An Open Letter to My Distinguished Opponent:

Dear Kate,

I cannot help but note that you have failed to update your book list or post your page count since... January.  This fact is distressing; although I know that you continue to read books in a geekly fashion, I am concerned that your commitment to the Geek Throwdown is waning.

I have been tempted to declare victory by default.  However, in my infinite magnaminity magnaminousness goodness, I will offer you a temporary reprieve. 

If you recall, we originally agreed that whichever Geek was behind at the quarter-year mark would be subject to an embarrassing penalty.  I am prepared to postpone your immanent (Get it?  GET IT?) social disgrace until the half-year mark. 

Be prepared.  It is coming.  And when it does, the shaming will be epic.

Hugs,

Rob

Going Postal:

I remembered recently that every morning before I went to high school senior year, I listened to American Music, Kiss Off, and Add it Up by the Violent Femmes.  For some reason, this seems like information key to explaining the following 12 years of adulthood. 

That's all for now.  So....

The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen:  Funnier than the first time I read it, but Franzen is still an ass.  Actually, I think I feel about Franzen in general the way I feel about watching all of The Simple Life, Season 2: I enjoyed the experience, laughed a lot, groaned a lot, and feel sleazy after.  Actually I guess that makes reading Franzen like many things that people do shamefully, in private.  Him as a person (read: utter contempt for all that is humane and compassionate) comes through so strongly that I sometimes began to feel nauseated.  Also: Long-Winded Bastard (see: Literary Parlor Tricks For Dummies).

Guards! Guards! and Small Gods, Terry Pratchett:  These books gave me tears.  Literal tears of mirth and delight.  Instead of a review, I'll refer you to St. Thomas Aquinas: "To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary.  To one without faith, no explanation is possible".

The Book of Daniel, E.L. Doctorow:  Dear Kate.  Normally when you push a book on me in such an aggressive fashion, I imagine it must be highly literary, studied extensively in the hallowed halls of the ivy league, cleverly written, and an astounding work of art.  I imagine I will not like it one bit.  When it comes to Doctorow, I am happy to be Very Wrong.  Very Wrong Indeed.

Iron Sunrise, Charles Stross:  Not as good as the first Eschaton-based novel.  Couldn't tell you why.

Coraline, Neil Gaiman:  Joyous.  Creepy.  Good. 

WEEK 17 TOTAL: 14,239 PAGES!

The Corrections:

Mistakes were made.

There, I said it.  Now I'm going to take accountability for the actual mistakes, detail the very important corrections that need to be made, and provide more information about what has actually happened - which officially gives me more integrity than this asshole.

1.  After some very careful accounting, my Actual Very Official Page Count is... 11,996 pages. 

2.  Application of sophisticated data magic algorithms has provided the following analysis which you shall find both stimulating and life-changing:  I have read 31 books over 13 weeks for an average of 2.38 books per week, 11,996 pages over the same period for an average of 922.76 pages per week and an average of 386.96 pages per book, and a 'category break down' of 31% Fiction, 9% Nonfiction, 16% Mystery, 9% Steampunk, 25% Science Fiction, 3% Fantasy, and 6% History.  Categorical terms are subjective. 

3.  If I continue at the current pace, by the end of 2012 I'll have read 47,984.5 pages - not quite the 50,000 I'm shooting for, but close enough to consider it a possibility.  In my defense, I've been distracted lately.

These are serious times.  Stay informed, stay alive.

Summer Broke on the Backs of Children:

I don't know that I have much to say this week - it's been a busy one.  But, I did read some books.  Instead, I'll give you a selection of music videos that provide a deep, meaningful commentary... but you'll have to piece it together based on your own subjective interpretations.  Go brains go!

Eastern Standard Tribe, Cory Doctorow, 224p.  I've wanted to read this guy for a while but haven't managed to get around to it; the kindle edition was a couple of bucks.  Pretty good, pretty short, a little bit scattershot with the ideas and light on character development.  It was an early one, though, and I understand that he's written more, that's better. 

The Woods, Harlan Coben, 324p.  Throw-away mystery found abandoned on a shelf somewhere, but entertaining.  Why can't all mystery writers be as good as James Lee Burke?  Oh.  Yeah. 

Proof Positive, Phillip Margolin, 448p.  See above.

Columbine, Dave Cullen, 443p.  Such an excellent book, for a number of specific reasons (Ok, so generally I generalize the platitudes.  It's a thing.).  First, the pacing was perfect and measured enough to keep the book moving as if it were plotted, without getting bogged down.  Second, it is exhaustively researched and meticulously detailed.  Third, the central argument is well-founded, logical, humane, and supported by both expert opinion and overwhelming evidence.  Last, the stories presented are given an extraordinary amount of compassion and humanity; I never felt like a voyeur or that the information was gratuitous.  I expected this book to be particularly hard to read and hard to revisit, instead I felt quite a bit of catharsis.  So there.  If that doesn't convince you to read it, I can't help you.

The Tiger's Wife, Tea Obreht, 368p.  As perfect as I expected. 

In other news, Kate is still missing.  There's probably a boy involved... It's a good thing I have no social or romantic life to speak of - I am an engine for kicking book-geek booty.

WEEK 14 TOTAL: 11972 PAGES!