Friday, September 29, 2017

The weekend is coming

On Sunday evening, is the season 9 premiere of NCIS: Los Angeles.

"Party Crashers":

After Hetty turns in retirement papers and then disappears, Executive Assistant Director Shay Mosley (Nia Long) arrives in Los Angeles to oversee the team and immediately makes staffing changes. Also, still mourning the death of his wife and living in a trailer on the beach, Sam is adamant that Callen find a new partner

I love this show a whole lot but seriously, can they not come up with a unique storyline each premiere? Either someone is going rogue or Hetty is turning in retirement papers and disappearing.  Every. Single. Year.

I will probably miss watching it that night because of my class usually running long but I will watch it the next day via Amazon Instant.

I'm really, really liking IN THE WOODS by Tana French. The author's language skills are so there. Here's an excerpt from the Prologue and Chapter 1:

Picture a summer stolen whole from some coming-of-age film set in small-town 1950s. This is none of Ireland’s subtle seasons mixed for a connoisseur’s palate, watercolor nuances within a pinch-sized range of cloud and soft rain; this is summer full-throated and extravagant in a hot pure silkscreen blue. This summer explodes on your tongue tasting of chewed blades of long grass, your own clean sweat, Marie biscuits with butter squirting through the holes and shaken bottles of red lemonade picnicked in tree houses. It tingles on your skin with BMX wind in your face, ladybug feet up your arm; it packs every breath full of mown grass and billowing wash lines; it chimes and fountains with birdcalls, bees, leaves and football bounces and skipping-chants, One! two! three! This summer will never end. It starts every day with a shower of Mr. Whippy notes and your best friend’s knock at the door, finishes it with long slow twilight and mothers silhouetted in doorways calling you to come in, through the bats shrilling among the black lace trees. This is Everysummer decked in all its best glory.
Picture an orderly little maze of houses on a hill, only a few miles from Dublin. Someday, the government declared, this will be a buzzing marvel of suburban vitality, a plan-perfect solution to overcrowding and poverty and every urban ill; for now it is a few handfuls of cloned semi-detached, still new enough to look startled and gauche on their hillside. While the government rhapsodized about McDonald’s and multiscreens, a few young families --- escaping from the tenements and outdoor toilets that went unmentioned in 1970s Ireland, or dreaming big back gardens and hopscotch roads for their children, or just buying as close to home as a teacher’s or bus driver’s salary would let them --- packed rubbish bags and bumped along a two-track path, grass and daisies growing down the middle, to their mint new start.
That was ten years ago, and the vague strobe-light dazzle of chain stores and community centers conjured up under “infrastructure” has so far failed to materialize (minor politicians occasionally bellow in the Dáil, unreported, about shady land deals). Farmers still pasture cows across the road, and night flicks on only a sparse constellation of lights on the neighboring hillsides; behind the estate, where the someday plans show the shopping center and the neat little park, spreads a square mile and who knows how many centuries of wood.
Move closer, follow the three children scrambling over the thin membrane of brick and mortar that holds the wood back from the semi-ds. Their bodies have the perfect economy of latency; they are streamlined and unselfconscious, pared to light flying machines. White tattoos --- lightning bolt, star, A --- flash where they cut Band-Aids into shapes and let the sun brown around them. A flag of white-blond hair flies out: toehold, knee on the wall, up and over and gone.
The wood is all flicker and murmur and illusion. Its silence is a pointillist conspiracy of a million tiny noises --- rustles, flurries, nameless truncated shrieks; its emptiness teems with secret life, scurrying just beyond the corner of your eye. Careful: bees zip in and out of cracks in the leaning oak; stop to turn any stone and strange larvae will wriggle irritably, while an earnest thread of ants twines up your ankle. In the ruined tower, someone’s abandoned stronghold, nettles thick as your wrist seize between the stones, and at dawn rabbits bring their kittens out from the foundations to play on ancient graves.
These three children own the summer. They know the wood as surely as they know the microlandscapes of their own grazed knees; put them down blindfolded in any dell or clearing and they could find their way out without putting a foot wrong. This is their territory, and they rule it wild and lordly as young animals; they scramble through its trees and hide-and-seek in its hollows all the endless day long, and all night in their dreams.
They are running into legend, into sleepover stories and nightmares parents never hear. Down the faint lost paths you would never find alone, skidding round the tumbled stone walls, they stream calls and shoelaces behind them like comet-trails. And who is it waiting on the riverbank with his hands in the willow branches, whose laughter tumbles swaying from a branch high above, whose is the face in the undergrowth in the corner of your eye, built of light and leaf-shadow, there and gone in a blink?
These children will not be coming of age, this or any other summer. This August will not ask them to find hidden reserves of strength and courage as they confront the complexity of the adult world and come away sadder and wiser and bonded for life. This summer has other requirements for them.

