I hate making decisions, I hate when things don't work, and I really hate pressure. There. Glad that's out in the open. In other news, I can't wait for May, for there to finally be nothing happening. I can't wait for my new computer, to get back to writing. I've decided to move my coffeepot into my room, and every morning I will wake up, make a cup of coffee, and then sit out on the roof to write, as dawn creeps over the trees. it sounds romantic. Mostly it will probably just be cold, mildly frightening, and highly illegal.

As I feel that any blog must have some edification value, I have decided that mine will be this: to help bring literature to the masses by reviewing at least a book a week. Perhaps I will choose a particular day to do so. If so, that day will be today. A Friday. Friday's are wonderful days. I will call it. . .Fiction Friday. Of course, it could occassionally be delayed until Monday, which would make it. . .Mandatory Reading Monday. Or Tuesday/Thursday in which case, I shall name it. . .Tuesday's To-Reads. Wednesday would become. . .Wordy Wednesday.

Book of the Week: The Plot Against America by Phillip Roth. Ever a counter-culture writer (think Portnoy's Complaint. . .an entire book written as a frighteningly detailed ode to masturbation), Roth's alternate history paints a world in which Roosevelt was never elected to the third term, losing instead to the hugely conservative Charles A. Lindbergh (yes, that Lindbergh, more well known for flying across an ocean than any political activism) who ultimately allies with Nazi Germany and creates an environment in which any American Jew lives in an oppressive state.

What makes the book readable is its utter lack of pretentiousness. Narrated by a young stamp-collector, the book meanders through its themes with the guilelessness only a child can manage. Sympathetic yet flawed characters provide the backbone of the novel, as Newark New Jersey, set between the bustling New York and the politically charged capital provides a bulwark of safe, New England life on the verge of change.

An excellent book for summer reading, with decently spaced chapters, simple language, and a plot bordering between terrifying and thrilling, it's one of those rare discoveries that combines immense readability with literary significance. This is no Invisible Man or Middlesex, but it is a contribution to the American genre in its own right.

And, as a closing comment (from me the self-obsessed narcissist, no longer literary critic) last night, for those of you who missed it, was lesbian night. It involved a friend's boobs, a buttless waiter, and the delightful movie Grindhouse. For those fellow aficionados of zombie films, Rodriguez's Planet Terror was a delight. Imagine watching a video game being played by a friend. The experience was oddly akin to that, with the joy of adding in Bruce Willis, the ever-beautiful Naveen Andrews, Rose McGowan with a frickin' gun strapped to her leg, and the curiously attractive yet altogether too short Freddy Rodriguez.

For those who like to watch hot girls beat up on creepy seriel killers, Death Proof by Quentin Tarantino allows plenty of chest/boob shots for any male viewer. For me, it was a bit long.

And on that note, I have a completely free weekend and absolutely nothing to do. Suggestions?

Hearts and Daisies,
Jess