Toy Story 3
Toy Story 2
Romance novels. Modern romance novels. You know the type. There's always a bare-chested man with superhero dimensions and long, flowing hair with a woman who through artifice or accident has managed to demonstrate a remarkable amount of cleavage and expose at least one shapely leg from toe to 3/4 of the way up her thigh. She will either be clinging to him as to a life ring in the stormy Atlantic while they gaze intensely into each other's eyes or busily swooning whilst he effortlessly supports her with one arm and stares broodingly into the middle distance.
Also, no modern crime whether true or fictional. I don't need to read vicariously sadistic accounts of gruesome murders.
There are lots of other books I won't read or am not interested in reading, but no other genres spring to mind.
I'm going to take this prompt two ways. (Didn't think I'd finish this, did ya?) Well, I am. One can understand "just" to indicate a small interval of time between conclusion and this writing. But! One can also think of it as indicating that finishing at all was a near run thing and only barely accomplished.
So, to take the latter first, I only just finished Anna Karenina. Don't misunderstand, the book is a triumph. The plot, characters, dialogue (even in translation) were all amazing. But the tale is so relentlessly depressing it's a long, hard slog to get through it. I think I probably read a half-dozen Wodehouse books interspersed with it just so I wouldn't get so down that I'd throw myself under a train. (Too soon?)
In the other sense, I think the most recently completed book I've read is Pandora by Holly Hollander by Gene Wolfe. Yep, you read that right. This is Mr Wolfe's foray into writing a detective novel. Not that none of his other stories have mystery, but I think this is the only novel which is entirely in that genre. The references are not quite as obscure, and it is typically brilliant, as Gene Wolfe's books tend to be.
|The dullness that is the Everglades|
Wednesday was a jaunt over to Lakeland to see the Flying Tigers. The previous day's game there had rained out with what had apparently been a storm of near biblical proportions. As a consequence, they scheduled a double-header of seven-inning games for Wednesday.
There was still a bit of rain threatening, but the first game started nearly on time. We lucked into an all-you-can-eat concession promotion and for a mere $11 we got seats right behind home plate and all the brats, hamburgers, popcorn, pretzels, etc. that we could handle. The Flying Tigers quickly fell behind the Fort Myers Miracle, and then the rain started about the 4th inning and really started coming down after the sixth. After waiting about 30 minutes, we figured it wasn't going to stop and figured we'd gotten our money's worth and left.
Picked up a nice hat with an element I haven't seen anywhere else on a baseball team's hat except those worn by the Seattle Pilots as were. Also, I think this was the largest field of any we visited, and that includes the MLB parks. Once again, the minor league experience was great. Met an usher who used to live near my neck of the woods and gave us a foul ball he got a hold of. With the rain and the mid-week game and it being only Advanced A minors, the crowd was sparse and if I'd been willing to run a bit, I could probably have ended up with three foul balls.
May update with pictures later.
In Megalopolis the sentiment of friendship wastes away. Friends become, in the vulgarism of modern speech, "pals," who may be defined as persons whom your work compels you to associate with or, on a still more debased level, persons who will allow you to use them to your advantage. The meeting of minds, the sympathy between personalities which all cultured communities have regarded as part of the good life, demand too much sentiment for a world of machines and false egalitarianism, and one detects even a faint suspicion that friendship, because it rests upon selection, is undemocratic.~ p. 31
There is a weird World War II movie called Kelly's Heroes with Clint Eastwood as the titular character. It's an odd film. Donald Sutherland plays a kind of hippie tank commander who is obsessed with the psychic rays people send off. Anyway.
It's interesting how many tweets on Twitter are so negative. Some are clever and funny, but it seems that most are just clever and cruel. Things like this.
It probably has a lot to do with the really succinct nature of the medium. But sometimes it seems excessive. I'm sure I've been guilty of it, but I will try to be better.