Blue Highways, by William Least Heat-Moon, is the selection for the Travel Book Club that I Co-coordinate.  This sucker is over 400 pages long, and this was my second reading of it. 

First, to explain the title, on a road atlas, the main highways (I-40, I-15, etc.) are in red.  The blue highways are those two-lane state roads that go through all the small towns, where you cringe if you get stuck behind a Sunday driver because you can’t pass them because the road is also twisty and hilly and there are lots of double yellow lines in the middle. 

aka The Epic Book of Epic-ness

Heat-Moon wrote this book in the late 70s, after splitting from his wife, wryly called “The Cherokee,” and losing his job.  He decides to take a year to explore the United States, using only the blue highways.  It is a classic tale of the author using the journey to discover, not only his country, but more about himself. 

I’m not sure how old I was when I read this the first time.  All I remember is that I had a conception that the author was “older” than I was at the time, and that his age was in my distant future.  (I can’t have been that young…I was living in Nevada for sure, and I’m guessing I was in my late 20s.)  So, it came as a shock to learn on my second reading that the age of the author at the time was…38.  Gulp.  That’s a year younger than I am right now.  My second thought, after that shock and realizing how I’ve aged since the first reading (really!  not that much!) was that, hey, I would love to go on a year-long road trip!  But that’s another story. 

I would recommend this book.  Heat-Moon is a gifted writer in the style of Mark Twain.  His powers of describing people cannot be surpassed.  I will paraphrase…”He had the kind of face that had a lot of miles on it.”  “She was the kind of octogenarian that made you not want to miss it.”  Really!  Can’t you just picture those people, in one short sentence?  And Heat-Moon did all kinds of research about the places he visited.  He made a point of going to out-of-the-way places, and places with strange names, just because they had strange names.   Or were ironically named Nameless.  If you have any love of road trips, eating in diners, obeying no clock but your own, this is a wonderful story.

But be prepared.  Do you remember I mentioned this book is 400+ pages?  And that the print is small?  I apologize, Mr. Heat-Moon, but as charming as I found this book, I also found it a wonderful cure for insomnia, of which I am a frequent victim.  Read it during the day, sitting up!  And be prepared to spend some time!  This is a book to be savored, not gulped. 

What I most wanted to do is to have a gigantic United States map to hang on a wall, so I could highlight the places he visited.  It was also a thrill when he passed through North Carolina and I recognized place names from the coast, and when he passed through Northern Nevada, and I recognized places I’d visited.  Nothing gives buy-in like writing about a place the reader has lived, and since he visited so very many places, this book can have a ring of familiarity with almost everyone. 

The English major in me wants to write a paper comparing this book with the book the TBC read last year, Red Dust, by Ma Jian, that I was calling “I Hate China” in my head.   Too much analysis for a simple blog post, but suffice it to say that the both feature men who travel their own country when their personal lives tank, but they are very, very different books in tone and manner. 

And now, pardon me…I’m going looking for a big road map…

I was a little apprehensive about seeing a silent film…because what else can you really do?  But, I prepared myself to watch a Film, capital F very much on purpose.  I was advised by my friend and movie critic Arlene that wearing a monocle might help, but it was not entirely necessary to appreciate it. 

I did appreciate it.  First, the movie wasn’t entirely silent.  There was the most amazing musical score going almost the entire time, and rarely has the music played so much into the message of the film.  I’m sure this was due to scant dialogue.  I was not at all surprised that the score won at last night’s Golden Globes.

The casting was great, though I admit that I was surprised to learn that the slightly paunchy “aging” actor [Jean Dujardin]  is just one month younger than I am.  (P90X, people!  Let’s keep that aging at bay!)  Actually, the lead actress [Berenice Bejo] is only 4 years younger than I am, and she is lovely, and easily plays a role that I assume is aged in her early 20s.  (I should look up both these folks’ names, but I am afraid I’ll lose my writing momentum.)  John Goodman is hilarious and wonderful as the director, and I am glad to see that – oh, heck, I need to look up their names – see, I inserted them in brackets – anyhow, James Cromwell is not playing a criminal or some equally unappetizing character.  (His portrayal of Prince Phillip in The Queen may be accurate, but I still want him to be nicer than that in real life.) 

