Book: Haunted (Palahniuk)

I'm a huge fan of Chuck Palahniuk. He's so ridiculously creative and unique, I can't even think of anyone to compare him to. While his most famous work so far is Fight Club - a great book which was made into a great movie starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton - he has written several books that in my opinion are even better.

Choke was the first book by Palahniuk that I ever read, and remains my favorite. It's being made into a movie, set for release sometime this September. It's been a few years since I read it and I'm gonna resist the urge to read it again, just so I can go into the movie with an open mind and not try to measure it against that book. Just as with Fight Club (and all of his books), Choke is a complicated story that can't possibly translate easily to the big screen - but, just as with Fight Club, if it works it will work very well. I can't wait!

I just finished reading Haunted. This is a collection of short stories told by a group of would-be authors, as part of what is supposed to be a 'writer's retreat' (one of the stories in particular is alleged to have caused many people to faint when read aloud by Palahniuk while on a publicity tour). This was a wild ride, and as usual for his books there is simply no predicting where the story is going, or what the characters are capable of. As much as I can't wait for Choke to be a movie, if this book ever gets there it'll be a blockbuster. The whole time I'm reading, my mind is showing the movie - I'm exhausted! Any potential director has his work cut out on this one...

Haunted is not for the Palahniuk virgin. If this is the first book you read by him it will probably be your last - and you'll probably burn it before anyone else suffers through it. If you've already experienced his genius, if you're already prepared for his insanity, then you'll love this one too. There is always a frenetic pace in his books that leads to some sort of climax, and this book is no exception.

If you've never read Palahniuk but want to, try starting with Survivor. This is also an excellent book but not quite so...I don't even know what word to use here, but if I did it would describe Haunted.

Movie: The Happening

I went to see The Happening this weekend, M. Night Shyamalan's latest effort. Hyped as his first R-rated film, I was hoping that it would make up for recent duds (in my opinion) like The Village and Signs. I made sure not to read any reviews before I went, just in case there was a trademark plot twist or some other reason that I'd benefit by remaining ignorant. Thankfully my friend didn't reveal to me the bad reviews she'd heard...

Anyway, I have one word to describe the movie: don'twasteyourmoney.

Maybe I was caught up in the hype, maybe I expected too much - or maybe it just sucked. The first half was pretty cool, mysterious and suspenseful as you try to figure out what's going on. The second half of the movie just dragged, and finally the end just sort of happens. No twist, and not even much of an explanation about what happened. It just ends. You ask "that's it??", and you get up and walk out wishing you had those 2 hours (and your $20) back.

Four thumbs down from us.

Desert wandering

In August I'm going on vacation. It starts and ends in Las Vegas, but the 9 days in between will be spent wandering the gravel roads of Indian country and hiking/biking the canyons of SW Utah. It's hard to find a greater side-by-side contrast in this country - the lavish crowded excess of Vegas vs the nearby deserts and canyons and their hundred mile views. It's an area of the country that everyone should see, and experience. I can't wait!

Two definite destinations are Canyonlands and Bryce Canyon. I don't want to have an itinerary so I'm not planning out anything more than the first and last nights (Vegas), but I know for sure that I will spend some time at these two parks. Zion and Glen Canyon and Capitol Reef are all also near enough that I'll probably find myself there as well, time permitting. I'll rent a mountain bike and throw it in the back of the car, and when the road ends the real fun begins.

Who knows when there will be time to read, but if so I just got a couple books with this trip in mind:

Life of Pi is a book that was recommended to me by a friend, after hearing how much I liked Siddhartha. While I'm far from religious, I do enjoy a journey whether it's physical or spiritual. In this case it appears to be both. Perfect!








Desert Solitaire seems to be a perfect book for this trip, about the author's experience while working as a park ranger in Utah's deserts. It is by no means a travel guide or reference book - it's more of an introspective look at time spent alone, away from society's trappings and inside one's own mind. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to relate...

Mitch Hedberg makes me laugh

Mitch Hedberg is (was) a funny dude. His comedy style was similar to Steven Wright, based almost entirely on simple observations made funny by his delivery. Some of my favorites:

I want to hang a map of the world in my house, then I’m gonna put pins into all the locations that I’ve travelled to. But first I’m gonna have to travel to the top two corners of the map so it won’t fall down.

If you find yourself lost in the woods, build a house - 'Well, I was
lost but now I live here'. I have severely improved my predicament.

