I returned from our North Carolina Christmas to find two (TWO!) copies of Redbook waiting in my mailbox...addressed to me. I swear to God, I had nothing to do with their ordering. Honestly. I'll be the first to admit I have bad taste in magazines, but it's not that bad.

Anyhow. I left one sitting on the sofa and went out. When I returned, N (hereafter known as The Inspector) was upstairs inspecting his studio-in-progress, as if he had been doing nothing else all night. But downstairs, strewn in front of the toilet like so much chattel, I found the January 2005 Redbook, opened wide to the Brittany Spears special. Which leads me to believe that The Inspector has a taste for fine literature.

It's 2:30 on Christmas Eve, and I'm the only one awake among nine people in N's parent's house. It's quiet, the Christmas lights are blinking, and the table is covered in peanut shells and empty glasses of wine. I've been to church (out of respect for the Christians, of course), sat through communion, helped with the dishes and watched the baby. Finally, it's time to find a comfortable corner and do some reading.

Now keep it down already.

Note to Dad: I know you like my website, but don't read this entry. xox, your daughter

There's something frightening about Suzi Parker's Sex in the South, a compilation of kinky, freaky and just plain weird true stories of different people's sex lives, organized by state--and it's not just the fact that they all spring from below the bible belt, if you catch my drift.

No, my good readers. I can read about and move on from the stories of the sadomasichism, the naked housewives, the iron belles and the mermaid porn.

What I just can't stop thinking about is Chapter Tennessee, page 207, the story of Trigger, the man-horse.

Is this what happens when you read one too many books like Black Beauty in those formative pubescent years? Did I somehow narrowly escape this fetish by switching to Sweet Valley High at 13? Dear God. Thank you, Jessica and Elizabeth, for freeing me from this burden. Aw hell, thank you Enid and Lila. I love you guys.

Did ya'll know that Amazon donated 61% of their PAC money to Republicans, while Borders donated 100% to democrats? Neither did I, but thanks to this page on BuyBlue.org, you can learn exactly whose dollars your holiday shopping dollars are supporting. Thanks, BuyBlue!

A great writer coming out in praise of jokes in literature.

To me, that's the most important nugget to come out of Nick Hornby's The Pollysyllabic Spree. I've been trying to write a post about it for a while, and it's gone all over the place. But let's just say that to read a well-respected novelist say -- more than once -- that putting jokes in a novel doesn't at all detract from it as serious literature is refreshing. In fact, Hornby stands firmly beside jokes, rebelling against the idea that their unnecessarily frivolities that should excised by any story workshop worth its salt.

I don't know. That seems important.

I saw David Bezmozgis speak at last year's Printer's Row, alongside Aleksandar Hemon. They both read, and then spoke about what it's like to write in a non-native language. Hemon's triumph is pretty well-documented, and the fact that he pulled in a MacArthur Grant this year puts the official stamp on his genius.

But I went to see Bezmozgis based solely on his story Natasha -- the title story from his book -- which I read in Harper's a couple years ago. It's maybe the best story I've read in years that wasn't written by George Saunders. If you've never read it, get the book because that story alone is worth it.

The rest of the book is great, all dealing with a Russian family in Canada, though I don't think there's a story in there as strong as Natasha. The first one, about the young narrator's fascination with his neighbor's dog Tapka, is a great story about the sorrow of immigration and the stupidity of childhood. The final story, Minyan, is a fitting bookend, as it describes an old man finding a home and community again as he nears death.

I don't want to say much more than that, because the stories should really speak for themselves. Get it out of the library. It's well worth the read.

I don't know Dr. Jim personally, but he apparently knows wrybrarian. So in the spirit of PR puppetry--and because it's for a good cause--I'll post his promo for Game Face, which promises to seamlessly meld the worlds of the NFL and CSI.

My Amazon.com bestseller campaign is scheduled for Tuesday, December 14th. This is designed to drive my prize-winning mystery novel GAME FACE to the front page of the Amazon bestseller list ON THAT ONE DAY.

But for you I am offering no freebies, no promises, no nothing. I am INDEED giving things away, but to children in my hometown. I am splitting all proceeds from sales of GAME FACE, ISBN 0976082004, on Tuesday, December 14th, between our local chapter of Secret Santa and the capital campaign to build a new YMCA in little town.

I just want you to consider this book tomorrow as you would any other Christmas gift, and think about it for mystery lovers, those who enjoy forensic investigation, or for sports junkies who won't read any other fiction. It is reasonably priced at only $8.99.

You can read about it or order it here: http://funinspector.com:8080/trackm=2252059&l=0.

I think I have a pretty good publicity launch planned already, so I do not want to put any pressure on anyone. But for those who have the spare change and might know someone who would like such a book, please order it on Tuesday, December 14th, and I will see to it that the money is well spent. I am chairing the YMCA drive. The Secret Santa was simply presented to me as a good cause, and I agreed.