Overall, it was a fun movie, and, as Lisa pointed out, we also had a really good audience who remained quiet throughout the film, and laughed in the right places, and sighed in the right places.  If we were to go purely on storyline, I’d say it wouldn’t get an Oscar – perhaps wouldn’t even get an Oscar nod.  On the other hand, it is rather a history of this era of movies told in a really creative way, and for that I give them a hand.  Last night it won for best comedy or musical, and The Descendants won for Best Drama.  I figure these two will be the leading contenders on Oscar night, and I’m pulling for The Artist  for sheer quirkiness and originality.

On a related note, I feel that this years slate of potential Oscar candidates is just not up to the calibre of last year.  Last year, I was AFRAID to see some of these movies…127 Hours!  Black Swan!  Not that I particularly care for movies that make me cringe, but I do want to feel a little uncomfortable or torn or weepy or something…this year,  I’ve been entertained plenty, but nothing has really had that “wow” factor yet.  I thoroughly enjoyed Moneyball and have been singing it’s praises far and wide.  I’d even consider buying it in this age of streaming Netflix and amazon.  But still, at the end of the day, it’s just a really entertaining sports movie. 

Left on my list, however, are War Horse, Hugo, and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (the American version).   We’ll see.  And, of course, these are just predictions I read somewhere a few weeks ago.  Guess I’ll have to wait until the nominations come out.  Then maybe I’ll branch into the Leading Actress and/or Actor categories! 

In the meantime, I have 150+ pages of a 400 page book to read before next Wednesday the 25th, and then a 500+ page book to read before the 31st.  I really need to stop my How I Met Your Mother  marathons on Netflix…

First, let me address the fact that I skipped blogging yesterday.  Just was too lazy.  Welcome to another 2012 resolution ,where I don’t drop a worthy project just because I didn’t adhere to some too-perfectionistic rule that I made up.  I’m back! 

And now, to the topic at hand.  I drink a lot of soda.  I mainly drink Diet, but I allow myself the real stuff if I’m on a plane because it soothes my stomach.  I also drink the real stuff  in times of Extreme Psychological Distress, becuase it soothes my soul.

I’ve resolved to give it up this year, though, mainly because soda is a gateway drug for me.  After I drink a soda, I have that sweet craving in my head, and then I proceed to eat whatever candy I can find.  (Trust me, I can tell you who has candy at any given time in my Place of Employ.)  So far, so good.  I haven’t slipped up and had soda this year.  I’ve been drinking a lot of tea – and not the sugar laden stuff like Arizona tea, either, because if I’m going to drink that, I might as well have soda.  So far, unsweetened iced tea does not give me the same psychological joy that soda does, and I have still been eating candy.  But, small steps.  The resolution was “no soda,” not “no candy.” 

I bought two 20 oz. real Cokes on New Year’s Eve, Dec. 31, 2011.  I usually bought two:  one for me, one for Husband.  (After a day or two, I’d figure he just wasn’t going to drink it, though, and so I’d steal the second one as well.  And then he’d ask if we had soda, invariably 10 minutes after I’d guzzled the sucker, and I’d feel really gluttonous.) 

Back to the two real Cokes.  I drank my Coke on New Year’s Eve to keep myself awake until midnight.  That’s kind of when the resolution formed.  But, the second Coke sat in the fridge, untouched by man or beast (or me) for a week and a half now.  My friend Elizabeth and I have concocted a scheme.  I’ve now forbidden Husband to drink this particular Coke, and I’ve put a note on it in sharpie – “Drink on 12/31/2012.”  I found the UPC code, so that you, dear readers, will know at the end of the year that I did not open this bottle of soda.  It is sealed, and ready for me in December. 