Chapter One
What I warn you to remember is that I am a detective. Our relationship with truth is fundamental but cracked, refracting confusingly like fragmented glass. It is the core of our careers, the endgame of every move we make, and we pursue it with strategies painstakingly constructed of lies and concealment and every variation on deception. The truth is the most desirable woman in the world and we are the most jealous lovers, reflexively denying anyone else the slightest glimpse of her. We betray her routinely, spending hours and days stupor-deep in lies, and then turn back to her holding out the lover’s ultimate Möbius strip: But I only did it because I love you so much.
I have a pretty knack for imagery, especially the cheap, facile kind. Don’t let me fool you into seeing us as a bunch of parfit gentil knights galloping off in doublets after Lady Truth on her white palfrey. What we do is crude, crass and nasty. A girl gives her boyfriend an alibi for the evening when we suspect him of robbing a north-side Centra and stabbing the clerk. I flirt with her at first, telling her I can see why he would want to stay home when he’s got her; she is peroxided and greasy, with the flat, stunted features of generations of malnutrition, and privately I am thinking that if I were her boyfriend I would be relieved to trade her even for a hairy cellmate named Razor. Then I tell her we’ve found marked bills from the till in his classy white tracksuit bottoms, and he’s claiming that she went out that evening and gave them to him when she got back.
I do it so convincingly, with such delicate crosshatching of discomfort and compassion at her man’s betrayal, that finally her faith in four shared years disintegrates like a sand castle and through tears and snot, while her man sits with my partner in the next interview room saying nothing except “Fuck off, I was home with Jackie,” she tells me everything from the time he left the house to the details of his sexual shortcomings. Then I pat her gently on the shoulder and give her a tissue and a cup of tea, and a statement sheet.
This is my job, and you don’t go into it --- or, if you do, you don’t last --- without some natural affinity for its priorities and demands. What I am telling you, before you begin my story, is this --- two things: I crave truth. And I lie.

I don't have any major plans for the weekend. I need to run some errands -- get new jeans, get a haircut, etc. The usual cleaning. Tomorrow is supposed to be in the 70s but Sunday in the 50s so that sounds lovely. I'm hoping to do some napping and reading. Also per usual.

Have a great weekend

Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Where's your other leg, hooman?

And a lovely Thursday it is.

Currently reading A POISONOUS PLOT by Susanna Gregory. 21st of 23 in series featuring Matthew Bartholomew, physician, and his colleague Brother Michael, in 14th century Cambridge, England.

In 1358, over a century after its foundation in Cambridge, the college of Michaelhouse is facing a serious shortfall of funds and competition from upstarts rivals such as Zachary Hostel. Their problems are made no easier by the hostility of the town's inhabitants who favour the university moving away to the Fens. This simmering tension threatens to break into violence when a well-known tradesman is found dead in one of the colleges. Matthew Bartholomew knows he was poisoned but cannot identify the actual substance, never mind the killer. He also worries that other illnesses and deaths may have been caused by the effluent from his sister's dye works.Torn between loyalties to his kin and to his college, he fears the truth may destroy both his personal and professional life, but he knows he must use his skills as a physician to discover the truth before many more lose their lives entirely.
Published in 2015; 448 pages.  I'm long overdue on reading from this series.

