Among the many manifestations of my obsessive compulsive disorder is that I must finish every book I start. Not doing so causes much angst, keeps me awake at night, forces me back to reading it. This can be a good thing. I'd've never finished The Lord of the Rings without this compulsion, and now that I have, I revisit it regularly. This happens often enough that I don't begrudge the occasional volume without redeeming value.

Only twice in my life have I not finished what I started. The first, over a decade ago, was Left Behind. I should have liked this story: it's the first in a wildly popular series covering the end of times. (Paging Mr. Drinkmore!) The religious nature of the story set me on edge, however, lowering my ability to suspend disbelief, which was then killed off by a multitude of errors about little everyday things. I put it down after just a chapter or two.

And now there is False Memory by Dean Koontz. This was recommended by my wife (having just finished it) when I said I felt like a light summer read. I need to tread lightly for I risk yucking a serious amount of yum. This man has published more than 100 books (many #1 best sellers) over a career in its fifth decade. He brings in tens of millions every year. Clearly, he must be doing something right. So if there's an issue here, it lies with me. I tried hard, but had to surrender about two hundred pages in. Why?

I should have realized what I was getting into when I saw the author photo. Dude, with your money, couldn't you afford a more natural hair piece? And what's with the dog? Only after the fact have I latched on to this creepiness, but it was a sign to me that I should be on the look out for other cover-ups and un-natural relations.

"I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead."

Mark Twain

I am not saying that I'm a good writer, but I'd like to think I would know one when I read one. I realize how much effort it takes to write what you mean in as few words as possible. I spent at least 40 hours on a piece that was shorter than one of the chapters in this book. I revisited each sentence, cutting here and there until I felt the essence of the story was right. The thought of writing a novel scares me; that is, unless I thought that the effort didn't matter, that whatever I wrote would sell. Perhaps, then, I wouldn't give a shit. And that what this book feels like. It is far too wordy. There is a serious amount of adverb abuse going on here. And what's with the similes and metaphors? He uses them like a 3rd grader trying to prove something to his teacher. I started counting them (OCD!), they were that frequent. If I had continued reading, I would have dug out my blue pencil. You could easily cut out half words and still tell this story. But, I guess Mr. Koontz doesn't have to.

Steady, Bill, steady!

Related to the wordiness is that nothing is left to the imagination. In this story, Martie Rhodes is having a psychotic break down over dangerous objects in the house. She wants to get rid of them all. And we have to read about every single item. After the 3rd drawer of kitchen utensils, each of which has its own sentence, I think we get the point. And, again, what's with the dog. We learn about every supposed thought the animal has. This explains the jacket photo. I admit that I'm not an animal person and I'm predisposed to mock people who treat animals as humans, but, c'mon!

What is going on here? Does he think the readers are too stupid to draw their own conclusions? Or maybe he's just a control freak who wants you to see exactly what's in his head. Either way, it's a turn off.

Careful, now, Bill. You're straying into dangerous territory. Don't express subjective opinion as objective fact.

Perhaps I could have dealt with any one of the above issues, certainly the wordiness. The combination, though, is what killed it. My biggest issue is with Martie Rhodes who is a video game designer. In real life, I build software. I know the level of effort involved in this complicated process, especially one that involves a large amount of artwork and intense software processes. Mr. Koontz implies that she's designing a Lord of the Rings game on her own. Because he goes into excruciating detail on everything else, I have to believe that the lack of interaction with other development team members means there are none. As an author, when you exercise that amount of control over the story, you have to be correct on everything. Ease off on the control and the readers will explain away inconsistencies on their own.

So, it was with a heavy heart that I broke the news to my wife. I do not enjoy telling people that I do not like something that they seem to do. Yes, I have emotional issues of my own, but I truly do try to find out why someone likes something that I don't. Am I missing something? Her response, after hearing me out on this was, "Yes, I agree. I found myself skipping over large sections." WTF?!?

I probably shouldn't be writing this. I am reminded of an email conversation I had with an author of zombie books who took me to task for not being 100% positive when talking about others' work. I was told that this is a career killer. He may be right. I would like to become a published author, but more importantly, I want to read good books. It frustrates me that there is so much crap out there. It seems like I'm the odd man out, though. The market does not value high quality in its books. Sure, they has to meet a minimum standard, but there's no reward for going above and beyond. That saddens me.

Directed by

Stephen Frears

Staring

Glenn Close

John Malkovich

Release

December 21, 1988

This movie is on a short list of ones that I'll watch repeatedly, like a little kid with a Disney video. Set in pre-revolution, 18th Century France, the movie is based on a contemporaneous novel. The story of social intrigue and deceit could just as easily take place at any point in time since the beginning of history to today (Mean Girls, anyone?). I find it endlessly fascinating even though I am not the type to engage in such behavior. (I probably have more in common with Le Chevalier Danceny than I care to admit.)