I present to the court Photographic Evidence A: 

You see that the bottle is sealed and full.  It has UPC code 0 490440 3.  Drat, there is nothing on there to indicate the date I took the photo, but you’ll just have to believe me.  On New Year’s Eve, I’ll take a picture of the sealed bottle with a copy of the newspaper, or whatever.  And then I will gleefully drink it.

“But Joan,” you may ask, “what is to keep you from drinking tons of OTHER bottles of soda in the year, and just keeping this one around, and fooling us all?”

And to that I answer, well, you’ll just have to trust me.  For those of you who know me in real life, and who see me updating my IM status everyone morning with “XX Days No Soda” (this is you Greely and Eliza), you’ll know if I falter.  But here’s hoping I don’t. 

In the meantime…gimme that  deeply unsatisfying tea.

Sunday afternoon Husband and I went to see The Descendants, starring George Clooney.  George plays Mike King, who lives on Hawaii with his wife and two daughters.   He is the “back-up parent.”  The main gist is that his wife is in a boating accident and is in a coma, and that he finds out through his older daughter that his wife was cheating on him immediately prior to the accident.  Mike begins his journey of reconciling his feelings for his wife and trying to build a relationship with his daughters. 

This movie had many beautiful scenes of Hawaii, but overall, I found it rather “meh.”  There is a lot of wry humor and some wrenching moments (or perhaps they SHOULD be wrenching, but don’t quite make it).   Worth seeing, and possibly worth a Best Picture nomination, but I don’t see it winning. 

On a more personal note, Mike’s wife is in a coma throughout the entire movie, and they do present it pretty well.  She is not beautful, and her lips are dry, and her hair is greasy, and they have her clutching rolled up towels so her hands won’t clutch.  I’m usually a big crybaby in movies.  Strange, I held it together really easily throughout this movie.  Perhaps since I’ve gone through that with family on a personal level, I’ve got no tears left to shed, or I don’t find it romantic.  (Does that sound strange?  I mean romantic in the picture of the loved ones crying over the sick  person.)  I guess I’ve been there, and there is no romance there.  It is very, very sad to see a loved one in that condition and barely be able to recognize them as the person you know. 

This woman caused a lot of pain and hurt, and more than one character is very angry at her.  Sometimes they yell at her.  I admit those parts made me cringe, becuase she’s helpless and can’t defend herself.  That’s the reality of the situation, I suppose, and that is certainly entirely different from my experience.

Husband bought the famed P90X workout last week, and we’ve started.  Friday night, officially.  We’ve had one day of shoulders and back, one day of plyometrics, one day of back and triceps, and one day of yoga, in that order.  Yesterday was the back and triceps, and I still went on my run, really because I felt like it.  It was a beautiful day.  My Sunday course is a loop, which I love, but is the hilliest of all my routes.  (Really I do it because there is this completely awesome steep hill I get to run down at the end.  It gets me through the rest of the run.)  My Sunday run was quite possibly my slowest ever, since I did it after the workout. 

Later that day, I found climbing stairs challenging. 

Lordy, lordy.  What have I gotten myself into?  Four days down…86 to go. 

I can only do about half the exercises, and at their beginning levels, too.  It is a challenge to not be discouraged and say to heck with it all!  I’ll just be flabby! 

However, two sentences in my horoscope in the Las Vegas Weekly keep coming back to me:  let go of what isn’t working, and don’t sit still.  Still ringing in my ears.  I really don’t want to do 86 more days of this – 6 days a week, man!  So I’ll just try my hardest on focusing on tomorrow only.  The yoga today, despite my inability to do a lot of it, did loosen up my poor leg muscles a great deal.  So that’s good.

Tomorrow, it’s legs and back.  Legs.  Heaven help us all!

So, I was glad to see that the restaurant was getting great reviews in the Las Vegas Weekly and on Yelp.  The lunch date was set!  It was super busy when we arrived, but Lisa was lucky enough to score a little two-top by the window. 

