The 50 Books Project

My old high school friend Brian is in town, and last night he came over for chili and Spirited Conversation, which is our specialty. We spent high school firmly entrenched on the opposite ends of the political and theological spectrums and would argue for hours over everything from the 2000 presidential candidates to whether the sky is blue. He is one of my most loyal and awesome friends, and we can talk for hours.  Last night we covered:

• Hockey (If you had to pick, who would you draft, Ovechkin or Crosby?)
• The Harry Potter books (Which is the best and why?)
• Public scandal by famous figures (specifically Ben Roethlisberger, Michael Vick, and the Dixie Chicks)
• The relevance of the British royal family (contemporary vs historical)
• Gustavo Dudamel (What? I can work him in anywhere.)
• Marriage, and regional attitudes toward it
• Oscar-nominated films (Which is more deserving of Best Picture, The King's Speech or The Social Network? Neither of us have seen Black Swan.)
• Books

Which brings me to the point of this post. I'm not much for new year's resolutions, as I generally abandon them two weeks into the year, but this year I set a goal for myself.  After a relatively lazy year of reading in 2010, I've commenced what I've dubbed The 50 Books Project. In 2011, I resolve to read at least 50 books--nearly one a week.  I feel that it's a realistic goal, notwithstanding the fact that one of the books on my to-read pile is--still--the 1,488-page A Suitable Boy. That alone will take me a month at the least.  So I've got work to do.

I'm keeping track of my reading through the very addictive Goodreads, with which I am obsessed, and so far I've read six books this year:

Wolf Hall (Hilary Mantel)
Safe Passage (I. Cook)
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (R. Skloot) -- Fascinating, thought-provoking study on medical ethics and race relations.
Eighteen Acres (N. Wallace)
One Day (D. Nicholls) -- Loved, until three chapters from the end, when I nearly threw it out the window.  But then I loved it again.
The Hunger Games (S. Collins) -- Ya'll.  This book.  I hadn't heard of the Hunger Games trilogy until the third one came out a few months ago and people were like "FINALLY! IT'S HERE!" Clearly I'd missed something.  But oh, this book. I read it in 24 hours.  So, so excellent.

So tell me, everyone, what have you read and loved recently?

Things that happened this weekend

I did my taxes.

I read the entirety of the first Hunger Games book, which was seriously excellent.

The Steelers won the AFC Championship and are going to the Super Bowl, HELL YEAH, leading to a flurry of text messages amongst the family and a discussion with my 18-year-old cousin about the extreme attractiveness of coach Mike Tomlin.

 

My sister got engaged!  That actually happened Friday night, but I wasn't allowed to talk about it. But it's Facebook-official now, so word is out.  No date is set yet, but--combined with the other two weddings already on my calendar--it's gearing up to be The Year of the Wedding: Redux. Stay tuned!

Waiting

It's nearly 6pm. After a day of baking, wrapping, listening to Lessons and Carols from Kings College, Cambridge, and not getting out of pajamas (save for a last-second run to the grocery store--mayday! where are the tomatoes for the minestrone soup?!), we're in the quiet hours before everything begins.

It's our usual Christmas Eve routine. Dad is at the church for the early family service. Mom and G are napping.  In an hour or so, Dad will get home, we'll have our traditional Christmas Eve supper of soup, salad, and bread, and we'll get dressed for the church--my favorite service, my favorite two hours of the whole year.

But for now, it's quiet in the house. The presents are wrapped. The fire is lit. The table is set. We're ready.

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Thursday miscellany

So. Hi. I'm recovering from a cold.  I'm sniffly and rather...gurgly? I guess that's the word I'd use.  Gross, but descriptive.  


*****
How awesome was Gwyneth on Glee the other night? I was impressed. For someone so seemingly aloof and unrelatable (have you SEEN her website, Goop? She says things like, "Now if you're unsure where to get powdered truffles for this recipe, I recommend popping on down to your local organic French food market.  My favorite is on the corner of Rue du Blah blah and the Champs-Elysees."), she was an utterly hilarious guest star--with a surprisingly excellent voice. It was the inclusion of the timeless "Conjunction Junction" and her Mary Todd Lincoln impression that put it over the edge for me.


*****
Well, Wills is getting married. Another dream crushed. I received a text message from Monica, my high school best friend (with whom I reconnected over the summer), on Tuesday night, saying "I wish we could be together at this devastating time."

*****

One week from now, I'll be visiting the DeJ side of the family in Georgia for Thanksgiving. Can. Not. Wait.

Autumn in New York

So. I literally started this post a month ago. At that point, we had just had SEVEN CONCERTS in EIGHT DAYS for work, oh my aching head, and the week before that I had made a quick getaway to visit Jules and Michael in Ithaca, NY. It was a whirlwind trip, and I had two requests: apples and fall leaves.

History repeating

My five-year college reunion was last night, and I got suckered into going by some passive-aggressive peer pressure and, most importantly, the fact that it was at the pub directly across the street from my apartment. I had absolutely no excuse to avoid it, and – as one is – I was mildly interested to see who showed up. Alumni events have a tradition of being sparsely attended, but a respectable number of people had RSVP’d, so I girded my proverbial loins and registered.


Judging by this one – being my first reunion and all – these things are fun for about the first hour. You see people you haven’t seen in five years, meet a few “new” ones (or, well, you’re apparently new to them, despite the fact that you saw them at the dining hall daily for four years), track down the few people you do care about seeing, and reminisce with the smattering of fellow Londoners from your semester abroad. That all takes an hour or so. And then suddenly it’s nearly three hours since you arrived and you’re with your usual friends at your usual table at your neighborhood pub with the musician playing his usual lineup of songs (various Irish tunes, “Hey Jude,” “Sweet Caroline,” “Country Roads,” and that one Irish song that you’ve never quite learned the words to, but it involves clapping and gets your London friends hollering, all “Hey! Guys! Remember this from Killarney?!"). And then you’re ready to go home.


The thing about reunions is that nothing has changed. The Mean Girls (specifically, a Bert-and-Ernie pair with the same first name and last names both beginning with “McK”) are still the Mean Girls. The old social groups start to reemerge, separating like oil and water, once the novelty of “Hey, I remember you!” has worn off. The two guys who wrote point/counterpoint pieces for the campus paper are in intense discussion at the bar, one with a beer and the other with a martini (dirty, two olives), one now writing for the Washington Post and the other a former Giuliani staffer. The clingy guy you tried desperately to avoid for four years (and still do, occasionally, when you spot him on the Metro) inevitably appears at your elbow, and one by one, people around you “spot friends across the room” or “need another drink” and flee. It’s all weirdly, yet unsurprisingly, the same.


Except that Mean Girl #2 has gained 15 pounds. So, you know, small victories.

Um....thanks? I think?

On Friday evening I was out to dinner with my grandparents, who were in town for a short visit.  We were having a lovely discussion about the arts or our family or the memorial service at which my grandfather was to eulogize the next day, when, out of the blue, I received a text message from my friend Ashley.  Ash's husband Jason is....well, I don't think it's a stretch to say that he's a fan of me.  As evidenced by this:


So Jason and I were just discussing the new show on TLC, "Sister Wives,"** and he says to me 'I wish Hannah could just move to Saint Louis and I would become a polygamist.'


How do you resume talking about funerals after that?


After some thought, I decided to take it as flattery, rather than a sign that I should invest in some Mace. And after further thought, I decided to share it with all of you, because it cracked me the heck up.


**This show looks horrifying, by the way.