9 Chickweed Lane on Entertainment Weekly's blog Pop Watch

Back at school with plenty to snark - I'm reading Plato's Republic, for cripe's sake - but, haven't really had the time to sit down and do it yet.  Don't worry.  It's coming, oh-ho, boy is it coming.

In the meantime: check this out! My dad and Chickweed are the subject of a post on Entertainment Weekly's blog.  C'est cool, n'est-ce pas?

Lit for Brains #1: Selling Hope and Big Nate: In A Class By Himself

One of the perks of my summer bookstore gig is occasionally I get to pick some books to review from whatever happens to be lying on the Advance Reader Copy table.  I'm partial to the kids' books.  I'm a bit overdue with these two - I read them on the flight to the Comic Con.


Selling Hope - Kristin O'Donnell Tubb 
It's hard to separate this book's promise from its execution.  On first reading the back cover blurb, I thought it was a neat story idea, and still do.  In 1910 Chicago, with Halley's comet approaching, a 13-year-old on tour with a vaudeville troupe (she plays assistant to her father, a magician) gets the idea to raise some money by hawking fake "anti-comet pills" to terrified townspeople.  However, she hasn't anticipated the emotional consequences that ensue - both for the customers (who cling to the belief that they now have "hope") and for our young entrepreneur (not-so-coincidentally also named "Hope") herself.  Along the way, she grapples with her feelings about her mother's death, navigates her relationship with her dad, and forms a bond with a fellow troupe member, who just happens to be a 15-year-old Buster Keaton.

It's a mixed bag.  The substance and Ms. Tubb's imaginative resources are commendable.  The narrative, on the other hand, is awkward.  Narrator Hope's voice, while distinctive, is labored, making her come across as self-conscious in the way she describes things.  (Furthermore, as an incidental point, I find it hard to buy that Buster Keaton could have been such a bland, vanilla-milkshake presence -- but I admit I wasn't there.)  Despite the problems, it's worth a read: every plot point is tied up, no character is left undeveloped, and whenever Ms. Tubb describes Hope's reactions to Buster, her writing really shines.  Her investment in her characters, story, and research is obvious; the excesses should be taken along with the positives, not automatically allowed to overshadow them.  Decide for yourself.


SNARK-O-METER RATING: 1.5 snarks ("You Might Just Watch The Playhouse Instead")




















 Big Nate: In A Class By Himself - Lincoln Peirce
Having grown up with 11-year-old comic strip antihero Big Nate (although I didn't specifically attend P.S. 38), I'm happy to see the kid get a book of his own.  Although the inevitable comparison will be to Jeff Kinney's Diary of a Wimpy Kid and its sequels, I was actually reminded of Marissa Moss' Amelia's Notebook series; Amelia, like Nate, draws her "own" cartoons to accompany the story, and the tone of the humor is not dissimilar.  Both characters have engaging, first-person voices that engage the reader as a friend.


The story is told with ease, humor and style.  Readers may well figure out the ending ahead of time, but it's still entertaining and the story never insults the reader's intelligence.  Personally, I only wished Nate's character had had more of a chance to develop in this book; given that this was a story told outside of the constraints of a daily comic strip, I felt that the character could have had a lot more room to grow.  There's plenty to him; this is, after all, the same kid who created the comic strip hero "Dr. Cesspool."  So naturally he's a sentimental favorite of mine.  Here's hoping we see sequels.


SNARK-O-METER RATING: Bag of Cheez Doodles (because I know Nate would prefer that to bubble tea)

The Snarkly Three: Special It's Afternoon Already Edition

1. So does he end up with Jughead? Huh? Huh? Does he does he does he?

You'll be pleased to know Archie Comics is introducing its first gay character, thus boldly proving that, in this modern age, persons of any orientation whatsoever can - and will - speak only in sentences ending in exclamation points.

I still remember the one and only time that, as an impressionable youth of 8 or 9, I saw a sentence in an Archie comic that -- get ready now -- ended in a period. True story. I even remember the sentence: it was Veronica saying, quote, "I'm NOT going without my THINGS." The flagrant lack of ! was so shocking that, as you can see, the quote burned itself irrevocably onto my brain -- much more readily than, say, Shakespeare.

2. Somebody please tell me why.

I posted here awhile back about Diesel's "Be Stupid" campaign. Now it seems they're launching a "Faces of Stupid" contest. The winner gets the presidency of the university of his or her choice.

