One Hour Runner: 45 minutes!

Yes, it's a record. On Tuesday, I ran for 45 minutes. On the treadmill. It was actually not so bad, the running. I listened to a This American Life, which is the only thing that enabled me to stay on the treadmill that long! It was a whole episode about Penn State being a party school. The poor townies talked about the drunk kids that ruin their lives by being loud and wounded and dumb all the time. I could relate! Only a few more weeks before I am done with One Hour Runner. But to be honest, right now I am happy with just running 45 minutes at a time. I might take a break and stay here for a while. It's a nice length for a workout.

-Kristin

Kristin got props for running a full 45 minutes by the sign-in guy. I never get a 'good going' for walking at a moderate pace on the treadmill!

- Megan Leigh 

Read More: Dinner with a Cannibal

I pretty much love all things horrifying, including humans eating humans, so I figured Dinner with a Cannibal by Carole A. Travis-Henikoff would be a wonderful and interesting read. Unfortunately there just wasn't a whole lot of information on cannibalism in this book.

It started with gross things that people eat. It is important that you note now, before you get yourself in an awkward situation, that rocky mountain oysters are not oysters. And if you order sweetbreads you will not get raisin cinnamon toast.

Then it tried to get to cannibalism, but was so disorganized and unfocused, that it only touched on it here and there. For example, one chapter starts by talking about Aborigines, then jumps to Neanderthal cannibalism, and then back to Aboriginal scarification and finally gets to Aborigine cannibalism. A very roundabout way, but it finally made it, for about one page of the chapter. In another she talks about cannibalistic infanticide and then wanders off to the topic of child brides, which is unsettling for sure, but has nothing to do with cannibalism. I would say, all in all, about 5% of this book had anything to do with people eating people.

And when she does get to the topic promised by the title, I have to wonder about her sources and the credibility of her claims. For instance she says there is irrefutable evidence that Neanderthals were cannibals because of the cut marks found on bones. There certainly may well have been cannibalism going on... or they may have defleshed bodies for ritualistic burial purposes. There could be many explanations for this. So suspected cannibalism, fine, but definitive evidence, nay. Also, in recounting her evidence that Aborigines were cannibals, she says that there are too many accounts to be ignored. Too many accounts by invading peoples who treated the Aborigines atrociously and continue to treat them as second class citizens today? A quote from an article concerning another book about aborigines and cannibalism sums up my thoughts nicely:

" 'I don't think there is any credible evidence in the historical-anthropological literature to sustain it,' said James Cook University historian Henry Reynolds, regarded as Australia's pre-eminent historian on Aborigines. 

'Certainly there were writers in the 19th century who wrote sensational material along these lines, but to think that anyone in the late 20th century can take it seriously and put it forward without any evidence is pretty disturbing,' he said."

I concur! But what do you expect from a lady who evidently links Aborigines and Neanderthals together in her mind?

All in all, this was a pretty lame read. If you want to read a book on cannibalism, do not go here. However, if you want to read a bunch of loosely (and I use this term loosely) related crap, written dully, then I dare say this book is for you.

- Megan Leigh

Read More: Methland

I picked up Methland by Nick Reding on a whim, when I was sent to the library by Megan on a bitterly cold day to drop off videos so I wouldn't get a late fee. She had checked out the videos on my card, you see. It's funny how that works. Anyhow, I had remembered reading reviews of this book when it came out a few years ago, and I'd thought it sounded interesting then. So I figured, why not? I stuck it in my bag with the myriad other random books I had somehow accumulated somewhere between walking in the front door and taking my place in line at the front desk, five feet away.

Have you ever driven through the Midwest or the South, passing through tiny little town after tiny little town, and wondering what people do there? Often, especially in the south, the houses are gorgeous and the setting is beautiful. But no industry, no universities... what do people do for a living? How can these places support all the inhabitants? If I were to pick up and move to a place like that one day, what would I do? Do these people all telecommute? Are they writers or editors that can work from anywhere? Artists? Ebay millionaires? I've always wondered these things.

According to Nick Reding, the answer is that there really are no jobs in these places. Not anymore. Farming has more or less died as an occupation, since it has been taken over by a few huge conglomerates. Factory after factory has shut down, and the few that remain open usually pay minimum wage and offer no benefits for backbreaking work... so those jobs are mostly done by illegal immigrants. That means after the few jobs that every town has (mayor, police chief, teachers, etc.) there really isn't much left to do, save for some minimum wage jobs at places like motels and Walmart. And apparently it is this situation, the misery of too many people and not enough real jobs, that set the scene for the meth epidemic that exploded in small town America starting in the 90s.

