Monthly Archives: March 2010


This book makes Tug a little wary. And well it should. Apocalypse 2012 is chock-a-block full of reasons to start stockpiling survival gear.

Or exhausting all your savings and maxing out your credit cards, ’cause you might as well party hardy for our final two years of civilization.

If you buy into it, that is.

If you drink that particular kinda kool-aid, that is.

Author Lawrence E. Joseph’s premise that civilization ends in 2012 is based on the fact that the ancient Mayan calendar inexplicably stops in 2012. (Actually, 12/21/12 to be precise, which is in the Mayan Long Count calendar-whatever the F that is.)

Then Mr. Joseph spends 237 pages examining scenarios and building rationale to support this end-of-it-all date.

Didn’t we just go through this in 2000?

(Oh wait. Larry debunks the Y2K comparison early on by calling it “nothing but a transition from a digitally unremarkable number to a nice big round one.”-  hey, we can’t have old doom and gloom challenging the creds of his new doom and gloom, now can we?)

So anyway.

From overdue mass extinction to increasing sunspot activity to a crack in the earth’s magnetic field to a supervolcano under Yellowstone Park getting ready to blow to the interstellar energy cloud that our solar system is getting ready to enter, Larry presents argument after argument that 2012 is going to be one wild ride.

But ya know what? Maybe because I’m intellectually impotent and not that smart, I’m not so sure.

It just seems that, like so many books of this genre, there appears to be an over abundance of author supported data and a suspicious lack of contradictory theory and facts.

Which is fine.

But add to that the fact that Larry claims in his own introduction that he himself doesn’t think that December 21, 2012 will mark the end of the world and that all he’s trying to do is present the facts and you get the feeling that maybe all he’s really trying to do is sell books.

Which is fine too.

So. When all’s said and done, Apocalypse 2012 is interesting in all the ways that strangely, weirdly coincidental stuff is always strangely and weirdly interesting, but I’m not gonna be stockpiling beer and dog food just yet.

Next up- American Nomads by Richard Grant


So this is how it goes.

Ya wanta write somethin’ upliftingly worth reading, worth the 10-15 seconds spent cruising through.

But ya can’t. It’s maybe not worth the effort or maybe you’re drunk or maybe tired.

But you try.

You turn up the music thinking that’ll help and ya force it, squinting and pushing until you give up and give birth to a lame-o post and a picture of Cutter and Tug looking longlingly for yet another biscuit.

And you slink away, covering your head in shame like a cop-killer after sentencing.


I’d never heard of Russell Banks.

Which maybe isn’t saying a great deal since I haven’t heard of a lot of things but I like to think that I generally try to keep up with good authors.

But I’d never even heard of him.

I was at our local Barnes and Noble a couple a weeks ago, my heart pounding, my palms all sweaty, ’cause Miss Carol had given me a gift card for my birthday and it was book buyin’ time. Woo-hoo!!!

You gotta realize; excitement-wise, for me, a gift card to Barnes and Noble ranks right up there with a bikini-model orgy- I’m just dweebie that way.

So there I was, prowlin’ the aisles ogling at all the books like a mental patient and trying not to drool too much when I came across Russell Banks.

Have I mentioned that I’d never heard of him?

After  lookin’ at his books for a minute, I picked up Affliction and thumbed through it, reading a page here and there but I put it back ’cause I didn’t really like the font or the feel of the paper- did I mention I’m dweebie?- and moved on.

I was getting ready to check out when something about Affliction drew me back and forced me to buy it and boy howdy am I glad I did. At the risk of risking my creds, this is one of the best books I’ve read in quite a while.

It’s the story of a middle-aged man feeling trapped by family, life, luck, and circumstance in a bleak little town in New Hampshire where he’s lived his whole life. It’s an unraveling sorta story, the kind that pulls you in and keeps you wondering where it’s all gonna end but knowing it’s probably not gonna end good.

I loved it and even though it really resonated with me having had an abusive alcoholic father my-own-self, it is so beautifully written that you don’t have to have been beaten to enjoy it and empathize with the weaknesses of Wade Whitehouse, the main character.

It’s amazingly good.

In my, you know, humble opinion.

Next up- Apocalypse 2012 by Lawrence E. Joseph


Add this to his looonnnnnggggg list of quirks- an apparent aversion to me chopping firewood.

I don’t know where he gets it, I really don’t.

I’m tryin’ to split some wood yesterday when- all the sudden- there’s Cutter; barking at me, his barks reverberating canyon-style off the condo’s across the street, and while he’s barking he’s darting in and out trying to disrupt(?) my swing and save(?) the firewood(?).

Whassup wit dat?

So I put him and Tug back in the house and Cutter immediately tears through the house over to the sliding glass door glaring out at me wide eyed, barking wildly again, frenetically and frantically pawing the glass ’til I’m laughing so hard I couldn’t chop wood if I wanted to.

Little fucker.