No, I don't have a tax ID # or anything for deductions, if you were wondering. I will just give the money away and pay my share of the taxes. (I'm not doing any more paperwork than I have to this Christmas!) So if you don't trust me--and there is no reason you should, I will admit—simply abstain from ordering.

Again, no promises and no pressure. And don't give until it hurts. Just give until it feels good.

Feel free to mention this benefit or pass along the link to Amazon.

Happy Holidays to everyone,

Doctor Jim

Total amount of overdue fines paid to the library this week for four books, two of which I never read: $12.

Bad wrybrarian, bad.

If Daniel Handler, aka Lemony Snicket, didn't have a faux British accent, I think I would be a little bit in love with him after listening to his interview today on NPR. For those of you who live underground, Lemony Snicket is the fictional author of the Victorian-style children's books, A Series of Unfortunate Events.

While I couldn't make it past the first volume in the Harry Potter series, something about this children's satire intrigues and delights me, not the least of which is the origin of the name, Lemony Snicket. Handler said he came up with it as a pseudonym to use while researching right-wing conservative groups for his big-people novel, The Basic Eight.

The only thing that kept me from jumping up, screaming my head off and ripping my little beanie in half this morning was Jon Krakauer's Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith. If I weren't enraptured--and infuriated--by this true tale of Mormon fundamentalist fringe groups and their many unlucky victims of sexual molestation, I mean, er, teenage "plural marriage," spousal abuse, kidnapping, brainwashing and of course, murder, I might have realized that I spent nearly two hours trying to get to this morning's temp "opportunity" at Soldier Field via CTA.

Instead, I remember taking a little breath in relief when I realized I'd missed my opportunity and could spend another couple hours buried in my book.

If you read Under the Banner, you WILL want to do something. Here are a couple places to start:

The Rick Ross Institute for the Study of Destructive Cults, Controversial Groups and Movements
The Child Protection Project
Help for the Child Brides
Tapestry Against Polygamy

Or you could just read this, and get really pissed off.

I finished two amazing coming-of-age stories over the past two weeks: Joe Meno's Hairstyles of the Damned and Steven Chobsky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Both were about teenage boys, and each was awesome in its own way, not the least of which was setting. Hairstyles is set in south-side Chicago, not far from where I live now, and Wallflower takes place in Pittsburgh, not far from where I, too, came of age. There is something about the feeling I get when reading a description of a boy's first Rocky Horror Picture Show in the VERY THEATER where a Braunschweiger once spiraled above my head, too. I don't think I can explain it.

Anyhow.

Both stories are raunchy, embarrassing, endearing, heartbreaking and just about anything else I could remember about my own ill-begotten teenage past.

I can't believe it! It's Dirty Found!

I'm writing this with my fingers crossed, as it seems that everytime I try to publish, whatever I've just written disappears.

Anyhow. On Friday, WryBrarian will be at the Hideout to listen to stories about dollar-store items, in an event called (of course) Dollar Store, hosted by our very own Jonathan Messinger at thisisgrand.org.

I went to the November Dollar Store, and it was funny! And not funny like the last reading I went to in Boulder, CO, which included stream of conciousness poetry and one of those dreadlocked hippie throat singers, who made me spew my soy chai across the table.

Hey Head Wrybrarian?

Is it cool if I just keep posting? I've been reading a ton lately (cold weather + illness + ladyfriend-gone-for-the-holidays = nose-in-books). So I'm going to keep going...

This weekend I finished What's the Matter With Kansas? by Tom Frank*. I'm a big Baffler fan, enough at least to buy Boob Jubilee for a few folks last Christmas. Kansas may be this year's choice gift. I feel like Frank is the most articulate political and economic (for him, it's one in the same) writer for a generation of unashamed leftists who aren't also nutjobs. He's not afraid to critique both Capitalism and its strict adherents, and does so with strong arguments and actual reporting -- something entirely missing from most political books. I got into a heated discussion on Thanksgiving with my friend's dad -- who proclaimed that if given a choice, he'd always vote for the guy he thought was Christian, no matter what -- and found myself to be a much less eloquent Tom Frank. Which is still a more eloquent me. Frank excoriates that line of thinking, demonstrating again and again how the "values voters" consistently vote in the neocons who not only make no headway on the values issues, but pass legislation that economically devastates the people who vote for them.

I know this is a long post, so I'll just do this really fast: I went to the Quimby's big backstock blowout on Saturday and bought a ton of old zines. It's probably not worth dissing bad, old zines, since there's little chance you'll go to the store and accidentally blow a buck or two on a year-old zine you don't know. Instead, I'll say this: First Class, pretty good; Chin Music, good; Farm Pulp, awesome. I just stumbled upon Farm Pulp, found it to be have the most interesting design and really strong content -- reminds me of McSweeney's or Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet -- and almost entirely written by one man. Sad to hear it stopped in 2002.

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