What truly grabs my attention, though, is the period portrayed. This movie deserves the Oscars it won for Art Direction and Costume Design (in addition to the Screenplay, another well deserved award). The depiction of everyday life of the French nobility is captivating. From the opening scene with the main characters getting ready for their day to the faux good act of the Vicomte de Valmont in saving the peasant from the tax collector, you truly get a sense of the gap between rich and poor of that era. We seem to be heading in that direction today, hopefully we'll arrest it before we have our own 1789.

Author

Tony Horwitz

Publisher

Henry Holt and Company

Edition

First Edition - 2008 - hardcover - 455

I love the kind of book where the author does a deep dive on a subject as well as writes a travelogue of the relevant sites. Mr Horwitz's Confederates in the Attic was my first encounter with this hybrid genre. The best writers are able to weave the two threads into a single story that leads to both a better understanding of the subject and a deeper insight into the people still living it. Mr. Horwitz does this well.

In this book, the author seeks to color in the period between Columbus's discover of the New World and the landing at Plymouth. His attempts to follow in the footsteps of, perhaps, lesser know explorers take us to the Dominican Republic, Arizona and the American south west, Florida and the south and on up the Atlantic Seaboard. The two themes I grooved most on where the dichotomy of history vs. myth and racial identity. I'll cover the former in greater detail over in my Open Salon blog when I get the time. As for the latter, I was struck most by the Charles Shepherd quote on page 316 of my copy:

I like to think these people are my ancestors.

He said this while looking through a volume of sketches of Indians in North Carolina published in 1590. When you go far enough back, does it really matter who you ancestors are? What does it mean to be European, Indian or African? I've always been leery of DNA tests to determine this, but blood has to matter some, doesn't it? Upbringing should mean more, and this is where ancestors do come into play, their influence diminishing with each successive generations, but still there, except what about the person removed from his culture and brought up among others? And it can't really be what ever you want it to be. I do not believe I can rightly claim to be Irish despite the fact that 50% of my genes come from the Emerald Isle and I still qualify for citizenship. I know nothing of the contemporary Irish context. This is a personal issue for me given my kids whose mother hails from Korea and I appreciate how Mr. Horwitz delved into it.

One issue I will strongly disagree with him on is when, at the end of the book, he wonders about folks whose myths are not founded in truth. He states:

But it was harmless fiction, why spoil the fun with facts?

Perpetuating lies is never harmless. It leads people to a position of just wanting something to be true makes it so. Where does it stop? Astrology is just harmless fun until, when you're sick, it leads to chase ineffectual cures. I could make the argument that the harmless fun of belief in Pilgrims' first Thanksgiving and the Fountain of Youth has lead us to the Texas State Board of Education's new textbook standards.

Ah, but this won't stop me from reading Mr. Horwitz's books. I'll next track down Blue Latitudes.

Chef

Eric Ziebold

Address

Mandarin Oriental Hotel
1330 Maryland Avenue, SW
Washington, DC

Website

www.mandarinoriental.com/washington/dining/cityzen/

This restaurant is like a church to me. Eating here is both a spiritual and deeply sensual experience. In fact, I have built a shrine where I sacrifice a young food critic just hours before a meal there in the hopes that Chef Ziebold will bestow upon me yet again the great gift of his talent.

I was not disappointed on a recent visit to celebrate my wife's ##th birthday. I love the ambience of this place. It feels spacious, yet still intimate. Most of the staff have been with CityZen for quite sometime, so things usually flow smoothly. Usually, but not always. Our server this time was someone I didn't recognize and things weren't as fast as I would have hoped. Dammit! I need a drink in my hand ASAP!. But this was just a minor bump on the road to satisfaction.

There are two general approaches to cooking, both of which Chef Ziebold masterfully demonstrated. The first posits a uniquely flavorful ingredient where the chef seeks only to provide a supporting cast. This was the case with the lamb rib-eye I had.

Behold! The greatest piece of lamb to grace the face of the Earth!

By itself, it was a wonderful piece of meat. The supporting cast — lamb confit, some sauteed greens and a root vegetable whose name escapes me — didn't mask the lambness of the dish, but enhanced it.

The second approach is to take otherwise ordinary ingredients and combine them such that the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My wife's scallops were a text book case. Truly, what's the big deal with scallops? They're not eaten raw often like oysters and they rarely are part of a steamer dish like clams. They have very little flavor besides a hint of the sea from which they came. However, combined with other ingredients — in this case capers and peppers, among others — made for a dish that demonstrates "sour" can be damn good.

I will diligently save up so we can return again soon.

Author

John Kennedy Toole

Publisher

Grove Press, Inc.