It felt like this book was longer than it needed to be, and there was a lot of repetition. I definitely learned some things though! Like how pharma lobbyists gutted the legislation aimed at curbing meth production, year after year. Although, to be honest, I'm not sure that trying to legislate drugs away has ever worked--I mean, cocaine is pretty darn illegal and it doesn't seem like it's going away any time soon. I also learned that wages at many midwestern feedlots/slaughterhouses fell by 3/4 overnight, at the same time as benefits disappeared, when they were bought out by big companies like Cargill, and over time most of the jobs disappeared anyway. That must have been devastating! The stories of the people affected were pretty interesting too. For example, here's a fun fact: did you know that Tom Arnold's sister was a drug queenpin that helped meth originally get a foothold in the midwest? All in all, I'd say this was an interesting read, but I'm not sure I would recommend that everyone go out and read it.

-Kristin

Read More: Bluebeard

One day I was at Cat's, preparing for the arduous journey home, when I remembered I needed a book to read on the subway, so I asked to borrow one. She handed me a book named after a child rapist and murderer and with a sparkle in her eye told me, "It's one of my favorites." Did Cat have a secret side of her that she was just now ready to reveal after all of these years? I didn't want to get on the wrong side of this new Cat, so I took Bluebeard and in my most genuine fake voice thanked her profusely.

Once the book was in my hands I saw that it was by Kurt Vonnegut, which made the selection a little less troubling. I hadn't read anything by him since high school, so it was definitely time for a re-visit. I remember liking him a lot, but can only vaguely remember one short story, maybe about Einstein's dog? Or maybe it was Edison. I think the dog told him how to invent the light bulb. (I choose to look at this story as a historical account.)

A few pages into the book I sighed with relief, realizing this was not a book about Bluebeard the horrid. Cat was transformed from a sadistic psychopath back to the girl next door. I feel a little guilty about jumping to conclusions about the blackness of her soul so quickly, but they always say about serial killers, "They seemed so harmless!", so you can never be too wary of your best friends and family members.

Instead, this book is about an old, crotchety, lonely, reclusive, cyclopean ex-artist who suddenly finds his life again when two house guests come to stay. One convinces him to write his memoirs, resulting in Bluebeard. It's an intermingling of his past and his present, so we see how he came to be who he is today and how he's changing with his two housemates around to pester him back into existence. And like every good book, there is a mystery. The mystery of what he has locked in the old potato barn out back. Everyone is just dying to know.

Although perhaps not a masterpiece, this was a nice, light and entertaining read. It went by quickly and I wasn't bored for a moment! And yes, I do know what's in the potato barn, but I'm not telling.

- Megan Leigh

Read More: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

I remember that I read this book in high school and thought it was very good. But if you had asked me about the plot last week, I would have said a lonely little girl and a lonely deaf-mute make friends in a small Southern town. That is ALL I remembered.

It turns out that there were lots of other characters, all of their stories intertwined. There IS Mick, the lonely little girl with a love for music, and Mr. Singer, the kindly deaf-mute who boards in her house. But then there are Blount, who is determined to preach a fiery brand of socialism in what is possibly the least receptive time and place ever, Dr. Copeland, the town's erudite black physician who works tirelessly both to heal his people and try to raise them up, and Biff Brannon, the soft-hearted café owner. All of these characters (with the exception of Biff) are compulsively searching their town for one kindred spirit, one person on whom they can unload all of the passion in their hearts. And they find that in Mr. Singer. Because he is mute and can't talk back, they can project onto his silence a total understanding, and for the first time they find an oasis of comraderie. But who does Mr. Singer have to confide in? And what happens if Mr. Singer, the delicate center holding together the fragile web of their lives, disappears?

In rereading this book as an adult, I found it both beautiful and very cynical. Carson McCullers seems to believe that we all walk through life as lonely hunters, and that to find someone who truly understands us is just an illusion, though maybe a necessary one. She really brings to life this little Southern town in the 1930's, and it seems as though this book (written in the 1940s) was very modern for its time... the lack of a real plot in lieu of a series of intertwining character studies would be at home with all sorts of novels that came out this year. A must read!

-Kristin

Read More: Weekends at Bellevue

I learned about Weekends at Bellevue by Julie Holland on NPR. I was excited to finally have the chance to read it because I love psychology and thought it would be fun to hear about all the wacky cases that passed through their doors. However, from the get go I hated the author. Maybe hate is not a fair word. Detest?

She starts off by saying, "I am smart -- more than that, a smart ass". First of all when you're writing a book, the story is supposed to tell who you are. Second, who describes themselves that way?? Most likely a person who is neither smart nor a smart ass. And the book goes on to show that this is true. It is, indeed, the truly smart who use phrases like 'verbal diarrhea'. And only the smartest of people who take it a step further and use it in print.

