I have been, and always shall be, your friend. ~Spock, The Wrath of Khan
Of my friend, I can only say this: Of all the souls I have encountered in my t
I have been, and always shall be, your friend. ~Spock, The Wrath of Khan
Of my friend, I can only say this: Of all the souls I have encountered in my travels, his was the most...human. ~Capt. Kirk, The Wrath of Khan
I'm betting the vast majority of readers/listeners finding their way to this book will have been lifelong Trekkies, having come of age watching Star Trek in syndication, waiting with keen anticipation as each motion picture installment was released in the franchise, discovering new things to love about the Trek verse as it expanded/exploded to include The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine and Voyager.
This isn't me. I'm coming to Trek shockingly late -- 50 years after the 1966 premiere of the original series starring William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy. For me the paint isn't even dry. It started only last summer with the release of Star Trek: Beyond. I decided I would go see it, but I didn't want to do that until I had watched the first two movies in JJ Abrams reboot (keeping in mind I had never seen an episode of Star Trek -- ANY Star Trek -- in my life, nor any of the movies). As someone who had been raised and steeped in the horror tradition, A LOT of sci-fi nerdy stuff passed me by altogether (yes, including Star Wars). I wasn't interested, and for a long time, I really didn't think any of it was being made for me anyway. None of it felt like my "tribe" so to speak, or anything I was able or willing to relate to.
Fast forward to August 2016. I watch the Abrams movies and LOVE them -- especially Beyond which is my favourite of the three. I loved these movies so much, and fell in love with Pine's and Quinto's portrayals of Kirk and Spock so completely, it triggered an almost immediate overwhelming desire to go back and watch the entire run of the original Star Trek -- yes, even season 3, all of it -- which as any Trekkie reading this knows is an exercise in endurance, patience and frustration at the sharp decline in quality the series would take in its final year.
But it was worth it -- after seeing a new generation of young actors tackle these iconic characters so successfully, I had to go back to the beginning and experience the Shatner/Nimoy dynamic that launched a franchise so big and so far reaching it was still finding people and captivating them five decades later. I needed to see with my own eyes, feel with my own heart, what was so special about this low-budget sci-fi television show from the 60s that would make millions of people from all over the world into lifelong Trekkies.
I came to this project with a lot of skepticism, certain after all these many decades there was no way the show would have the ability to resonate with me now or hold my interest. Too much time had passed. It would seem too old-fashioned, cheap and silly. And for sure, watching those first few episodes I giggled at some of the ridiculous cheesy "special effects", the poorly choreographed fight sequences where no attempt was made to hide the stunt double, and Shatner's chewing up the scenery every chance he got.
But these elements became part of the show's vintage charm for me, and more than that, superficial characteristics of a show that would go on to convince me of its imaginative and thought-provoking storytelling wrapped up in a contagious adventure of the week style. I was hooked. More than that, like millions before me, I was falling in love with Mr. Spock -- the forever logical, keenly observant and emotionally controlled First Officer of Starfleet's USS Enterprise -- a role I can't believe anyone else could have brought to life so vividly or memorably as Leonard Nimoy.
As I made my way through the original TV series (with the help and guidance from a bona fide Trek nerd who shall remain unnamed), I would also begin watching the films. The deeper into the Trek verse I went, the more deeply attached I became to the characters, and began to fully appreciate the unique on-screen chemistry shared between Shatner and Nimoy. The best actors act -- they are paid to feel things they are not really feeling -- but that nebulous, indefinable chemistry cannot be bought and sold, faked or forced. What Shatner and Nimoy share on the screen as Kirk and Spock is something special and precious to behold. It would shape and inform a unique, sometimes difficult and contentious, friendship that would last half a century.