And because the writing of the first pages I read in the sample were so lyrical, I think I may be pulled into reading IN THE WOODS by Tana French. 1st of 6 in series featuring Police detectives on the murder squad in Dublin, Ireland.

As dusk approaches a small Dublin suburb in the summer of 1984, mothers begin to call their children home. But on this warm evening, three children do not return from the dark and silent woods. When the police arrive, they find only one of the children gripping a tree trunk in terror, wearing blood-filled sneakers, and unable to recall a single detail of the previous hours. Twenty years later, the found boy, Rob Ryan, is a detective on the Dublin Murder Squad and keeps his past a secret. But when a twelve-year-old girl is found murdered in the same woods, he and Detective Cassie Maddox—his partner and closest friend—find themselves investigating a case chillingly similar to the previous unsolved mystery. Now, with only snippets of long-buried memories to guide him, Ryan has the chance to uncover both the mystery of the case before him and that of his own shadowy past.
Published in 2007; 429 pages.

No new series yet on TV. Arrow will be on Thursdays now in a couple weeks.

I don't know if Steve will be home for dinner tonight or not.

Last night he postponed our Anniversary dinner that was going to be tonight until tomorrow. I think because he has to work late or meet with a disgruntled customer or something. I'm making Papa Murphy's pizza so there's no pressure or time frame. It's also the dinner we had the day we got married so it is fitting. I did find some roses in my office this morning.

Have a great day

 Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Happy Anniversary, Steve

Today is our 20th Anniversary.

We both have stuff going on tonight, a Wednesday, so we'll probably do dinner tomorrow night.

Steve's got the shooting range and I've got the NAMI family support class.

So nothing, of course on TV for me. I finished the Brant book (meh) and now I'm trying to figure out what's next to read. In fiction.

In nonfiction, I'm starting THE SCIENCE OF BATTLESTAR GALACTICA by Patrick Di Justo and Kevin R. Grazier.

Battlestar Galactica (BSG) has been called the best show on television, and as real as science fiction gets. It has dealt with issues of religious freedom, patriotism, terrorism, genetic engineering, and the ultimate science fiction question: what does it mean to be human? While the re-imagined BSG may not be packed with cool techie tools (the bad guys don't even have laser guns for frak's sake!), this book shows that the science in the series has a lot to say about the use of science and technology in our lives today. What are the principles behind artificial gravity and sublight propulsion? Are Cylons men or machines? How are humanoid Cylons able to interface with computers? By tackling these and other intriguing questions, The Science of Battlestar Galactica takes us billions of miles away from Earth so that we can turn around and see ourselves from a different perspective.
 Published in 2010; 339 pages.

Have a great day

Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

You know you're wasting your life?

Tonight on TV,  I have This Is Us. Here's a recap of season 1 (spoilers):

Tonight: "A Father's Advice":

The season two premiere picks up during the Big 3's 37th birthdays as Randall and Beth debate a big life change, Kate takes the first step in pursuing a new passion and Kevin balances the demands of his career and relationship. Meanwhile, Jack and Rebecca deal with the fallout of their big fight.
This is a really fabulous, heart-felt show.

Both. It's that kind of well-written family drama. Tissues. Have tissues.

Last night's premiere of Scorpion had some good Quintis moments:

So, yes, TV fandom is coming back. My other two shows start in October. 

Have a great evening

(oh yeah, I really did hate the dream sequence dance number in Scorpion last night)

Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Monday, September 25, 2017

Realizing it's Monday ....

It's the first day of the Fall TV season!  A new episode of Scorpion is on tonight!!


Season 4 begins with Team Scorpion being forced to work with their old nemesis Mark Collins in order to prevent the extinction of mankind. Meanwhile, Walter and Paige awkwardly navigate their new relationship...
 Sadly, they are also incorporating a dream sequence musical number (stupidly following trends):

But I will let it go this once.

