Lesbians are very "in" right now, says 1985?

By coincidence, the last two books I've read were both written in the mid 1980s. "Jitterbug Perfume" was relentlessly recommended to me by Jon, and "Watchmen" is not only one of Time magazine's 100 best novels, it's the awesome basis for a really bad movie that just came out.

*note the obvious 80s paperback book cover design

I'm used to reading a lot of books from the same time period in succession. English 142b, for example, would have me read 10 novels published in the same decade or so in about 10 weeks (actually, I'm almost certain that English 142b was a Shakespeare class, but you get the point). When you do this, you can't help but find patterns or similarities that reveal some of the happenings of the times.

One thing that sticks out in these two books from 25 years ago is the seemingly unnecessary inclusion of minor lesbian subplots. The subplot was so minor in "Watchmen" that both of the women were cut out of the movie, and the lesbians in "Jitterbug" seemed even at the time (I read it before the comic book) to be lesbians only because it would be cool to have lesbians. And not even cool in the "that's hot" kind of way, but cool in a "I'm so edgy and topical" kind of way.

*interesting sidenote, searching Google Images for "watchmen lesbians"
doesn't get you porn till page 6

So this makes me wonder, were lesbians big in the 80s, or is this, like my reading of multiple 80s books, just a coincidence? Or were the plots somehow important and I just managed to miss the significance?

Keep in mind I'm not complaining about the plots, I'm just saying they struck me as being really obvious and not terribly organic.

21 (if I let myself cheat)

I spent a few hours in Books Inc. with Andy just now and bought one heckov a lot of books for people (and I'd already ordered a few from Amazon).

While browsing, I stumbled upon "The Lump of Coal" by Lemony Snicket and read the whole thing cover to cover. It's about a lump of coal who wants to be an artist, either by doing abstract charcoal drawings or making lines on barbecued chicken. This search for miracles takes all of 1000 words, or about 20 fully illustrated pages to get through, but it is a book. It's also the kind of children's book my mom and I have been kicking around for a few months.

Take a look at this despondent little bastard brooding in a stocking. Isn't it great?



And yes, I heard most of the narration in Jude Law's voice.

Four to go

I started this year with a hope more than a goal. To read, on average, two books a month. I'd fallen off book reading since graduating and I've always loved books (Nate the Great, WHAT WHAT!) and didn't think it an unrealistic goal since I used to read 10-20 books a quarter when I was at UCLA.

Looking at the column on the left of this blog, you can see what I'm reading now, and books I've "recently read." By my count, starting with "Old Man and the Sea," (which I read in January) I've read 20 books so far in 2008. And despite what my current reading list says, I'm actually only reading three of those books - mostly done with "Tumble Home" (collection of short stories), a third through "The Omnivore's Dilemma," and just started but will tear through the collection of columns about reading a lot of books by Nick Hornby, "Shakespeare Wrote for Money."

That brings me to 23, one shy of my aspiration. With two weeks left of this year (which has really been a pretty cool year overall) I'm thinking I have to hit this mark. Perhaps another play, or a graphic novel. Andy does have "The Watchmen" sitting on his bookshelf.

Or maybe I'll remember something I read and didn't write down. That would be ideal, really. If only I could count all the magazines and news I've read as one big "What happened in 2008" tome. But alas, I think that would be cheating. And I already feel bad enough about counting "Maus" as two books.

A little too ironic

There is something so delicious about spending my lunch hour eating Orange Chicken at Panda Express while reading "The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan. The answer to the question of "What should I eat?" is probably not "the jewel of the Orient," but it's certainly the answer to the question of "what do I want to eat right now?" (Well not now, cause I just ate that, but two hours ago it was the answer.)

But I did just sign up for bi-weekly deliveries of fresh, locally grown organic fruits and veggies from FarmFreshToYou.com. So I've got that going for me starting on Tuesday.

A bookstore in California

I've just returned from Moe's in Berkeley where I spent more on books than an unemployed writer should spend. I bought one book I needed to get, another I went wanting to get, and two I had thought a lot about buying. As I said on the phone earlier this week, Delayed Gratification Zac is gone.

As I strolled past the 'F' section I noticed a hard-cover version of "Everything is Illuminated," a book I've always told myself I wanted to read but have never bought or borrowed. I slipped it off the shelf and flipped toward the copyrite page to see if it was a first printing, which it wasn't, then flipped toward the first blank page to see what price was etched into the top right corner in pencil. I would find out in a few moments that it was $10, but first I saw an inscription.

It read, in a sloppy yet still feminine handwriting that was half printing, half script:

A late fathers day gift

To Kevin from Linda
To the best dad in the
whole world - July 2002 -
Ben is so lucky to see your
face every day & to have
you as his dad

I couldn't imagine selling a book, especially a book that was a present and certainly not if there was an inscription.

In my head, Kevin and Linda had a baby boy in May or June of 2002. Her saying he was the best dad in the world was based more on assumption than a proven track record of fatherhood. She thought he was the best husband in the world and, of course, would make an excellent father.

He probably was, and I picture him, mid-thirties with tousled short hair, walking around his and Linda's hardwood floors in his pajama bottoms on a Sunday morning with seven-month-old Ben leaning on his shoulder as he watches the 49ers game across the room.

But something happened, Ben got sick or there was an accident. It was no one's fault but it's a painful memory. In late 2007 Kevin and Linda are moving, probably out of Berkeley, maybe back to her home town, when he recognizes the book as he's boxing up their shelves. He re-reads the inscription for the first time in more than five years and just about cries again.

He wants to get rid of it but doesn't want to throw away the story of a young man searching for his grandfather's past. He considers donating it to someone but he wants someone to want it. He takes it to the used book store and makes a little bit of cash, which he'll add to the annual donation he and Linda make to the foundation for curing the disease his son died from (I've decided it was an illness).

I will show that inscription to everyone I show my books to and ask them what they think. The book will sit on my small bookshelf that I usually reserve for my favorite, highest recommended, or rare books. After I read it.