Capsule Reviews of Books I Read Pre-, During, and Post-vacation

The World According to Garp, by John Irving

This was, I hate to admit it, my big reading accomplishment of the summer. The first 300 pages consisted of me putting the book down at intervals and conemplating hurling it off various Prince Edward Island cliffs. Then people started dying, pathetically and gruesomely, and losing various limbs and other appendages, and it actually became touching and moving and sad. But there was too much unnecessary dismembering and extramarital affairs for my liking, and for the effort and plot twists, I'd take Dickens or Eliot any day.

Tara Road, by Maeve Binchy

A complete gem of a book, sweet and knowing and wise and full of that irish lilt and yarn-spinning. I thought it was an excellent portrait of the changing economy of Ireland, the way we cope with tragedy, and the funny ways life has of healing us. As a portrait of tragic death and extramarital affairs, I'd honestly say that although not done in the same tour-de-force way as J.I, I was more affected and absorbed by Binchy's more conventional, gentle, fairy tale.

Five Little Pigs (aka murder in retrospect) by Agatha Christie

The Dame at her best. A hot-tempered artists, his long-suffering wife, his coterie of friends, his mistress, his art... and Hercule Poirot. Hot stuff.

The Blue Castle, by L.M. Montgomery

Lucy Maudlin's only book written for an adult audience: it has a hint of scandalous gothic thriller a la Louisa May Alcott pre-Little Women, a strong dose of irreverent humor, some romance, and the rapturous descriptions of nature we know and love in our Lucy Maud.

Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery

The best re-re-re-re-re-read ever, excepting the Emily books.

The Happy Prince (story) and the Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde

The first's a sweet, sad, sentimental, parable
The second we all know-- witty, surreal, morally dubious, and terribly clever. And I'm only halfway done because I've seen it put on as a play and I can't bring myself to move forward.

The Sunday Philosophy Club, Friends Lovers, Chocolate, and The Right Attitude to Rain (fothcoming, thanks for the Galley swvl) by A. McCall Smith

Isabel Dalhousie is a Scottish philosopher-ess, and the descriptions of Edinburgh, the moral quandaries therein, and the man-eating delicatessen owner, Cat, are all fantastic, clever, tender and amusing... a worthy euro-peer to Mma Ramotsowe...

September's comin round the mountain...

I have no regrets about not being tied in knots over the prospect of school starting again this year... no dread about lesson planning, no anxiousness about my CUNY grades or profs, and no horror of anticipation and dread at the thought of my ex-classroom, "the cave", a massive-lecture-hall sized former home-ec classroom, which was picked by pigeons as their nesting ground, mice as their scampering ground, and electric switches as their turning-off ground.

But I really miss my students. I miss their company, their hilarity, their curiosity, and their scrutiny of my clothes. I wish a hundred times a day that my sense of humor last year was what it is now. But of course, I needed these months off to re-nurture it.

I went to the post office today to mail The Metamorphosis to a former student of mine who needs to read it for honors. I am throughly freaked out at the prospect of two or three kids--or maybe even ten, swinging by my room to say hi, and not finding me there, so I'm going to send them an email next week warning them. And then it will be time for me to move on.

back from canada...

T






























There's nothing worse, methinks, than returning from a vacation somewhere wild and infinitely gorgeous, to New York on a rainy sunday. New York has a beauty all its own, of course, and it's my home and I adore it. But when it rains, and one has just returned from a place where the rain would make everything soft and misty and enchanted, to a place where rain is dreary and washes garbage down the street... well. You see what I mean.

Canada was excellent. From the gentle curves of Prince Edward Island, to the treeless, angry red cliffs and turbulent seas of the North Atlantic hittng the Isles Madeleine, all was frais and belle: beaches woods, and amazing seafood. Being in Francopone Canada was bizarre and amusing; ah, for those quebecois accents and the outpost of real culture in the wild.

And lastly, visiting Green Gables, tourist trap though its become, inspired my entire family to reread the place's namesake book and to my annoyance/secret pleasure, nickname me "Anne" when I get too chatty. It's inspired me to re-read the series literally for the fifth or sixth time if not more, which is saying a lot considering that it's eight books long and I've jist finished two. But and every word, every scene, is like an old friend. So having Anne with me has eased my return to urban life, and coming home to my wonderful amie and the excitement of moving and starting anew is also a plaisir. Adieu, readers.

The sentimental,

F.E.

les photos....the sea in its infinite moods...

mmmm.... Drano!

