Yeah, I liked this book better the first time I read it.

A Hell Of A Dog is one of a series of more or less dog-related mysteries, written by professional dog trainer Carol Lea Benjamin. I've never read her training books but a good friend of mine in Dallas found one of her books really helpful when the friend was a new owner of a Cardigan Welsh corgi. (A herding/driving breed intended to work closely with its owner. Keep that in mind.)

The narrator of the books is Rachel Alexander, former dog trainer and now unlicensed private investigator. Her partner is Dashiell, a rescued pit bull. In this story Rachel is hired to go undercover at a dog trainers' convention, because the ideological divides between training schools of thought at such that the organizer is afraid someone is going to get killed or something.

And, of course, someone does.

( More about the book, which I don't like as much as I thought I did. )

So. On review, Benjamin might write fair-play mysteries, but she doesn't play fair with her characters. And after I catch an author cheating on behalf of the character--using unreasonable means to set the character up to be right and on the side of the angels--I am a lot less inclined to want to read about them. Even when the mystery pretty much works.

Another thing to keep in mind myself.

Okay--I have tomorrow off as a vacation day and will be trekking up to visit my folks, so I'm off to get an anniversary card (their 45th, which I think impressive, especially since they still like each other) and bake some cornmeal muffins. It's been cold and rainy up home lately so Dad is making soup for tomorrow, the muffins are my contribution. If I'm not online again until Monday, see you later!

There is a very interesting discussion going on over at sartorias's journal about identification with characters in fiction, and also (if I'm reading it correctly) what we as readers may need fiction to do for us. "Light" reading is often condescended to by people who think Literature has to Teach Us About The Serious Business Of Life. However, what happens when you're getting your nose rubbed in the Serious Business Of Life? Is it okay to read light matter then?

(That was a rhetorical question. I think you know my answer already.)

Anyway, it occurred to me a minute ago that, while things are not exactly out of control at work right now, there is a great deal of stuff happening and about to happen that will make my workplace uncomfortable and inconvenient for... well, the foreseeable future. (Renovations. Can't live with 'em, can't burn down the faculty that wants to take our space.)

Is there a connection between my tiredness and sense of impending DOOM and the fact that every time I pick up my guitar lately I warm up by playing the chorus of "Always Look On the Bright Side Of Life"? Oh, I think so.

(And also, the chord progression I have is G-Em-Am-D7-G, which means your fingers have to happily skip across the fretboard just to play the darned thing. I am convinced that's part of it. In fact, every second line in "Yellow Submarine" does pretty much the same thing--Em-Am-C-D7. Minor chords are supposed to sound sad, but that progression makes your fingers happy.)

And in case anyone else needs it right now:

Well, not a great big rant, but a rant nonetheless.

I was at a bookstore on Tuesday evening and stumbled on a graphic novel based on the life of Anne Frank. I thought that was an interesting use of the medium, and it's not what my rant is about.

No, this one has been brewing for a while. A long time ago I remember reading a review of a TV show called My So-Called Life and in the review there was a passing reference to the main character, a teenage girl, and her "cringeworthy" comments on reading The Diary Of Anne Frank--basically, the kid said she identified with Anne, and of course that was a symptom of this American kid being overdramatic and self-centred, which is always the case when teenage girls read the Diary and identify with the writer.

Hellooo?

Have these people actually read The Diary Of Anne Frank? Because, while Anne is a symbol of the Holocaust now, at the time when she wrote the diary she was just a little girl, in a weirdly restricted environment that meant most of her life was internal and led to her writing a lot more about her thoughts and her feelings than most young diarists probably do. But I've read that diary, and so have a lot of you, and when I read it (at fourteen) the thing that struck me was how very similar her thoughts and feelings and worries were to mine. She didn't spend all her time brooding about the Nazis and the war and the danger. She wrote about feeling jealous of her big sister, and misunderstood by her parents, and about the boy she had a crush on, and about dreams she had and things she wanted to do and ways she wanted to improve herself. She doesn't spend the diary writing about politics--when I read it I was astonished at the minutiae and the immediacy of her concerns. I think I expected her to write about the war, not herself. But it makes sense--you write diaries about what you do and think and dream. That's what Anne did. She didn't write a lot about the wider issues, and up until the last minute she was hoping the British would arrive in time and rescue them. (That's one of the horrible ironies about her life and death--they so very nearly made it.)

And here's the thing: Anne Frank was a real little girl, and when other little girls say they identify with her, they mean they identify with the little girl on the page, not the Holocaust martyr, because when you read the diary (and so far I have only dared read it once) what you get is a picture of a real human person. The girl in the diary is not a symbol. She is a person, and when you read her diary she comes vibrantly alive. And shaking your finger at other little girls who have that eureka moment and realize Hey, this girl is a girl like me, and this tragedy happened to real people just like me and my family is so utterly missing the point that I don't have words to express it.