Edition

First Black Cat Edition, Second Printing - 1981 - paperback - 415

I fear, in an alternate universe, I may be Ignatius J. Reilly. Perhaps it is my Irish Catholic upbringing that leads me to believe, in my dark moments, that despite my good intentions, I am worth less than a small pile of flea turds. When it gets bad, I break out this book and give it another read. The laughter it induces is enough to bring me out of my funk, but I also realize -- Damn! -- things could be worse.

Here is a man who is obviously smart and well educated, but unable to function normally in human society. It isn't worthwhile to delve into the reasons because we don't WANT him to be anything other than his dysfunctional self. This man's ability to inadvertently cause trouble -- which ricochets through New Orleans, usually to return at an order of magnitude greater -- is prodigious. You want to like him, but he won't let you: you are too modern and probably an offense against any criteria of taste and decency. If you want to get on his good side, be seen carrying a copy of Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius, or, better yet, ask him about his trip to Baton Rouge.

This is the only published work by the author, who committed suicide at the age of 31. We are only able to read it because his mother found a carbon copy of the manuscript in the trash. Others lament what we may have lost due do his untimely death. I am not so sure. It's not that I'm glad he's dead, it just presumes that he could have written more. Even so, should he have had a long string of successes, it would have lessened A Confederacy of Dunces, made it but one among many. Can't have that. This book must be a unique treasure.

Directed & Written by

Oren Peli

Release

October 16, 2009

This low budget thriller with no CGI special effects scared the living crap out of me. Though superficially similar to the Blair Witch Project, the plot was more meaningful and the characters had depth. I was pulled into the story from the beginning and kept there throughout. So much so that I came to despise the boyfriend as a major asshole:

• How can you not live up to the spirit of a promise you made to someone you love? How can you try to weasel your way out semantically?
• When you're partner is crying, pleading for you to do something, no matter how irrational, either do it or get the fuck out.
• Beware the man who gets his honor (read, "Doesn't want anyone to question his manliness") caught up in an issue. It becomes all about him.

See, I'm telling you, Peli put together a masterful story. I'm still seething. Well, when I'm not jumping at noises the house makes. Doesn't help that we're in the middle of a blizzard.

It was a last minute decision to dine at Kaz Sushi Bistro. My original plan was to take my wife out to CityZen on Friday for her birthday, but Snowmeggedon was a coming. While changing our resies on Open Table, I saw that there was a 1,000 point opening for Kaz on Thursday, the night before the end of the world. We've been there before and truly enjoyed it, a great possible last meal.

What I enjoy:

• It's more than just classic sushi. You get unusual takes (a nice piece of tuna with a dollop of foie gras-miso) as well as a nice array of other items (the grilled baby octopus is to die for).
• You're not pushed into ordering a house selected set of pieces and there's more than just a piece of paper to tic off what you want. I like getting 3-4 orders at a time, slowly working my way through the menu.
• The place has a cozy feel to it, great for a date.

What I wasn't quite enthused about:

• It was a good ten minutes before I had my first drink placed in front of me. The service was a bit slow.
• Twice we were told they were out of something AFTER we placed our order. I absolutely hate that. Let me know up front!
• Some of the items were too salty: the short ribs and the grilled baby octopus. Yes, that octopus was still amazing despite the salt.

Still, we plan on coming back and bringing friends.

Author

George R. Stewart

Publisher

Del Ray

Edition

Del Ray Trade Paperback Edition - 2006 - 345 pages

Originally Published

1949

I have been a huge fan of the TEotWaWKI (The End of the World as We Know It) genre for quite some time. In a conversation with a fellow fan, I revealed that I have not heard of this book. After the shouts of shock and consternation died down, I was strongly urged to read it.

Boring!

Most of the book is taken up by the main character (Isherwood Williams) going on and on about what he or others should do. Then he does nothing! It got to the point that, after an actual interaction with another character (rare though they were), I dread the blah-blah-blah that was about to come.

The only reason why I finished this book was the insight it provided on the age in which it was written. These are the things that stand out for me:

• Being apologetic for not killing or running off the supposed mentally dificient member of the group.
• It seeming to be OK for younger folk to painfully pinch very old people when they don't respond as expected (so much for respecting your elders).
• The shame in having to bypass a mountain lion rather than killing it.
• Killing a calf only for its liver, and killing its mother just because it was in the way.
• Fear that a kid may be too smart and the need to keep it from reading too much.
• Purposely not using reference material when trying to do something for which they have no experience.
• Seeming lack of desire for good food. Whatever is around is good enough. No need to go out of your way to make something good.
• The only time sex is implied is for making babies or cast aspersions upon someone's character.

This was an exercise in anti-intellectualism and anti-sensualism. I'd rather be killed in the plague than to have to live with this bunch.

I original wrote this review on Amazon. Mr. Drinkmore also a wrote a review on TEotWaWKI Diary.