I've Got a Passion in My Pants and I Ain't Afraid to Show It

Just add "in your pants" to any book title.

Looking for Alaska in your pants

And Then There Were None in your pants

The Tempest in your pants

The Secret Garden in your pants

Great Expectations in your pants

An Abundance of Katherines in your pants

Uglies in your pants

The Power of Six in your pants

Let it Snow in your pants

Where the Sidewalk Ends in your pants

Oh, the Places You'll Go! in your pants

Along for the Ride in your pants

Holes in your pants

The Unbearable Lightness of Being in your pants

I'm sorry.

The Duel of the Dexters

 

I don't know that I've ever read a book about someone named Dexter. Unlike Jack or Sam or John or James or Will, Dexter isn't a name that every male protagonist or deuteragonist goes by. And while I have dexterity (that's me being punny) at reading multiple books I once, I can tell you with great certainty that I have never simultaneously read two romances about two Dexters. Quite confusing.

Let's start with This Lullaby. It's the typical Sarah Dessen formula: smart girl with some sort of problem (pregnancy, weight issues, relationship troubles, abusive family, abusive boyfriend, can't ride a bike) meets swoon-worthy guy, romance ensues, and happy ending roll credits. It's a formula I don't necessarily like in large amounts, but every once in a while I get the itch. This time around it's Remy Starr, who goes through boyfriends like they're sticks of gum, and Dexter Jones, a dirt-poor, klutzy musician, who isn't Remy's type. At. All. Wink wink nudge nudge poke poke. I like this one. Not my favorite, but Sarah Dessen is always good.

Then there's One Day. It literally is about the same day, July fifteenth, across a span of twenty years. Advice: do not devour. This book was a hefty undertaking, at least for little old me. Perhaps it was the massive amount of time that the story spanned across, but I couldn't do it in one afternoon, or even a week. Like This Lullaby, it's a romantic story centered around Emily Morley, an aspiring writer, and Dexter Mayhew, who's aspiring to be something of course. It's not an easy relationship; they never are. A series of missed and taken opportunities outline their lives and weave their stories together. The only thing I disliked about this story was Dexter for, like, the first half of the book.

Two good books, two Dexters, and a recommendation that, if you haven't already, you read these in the summer, not fall-ish winter, like I just did.

So in the battle of the Dexters, who wins? I think I'll stick with clumsy musician Dexter. But if we're comparing books, I think I like One Day just a smidgen more.

In other news maybe it's just Anne Hathaway's accent or the Disney-style narration, but from just watching the trailer, this movie seems awesomely cheesy/horrid. Sorry Anne, I like you and all but the accent needs fixing, plus Emma is supposed to have red hair. Still, I foster an abnormal affection for the awesomely cheesy/horrid, so I'll probably watch it in a few weeks or months or whenever someone puts it on Youtube.

Update: Not pretending that I know anything about movies, but this one was so cute, especially toward the end.

The Intelligence of the Nine-Year-Old: The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

When I first saw The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, I had no clue what it was about, only that the back cover claimed it wasn't a book for nine-year-olds. Being a non-nine-year-old, I picked it up, kept it on my to-read list for a month or so, and finally got around to reading it about a week ago. While the subject matter is definitely for the oldsters—most likely middle graders or teenagers—the actual technical writing is very repetitive and very childlike.

It's written from the point of view of a nine-year-old boy named Bruno, who lives in Berlin during World War II and the Holocaust. There are plenty of Holocaustal stories that are about the oppressed, but this one is about the oppressing side, the Nazi party, which had the potential to be a very interesting story.

 Though I understand that it is a book that is supposed to be story of a young, innocent bystander, I can't justify Bruno's lack of basic critical thinking skills and inability to correctly hear German words, even though he and everyone around him speaks German. Auschwitz is "Out-With" and Führer is "The Fury." Seriously? Basically, Bruno's an idiot, and his thirteen-year-old sister ain't the sharpest knife in the drawer either.