Girls who identify with Anne are not trying to say "my life is so dramatic it's like I'm in danger from the Nazis!" They are actually, you know, identifying with this very relatable little girl and her very relatable life.

[Incidentally, I am not speaking from personal experience here--nobody ever jumped to conclusions about my experience of this book. But I was too spooked by the book to talk about it, so I may have just been lucky.]

Yes, obviously Anne's story and Anne's life have a broader significance--now. But think about it. One of the reasons her tragedy happened is because Anne's people were not considered real human people with real human lives. So telling little girls who relate to her as a real human that they should not? Is a bad thing.

One of the things reading is supposed to promote is empathy. So, teachers and reviewers, when you hear some little girl remark that she "identifies" with Anne Frank or some other person she met in a book--use your own empathy and take a minute to find out why. Don't just assume that little girls are stupid and selfish and therefore she has only stupid, selfish feelings, okay? Maybe what she got out of the reading experience was something profoundly moving to her that will change the way she thinks about people who died long ago and far away. Don't ruin it.

VUE Weekly article about the new tour, the new band, and ch-ch-changes...

Speaking as someone who celebrated turning thirty by changing careers, I think he's got the right idea. (Not that Matt is changing careers. Don't panic.)

I'm pretty sure they're getting easier, since I find I'm getting them a lot more often than I used to and I am damned sure I haven't gotten any smarter.

Last night's category? The Beatles.

The question? "Which album cover shows the band with semaphore flags?"

( Yeah, I got it too. )

I don't feel stellar today--I had curry for supper last night which generally doesn't affect me, but I felt unsettled all night. This morning I was reluctant to pour coffee on top of what I suspect is mild heartburn, so of course now I have a caffeine headache. (Some of it might be atmospheric pressure, I am occasionally susceptible to that and it's been unsettled recently.)

And of course some of it is I'm tired and jaded and am ready for a couple of days off. I've got tomorrow, which is Canada Day, and then I'm also taking Friday as the first of my long weekends. We'll see if that works.

(Yes, I know, I'm complaining a lot lately. I've recently decided I'm a big wuss, and that has its good points--my sister, who is much braver than I am and never backs down from anything is currently sick with illness partly brought on by stress. It's occurred to me that having a lower breaking point like mine might be a protective factor. I was about to write some more about my sister but on second thoughts I guess that would be inappropriate, so I'll just remark she is one of my favourite people and I'm kind of worried about her.)

Also, although I get more depressed in unrelentingly sunny climates, I might be suffering from not being able to get out and enjoy the rain as well as a little too much of it. So, in an effort to shake that off, here's George Harrison at the Concert for Bangladesh, singing "Here Comes the Sun."



There are times of the year in Halifax when this is the greatest song ever written.

I just bought a ticket to see Stompin' Tom Connors--the day before the AC/DC show.

( Multiple videos behind the cut, for those who may not appreciate the artistry of Stompin' Tom. )

I wish I could find "Name the Capitals," which was the song used in every Social Studies class of my youth to ingrain the provincial capitals in our little heads.

Rubber Ducky

And here is footage of Ernie singing the song:



Have i subscribed to the Sesame Street YouTube channel? What do you think??

I may or may not lock this entry later--I'm just writing it to have a convenient place to find the ideas again if I ever need them.

( Cut to keep the silly from getting out. )

Answer: They are both fans of BlackBerries.

Okay, in Coney's case that would be blackberries, and he eats them--but man, did he jump up on my lap on Saturday with big hopeful purrs. It was all I could do to get his head out of the container of berries so I could fish one out for him. (And then, of course, another one.)

Tonight on Merlin--CSI: Camelot.

Also, kind of a fun scene in which Merlin and Arthur argue about whether Merlin is in love with Gwen. (Who is, for no particular reason, a maidservant in this show. How will she end up queen? Not my problem. Besides, she and Merlin are obviously made for each other.)

And now for the second episode of the evening (why two? Dunno, I just shut up and enjoy my good fortune), in which a sorceress (same one as the previous show) poses as a handmaid and tries to manipulate Merlin.

Who should only have eyes for Gwen, so he deserves all he gets.

Also: I initially wondered whether Gwen's father was played by the guy from Red Dwarf, but now I don't think so. [*Edited Monday morning to add--nope, not the same guy, just a vague resemblance.*]

Yeah, I know: silly, silly show. However--still young and cute, with an early-Beatles haircut!

Okay, it's about time to change the strings on Indy. I've been using D'Addario Phosphor Bronze lights, which are fine, but at our last lesson Guitar Teacher talked a little about his preferences and why, and the upshot was I decided this time I'd like to try a different type of string. I got a set of Martin Silk and Steels, which are less "bright" than the phosphor bronzes. They cost a dollar more or something so that was no biggie, and I may decide I prefer the brighter sound, but why not give them a try, right?