Listening to Shatner read aloud his remembrances of his friendship with such a charismatic, multi-talented, deeply loved man, I came to the conclusion that Shatner is being sincere here. You can hear the respect and unchecked admiration for the man Nimoy was, and the blinding love Shatner held for him (even when his narcissistic tendencies would bring up feelings of competition and jealousy and even resentment). It's sweet, and at times terribly sad. You can detect a note of loneliness in Shatner's words as he confesses to his lack of any lasting friendships with anyone, save for Nimoy who Fate had fused the two men together on this remarkable journey of a lifetime. But even Nimoy -- after decades of sharing his world with Shatner -- would suddenly (and inexplicably from Shatner's viewpoint) end their relationship and cut off all direct contact.
Shatner doesn't go into too much detail regarding the men's epic falling out. He's playing dumb and seems honestly baffled and hurt why Nimoy would cut him out of his life around the time Shatner was making the documentary The Captains in 2011. Obviously, whether Shatner wants to confront his role in the falling out or not, the saddest part of all of this is that these two men brought together, and held together, by extraordinary circumstances, would not have each other as one faced a terminal illness and death. When Nimoy finally did pass away in February 2015, Shatner chose to appear at a charity fundraiser for the Red Cross and would not make it to Nimoy's funeral, a fact I'm sure some Trekkies will never forgive him for.
I choose to be a little more forgiving and understanding. I feel Shatner's grief and sense of loss are genuine and keenly, sharply experienced. While there is a lot of information presented here that is re-hashing material previously published elsewhere, there is also a new-found humility as Shatner tries to work through some of his feelings of inadequacy, and never quite measuring up to the depth and breadth of talent and integrity that was Leonard Nimoy. It really is a love letter in a lot of important ways, as Shatner attempts to make sense of the wonder of it all and his and Nimoy's place in it as he faces his own inevitable mortality.
I can only hope when it's Shatner's turn to shuffle off this mortal coil, there is some kind of afterlife waiting for all of us, and that he and Nimoy find each other there and find a way back to forgiveness and the special friendship they once shared.
I'm going to end this review by recommending the recent documentary For the Love of Spock. This isn't just mandatory viewing for Trek fans, but is also a poignant and comprehensive look at the life of a remarkable man and the resonating influence of an iconic figure who has come to mean so much to so many. LLAP friends.
“If anyone reads this when I have passed to the big bad beyond I shall be posthumously embarrassed. I shall spend my entire afterlife blushing.”
Didn'
“If anyone reads this when I have passed to the big bad beyond I shall be posthumously embarrassed. I shall spend my entire afterlife blushing.”
Didn't we all feel this way about our diaries as hyper-dramatic, brooding adolescents, at the mercy of our raging hormones and our short-circuiting ever expanding neural pathways and vivid imaginations? Sure we did, those of us who bothered to "write it all out and down" (which I think tends to be more of a female act of expression, than male -- but I could be wrong there). From the time we are little girls, women are "encouraged" to keep a diary, a locked and private totem where we can pour all of our heartfelt dreams, desires, bitter disappointments, enraged indictments of others, etc, etc. At its best, diary keeping can be a cathartic positive form of meditation and contemplation, giving its writer opportunity for reflection and insight.
Mostly though? It is a place to go to rage and seethe, pine and moan. It's a place to write bad poetry, a place to confess the most intimate details of our most crushing of crushes. It's a baring of the soul in the most embarrassing of ways. There is a popular podcast capitalizing on this embarrassment factor by persuading adults to read passages from their early diaries in front of a live audience. Mortified can make for sweet and honest listening, funny, endearing, and sometimes cringe-inducing as we relate a little too closely to what's being read aloud and recalling something from our past that we'd just as soon forget. At one point or another, we've all been there.
In 1976, Carrie Fisher was 19 years old and had begun filming what would arguably become the most famous science fiction movie of all time, launching a franchise and characters that in the intervening years have resonated with millions around the world (and continues to do so as new installments hit theaters). No one at the time could have possibly predicted the film's gargantuan success, least of all its young co-stars, and perhaps especially, a fresh-faced, doe-eyed, insecure and terrified Ms. Fisher.
