No sooner had I finished writing about what I had for lunch than THIS little book was brought to my attention.
Really? No one?? What if it was a tarantula and tuna eyeball stir fry? Then would somebody care?
Margaret Mason, I hope there are lots of good ideas in your book because it’s now on my kindle, along with this book by Bryan Cohen.
If it doesn’t, I might have to resort to listing various lunch items one more time. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.
At Chapters on the weekend I picked up this book because of the delightful things it says on the back cover. It isn’t this crooked in real life. Steampunk (which I had to look up because I’d never heard of it before) is a genre which originated during the 1980’s and early 1990’s and incorporates elements of science fiction, fantasy, alternate history, horror, and speculative fiction. Any book that can be both dreadful and sublime has to be worth whatever I paid for it.
The only drawback so far is that it’s hardcover and heavy and the slip cover kept falling off last night. But right now that’s upside down in my scanner at an odd angle and I think I’ll just leave it there until I’m finished reading the book.
And then this is going to make an awesome addition to my library. My first ever in the steampunk category.
Does anyone care what Joe Golem eats for lunch? If I find out I’m certainly not going to tell you and risk being a mind numbing bore. (Again.)
And I promise to share hundreds of ideas once I get around to finding out what they are. Even if they’re completely nuts. Or maybe especially if that’s the case.
I assume we’re not talking about fish here. So where do I begin – there have been so many. (Insert little sarcastic eye rolling face here)
That phrase conjures up some nasty images. Devious women furtively scheming to bag one of those unsuspecting men who are wandering around loose out there and incarcerate him for life. Well, maybe that’s a little too forceful. Keep him in protective custody? Never letting him GET AWAY, at any rate.
When my sister brought home her future husband our mother told her she should try really hard not to let this one get away. We thought that was hilarious. I’d like to point out that she never gave ME that advice about W. Who knows what her reasons were. I don’t want to think too hard about it because one of us is sure to have our feelings hurt if we ever get it figured out. Whatever. He’s now been around for close to forever, so if he gets away at this point I suppose I can safely say I did my best.
Okay. The ones that got away, in chronological order:
Harvey in grade three. Because it’s hard for nine-year olds to make any kind of long-term committment.
John in highschool. Because he was so intense it terrified me and I ran away screaming. Well not literally, but that’s close enough to the truth.
Chris one summer. Because summer flings aren’t meant to last past labour day weekend.
Cecil in college. Because we were both very drunk the night we met and unable to recognize each other the next day.
Bruce. Because he was just too besotted and I wasn’t really into having my own personal slave.
Larry. Because he wasn’t besotted at all, except maybe with himself and his devastatingly handsome mirror image.
Want to know the advice my mother DID give to me? No matter, I’m telling you anyway. She said “Good marriages don’t just happen, you have to work at them.” So either she knew W. needed a lot of work, or she knew how incredibly lazy I can be putting any kind of effort into anything, including my own life.
I still let things get away from me. Brilliant ideas that never make it on to paper, people who might have been excellent friends but one of us moved away and we lost touch, possessions that know how to go missing with no help from me I swear; whole days with nothing much accomplished.
And what does that picture of Johnny Depp have to do with all of this you might ask? Well, nothing really. I just like looking at him.