Then I had the bright idea of recording the different strings so later I can think about which I prefer. Yeah, the current strings are getting old, but I decided to take a video anyway of me playing "Yellow Submarine" and compare the sound later. Just for my own interest.

Now, I've mentioned before that when someone besides cats watches me I get nervous and start making extra mistakes, right? Well--as soon as I pressed "record" on my camera, it was as if someone was sitting in the room with me. I was all thumbs.

Which may well mean that I can use this to get over my nerves about being WATCHED. I don't need to torture friends or family to do it: I just have to record video after video of me playing guitar badly. I don't have to *do* anything with them--I'll surely erase them--but the feeling of being recorded is very much like the feeling of having someone watching. I mean, it's not exactly the same thing but getting over this anxiety should at least help, right?

Don't worry--I won't post any of them unless they start getting half-decent.

Now to make sure the backup camera battery is charged!

...I am also listening to The Beatles again. (Yeah, I know you're shocked.) I don't think I ever specifically listened to all the lyrics of this song before:



Not sure whether to laugh or cry, really. Also, if I can find a good tab somewhere I might make it my summer project to learn that one--the version in my chord book is so simple that I would really need to learn the riff to make it worth anyone's while to listen to me.

And--back to my edits.

I posted yesterday the Joel Plaskett Emergency (and also, apparently, the friends and family of his latest tour) (including Joel's dad) are opening for Paul McCartney at the Halifax show.

Now I find an article explaining how they got the gig: Paul picked them himself. According to the linked article, the show promoter was asked to send Paul tapes of Canadian acts so he could choose his own opening act.

Not even Paul McCartney is immune to Joel Plaskett!

(No, but seriously--that's really cool of Paul.)

It definitely feels like the weeks are getting longer, and the weekends shorter, with no particular end in sight. At least next week I'll start taking Fridays off, which should help. I was planning to go to the Christina Martin show at Tribeca last night and even though I'd been looking forward to it I just could not make myself go out. I just kept thinking how tired I was going to be in the morning.

I haven't been watching Harper's Island closely on television, but I might check out a DVD set if there ever is one. I actually like the show, I'm just disorganized. I think we're nearly to the finale, so I might try to watch to the end. I'd heard it billed as Scream meets And Then There Were None and I know it's mighty silly, but I kind of like it.

I watched the episode last night and this morning the Wikipedia death chart reflected what I saw. Apparently Global (the Canadian station airing it) is showing the same episode the American network shows, but we see it a couple of days earlier. I understand the US network shifted the show from Thursday to Saturday, but Global didn't follow suit. Weird.

So--anything I have to say about last night's episode is spoilery. ( And therefore behind a cut in case anyone out there cares. )

Like I say, I'll try to catch the next couple of episodes. And also try not to get attached to anyone else.

I didn't hear about Michael Jackson dying until I got home from dinner with catseatsocks and checked in on Facebook. I'd already heard about Farrah Fawcett, which made me kind of sad--although given that she seemed to handle things with grace and courage, and appeared to be in a pretty good place at the end of her life, I guess that tempered the feeling of... I dunno. Getting older.

Michael Jackson obviously loomed much larger as a pop culture figure over the last twenty years. I won't deny he was talented (although I never owned one of his records or added anything of his to my iTunes library.) And I have sympathy for how troubled he was.

But... okay, I found the pedophilia rumours credible, and I used to teach little kids, including a few who had been sexually abused, and I just can't find it in me to feel anything at all about Jackson's death. I'm not glad, I'm not sorry, it's just not impinging on my consciousness at all. I expect I'll be changing the channel on a lot of entertainment shows for the foreseeable future. (I'm not criticizing anyone who feels bad right now. I still remember walking into the kitchen one morning and my dad telling me John Lennon had been murdered. I still feel bad about Lennon, although frankly that's probably a heaping helping of "how could anyone do that?" So I get that a lot of people feel a loss right now, in the way that the death of any artist whose work spoke to you is a loss. I'm not minimizing that feeling, I just don't share it right now.)

And on Facebook last night I also found out that Coney's mother, the 18-year-old grande dame Siamese, Sushi, passed away. I feel pretty bad about her, probably because it reminds me that we were fifteen years younger when Coney came into my life, and he's not a kitten anymore.

Anyway.

I recently read a mystery called Devil's Food, one of a relatively new series about a baker. The character was charming and I thought the author did a really good job of integrating a fairly large cast, making nearly all of them feel like real people who were part of the main character's world.

I would definitely read another in this series, but I'm not sure this particular book really worked for me. It took me a little while to figure out why.

( Spoilery commentary. )

On second thought, maybe I don't need to read another book in this series after all.