So what is this short memoir really? A little less than half is some of the passages from the diary Carrie kept in 1976 while filming Star Wars. But for you die-hard fans out there, this isn't an exclusive behind-the-scenes tell-all on the making of George Lucas's epic, enduring space opera. There is very little to none of that kind of detail here. Instead what we have is the (sometimes) mortifying, but achingly honest, musings of a young woman in the throes of infatuation with an older married man.
In 1976, Harrison Ford was 35 with a wife and two children, but this didn't stop him from starting a brief, nearly wordless affair with the young Carrie Fisher. She fell into a confused, anxious, questioning kind of love, Harrison remained detached, composed and in control. Not surprisingly, an affair between one so young and inexperienced, and one so matured and advanced in his life choices was terribly lop-sided in its balance of power. It didn't help that at the time Harrison was the very epitome of the "strong, silent type". Whatever he was feeling or thinking, Carrie was only left to guess, and pour her musings and insecurities out onto the page.
For context though, and the all elusive sub-text, the sharing of these innocent diary musings are an interesting addition to the Star Wars canonical universe. For decades, fans and celebrity gossip mongers have speculated that an affair did indeed take place, but both Carrie and Harrison never confirmed or denied, they just stayed mum. Some things are private, even for someone like Ms. Fisher who is famous for over-sharing. So why come clean now? Carrie explains her reasons, and I respect them. I don't think she did this to be salacious or provocative, this is just an extension of the honesty she's brought to all parts of her life, and after forty years she felt enough time had passed that no one was going to care enough to be hurt or feel betrayed.
Carrie presents her affair with Harrison in a rueful, breezy manner but it's clear just how torturous and unhealthy a thing that it was (how it starts is even more disturbing, but likely not unique to young film actresses everywhere). This isn't a fairy tale. Largely, the account left me sad, and a little depressed.
The other half of the short memoir (which I liked much better) reads like a smart, sassy essay, as Carrie tries to put her life as Princess Leia into some kind of larger context, what it's like to be super famous for one role, and how the line so quickly and easily blurs -- "am I Princess Leia, or is she me?" Carrie has some amusing anecdotes to share about fandom and the often odd behaviors and requests she's been subjected to for over forty years, but she also expresses her deep love and gratitude for the millions of fans who will only ever see her as Princess Leia.
It was bittersweet listening to this as an audiobook -- Carrie's voice is confident, with her signature snark and wry amusement. It is a voice filled with a zest and perpetual curiosity for life, a life that was just recently cut tragically short at age 60....more
If they break this Union, they will break my heart.~Alexander Hamilton
If anybody had told me a year ago that I would be delving into an 800 page biog
If they break this Union, they will break my heart.~Alexander Hamilton
If anybody had told me a year ago that I would be delving into an 800 page biography on arguably America's least known Founding Father, first Secretary of the Treasury and he of ten dollar bill fame, I would have said they were crazy. But like so many people who will read this book in the coming years, it all started with a mad love affair for the Broadway musical. It's literally all I've been able to think about (or listen to) since April. It's consumed my waking hours in the oddest, most unpredictable, joyous of ways. Having now read Chernow's impressive, meticulously researched book, I am no longer surprised how it was able to inspire Lin-Manuel Miranda to write his extraordinary, beautiful, emotional, smart, searing, perfect musical (and that's all I'm going to say about the musical), because I really want this review to focus on Chernow's accomplishment and his fascinating subject -- Alexander Hamilton.
One of the things that really jumped out at me while reading this, is how easily Hamilton's remarkable life and stupendous achievements could have been erased and lost to history for good. He had many enemies -- many people who wanted to re-write history minimizing his role in it, and deny his many staggering contributions. Hamilton died relatively young as well (just 49), way younger than many of the other Founding Fathers who outlived him by decades (except George Washington of course). When you don't survive to live and tell your story, you are really at the mercy of others. Remember this line from Braveheart? "History is written by those who have hanged heroes."
