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Brian and I have decided that we’ve had an extraordinarily long year, and it’s only April. But just lately we’ve come into a bit of luck: Brian got a promotion at work for which he’s been hoping, Catfish has started sleeping through the night on a regular basis and I, well, I’m having a Tonsillectomy! Surly this calls for some sort of celebration!

And what a better way to celebrate than having a big BBQ? For those of you unfamiliar with Brian let’s just say that he’s fond of cooking. And cooking with fire will always hold a dear place in his heart. When he met me, a dedicated carnivore, it was a match made in heaven (even if he didn’t know it at the time)  I suggested that he always has a great time cooking for large quantities and that perhaps it was time he set his sights on one of his life-long goals: to roast a whole pig.

A few years ago my mom threw a pig roast for my Step-father’s birthday. She hired a couple of guys that brought the whole pig with them on a trailer BBQ hooked to the back of their truck. They made cornbread, coleslaw and a bunch of other fixin’s that no one can really remember because the pig was so damned good. People still talk about that pig roast. One of my most vivid memories of the day was trying for hours to find my aunt’s tiny little dog. We called and called to no avail. Finally, someone thought to look underneath the BBQ an sure enough, there was Benny. He was stuffed so full that he couldn’t even life his head. All he could do was twitch the very tip of his tail. It took him 30 minutes to crawl out from underneath the grill his belly was so full. And even then he growled if you attempted to pick him up or even touch his tum. Which was how pretty much everyone felt at the end of the day.

I seriously thought it would take Brian about 2 days to figure out how to roast a pig. I don’t know what the hell planet I was on but it took all of 40 minutes before he came upstairs to announce he had found a website that laid out step by step how to roast a pig without digging a huge hole in the backyard. I am all for not digging a huge hole in the backyard. This is a Cuban method of roasting a pig over a home-made stone oven. Now all we had to do was figure out where to build a huge stone oven in the backyard. No problem.

By Alan Moore, Steve Bissette, John Totleben

Original issues 35-42 (April – November 1985) Swamp thing dies from a radioactive hobo? But wait, then he figures out how to regrow himself. Little Swamp Thing Sprout is super cute. This series is the reason I picked up Swamp Thing because in it we met John Constantine for the first time. And, of course I know that ST and JC have history but you don’t really see a lot of it if you only read HellBlazer. The interesting thing is that when John Constantine enters stage left there is a girl he’s staying with in New York. When you read HellBlazer it refers to said girl but never why she died and this is the story of her life and death as we know it. These interesting bits aside, I liked Volume 3 but I didn’t really understand the last part. Zombie Slaves take over the movie theatre box office and then a synopsys of all the ways that Swamp Thing has died? I mean, I kinda get it but . . . wait . . .no. No, I don’t.

By Erik Larson

Wow. This is a true account of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. It’s planning, building and execution from barren land to the “White City” in three years (and way back then, there was a LOT more manual labor involved) This is also the true account of Herman Mudget, aka Dr. H H Holmes, sometimes known as the first American psychopathic killer. And how these two stories happened simultaneously and within blocks of each other, indeed Holmes even built the “World’s Fair Hotel” complete with gas chamber in his office and crematorium in the basement for disposal of “leftover materials” This thread of the book was very creepy, particularly since no one came forward to accuse Holmes of murder even though he knew many single women that simply ” disappeared” without a trace. The World’s fair was just as entrancing but in an awe inspiring, jaw dropping sort of way The people, manpower and money involved in making the World’s Fair a reality were incredible in scope and legend. In particular, the story of how Chicagoans finally were able to “Out-Eiffel Eiffel” (referring to their answer to Paris’ previous world’s fair) was amazing to learn. The author jumps back and forth between the Fair and the Murderer mostly with each chapter (although, when the stories come to a head this convention tends to break down) He also gives current or contemporary examples of just what he’s talking about, i.e. ticket sales in 1893 dollars then translated to 2003 dollars. The other example he drew on quite a bit was that of Jack the Ripper. Jack’s reign of terror was from 1888-1891. Over those three years he killed 5 women. Herman Mudget killed at least nine that were known. Some estimates put his victims in the hundreds although Mudget himself only confessed to twenty-seven. Now, think about that for a moment. Have you ever even heard of Herman Mudget before now? He killed at least four more people than Jack the Ripper but has not been branded nearly as evil. Perhaps because Jack the Ripper was never brought to justice? Who knows? Mudget himself may never have been brought to justice if it weren’t for a life insurance policy that he took out on a former business partner. When the partner turned up “dead” the insurance company thought that Mudget had faked the death in order to claim the insurance. Little did they know…
  “Devil in the White City” is a fascinating read. Read it, you will like it.

By Alan Moore, Steve Bissette, John Totleben, Shawn McManus

Original issues 28-34 (Sept 1984-March 1985) So this is where the whole “Abby” thing gets it’s start. Plus there’s a really cute one-off named Pog. I especially liked the language the made-upified for Pog. The whole consummation episode “Rite of Spring” is somewhat cheesy but at least you know that the Swamp Thing is gettin’ some so you don’t have to worry about him anymore.