I had a veggie and cheese sandwish on pretzel bread and coffee.  Lisa had a peanut butter and jelly brioche with a cappucino. 

Behold, my sandwich and accompanying salad (half eaten at this point):

  The veggie to cheese ratio was great.  This was not a cheese sandwith with a few weak veggies  thrown in.  There was squash and asparagus, at least, and a lot of it.  There was goat cheese and another kind of cheese to mellow it out.  I can only take a little bit of goat cheese, and I got a lot in the first bite.  I was afraid.  However, the pervasive goat flavor was not pervasive here, but just added a little flair here and there.  I was please with the amount of veggies  – I’m trying to sneak them in more as I can.  The salad was fresh, and had sweet dried cranberries in it, topped lightly with a vinaigrette.  (Next time I do a new restaurant review, I’ll be sure and note more details about cheeses used and veggies involved!) Oh, and the pretzel bread was chewy and lovely! 

Lisa had the pretty peanut butter and jelly brioche – thusly:

This was a lovely little pastry.  There was just a hint of peanut butter, and the jelly tasted like raspberry and had a great tang to it. 

It was very busy, but Lisa got her brioche immediately, since they only had to take it out of the case.  It took a while for my sandwich to arrive, but I devoured the entire thing unashamedly!  There are several other baked goods (like the red velvet bagel) I’d like to try, and I’ve heard the kale salad is scrumptious.  I know – kale salad.  But it was mentioned in two separate reviews so there must be something to it.

We kept an eye on the door as the line waxed and waned, but we sat and talked for about 2 hours.  They refilled our coffee, and brought the cream and sugar to the table.  It was a situation where we could have felt rushed, and we weren’t.  Kudos to the staff for the warm welcome.  (There really were other tables open, though…I don’t think either of us would have wanted to stay if it felt really crowded.) 

Thumbs up, and next time I’ll walk to and from so I can order another pastry!

So, I gleefully picked up the second in the series, A Monstrous Regiment of Women, which picks up the story as Mary is just about to become of age to fully control her inheritance at the age of 21.  Mary is beginning to have some unsettling feelings for Holmes, who is nearly 60.  Mary and Holmes are intellectual soulmates, so any age difference has been a non-issue up to this point.  Mary becomes involved in The Temple, lead by a charismatic, feminist, leader who is a mystic in the true sense of the word.  The organization appeals to rich, young women who donate their money…and begin to die “accidentally.” And so Mary must solve the crime. 

I will try not to leave too many spoilers, but Mary is eventually kidnapped and tortured in a truly bizarre way.  She remarks that after she is rescued (sorry for the spoiler, but you knew it was coming…there is more to the series, after all) she has truly left her childhood behind. 

Overall, I found the plot and the characters less compelling that in the Beekeeper’s Apprentice.  However, I am strongly drawn to prequels where we learn how a superhero ahd their origins and development.  (I watched Smallville for a long time…)  Perhaps that has a lot to do with the attractir.on of Book 1 versus Book 2.  I wasn’t drawn to the mysticism element in the book either, though the leader of The Temple was eventually presented as an attractive character.

However…I still want to read Book 3, just to follow the story.  This may be the year of the Mary Russell series for me.  We’ll see how far it goes.  And however, hard I try, I can’t put Robert Downey, Jr., into my head as Sherlock in these books, but reading the books has, as I mentioned earlier in my Sherlock Holmes :  A Game of Shadows review, helped me appreciate the allusions in the movie a good deal more.  (But than, that’s generally my opinion of book vs. movie version.  Sideways is the glaring exception to this.) 

And, in typical go-to-the-source fashion, I’ve checked out A Study in Scarlet by Doyle himself , just to see how it all began…look for a review in the coming weeks, to see my reaction to Doyle!  (Perhaps…I’ve got a large stack of books on the floor on my side of the bed…so many books, so little time…)

Tonight I took several pictures, and I ordered my tried and true favorites.  Since a picture is worth a thousand words, here goes with some photographic evidence of the deliciousness:

First, Husband got some toro sushi, which he kindly shared with me:

Then, a most lovely sushi platter, with two orders of salmon, my personal favorite, an order of crab sushi, and an order of tuna sushi. 