Was Alexander Hamilton a hero? I think by most definitions he most certainly was. Flawed for sure, but nevertheless an extremely intelligent man, with confounding reserves of energy and ambition, and a deep, abiding inner moral compass of what was ethical and right. He also possessed an unsurpassed, formidable ability to synthesize large, complicated ideas into accessible tracts and tangible plans to build meaningful and lasting governments and institutions. And oh yeah, he also wielded his pen in a terrible and mighty way that would have made Shakespeare quiver in his breeches, producing mountains of passionate and fiercely written letters and pamphlets and essays.
I also have to believe Hamilton was truly a good man, because two very intelligent women, remarkable in their own rights (his wife Eliza and his sister-in-law Angelica Church), loved him beyond measure and sang his praises for a lifetime. How do you avoid getting written out of history by those who have hanged heroes? Write brilliantly like a maniac non-stop, leaving behind some of the most important historical tracts ever penned, and be survived by a loyal and dedicated wife who will outlive you by 50 years and spend most of that time fighting for your reputation and the preservation of your rightful place in history.
Reading Hamilton whilst the sturm und drang of the upcoming American election rages in all its frightful rhetoric and bitter partisan vitriol has made for quite an echo chamber of America's shaky, fledgling, post-Revolutionary days and just how tenuous the fabric that binds all the States together really is. It was never a marriage made in heaven, oftentimes held together by duct tape, threats and sheer iron will. America was a walking contradiction, with its State vs Federal, rural vs urban, North vs South, slaveholding vs free divides. Nobody knew (and feared) these fractures more than Hamilton himself. But he also knew a United States would be stronger and better than a dissolute nation of independents jockeying for power and control and consumed with self-interest.
I do believe Chernow has proven that no other Founding Father worked as determinedly with every cell in his body (and top-notch brain), to preserve the Union, and uphold the Constitution. There were many compelling forces, and influential personalities, with the capability to topple this marvelous enterprise with a single huff, and one good blow. But it was Hamilton standing vigilant, it was Hamilton who roared, and cajoled, and screed, not on my watch, and here's why. It's also no wonder then that on his death bed, surrounded by his family and friends, that Hamilton should utter with such deep feeling: "If they break this Union, they will break my heart."
Hamilton's life (all 49 years of it) reads like a Dickensian novel. More than once while I was reading I couldn't help but smack my forehead at the stranger than fiction details, and uncanny coincidences and twists of fate both tragic and ironic. That he began his life as a poor orphan in the Caribbean only to help fight for and build a nation an ocean away is something out of a movie plot. As is his infamous death by duel, at the hands of (then Vice President) Aaron Burr (sir).
Who dies in a duel?!! Hamilton does. And a few years prior to that fateful meeting in Weehawken, his eldest son Philip (using the same pistols!) would die the same stupid way. There were many times when I wanted to shake Hamilton, and kick him, especially when he was tomcatting around and cheating on Eliza with Maria Reynolds, but this final decision to duel with Aaron Burr absolutely infuriated me. It was SO UNNECESSARY, especially given the fact Hamilton still had a wife and young children who depended on him. Of course, it was a dueling era, and duels were pretty commonplace, and Chernow makes a strong case that Hamilton wasn't suicidal, and really believed he could survive the duel with Burr (as most participants do). However, there was also a part of him that knew he could die, since he was so thorough and conscientious in his handling of his affairs. And writing a poignant, final letter to Eliza (which if I had been her I'm sure I would have pulled my hair out).
Alexander knew how utterly devastated Eliza was to lose their son Philip -- so HOW COULD HE DO THAT TO HER AGAIN??? Eliza should have been crushed by the grief -- losing her mother, her sister, her son, her HUSBAND, all in a very short time span. Yet she persevered and would survive to accomplish many remarkable things in her own right, not the least of which was to ensure her husband's rightful, prominent place in the history books.
And now I'm off to listen to the Broadway cast album AGAIN. Because I can't stop.