I thought THIS was Diesel:

3. Just for God's sake don't tell anybody

I was given a free coffee the other day at a popular international establishment. (This happened because I was honest about not having been charged.) Now this gave me pause, because such flagrant acts of free coffee-giving are Definitely Not Allowed in -- well, not to name names, but, certain countries in which both this establishment and I both originated. Even if the barista wanted to let you get away with it, the establishment's Corporate Mega-Constabulary would descend from the light fixtures and wrestle your sorry honest consumer ass to the ground and PRY THAT $2.65 STRAIGHT FROM YOUR SORRY HONEST CONSUMER-ASS WALLET BWA HA HA while the Corporate Mega-Constabulary Hounds took bites out of your head.

Whoo! My, heh-heh, it seems I'm a bit more struck than I realized by the fascinating disparities between our two cultures! I should maybe explain, in the interest of full disclosure, that I myself used to be an employee of this establishment, where the rule was that even after all molecules of the establishment were as clean as the average maternity ward, you had to stand there and keep MANICALLY FAKE-CLEANING THEM so as to give the CUSTOMERS, who by the way don't give a RAT'S ASS, the impression that you were KEEPING BUSY, BY GUM. Whereas at this establishment in France, the daily Game Plan seems to be to let the daily crud pile up till closing, because what the hell, it's only going to pile up again tomorrow, right? We at the Snark have total faith that one day, the inevitable will dawn on them: "Hey," they will say to themselves, in French.* "By logical extension, we don't have to clean up this place ... EVER!" And they never will again. Also they will wear only comical underpants to work.

It might not happen tomorrow; it might not happen next week. But we have hope for Corporate France. We think it is just that progressive.

* " 'Ey! Par extension logique, nous ne have to pas clean up cette place ... EVER!"

The Snarkly Three: Special 6:52 P.M. Edition

1. French Dilbert is hilarious.

Seriously, how did I ever live without this? :

Known stateside as Build A Better Life By Stealing Office Supplies, this is just one example of the unpredictable spoils offered up each day at bookstravaganza Boulinier, in the 6th arrondissement of Paris. Those readers who are my sister and have memorized every word of our original, God-knows-what-stained copy will be pleased to know I now face the world armed with the definitive definition of "YOU IDIOT! I'LL FIRE YOU AND EVERYBODY WHO LOOKS LIKE YOU!"*

I don't know, maybe it's just the novelty, but I have to say this thing (which was already hilarious) just got about 16 times hilarious-er for me. Plus it provides some insight into the the concept of tutoyer-ing (addressing people familiarly as opposed to politely), too. For example, the pointy-haired boss "tutoies" everybody. Seems fitting enough.

2. Access by metro, bus or Moon-Rocket

The other day, I finally fulfilled one of my Life Goals (the others being walk into a university restroom without having to walk right back out, and, oh yeah, end world hunger), and went to the Centre de la bande dessinée in Brussels, Belgium, which beat out all the other cities to be the capital of Europe evidently because no one had a stupider waffle fetish.

But back to the Centre, where, as some of you may know, the Moon-Rocket greets you in the lobby:

Here's the Centre from the outside:

I'll spare you my delirious protracted geek-out over the many Tintin exhibits** and skip straight to this other thing I liked, a Stonehenge-style array of giant comic books mounted on an upstairs floor. This was my personal favorite. I think it says a lot*** about European culture:

3. If this were at MoMA, it would be NAKED Playmobil people

Meanwhile, right here in town, the Musée des arts décoratifs is hosting a Playmobil exhibit, clearly part of a national initiative to promulgate**** the intellectual principle: "Hey! Come look at some REALLY BIG Playmobil people." I give you, as evidence, their Middle Ages exhibit, from which I learned that the Middle Ages featured Playmobil people.

I hope you'll forgive me my youthful exuberance, but there really is nothing quite like coming face-to-face with history.

Actually, I had gone to the exhibit in the first place because I needed to satisfy a burning intellectual question that had weighed upon my soul since possibly the previous hour, namely: does Playmobil make a supermarket? Well, there wasn't one at the Musée, so I thought all was lost, but the Internet proves dreams do come true after all. Regardez:*****

I'd say this is right on, aside from the fact that they left out the steaming clouds of hate billowing from the employees' heads. Whatever, it's a nitpick. Life is beautiful.

* "ESPÈCE D'IDIOT! JE VAIS TE RENVOYER ET TOUS CEUX QUI TE RESSEMBLENT!"

** Unless you actually WANT to hear about this, in which case, another day.

*** Namely, "Ha ha! De Gaulle at the beach is funny!"

**** Snotty-ass English, literally, "promulgate."

***** French, literally, "Holy weekly store circular, Batman!"