at him, while he attempted several times to kick at her, playfully, narrowly missing my shins.

Ate at McDonald's for the first time in...four years? I had the fruit & yogurt cup.

Spent more time in SeaTac airport than I care to repeat (flight delayed, and then changed), eating frozen yogurt with rainbow sprinkles with Mitch, staring at people, and riding the underground trains unnecessarily.

We had more fun than there is time to tell.

Book Review: THE COMPLETE STORIES, by Flannery O'Connor

Alright, it took me several months, but I finally finished THE COMPLETE STORIES of Flannery O'Connor. That's every published (and some unpublished) story that O'Connor wrote in her regrettably short life, all in chronological order, in a whopping 550-page trade-paperback-sized book (with a gorgeous cover, I must say).

Whew.

I feel a glorious sense of accomplishment.

But if I feel great for finishing, I also feel quite challenged, because O'Connor's stories are not light stuff, by any estimation. Several stories end in gruesome, easily avoided but somehow fitting deaths, and most of the characters, while imagining themselves quite righteous and above the judgement of others, are royally selfish and irritating. Somehow, though, O'Connor draws out a bit of sympathy for these characters, all of whom are thoroughly developed and therefore very real and full of moments of weakness.

The best part of the entire book, though, is the fact that the stories get better and better--you can almost see her develop as a writer. While I loved the early stories (the first, "The Geranium," remains one of my favorites), I found myself drawn further and further into the stories as I went on, and the last ten (for the most part) were astonishing: particularly "Parker's Back" and "Everything That Rises Must Converge."

Set primarily in the South during the Civil Rights Movement, the stories touch on racism in a merciless sort of way--the tension between characters throughout the whole book is continual, erupting occasionally into stunning climaxes, and it creates an uneasy sense of foreboding in the reader that endures to the very finish of the book.

If you're less compulsive about finishing a book once started and reading everything in order than I am, this is still a wonderful book for flipping through and reading a story here and there. Each one is complete and troubling, while also ringing beautiful and true. You must, simply must, read at least one.

RATING: 4

Because of course that sounds fascinating...

An ad on Yahoo Launch's main page: "See Pink play with her dogs on her new reality show."

Holy moley.

Why can't reality shows please just die?

Book Review: THE JOY LUCK CLUB, by Amy Tan

When she noticed me reading THE JOY LUCK CLUB, my friend Stacey asked, "That's one of those girl books, isn't it?" Yes, I had to admit, it definately is.

And, though I've thought a lot about it, I cannot figure out how this should detract from the book for me--but it does. For some reason, girl books just don't appeal much to me, and by "girl books" I mean books almost solely about women, where men are just husbands, brothers, and/or tormentors who rarely have a moment of interesting character-hood. By "girl books" I suppose I mean Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Girls' Poker Night (Jill A. Davis), The Memoir Club (Laura Kalpakian) (I'm noticing a club/sisterhood theme...) and several others that I read at somebody's suggestion, felt terrible for not liking and returned promptly to the bookstore for trade.

Which isn't to say that all books about groups of women are not to my taste--after all, I loved Reading Lolita in Tehran (Azar Nafisi) and The Woman Warrior (Maxine Hong Kingston)--or that I didn't enjoy THE JOY LUCK CLUB. Amy Tan landed herself on one of the higher rungs of Girl Book-dom, but I just felt compelled to add a small rant about all those books with pink covers featuring some sort of beverage (wine, lattes and so on). The rant is finished and now we may move on.

Tan's definately a gifted writer, to the point where I will definately read more of her books, and I enjoyed being whisked right out of my white American experience and into that of several Chinese immigrant families--the way Tan tells it, in a series of small scenes, each narrated by either a mother or a daughter of the four families, layers the story beautifully, even if I lost track periodically of who was speaking. It's a gorgeous book, full of great descriptions and rich characters--all of whom, you may notice, are women. But I got a little choked up at parts, Tan's words were that strong.

RATING: 3

Caught up

So, I've been playing oodles of shows lately, but now I'm in a little lull and it occurs to me that I don't post much about the shows themselves. I will do that now:

The past few weeks I've played a couple shows at Fantasia, one of which was a rowdy Ladies' Night that featured two poets (Anna Wolff and Jessica Lohafer, who was brilliant and hysterically funny), a woman on the autoharp (Stephanie Kontournos) who played old folk songs and sang in this rich, throaty voice, Kat the Unsinkable and her gorgeous voice and me and my guitar and my tamborine.

After that I played at Three Trees, all on my own, and it was wonderful--a small audience but an enthusiastic one (which I'd take over huge and indifferent, thanks), and now I'm gearing up for another show at Fantasia on the 11th.

But here's the exciting thing: I've had more fun arranging songs now that I get to play for an audience regularly. Arranging? Yes. See, I am my own percussion section, which makes for a whole lot of fun as I figure out where I can possibly snap my fingers, pound a beat on my guitar, and so on. I play the tamborine with my foot, and now?

Oh yes. Now:

I'm playing the egg shaker. Which means, at the craziest points, I am playing the egg shaker, the guitar and the tamborine, while also singing. It is such a weird rush--like amateur juggling. Inevitably I'll drop something, but what? And when?

Mostly I practice all this in my bedroom, yelping in frustration and laughing at myself in turns, which then starts Mitch laughing at me as I keep each song going for so long and then fumble, and the whole mess comes crashing down. It's great. It's especially colorful after a few glasses of wine.

So on the 11th expect color--a few new songs and one very, very old one (written when I was 16 and recently revived--and revised), and a new trick or two. I'm stupidly excited.

But all this is to say nothing of the lovely and bizarre encounters I've had with audience members--that is possibly an entry unto itself. No, it definately is. That will come later.