On a bit of a side note, I found it funny that there is a version with the English spelling, "Pyjamas," and the American spelling, "Pajamas." Being from the United States myself, I got the "Pajamas" copy, but none of the other English spellings (i.e. metre, favourite, programme, tyre) were Americanized. So someone had to go through and change all the "pyjamas" to "pajamas" for no good reason at all.

Also I learned something new about Irish/British/insert-country-here punctuation. They write their quotations marks opposite. For example:

US: "She asked me, 'do you like apples?' and I said I did," explained Sally.

UK: 'She asked me, "do you like apples?" and I said I did,' explained Sally.

Maybe this is something everyone knew already, and I'm just being dull. But hey, I learn somethin' new every day.

Maysurements

I come from a part of the world where some people call it meh-surements and others may-surements. A place where centimeters and millimeters aren't unheard of, but their prefixes are usually attached to some sort of pede. I come from a place where most people (including myself) couldn't name every unit of measurement—pica, point, gill, minim, calorie, bushel, barrel, peck, teaspoon, tablespoon, monspoon, what? And despite my second grade training on the matter, I probably can't tell you how many ounces are in a cup are in a pint are in a quart are in a gallon. (Actually a cup is eight ounces, a pint is two cups, a quart is two pints, and a gallon is four quarts, but that's just me being an insufferable know-it-all.) And it's so easy to confuse ' and " if you're not sure which is feet and which is inches.

It's simple to screw up when calculating things using American measurements, since nothing is the same and nothing is based on powers of ten. Yeah, I can tell you that my pencil is four and seven eighths inches long, but no I do not know the decimal that corresponds with 7/8 off the top of my head.

My biggest qualm with the American system of measurement is that it makes conversion factors a beast. Having to stretch myself even translating feet to inches, it's even harder to translate calories to kilojoules, or pints to grams, or feet to decimeters.

I recommend we go standard, America. I think you'll find that meters and moles aren't so bad once you get acquainted.

P.S. Fun fact: You actually need around two million calories a day. The measurements on food labels aren't real calories, they're kilocalories, or 1,000 real calories. The cake really is a lie—it's actually 340,000 calories, not the 340 it claimed to be. This means Michael Phelps eats an average of twelve million calories per day. Like a boss.

Well Dearie, It Seems Like Forever Ago

That I wrote anything here. But you know mid-November is prime time for teachers trying to cram in extra work and such before the big (though four days is hardly enough to be considered big) Thanksgiving break.

Today I just want to be bleh and totes mcgotes judge multiple books by their covers. Here are some of my favorites:

I love all the covers of Deborah Wiles's books. So pretty.

Potentially my favorite book cover ever.

Dont ask me why on this one. A lot of people can't even stand the book. I happen to like both the cover and the inside of it.

That's enough work for today.

Four Letters

ONE—

Dear Chemistry A Teacher,

I like you. You're a fun gal. I especially like that your class isn't the equivalent of getting a root canal. Still, I can't pretend that I enjoy Chemistry AT. ALL. Then you assigned this book. Not gonna lie, it wasn't awful. If Chemistry is your cup of tea make sure the spoon you're using isn't made of gallium (har har, chemistry jokes) and read this book because it's less painful than this letter.

Sincerely, Chem Student of Average Proportions

TWO—

Dear Junior,

You remind me of a friend of mine. It's kind of cool, slightly freakadeekity. I also enjoyed your book even though I don't play basketball, I'm not from Spokane, I'm not a fourteen-year-old boy, and for the entire time I was reading it I thought you lived in Arizona (I gotz the mad geography skillz). But you're a fun kid.

Sincerely, Geography Whiz

TROIS—

Cher le monde,

Tomorrow is 11-11-11. Of course there's going to be a movie about it.

Grosses bises, L'étudiante française

FOUR—

Dear Macbeth,

It took our class an entire month, but we finally finished you. And I liked you—well not you specifically, but the book. So far in my lifetime, I've gotten three Shakespeare plays under my belt. SUCCESS. (And I may have just finished my third Shakespeare, but I still just left out a C in success.)

Sincierly, Super Speller