Whatever You Do, Don't Run: True Tales of a Botswana Safari Guide by Peter Allison

Date Started: June 17, 2015
Date Finished: June 17, 2015
Book Acquisition: Carrollton Book Exchange
Overall Rating: 3/5

I'm sitting on a plane en route to the California. My flight was delayed, then delayed again, then hastily boarded so we could sit on the tarmac in a line of planes as orderly as any elementary school class on the way to lunch. This book made the delays and the literal hours spent in security seem really pretty okay. It was light, and interesting, and very endearing read about (you guessed it) a safari guide's experience in the African Bush.

Favorite Parts:

1. The introduction of Dick, an atrocious but much loved vehicle. It reminded my very forcibly of Richard Hammond's love for Oliver in the Top Gear Botswana Special. 
2. The (true) love story between Sir Sereste Khama (one of the founding fathers of Botswana) and his English wife, Ruth. I hope I have a marriage as obviously devoted as theirs. I was so impressed by them in fact that I've just purchased a book about their lives. 
3. At some point, when Allison was going something he was sure would kill him he thought he tombstone would need to read, "HERE LIES PETER ALLISON. HE WAS RIDICULOUS." (186) Even if I die very normally, I want a similar inscription. I love being ridiculous. I think it's one of my better qualities.  
4. Allison's descriptions of "Bird Nerds" (and his eventual descent into those same ranks.

"My perception was that people who watched birds wore funny clothes and had poor hygiene. They has beards (even the women) with bits of food stuck in them. Bird-watching was close kin to the dirty perversions of stamp collections and crocheting cushion covers." (124)

Eventually Allison says, "I am on those people, I thought, and it didn't seem such a bad thing after all." (127)

THIS IS EXACTLY HOW I FEEL ABOUT MY MOTHER'S CLAN. In the last couple months  I have taken up the much loved Myers' pastime of  gardening and embraced my love of counting birds. I have generally been marginally interesting in bird, and birding, but my family is borderline nonsensical in their birding quest. My grandparents have spent small fortunes chasing birds across the world.

For this last Christmas I requested a small bird feeder to stick to my window in the hopes of distracting my cats from their more destructive pursuits. Mother got me a feeder just like her own, well frequented feeder, and super high quality seeds. I set it up at a prominent window and waited. To date it's been up for nearly six months and I've literally never had a damn bird come visit. Not a single. fucking. bird.

Somehow this rejection has fueled me. Every couple months I move the feeder to a new window and hope for a visitor. In the meantime, I've started making lists and tallying the birds that visit the yard (but not the feeder). I have a pair of cardinals, the occasional blue birds and blue jays, and packs of robins (mostly in the front). The lists were the final straw, really, "I am on those people, I thought, and it didn't seem such a bad thing after all."

The Wolf of Wall Street by Jordan Belfort

Date Started: June 6, 2015

Date Finished: June 7, 2015

Book Acquisition: Cobb County Library Book Sale, Spring 2015

Overall Rating: 3/5

The Wolf of Wall Street confirmed my deep suspicion that I could never be a drug addict. I’ve enjoyed dabbling, certainly, but to spend that many YEARS out of control seems like a metric shit ton of work. Honestly the whole book was similarly exhausting. JB’s life (or rather, the decade chronicled in this book) was a wild and ridiculous romp. I’m currently coming off a week long birthday-bender and even that’s been draining to me. I almost don’t have the motivation to go get hammered tonight. I will obviously (because I’m not a little bitch), but I’m longing for the days of exercise and sobriety and a marginally clean house. Instead I’ve got piles of random things on every surface, and I HIKED STONE MOUNTAIN FUCKING HAMMERED. WHY DID I FEEL THE NEED TO BE HAMMERED FOR THAT EVEN?! I CHUGGED BEERS (WITH AN S) IN THE PARKING LOT BEFORE HIKING.

Any who, the book is delightfully written, and totally worth reading, but I don’t really have a lot to say about it. The high points were the general malarkey, obviously, and JB's relationship with the Duchess. I don't know what it says about me that I love wildly toxic couples but I'm a million percent sure that it's nothing good. Either way, I’m happy I’m not business mad, and vaguely pleased that I don’t have zillions of dollars to throw around. I’m certain I’d be even more hideously self-centered and ridiculous if either of those were the case. 

Atonement by Ian McEwan

Date Started: June 6, 2015

Date Finished: June 6, 2015

Book Acquisition: Cobb County Library Book Sale, Spring 2015

Overall Rating: 3/5

I've read Atonement before, on some airplane a decade or more ago. I don't remember anything from the first reading except that the book was grossly melodramatic and that I sobbed through the ending, attempting to blow my nose on those tiny airplane cocktail napkins.

I picked this book today because I wanted something heavy and beautiful and far away from here and now. And I got that in droves. However, I think my favorite part wasn't the drama, or the intrigue, or the heartbreak (both the characters' and my own). The best part was how delightfully bored every one was before before the Big Dramatic Thing happened. There's a particular quote I wrote down that I think defines it perfectly. "...he made himself think about time, about his great hoard, the luxury of an unspent fortune. He had never before felt so self-consciously young, nor experienced such appetite, such impatience for the story to begin." (86)

PREACH IT, ROBBIE. 

Lately, I've been feeling so damn oppressed by this very happy, if boring, life I'm living. I have a well-paying job that I generally enjoy, three little fuzzy creatures that adore me, a garden with buckets of nearly ripe vegetables, and Daniel and I just bought a Wii. But there's something about turning twenty-five that makes me think I shouldn't take so much joy in these little moment. Perhaps the little moments are making me complacent enough that I'm going to miss out on the big moments - the moments that drive the plot in my life's story. 

I've been working very hard the last couple months at not comparing my life with anyone else's life, but it's been hard to do. I see people I knew from school traveling the world or settling in other countries and I get this hot, angry knot in my stomach. Why didn't I do that earlier? Why did I get cats, a dog, debt? My job has lulled me into the delicious comfort of having enough money to do literally almost whatever I want, so leaving that for something uncertain seems ludicrous. Even the fucking tomato plants feel like a weight. I've named them, loved them, how could I just leave? The other end of the spectrum also makes the angry, jealous knot appear. I see friends with husbands and intentional babies and I feel like I'm behind. I feel like I'm missing out on all this time with the love of my life, because I haven't found the stupid jerk yet. There are so many shared adventures we're missing out on! 

I'm just sitting here, in the middle of those extremes, trudging along. 

The book's melodrama was clearly contagious - this post is far more self-pitying than I meant it to be. I think I'll have to balance it out with something ridiculous. Perhaps it's time to re-read some more Christopher Moore.

EDIT: I spent the half hour after finishing this book sighing and banging around dishes so the world could hear my displeasure. Daniel wasn't home so the claterring was a largely pointless exercise but it made me feel hugely better. Then I went to the symphony and had a delightful tiny adventure and it made me feel perfectly content with the small moments of happiness.