I caught a few episodes on SciFi channel, the marathon of the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica from about 12 years ago. I hadn't kept up with it while it was originally running. So I had to start watching that from the beginning, starting with the miniseries via Amazon Instant.

Good God, I loved that original series in the 70s.

Currently reading NOBLE SATYR by Lucinda Brant. 1st of 6 in the Roxton Family Saga series. Historical romance-ish.

1740s France and England—the age of hedonism and enlightenment.
Renard, Duke of Roxton, head of an ancient noble family, is wealthy beyond measure. Arrogant, and self assured, this noble satyr is renowned throughout Europe as the consummate lover of other men’s wives, but Roxton’s heart remains his own. Beautiful, optimistic, and headstrong, Antonia Moran is determined to flee the Court of Versailles and escape the lascivious attentions of the predatory Comte de Salvan. Antonia orchestrates her escape with the unwitting assistance of the Duke of Roxton, a man she has been warned against as too dangerous for her to know. Roxton is an unlikely savior—arrogant, promiscuous, and sinister. Antonia's unquestioning belief in him may just be his salvation, and her undoing.

Published 2013, 382 pages. I've been meaning to read this for ages; I've had the book since 2014 according to Amazon. So it was time. I love the Georgian time period.

Have a great day

Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Friday, September 22, 2017

Where. have. you. been?

Sorry, didn't mean to miss two days in a row.

Wednesday - cleaned the upstairs living room because a new couch is coming in tomorrow.
Thursday -- really not feeling well so I slept.

So now it's suddenly Friday.Whoosh.

Steve has a fundraiser, Ales for Trails, to go to tonight for which he's one of the sponsors. I'm not.

It frees up another ticket that Steve can give to friends/customers. And while I'm feeling better, I'm not 100%. And I don't like leaving the boys alone; I'm gone on Wednesdays and Sundays.

So today I'll work on cleaning the downstairs area for the new couch there. And tonight I'll watch the second episode of Outlander season 3 that was on last Sunday. "Surrender":

Hiding in a cave, Jamie leads a lonely life until Lallybroch is threatened by redcoats pursing the elusive Jacobite traitor. In Boston, Claire and Frank struggle to coexist in a marriage haunted by the ghost of Jamie.
The new Fall season starts on Monday.

I'll go into detail then.

In the past when I haven't felt well, I've felt like coloring. :)  Yesterday, I felt like reading a cozy mystery. So I started DEATH BY DARJEELING by Laura Childs. 1st of 18 in series featuring Theodosia Browning, owner of the Indigo Teahouse in Charleston, South Carolina.

Ordinarily, Charleston's Indigo Tea Shop is an oasis of calm. But when tea shop owner, Theodosia Browning, caters the annual Lamplighter Tour of historic homes, one of the patrons turns up dead. Never mind that it's Hughes Barron, a slightly scurrilous real estate developer. Theodosia's reputation is suddenly on the line. Aided by her friends and fellow tea shop entrepreneurs, Theo sets about to unravel the mystery of the deadly Darjeeling and encounters a number of likely suspects. Tanner Joseph, the fiery environmentalist, held a grudge against the developer for his misuse of land. Timothy Neville, the octogenarian major domo for the Heritage Society, opposed Hughes Barron's election to the board. And Barron's unsavory partner might very well profit from a cleverly written buy-sell agreement.

Published in 2001; 256 pages. I will probably finish it, but the writing, or rather the book's structure, wasn't up to standard. Just my reading taste.

It's dark and rainy today. Lovely.

Have a good weekend

Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

I make this look good


Actually this lovely rainy Tuesday, I have to rent a carpet cleaner to suck up water from our carpet because of a leaking pipe. Fun!

And I'm having coffee with my friend Danielle this afternoon.

Today is also Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Guess what?! Only one week until the new season starts! This Is Us.

And only six days until the premiere of Scorpion!

The long summer hiatus is almost over!

Otherwise, nothing on TV for me tonight.

Have a great day!

Much love
PK the Bookeemonster