What I really found awful was that she thought it was appropriate to use sex as a way of making it in a man's world. She lists all the co-workers that she's had sex with, bragging that one was married, which is incredibly skeazy and was not pertinent to the story at all. She encourages flirtations and sexual banter, but runs to the head of the department to tattle on her boss for inappropriate sexual comments because he is not interested in her. Gross, gross, gross. I have nothing against a person who is comfortable with their sexuality, but to use it in this way just perpetuates the idea that women can't be equals in a medical setting and makes it that much harder for the girls that follow.

Through the whole book she keeps going on and on about how her dad was the cause for all of her mental anguish as an adult. She compares the trauma in her upbringing to the problems of the homeless schizophrenic. Dear god, what did her father do to her you may ask? Well, one of her worst memories was when she was small and driving in the car with her parents, smacking her lips together really loud because she was thirsty. And her dad turned around and beat the shit out of her? Nope, he told her to quit making that noise. What cruelty! I had a very similar episode in my life. I was making  one of the most beautiful noises in the backseat of the car, which my dad was not able to appreciate because of some brain deficit and he yelled at me to stop. I think about it to this day. And laugh. And plot when I will regale him with the lovely noise again.

I could go on and on about the shortcomings of this lady. How she treats her patients with disrespect. How she's a whiner.  But, perhaps it isn't right to criticize the author's character? So instead, I'll criticize her writing.

If someone were to hand you a book titled Metaphors and Similes For Everyday Use and dared you to work every single one into your book, this is what you would get. Let me give you just one example:

"He and I are going to go spelunking inside his dark cave to see if we can't figure out what is making him tick like a time bomb. I'm excited, as if staring across the Grand Canyon, about to do an Evel Knievel on my motorcycle."  

Now imagine a whole book full of these! 

To make matters worse, I cannot tell you how many times she used the world 'macho' to describe herself. Upwards of 200 I'm sure. The word popped up on just about every page, which was always a surprise to me because I couldn't see it. Rather I saw a woman that embodied just about every horrible girl stereotype that I could imagine.

Then she feels the need to define and explain everything. She says she calls the fifth pocket in jeans the 'drug pocket' and then goes on for a few more sentences explaining why. No need. Drug pocket says it all. She also defines what a rave is. I'm pretty sure even my grandma wouldn't have needed a definition for this. You really get the sense that she thinks you're an idiot. But I guess that's okay because the feeling is mutual.

But did I learn anything??

Well I did. I learned that the medical ER is a place only for people who are suicidal or a threat to others. Anyone else who needs help gets turned away. Where do they go?? It's so sad to think about people seeking mental help, but who aren't able to get it.

I also learned never to go to Dr. Julie Holland.

- Megan Leigh

One New Thing: Phantom of the Opera

Tonight I went to see my first Broadway show with Cat. We saw the Phantom of the Opera at the Majestic Theatre. When it first started I was ready to be disappointed. The stage was tiny and the set was really simple. Then magic happened. A chandelier rose from the stage to the ceiling. The stage opened up. Curtains and backdrops were revealed. Actors in fun costumes filled the stage. A little elephant rolled out (not real of course). What a relief!

I saw this at The Fox when I was little. I remember the best scene being when the Phantom rows out in the boat through the mist. This version (I think) was even better. There was mist and glowing lights and the boat swam smoothly through the fog. How did they do that?? My only theory was that there was a giant magnet under the stage pulling it around.

There were even pyrotechnics! At one point big flames shot up and I could feel the warmth on my face all the way up in the balcony.

One big let down was when the chandelier fell. It wasn't very dramatic (the chandelier going up was more so!) and there was no glass shattering sound effect. Also, the music was not what I was expecting - I thought it would all be like the awesome Phantom of the Opera theme song - kinda 80's and just awesome. (I know I said it twice, but that's what it is. Awesome.) But that song only lasted a minute! The rest of the songs, not so catchy. Something should be done about that.

I thought I knew the story, but I must have been getting The Phantom and the TV version of Beauty and the Beast confused. I thought Christine went to visit the Phantom often and they fell in love. But this Phantom was just a baddy! A murderer! 

note: thick burger and too brown fries

After the show, since we were conveniently in the neighborhood, we stopped into the brand new Steak n' Shake. Ohhh, what a let down. I specifically ordered an 'orignal steakburger' rather than a 'steakburger' so there would be absolutely no confusion. But I got the goddamn 'signature' burger with cheese. Horrible. (But would it really be a Steak n' Shake experience if your order wasn't messed up?) The fries were way too salty. Even the burger was super salty. It was no taste of home. They are still very new, so I'm hoping if I go back they have things straightened out. To make matters worse, the girls had to wear these weird, sad outfits. They were in short black skirts that were incredibly unflattering (and these were skinny girls!). They were too tight and made from a horribly cheap material. And on top of that, they also had to wear knee-high pleather boots. I have no idea whose call that was, but I'm pretty sure it had to be a man's idea. A man who spends too much time with prostitutes.

- Megan Leigh