Entry tags:
Bookkeeping
1. The Amulet of Samarkand - Jonathan Stroud
On the one hand, for a book that takes potshots at Harry Potter, this doesn't have the awesome stop-and-roll-in-it worldbuilding that I find one of Rowling's greatest strengths. I was not sensawunda'd. On the other hand, I do like Bartimaeus. I don't care much about the human MC, but he's also such a sociopathic little thing that I'm curious what Stroud is going to do with him. Despite being underwhelmed, I think I'm curious enough to read the next one.
2. Money Shot - Christa Faust.
I need more hard-boiled noir in my life. I also need to reread The Maltese Falcon.
Something terrifying is happening to me. I seem to be talking myself into joining a running group. A twelve-week training group in preparation for a 10k charity run, to be exact.
For those of you not already speechless with laughter, let me clarify something: I am a flabby ex-smoker who runs like a Romero zombie. I hate running. I hate jogging. I would probably let the zombies/wild dogs/cannibals eat me rather than run. But I also have the metabolism of a Romero zombie, and I'm pretty sick of that. If twelve weeks of running can't get me into better shape, I think I will officially quit and live on cheesecake and beer for the rest of my life.
On the one hand, for a book that takes potshots at Harry Potter, this doesn't have the awesome stop-and-roll-in-it worldbuilding that I find one of Rowling's greatest strengths. I was not sensawunda'd. On the other hand, I do like Bartimaeus. I don't care much about the human MC, but he's also such a sociopathic little thing that I'm curious what Stroud is going to do with him. Despite being underwhelmed, I think I'm curious enough to read the next one.
2. Money Shot - Christa Faust.
I need more hard-boiled noir in my life. I also need to reread The Maltese Falcon.
Something terrifying is happening to me. I seem to be talking myself into joining a running group. A twelve-week training group in preparation for a 10k charity run, to be exact.
For those of you not already speechless with laughter, let me clarify something: I am a flabby ex-smoker who runs like a Romero zombie. I hate running. I hate jogging. I would probably let the zombies/wild dogs/cannibals eat me rather than run. But I also have the metabolism of a Romero zombie, and I'm pretty sick of that. If twelve weeks of running can't get me into better shape, I think I will officially quit and live on cheesecake and beer for the rest of my life.