AGW spent the last hour pouring liquid chemicals down her bathtub drain ...then scrubbing out the the tub, in honor of it being three weeks until move-out time (again). Bien sur, fellow-ette and her copain are moving on up... to Ft. Washington avenue, a mere three blocks from the gorgeousness that is Ft. Tryon Park. True, the rent, low by NY standards, probably (definitely) means we'll be living beyond our means for a while, but hey... no more roaches, no more jehovah's witnesses knocking on our doors, no more crazy neighbors who stuff the chute full of trash, and no more elevators breaking in the middle of every heatwave.
Yes, it's been an eventful summer. And to counterbalance the current madness, the future prospect of living equidistant from FTP and Frank's, home of truly delicious muffins and iced coffee, is enough to make a life-long New Yorker raise a half-eyebrow in pleasure.

Amazing things I've discovered during my downtime this last week or so:

1. The texan governor's race is a hoot. I'm going Kinky.
   
2. The mysterious, Eastern voice behind several emerging bhangra-ton (for lack of a better term) hits turns out to be another "other."*
3. Celebrity split-up, round 1 billion: somebody I was with recently called this tragedy. Who was it? (But seriously, those Hawn/Hudson women need some empowerment 101)
   
4. Even fascist countries acknowledge global warming.
5. My own version of Gawker Stalker/entire summer edition: , on 194th and broadway, a very very small Jodie Foster and somewhat less tiny Neil Jordan, filming their new movie. Also, robert Downey Jr.'s wife, a producer. At the Film Forum: Ethan Hawke, buying popcorn. On 80th and Columbus: a dour-looking defeated Joe Lieberman. (insert victorious laugh here)
   

I'm leaving these parts in a few days for the glory of our neighbor up north (Oh, Canada!) with ma and pa and brother, where we will dine on mussels and build our muscles via biking, hiking, and bodysurfing. I hope my dwindling readership enjoys these last, golden days of summer, and is able to function unimpeded by the neuroses that accompany the anticipation of Autumn (if you're feeling depressed about going back to school/work/moving, etc....just think: corduroy!).

xoxoxo.
<3>
f.ette


*meant with due irony

Sorbet is good.

There's been a long, long hiatus from my active participation in this blog. I know you've been pining for a little bit of my trademark haterade-drinkin, wit-spewin, system-bringing-down- bloggin'.

But it's hard out there for an imp (ish online persona).

First of all, I'm not really fellow-ette any longer, and I'm not going to lie that that's giving my blogging a bit of a struggle finding a vrais identity. Should I sign my posts "semi-unemployed-but-still-on-payroll-ette"? It doesn't quite roll off the tongue. Neither do I wish to be "journalista," yet/ever because...eww.

(Incidentally, though, for readers who gallivant on the upper east side... check out the chartreause drop-boxes containing this mag to see a little of fellow-ette's work/selling-out. I know there's a semi-full one on 72d and lex... the one on 79th and 3rd got emptied today.)

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Other Updates.

• For reviews of Miami Vice, which I attended here in WaHi with Shook, Twist, and Swivvle click here (and follow the links, biatch).
• To read about the charming Scottish author who's been charming me on my subway rides, click heah. Viva Mma Ramotswe!
• Check out a hot hot hot new video, thanks to my EW-reviewin' life companion...
• To exult over the ouster of that shonda, Joe Lieberman, just breathe in the sweet sweet aroma of justice.

_____________________________________

And in conclusion...
Still hung up on edjumication? Read this e-mail from a fellow just -uit fellow-ette, which mysteriously made its way to AGW:

I just got the new "NYCTF Bulletin" and it is plastered with stuff for new teachers and it made me really MAD so I just needed to vent... For example, I noticed that it says that your NYC Board of Ed. mentor will visit you TWO TIMES PER WEEK, with one observation and one meeting. My mentor, who by the way was worthless and who I also heard makes a lot of money, visited me AT MOST once per month, and didn't even start observing me until second semester. In fact, my [CUNY college A] mentor who came once a month observed me more than she did. Honestly, if I had had even one person who gave a damn how I did and how I was doing, my first semester would have been so much better. Instead, I got hired so that I could be fired in a year, my school treated me like shit, observations were threats rather than designed to help, and literally no one cared. I got observed ONCE by my principal, and driven out with the threat of a "U" for the year, so I would be kicked out of the program. I guess getting this newsletter reminded me of how I felt a year ago -- like I was nervous but really CARED and wanted to do it and do a good job -- and the year just sucked all of it out of me. I'm just so mad that they set people up for failure and threaten people with paying back money if they quit. Or that they pretend to care and actually just want to get a person in the classroom and scare you enough to stay there. It makes me so mad all over again, even though I'm not even doing it anymore! I want to write an editorial or letter or something about all of this. [Elite College A] RECOMMENDS this program. [Elite College B] probably does too. It's so absurd. The program is just a huge sham. Or something

Just so my readers remember why this all started.

Thanks fellow fellow-ette, for letting your words leak to AGW's readership.


xoxoxox.

/the artist formerly known as fellow-ette.

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...Oh and Peee ESSSS, the reason for the post title is because I'm eating sorbet right now. Sharon's sorbet, mixed berry, and it's seriously yum. Go, Sharon.