The perfect summer day

Contains:

A lengthy breakfast of Mt. Bakery granola and fruit, black coffee and an almond croissant, all eaten with one hand while holding a book (The Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan) open with the other.

A likewise lengthy perusal of my favorite bookstore, which is composed of several rooms (so many, in fact, that I somehow managed to lose my dad the last time we went to the bookstore together--after searching every possible room that I could find, including such unlikely sections as Popular Romance and Self-Help, I finally had to go up front and ask the clerk if he'd seen my dad. He had. He steered me to Music, where my dad was scanning How to Play the Blues Harp Today). In one of the rooms (containing Poetry, Women's Biography, Theater, Theology, Travel and more), the lights had been accidentally left off, and I snuck back in the darkest farthest backest corner for a few minutes, feeling the store big and silent and dark around me, the bookshelves looming and indistinct, before tracking down the aforementioned clerk and informing him about the outtage.

An afternoon at home with the kittens, practicing playing the guitar and the egg shaker at the same time (that's right--the egg shaker. And the guitar. At the same time) while the kittens climbed in my lap and attempted to nibble on my fretting hand.

A trip to the river with a sweaty, grumpy and fresh-off-work-from-the-farm Mitch, where we hiked out to a nice swimming hole and met Morgan and, by coincidence, Morgan's parents, and splashed and swam and floated in the current for a nice, long while. It was hot enough that we dried off in a matter of minutes after getting out of the water.

Stopping by the farm on the way home and harvesting salad greens, cherry tomatoes , cucumber and cabbage, to be used on Sunday for a scrumptuous farm-fresh lunch with friends.

Stopping by a berry farm after that and picking over some rather picked-over raspberries for a nice after-dinner treat that we later forgot to eat.

Spending the rest of the evening at home, drinking beer and eating veggie-rich quesadillas and playing with the kitties.

Going to bed sunburnt, slightly drunk and completely tuckered out.

Book Review: THE ARCHIVIST, by Martha Cooley

About this book I felt rather ambivalent. I'm not sure why. I bought THE ARCHIVIST based solely on the cover (rad) and the price (dirt cheap). Halfway through first chapter, however, I was ready to set the book down and back away. It was boring, I thought. I didn't care much for the characters, and it reminded me of an inferior version of Possession--all literary and scholarly, but without the pretty writing or interesting plot.

So I did that age-old test to determine whether or not I should keep reading: I put the book down and asked myself a little while later if I was hooked--did I think about the book? Did I want to know what happened?

I did. So I went back to THE ARCHIVIST and read the whole damn thing.

And reluctantly, I was sucked in. I cannot explain it, but I ended up plowing through the book in a day or two, trying to figure out the entire time what it was about the book that kept me coming back.

I never did put my finger on it.

Did I like it? I don't know. Would I recommend it to you? I'm really not sure. Was it any good at all? I think so, but I don't know why. And while all this sounds like the criteria for a rating of 2, something keeps nagging me to give it a 3. But why? Pfff.

RATING: 3

Sick kitty no more

At least, he's not puking and he's back to his spunky little Gunner-self. Hoorah!

The first review of one of my shows...

...was written by my brother. A bit biased, yes, but dang if it ain't sweet. Here it is:

I think God messed up on my sister.

Okay, well he didn't mess up so much in her personality, talent, or integrity, but more on her packaging.

I'm sorry, but she should be fat.

Fat, and huge, and possibly black...well at least Melado.

I can not believe the pipes on this girl.

So for those who don't know, my sister is a musician. She plays guitar, sings, and stomps on a little tambourine with her foot all at the same time. There have been times where she's also been known to tickle the ivories, rock the bass, and bust out on the egg shaker. But nowadays she seems to be investing the majority of her energy into the first three, and I am consistantly amazed at the her talent.

Since moving to Bellingham for the summer I have become a groupie for my sister. Playing in coffee shops, market places, and any other venue where the owner has heard her play because, honestly, that's all it takes for them to want to book her. I can only imagine what would happen if P. Diddy heard her. He'd want a reality show like *that. 'Course she'd have to ho it up a little.

But I digress.

She's been doing these shows and I think I've been to all but one of them and I am astonished at how EVERY time she plays she performs better and better. Integrating finger snaps, guitar drumming, and any other number of auxilary instruments into her performance, you can hear her songs evolve each time she plays them. I can barely talk on my cell phone and walk at the same time (without seious complications), let alone sing, strum, stomp, and snap all at once. It's incredible.

So at last night's show at the Three Trees Coffee house (not the most performance condusive atmosphere, because while they did have a stage, some people *cou-employees-gh* didn't seem to think it was appropriate to censor the volume of their voices while in a tiny room with a live performer), she rocked the house with an hour and fifteen minute long set that sent a man back to Chigaco with a new found appreciation for the Bellingham music scene, left a coffee shop owner feeling like the next big live venue producer, and a family feeling very proud of their little girl (who's actually older than me).

So I'm now going to take it upon myself to relay to all of y'all when my sister's next shows will be because everyone needs to hear this kid. Check out her myspace for a sample (she's my number one...go figure), but you haven't heard anything until you've heard her live.

So while God may have messed up by not making my sister a fat, Melado woman he's certainly made up for it by cramming her tiny frame full of amazing vocal and songwriting talent, and making her one of the coolest people I know.

I leave you now with a list of some of my personal favorite songs of hers (some of which I don't totally know the title to, because it's not like she announces the name of every one before she plays it):

-All is Well
-Gray and Cold
-Red Shoes
-Shortcut
-That one about Morgan
-That one about a city
-And there are many, many others, but those are the main favs of mine.

Sick kitty (cont.)

Yup. He's still sick...Now we get to feed him pills, the poor guy.