By John Le Carre, narrated by Frank Muller

I can’t say that I liked this book as much as any of Le Carre’s George Smiley novels. It was a very interesting character study of what happens to a man born to a con man of a father. Frank Muller did his usual A1 performance but the book seemed a little long and drawn out for me. I liked it, but not enough to recommend it unless you’re a die-hard Le Carre fan.

By Alexander McCall Smith

This is the first book in McCall Smith’s Portuguese Irregular Verbs series. In it we meet for the first time, Professor Dr. Moritz-Moria von Iglefeld, one hell of a German philologist snob. We get to know von Iglefeld in his “never ending quest to win the respect he feels certain he is due” The simple honesty of this short book makes for an afternoon of wonderful reading.

It happened last night.

Brian and I were watching “Black Adder” and eating our dinner (sandwiches and leftover chicken soup) Earlier in the evening Brian had made some banana bread for dessert and for the last episode of Black Adder we each had a yummy slice of warm bread. This, combined with the soup and the sandwich, kind of made me over-the-top-full. I shouldn’t have eaten all the banana bread but when its warm and fresh and so delicious smelling – what can you do? After the show ended we turned off the TV and sat discussing how much we liked certain parts of the episode. When the conversation dwindled I found that I didn’t want to get up due to still being full and now, kind of tired. I assume Brian was feeling the same since he slid off the couch and sat on the floor for a while playing with the cats. While he was on the floor he started tracing circles in the carpet because it made a “neat sound”. Well, the the sound of his hand running along the carpet combined with the motion of him making concentric circular patterns on the floor was mesmerizing to the kitties. Pretty soon we were all hypnotized, the cats watching Brian’s circles and we were watching the cats. (more…)

By Terry Pratchett

  It’s really hard for me to review this book for the third time in three years. I keep reading it because it’s damn funny. That and to experience Pratchett’s skill with the English language. So this time, instead of telling you how great this book is and that you should read it, perhaps this little example will tempt you. This happens to be one of my favorite Pratchett passages ever. I don’t have his express permission to use it though so if, later on, it’s not here any more well, you’ll know why.
  In this excerpt, Captain Sam Vimes of the City Night Watch is introducing his men to Lady Sybil Ramkin, a terribly well-bred woman of outstanding proportions. The men have just deputized the Librarian of Unseen University who happens to be an orangutan (for the record, he used to be human but was turned into an orangutan during a magical accident in the second Discworld book and has been resisting all attempts at re-humanization ever since).

“Attention, lads,” said the sergeant, flooded with relief.

The other two entered the room. Vimes gave his men his usual look of resigned dismay.

“My Squad,” he mumbled

“Fine body of men,” said Lady Ramkin. “The good old rank and file, eh?”

“The rank, anyway,” said Vimes.

Lady Ramkin beamed encouragingly. This led to a strange shuffling among the men. Sergeant Colon, by dint of some effort, managed to make his chest stick out more than his stomach. Carrot straightened up from his habitual stoop. Nobby vibrated with soldierly bearing, hands thrust straight down by his sides, thumbs pointing sharply forward, pigeon chest inflated so much that his feet were in danger of leaving the ground.

“I always think we can all sleep safer in my bed knowing that these brave men are watching over us,” said Lady Ramkin, walking sedately along the rank, like a treasure galleon running ahead of a mild breeze. “And who is this?”

It is difficult for an orangutan to stand at attention. Its body can master the general idea, but it’s skin can’t. The Librarian was doing his best, however, standing in a sort of respectful heap at the end of the line and maintaining the kind of complex salute you can only achieve with a four-foot arm.

“‘E’s plain clothes, ma’am,” said Nobby smartly. “Special Ape Services.”

“Very enterprising. Very enterprising indeed,” said Lady Ramkin. “How long have you been an ape, my man?”

“Oook.”

“Well done.” She turned to Vimes, who was definitely looking incredulous.

“A credit to you,” she said. “A fine body of men – ”

“Oook.”

” – anthropoids,” correctly Lady Ramkin, with barely a break in the flow.

For a moment the rank felt as though they had just returned from single-handedly conquering a distant province. They felt, in fact, tremendously bucked-up, which was how Lady Ramkin would almost certainly have put it and which was definitely several letters of the alphabet away from how they normally felt.

Some things are wrong, just plain wrong. Some actions are so offensive as to be inexcusable. For example, telling your mom that you have a tattoo is probably offensive (to her at least). But having your grandmother tell your mom that you have a tattoo, during the middle of Thanksgiving dinner, is pretty much inexcusable, even if your grandmother was doing it for fun.

No wait, especially if your grandmother was doing it for fun.

   And let me tell you, having to explain to your mother that Yes, it was a reputable tattoo parlor and No there is no chance of Hepatitis or AIDS or even Chicken Pox, over your turkey and gravy is no way to start off a four day weekend. In fact, (more…)

You know at the end of Time Bandits when the kid has just conquered the big bad guy in his Lego fortress and he’s zipped back to reality and his mom, amid the ruin and rubble of the house walks over to the smoldering oven and opens the door and all this sulfurous smoke pours out and in the middle of all the reek is a big black lump of something that looks like coal but the little kid knows better so he shouts at his mom

“Mum! Don’t touch it! It’s PURE EEEEEEVIIL!”

   But she doesn’t listen to him and touches it anyway then she is zapped out of existence?

Yeah, I’m pretty sure India is made of that stuff.