Syllabus #179

We went to Kroger this morning around 11:00 and the parking lot was half empty, which we thought was wild for a Sunday.  It must have been right before church let out, because it was just us and a bunch of fellow Satan Worshippers, trying to figure out which of the half-rotten vegetables remaining in the produce section would best complement the goats and small children we were planning to sacrifice later for Sunday Supper.  Seriously, I bought the last onion, so if you needed one for your post-slaughter onion juice recovery drink, I'm sorry.  

Anyway, I say we got there right before church let out, because by the time we left, the parking lot was packed and a parade of church ladies was marching into the store in their sensible pumps and wool coats.  HOWEVER, there was also a parade of, I don't know what kind of person, maybe members of the First Reformed Church of Abstaining from Sleeves and Zippers?  Interspersed with the church ladies, every 3rd or 4th person we passed in the parking lot was wearing a blanket instead of a coat.  Otherwise decently dressed people getting out of vehicles they didn't appear to live in, just swaddled like newborn babes.  Fleece blankets.  Afghans.  Chunky knit decorative throws that only people who don't have pets would dare to put on their couch.  All of it.  Like Joseph's Technicolor Dream Not-Coat.  

Life is a rich tapestry.  One that you sometimes wear in the cold, apparently.

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Have you noticed the Wordle being a little too on the nose lately?  FEAST on Thanksgiving was honestly offensive.  Why not GRAVY or PLATE or ROAST or GENOCIDE or oh gosh, that's too many letters, isn't it?  

Save your Spotify Wrapped, I'm here for all the end of hte year best books lists, so I can play catchup and make my reading list for 2023. Here's the NY Times 100.

Not to be outdone by dueling Top Ten Lists from Slate's Laura Miller and Dan Kois.  

Some years, I feel pretty smug, like I'm fully aligned with the book lists and discover just a handful that I missed and want to read.  This year, I can't believe I missed so many of these.

Analog Reading:

Small Game by Blair Braverman was a fast, intense read.  I kind of sped through it because I felt like the faster I read it, the sooner the characters would be out of their misery.  I mean that in a good way, though.  It was a well-crafted story that made me real glad to be reading it indoors, fully clothed, with a fridge full of food.

Flight by Lynn Steger Strong was also excellent and short, which is exactly what a holiday family gathering, the subject of the book, should be.  No shade to my family.  I love you and this is not a criticism.  It's just, it's hard to square each individual's expectations for holiday magic with the reality of time and energy, and my delicate constitution can only take so many consecutive days of eating and drinking like the world is going to end before I just feel like a bloated corpse.  

The Passenger, Cormac McCarthy's new banger.  And by banger I mean book about a guy who is more than a little interested in banging his own dead sister.  Also he's a salvage diver who gets wrapped up in a mystery about a plane crash, but the sister banging is a lot to unpack all on its own, so, you know.