I order the club sandwich all the time, but I'm not even a member, man. I don't know how I get away with it.

I sit at my hotel at night, I think of something that's funny, then I go get a pen and I write it down. Or if the pen's too far away, I have to convince myself that what I thought of ain't funny.

You know, I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask where they're going and hook up with 'em later.

My roommate said to me, 'I'm gonna go shave and use the shower, does anyone need to use the bathroom?' It's like some weird-ass quiz where he reveals the answer first.

Last week I helped my friend stay put. It's a lot easier than helping 'em move. I just went over to his house and made sure that he did not start to load shit into a truck.

On a stop light green means go and yellow means slow down, but on a banana it's just the opposite. Green means hold on, yellow means go ahead, and red means, 'where the hell did you get that banana at?'

I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.

My belt holds my pants up, but the belt loops hold my belt up. I don't really know what's happening down there. Who is the real hero?

Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day. Wearing a backpack and a turtleneck is like a weak midget trying to bring you down.

I want to be a race car passenger: just a guy who bugs the driver. "Say man, can I turn on the radio? You should slow down. Why do we gotta keep going in circles? Can I put my feet out the window? Boy, you really like Tide."

I played golf. I did not get a hole in one, but I did hit a guy. That's way more satisfying. You're supposed to yell, "Fore!" I was too busy yelling, "There ain't no way that's gonna hit him!"

My name is...wait - what day is it?

My married friends often bust my chops for not posting more about the single life and action on Duval Street. I can sympathize with them to a degree - I mean they log on to see what kind of crazy stuff goes on in Key West, and all I feed them is tales of paddling mangrove tunnels and rising gas prices and book reviews. Granted, not exactly compelling reading, and not much reason to tune in tomorrow to see what happened next. There are several reasons for this, including:
* Both of my parents read this, so I'd rather not tarnish their wholesome view of their son;
* Some past (and potential future) girlfriends read this, so I'd rather not enlighten them with sordid details;
* To be honest there really isn't that much to tell. I love my life, but it's probably boring to anyone that's looking for tales of tourist girl conquests and random Van Der Slooting.

That said...

Friday after work I met with some friends for dinner at Salsa Loca. This is my favorite restaurant in Key West, serving great food at a very reasonable price - which cannot be said about many restaurants on Duval Street. I have a weakness for chips and salsa, and also am unable to leave a single speck of food on my plate. This combination means that I leave there at least 15 pounds heavier, as stuffed as after Thanksgiving dinner. This would all be fine except that this night was only beginning.

One of my friends was moving the next morning, so we were celebrating. Adding several drinks to my already full stomach, by 10 PM or so I was overfilled and about to be overflowing. As we moved from Island Dogs to Irish Kevin's, I came to the sad realization that I was about to throw up. I made my way to the bathroom and waited impossibly long to get a stall (who poops in a bar bathroom??!) so I could have some privacy. Finally the stall door opened and in I went. Ah, relief! I was so happy (as happy as a dude in my condition could be, anyway) only to see that there already was barf all over the toilet. In some bizarre backwards twist of oxymoronic irony, it was too gross for me to barf there. I could only laugh at my sad predicament, wipe the sweat off my head, and walk back out to join my friends while remaining in my private misery. Somehow I survived, even managed to make it until 3 AM until I finally went home.

Saturday night it all started again. This time at least I didn't eat nearly as much, so no probs like the night before. Feeling good, we bounced from The Bull and Whistle to Fat Tuesdays to Sloppy Joe's to Irish Kevin's. While at Kevin's, I was approached by an attractive girl who had a couple of very nice things to say to me. Flattered, I followed her to the back of the bar where we could have a more intimate conversation. Her name was Shea - but no not Shea she clarified, Shay. We discussed her name at length, as it's a name I've always liked. As the night went on and we were periodically interrupted by guys stopping by to say hi, it became apparent that I wasn't the only guy she'd been flirting with. Not surprising really, I mean Irish Kevin's is a bit of a meat market. I said something about the fact that obviously I wasn't the only guy she was interested in, and in her effort to defend her integrity she told me "hey at least I didn't feed you the line that my name was Shay". Oops. I asked what her name really was, and sheepishly grinning she asked me what day it was...

We had a laugh about it, I mean really it was kind of enlightening (and humbling). Men aren't the only ones that bring a fake rap/bio into a bar, and women aren't the only victims of bogus pickup lines. To top it off I didn't buy a single drink all night - I think I like being the hunted, even if it means being lied to.