A note about the audiobook -- I started listening to this one and it wasn't quite grabbing me. The text was falling flat for some reason and my mind wA note about the audiobook -- I started listening to this one and it wasn't quite grabbing me. The text was falling flat for some reason and my mind wandered a little too much. Debra Winger has a lovely delivery as the reader, but the audiobook just didn't work for me this time. So I abandoned it for the hardcover -- and finished it in one sitting I became that engrossed and enthralled, moved and inspired.
In June of 2015 I was lucky enough to attend the American Library Association conference held in San Francisco that year. Not only was it a thrill to be surrounded by 20,000 librarians from all corners of the library world, but the City by the Bay had been on my bucket list for years. It was a week of great food and much adventuring (including a day trip to Alcatraz), with thankfully no earthquakes. But the absolute highlight of the entire shebang was getting to see Gloria Steinem speak in person. Let me just say that at 81 years old, this woman has lost none of her charisma, style, and magnetic presence. She is as strikingly beautiful as she has ever been, and her generosity of spirit and kindness beam from her person like the warmth of a thousand suns.
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Her latest book is a compilation of memories and reflection of a life lived on the road and what it means to be an "organizer" -- of social justice movements, of rallies, of connecting others. When most people think of Steinem they think "feminist" and "speaker" and "leader" but what she's spent most of her life doing is listening and that is what has made her so good at being all of those other things. To be a great organizer, you need to first listen, and from the listening will come empathy, understanding, knowledge, and new ideas. Now into her eighth decade, Steinem continues to listen, never one to believe she has learned all there is to know, or is now someone who carries all the answers to truth and justice and gender equality.
I was surprised to learn that Steinem is a nervous public speaker, and though she has spent a life doing it, still gets butterflies before getting up in front of a group of people. I can't imagine a life on the road as she has lived it, so very untethered. I am too much of a homebody to have ever been called to such a nomadic life, but there is a part of me that wonders what I've missed in the way of human connection and adventure. When she turned 50, Steinem finally purchased a home and began to nest, and though her nomadic adventures would persist at least now she had a place to return and rest and refuel. Maybe when I turn 50 I'll do the opposite and take to the road!
It's the surprise, the unexpected, the out of control. It turns out that laughter is the only free emotion--the only one that can't be compelled. We can be made to fear. We can even be made to believe that we're in love because, if we're kept dependent and isolated for long enough, we bond in order to survive. But laughter explodes like aha! It comes when the punch line changes everything that has gone before, when two opposites collide and make a third, when we suddenly see a new reality. Einstein said he had to be very careful while shaving, because when he had an idea he laughed -- and he cut himself. Laughter is an orgasm of the mind. ~Gloria Steinem, My Life on the Road
I came to know author James Renner through his wacky, engrossing, bewitchingly unique novels - The Man from Primrose Lane and The Great Forgetting. An I came to know author James Renner through his wacky, engrossing, bewitchingly unique novels - The Man from Primrose Lane and The Great Forgetting. And while he has a noteworthy talent spinning wild and crazy tales of speculative fiction, Renner is also a dedicated true crime writer. In fact, the journalism and true crime writing came first. And now he's returned to these stomping grounds in a big way with his new release True Crime Addict.
What sets this true crime book apart from most is not only the exceptionally sharp, punchy, lucid writing, but that Renner very much writes himself into the story as an observer, participant and one could even argue collateral damage to the unsolved Maura Murray missing person case. We realize almost from the opening paragraphs, that this is going to be a very personal journey for Renner, where he not only loses himself down the addicting, obsessive rabbit hole of trying to solve the mystery of a young woman's inexplicable disappearance into seemingly thin air, he also lays bare his own personal demons, that include his young son's struggle with uncontrollable violent outbursts (and quite possibly prescient abilities). This book really is one man's unflinching look into the abyss, and what stares back at him.
Renner is not the only person to have fallen down the rabbit hole of the Maura Murray case (a quick Google search will prove that), but given his personality and dark obsessive tendencies that he comes by quite honestly, Renner is arguably the one who's fallen the hardest and most completely. The publication of this book is the culmination (and hopefully for him) an emotional catharsis of a very long journey that Renner has recorded in detail on his Maura Murray blog that he launched in June 2011.