Then, to take it up a notch, I ordered my current favorite roll, the Bond…James Bond…roll.  It’s a California roll topped with shrimp and avocado.  I do love me some shrimp and avocado.  There’s an order of halibut sushi lurking in the background there. 

At last I got my final order, my sweet, delicate, unassuming, tuna roll.  I’d actually ordered it before the big James Bond Roll, but it got forgotten and remembered.  Needless to say, I’m pretty stuffed.  (There was lots of sharing going on, though, believe me!)  I love the little non-spicy tuna roll.  It’s small and light, and has great firmness when you bite.  Tonight they added the sesame, which was a nice touch. 

 If you request it, the sushi chefs will give you an orange at the end, that is soaked in some sort of alcohol, and is one of the sweetest things you’ll ever eat.  It comes with cute toothpicks to eat with.  Alas, we’d devoured it before I remembered to take a picture. 

We’ve been coming here for years, and I’d been coming here for years before that.   They know our faces now enough that we get greeted with a “long time no see” if we miss a few weeks.  I seem to have intense conversations with however I’m with, be it JerzeeMae or Beanlene or, of course, husband.  It’s a sushi restaurant with just the right amount of noise for fervent discussions to take place.  

I often refer to Therapy by Sushi, and I’m not even exagerrating. 

P.S.  One of my other favorites is the famous spicy tuna roll, which I just didn’t have room in my stomach to order tonight.  

P.P.S.  I am not a fan of cream cheese in my sushi.  Just in case you ever wondered. 

Up next:  a book review featuring a wildly different depiction of Sherlock Holmes! 

P.P.P.S.  I haven’t had soda since Saturday night.  This may have been predicted on the Mayan calendar.

So, running!  Last year, I developed five different routes which I ran really regularly on 5 days of the week – Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday.  Except in my head, the week starts on Sunday.  I was very steady and dedicated, and pretty proud of myself.  The we went to Bora Bora where I continued to run in the humidity, and I came back with the Mad Tropical Germs or something that kept me at a low-level cold for 6 weeks. 

So, I’m trying to get back into it.  Last week I ran 4 times.  I skipped Christmas Day.  This week, so far, I’ve run 3 times, but I missed yesterday morning because I gave blood on Tuesday.  I know, I know.  It takes blood-letting to get me out of my routine.  I will probably make it up tomorrow.

My Thursday running round is perhaps one of the easier ones, and one of the most boring.  It has it’s challenges, though.  It is essentially a long, slight decline for the first 25 minutes, and then I turn around and have to run back up that incline for the next 25.  (First, to be fair, I walk the first and last 10 minutes, and run for 30 in the middle.)  Running uphill at the end is never a bad thing.  Forces you to pace yourself and keep your head. 

Though this route is without drama, it also has the most people I recognize on a regular basis.  Not people I know, but people whose schedules also put themselves outside at 5:30 a.m. on Thursday mornings.  There’s the tall, old, white-haired man who wears tank tops and is walking his dog.  There’s the stocky brunette, who smiles cheerily at me who is walking her dog.  There’s the tiny Asian lady who is walking her tiny dogs, one of which barks at me incessantly as I pass in that small dog way.

My favorite is the lady with short blond hair who is out for her brisk walk, not walking her dog.  She takes long strides and swings her arms a lot.  She has been the most consistent.  We were out for our Thursday early-morning exercise together all summer in the heat, when you might get yourself up, not necessarily to go before work, but just to beat the darn sun.  She was out again last week in the 39 degree weather.  We were both bundled up, but she’s got that same stride.  I think I could pick her out in a crowd with that stride. 

There’s something so comforting in seeing another person who must drag themselves out of their warm bed to get their exercise in before work.  I won’t say it gets me out of bed on Thursday mornings, but I sure do smile and take heart when I see that familiar stride.

