The Hellhole

Saturday, August 07, 2010

This may be funny only in the "you had to be there" way but it made me laugh, so...last night we went to dinner at Frontera, our favorite Mexican restaurant. In the booth behind Alan (so I was facing them) were three woman and a little girl of, I guess, about three. Tiny, old enough not to wear a diaper, brown curly hair with a yellow bow. I didn't see what it was that the little girl did, but it was something undesirable because suddenly her mother said to her, quite sternly and harshly, "Did you learn that from your daddy?!?" Little girl nods vigorously and happily, curls bouncing.

Some mini book reviews:

Where The Dead Lay by David Levien: okay, maybe it's me - I don't think this was a bad book, particularly, certainly not badly written, but for whatever reason I simply couldn't bring myself to care. At all. About any of it. About any of them. At one point, I thought that maybe it was because the reader doesn't really get to know the murder victim at all - he's just a stiff - but then I thought about how many captivating mysteries I read where one meets the victim(s) only in death, in the first few I don't know. But I just didn't care who did it, or why, or if they were caught, or about any of the players in the couple of subplots. I just didn't.

Chasing The Dime, by Michael Connelly: I quite like his 'Detective Harry Bosch' novels so I thought I'd give this one a read. The plot is kinda interesting as an idea and I did wonder what happened and why, but ye gods! An entrepreneur who owns a groundbreaking technology company who doesn't "do" cell phones? Yeah, that could happen. The same guy, who is supposedly quite brilliant and a savvy businessman makes such stupid, boneheaded, idiotic, asanine, BONEHEADED (ahem) decisions on any given page that I just want to cock-punch him. His supposed motivation for these decisions is just too freakin' lame to be believable. Why he didn't call AT&T and get a new phone number on page five (like any sane and rational human being would have done) is beyond me. Bleccch.

9 Dragons, by Michael Connelly: see, I didn't let the above get to me and gave Michael another chance, since this one was a Harry Bosch novel. This one was interesting at first but the plot "twists" were visible a mile away, certain people might as well have had name badges reading "Hello! My name is: Sacrificial Lamb" and the plot was at once too contrived and too trite. I long for the days of The Black Echo and The Black Ice and City of Bones.

Maybe the books are fine and I'm just getting old and grumpy. Definitely old, as I had an optometrist's appointment Thursday and was told that bifocals lie in my future - not in the way that they lie in pretty much everyone's future eventually, but as in, the time is only a handful of years away. Sigh. I don't want bifocals, not because I don't want bifocals in and of themselves (I've been wearing corrective eyewear since third grade, I'm used to it) but I don't want to be old enough to need bifocals. Bloody hell. No since denying the obvious, I suppose; I'll just go now and yell at those wretched urchins to get the hell off my lawn.


  • They have such cool bifocals now a days they don't even look like bifocals!
    I've been wearing glasses only since 4th grade only because my mom never believe my 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade teachers that I couldn't see the blackboard... :)

    By Anonymous Inna, at 8:48 AM  

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