This book really could not have come at a better time. We seem to be in the midst of a true crime renaissance with recent cultural watershed phenomena like Making a Murderer, The Jinx and the first season of Sarah Koenig's podcast Serial which I became obsessed with when it ran in the fall of 2014. And you might as well throw The People vs OJ on that pile too, because it was also fantastic and drew a huge viewing audience.
I want to thank karen for putting a copy of this book in my hands and it is with great enthusiasm I write this review in the hopes it brings even more much deserved attention to what Renner has accomplished here. ...more
I’m having one of those rare days where I love people and all of the amazing wonder they’re capable of and if someone fucks that up for me I will stab
I’m having one of those rare days where I love people and all of the amazing wonder they’re capable of and if someone fucks that up for me I will stab them right in the face. ~Jenny Lawson
I AM GOING TO BE FURIOUSLY HAPPY, OUT OF SHEER SPITE. ~Jenny Lawson
I've shamelessly let Rocket Raccoon carry this review space since last year, and he garnered me 54 likes, so thanks Rocket! (I'm sure he would approve of my blatant exploitation even though he's the one being exploited).
But enough is enough. And really, I'm sure Rory isn't too furiously happy either about having some other fabulous raccoon steal his thunder. (And now Rocket is going to be pissed I've called him a raccoon. He doesn't like that).
Jenny Lawson -- aka The Bloggess -- is a wickedly delightful, exhausting, a bit scary, kaleidoscopic array of frantic energy meets overwhelming anxieties and various anxiety disorders and sometimes .... debilitating depression. This book is her true confession, no holds barred everything you ever wanted to know but were afraid to ask look inside her precious crazy head -- Jenny wouldn't mind me using the word crazy either; because she's taking crazy back. She's taking it out of the dark broom closet where we store things we don't want to see or talk about and wearing the "crazy badge" with pride. And why shouldn't she? Jenny, along with countless others, are survivors -- of their pain, of their chemical imbalances, of their terror, and of their uncontrollable impulses.
Because not everyone survives. My sister didn't. Depression and mental illness is terrifying. It's the disease we never talk about and as family and friends of sufferers we feel helpless in the face of it, not knowing what to do or say, or how to help. Sometimes in our effort to help, we're actually making things even harder, setting up unreasonable expectations, getting angry as if the person is acting this way on purpose just to piss us off. I really, really wish my sister and I had had this book before it became too late for her. I'm not saying it would have changed the outcome, but I know it would have changed how I talked to her and how I tried to help her. I know it would have made her feel some solace, some comfort, that other people feel this crazy too, and that it's not something you just "get over." And it would have made her laugh, her big boisterous fuck you laugh.
In all her silliness and shenanigans and stunts aimed to make us laugh (and keep herself furiously happy), Jenny Lawson is doing something really important here. She's humanizing depression and mental illness, she's reaching out and making it relatable (rather than something shameful and embarrassing). It's brave, and hopefully with shows like You're The Worst and Jared Padalecki's Always Keep Fighting campaign tackling the same difficult subject matter - we've reached a beginning of an empathy and acceptance for mental illness that will become our new normal.
I can tell you that “Just cheer up” is almost universally looked at as the most unhelpful depression cure ever. It’s pretty much the equivalent of telling someone who just had their legs amputated to “just walk it off.” Some people don’t understand that for a lot of us, mental illness is a severe chemical imbalance rather just having “a case of the Mondays.” Those same well-meaning people will tell me that I’m keeping myself from recovering because I really “just need to cheer up and smile.” That’s when I consider chopping off their arms and then blaming them for not picking up their severed arms so they can take them to the hospital to get reattached.
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I love that the cover looks like a blissed out, meth-crazed Rocket Raccoon!
Oh, yeah!
(Pardon my squeeing giffiness but it had to be done).
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