On a side note, would I be crazy to enter a 5K this month, just to have a blog entry to share?

Run like the wind, friends!

I don’t mean to trivialize anything.  Last I attended a program at a local library called “Mob Wives :  The REAL Mob Wives of Las Vegas”  My friend, Dani Porter-Lansky, was on the panel, and so I attended to support her.  You see, Dani is now married to Meyer Lansky II, who is the grandson of THAT Meyer Lansky.  (A fine and charming man he is, also, and a regular patron at my library. That is, Meyer II.)  The other three women featured were Wendy Hanly Mazaros, author of Vegas Rag Doll, her daughter, Amy Hanley, and Dierdre Capone, grand-niece of Al Capone, and author of Uncle Al Capone.    Ms. Capone’s grandfater was Al’s older brother, Ralph Capone.  The LVCCLD is holding a series of programs this month in relation to the Mob Museum, which will open in Feb. 2012.

The room was packed and the panel was varied.  Ms. Mazaros and Ms. Hanley recounted real horror stories about their fear of their husband/biological father, Tom Hanley, as well as stories about the Binions, and Gramby Hanley, who is Ms. Hanley’s  half-brother. Dani and Meyer are working on a book that compiles and explains letters from Meyer Lansky, and so her portion, I felt, was a bit more removed and less emotional than the other three panelists.

My true fascination came from hearing Ms. Capone defend her family eloquently and steadily, without becoming defensive.  Her stance is that she seeks to present a complete picture of her infamous family, complete with the love and comfort she felt from her grandfather and great-uncle.  She also sought to relate how her life was affected, not always positively, by having the last name Capone.  She also claims that after Al and Ralph served their respective times in prison for tax-evasion, they sought to separate themselves from mob activity, though Al remained “as a figurehead.”

Eventually, questions came from the audience, questions that were respecfully presented, yet pointed.  One really light moment came when the moderator asked Ms. Capone, “OK, did Robert DeNiro really smash someone with a baseball bat?” – alluding to a famous and bloodcurdling scene in “The Untouchables.”  She said it did happen, but that it was with pool cues, instead.  It came to a head when one woman asked Ms. Capone, “Are you really saying that your grand-uncle never participated in bloodshed or committed crimes?”

I have to hand it to Ms. Capone.  She handled the question gracefully and without becoming emotional or defensive.  She even acknowledge that it was a good question.    I’m sure she’s heard it before.  She asserted that the thought of their actions like the Wild West, where people might get involved in a gunfight over stolen livestock.  She didn’t deny anything, but reasserted that she wanted to present a complete picture. She also stated that had not Ralph and Al’s father died when they  and their siblings were all very young, they would not have had a need for quick money in the first place.

I don’t know.  I don’t want to whitewash (Ms. Capone’s word) my conception of Al Capone as gangster.  Even Amy and Wendy Hanley stated that nothing would really justify killing someone over lack of payment of a $10,000 loan.  And yet, what would we expect of Ms. Capone?  Perhaps her grandfather and great-uncles were gangsters, and good men, in her eyes.    I certainly don’t know anything about the antics of my grandfathers and great-uncles.  I suspect they were farmers and mill workers, and probably more than a little racist.  I have no idea what I might feel the need to apologize for now, if I knew more.

I suppose I’ve come away with a clearer picture of Al Capone.  His great-niece doesn’t remember him as a monster, which means either that she wasn’t around (I’m sure of that), or that the family took care to shield her from their crimes.  The Hanleys didn’t have that experience, unfortunately.  Much more than that, I have a sense of a woman who has accepted some of her relatives as being gangsters, and good men.  While I can’t quite get there, I guess I don’t have to.  My last name isn’t Capone.  But Dierdre Capone has, which is more important for her own peace of mind.

Not sure what we’re talking about tomorrow…probably a much lighter note, where we sleep with the fishes, also known as a review of my favorite restaurant, “I Love Sushi.”  See what I did there?