The One Thing No One Tells You Before You Write a Terrible Column

A lot of people have been up in arms the last couple of days about this article from Slate. In it, the author describes how, once her children were born, the dog that she had previously doted on like a furry baby quickly went from adored to ignored to downright hated. Why? Because he's a dog.

A friend of mine once told me that before he had a kid, he would have run into a burning building to save his cats. Now that he has a kid, he would happily drown the cats in the bathtub if it would help his son take a longer nap. Here is how I feel about that statement: Velvel, avoid the bathroom.

It’s not that I don’t love my dog. It’s just that I don’t love my dog. And I am not alone. A very nonscientific survey of almost everyone I know who had a dog and then had kids now wishes they had never got the dog. This is a near universal truth, even for parents with just one child, though I have more.

This is two paragraphs after she talks about making the dog homemade food and sitting in the backseat so he could ride shotgun on trips, all before she had kids.

As someone who reads articles about pregnancy, oh, every nine seconds, constantly scoffing at the ridiculousness of some of the things I see (If you vaccinate your baby against whooping cough, he will grow a third arm and only sleep in the closet!), I'm almost unfazed by the obvious crazymommies. That's why God invented STFU, Parents, after all. But this hit me close to home and I've been thinking about it off and on since I read it yesterday.

Like the author, we, too, have a dog that we dote on. Charlie was our wedding gift to each other and we often count that as one of the smartest things we've ever done. We thoughtfully chose the breed; at the time, we lived in an apartment, so we avoided any dogs that were large or had a ton of energy or both, no matter how much everyone loves a lab. We fake-fought for awhile between a bulldog (Matt's choice) and a corgi (mine), but after some research on the care and attitudes of both breeds, and learning just how much bulldogs are prone to gassing you out of house and home with their extreme flatulence, Matt presented me with a stuffed corgi to represent our new dog-to-be.

We first met Charlie when he was five weeks old. The breeder - a pleasant chainsmoking older woman who also served as her town's animal control officer - put the only two unclaimed puppies from the litter in a used playpen to let us choose. We weren't allowed to touch them since they hadn't been vaccinated at all (and after they were, they didn't grow extra extremities...although Charlie does like to sleep under the bed), so we put our fingers to the mesh siding. One of the roley-poley balls of fur and fat and cuteness waddled over, sniffed our hands and licked at them. That's how we met Charlie.

The first day we met Charlie.

Since then, Charlie has been as much a part of our family as either of us. He sleeps under our bed, we wake up at ungodly hours to take him on "family walks" before I have to go to work. When we go on vacation, we find ourselves drawn to random dogs we see on the street out of Charlie withdrawal. In Chicago, we came across a guy playing fetch with his well-trained cavalier spaniel puppy and recognizing my squealish reaction to the little guy, let me throw the ball for awhile. We might have scared another guy while he walked his two bulldogs. It happens.

But that being said, when I read about how the author thought of her dog before she had children, I could see the problem already. Charlie is part of our family. We love him dearly and would be heartbroken if anything happened to him. But he's a dog. We didn't make his food from scratch (we don't even feed him people food unless we're too lazy to pick up that potato chip we dropped on the kitchen floor). His spot in the car is the backseat. We brush him and clean his ears and walk him, but if we skip a day because we're too busy or something came up, we're not too worried about it. He's a dog.

The problem with the author is that, for her, her dog wasn't a dog; he was a child. And when real children came along, she didn't know how to treat him like the dog he was. Spoiling him rotten and completely ignoring him aren't your only two options for interacting with him. There's got to be something between extreme love and extreme hate.

Admittedly, we don't have children yet. Our son is due in early October. And I have no illusions that we'll be able to maintain the same level of attention we shower on Charlie that we do now. But there's a difference between only walking him a couple times a week instead of every day or not having him show off his ability to dance for treats as often and wishing he weren't part of our family anymore. When I daydream about what we'll do once we bring our son home from the hospital, Charlie is a big part of that. Will he lick milk and food off the baby's face? Sleep next to the baby's bouncer? In a few years, will he wait with us at the school bus, eagerly anticipating the arrival of his best buddy? I dream of our family walks, except now one of us is holding Charlie's leash while the other is pushing a stroller.

My first purchase for the baby. It reads "My brother is a corgi."

This pregnancy has been a difficult one. Our baby is in for a tough few months of his life, and to prepare, we've spent much of the past few months at doctors' appointments throughout the state of Massachusetts. Countless times, we've returned from these appointments mentally and emotionally drained from what we learned. Always, there are serious conversations about the future. Sometimes, there are tears. And every time, Charlie will emerge from whatever corner of the house he's hunkered down in (usually behind the toilet) and crawl into one of our laps. He's always loved affection and will sit as close to you as possible on the couch, but he rarely chooses to sit in your lap. Unless he knows you need it.

High fives will always cure what ails you.

As I read this article, all I could think about was Charlie and the amount of joy he brings to my life. How many times a day do I smile because of him, whether it's because he's done something sweet or silly or simply because he looks cute sleeping in that little corner of the couch he likes? There are six photos on my desk right now and Charlie is in three of them. I know in the months and years to come, those photos will be added to, with pictures of our smiling son. But they certainly won't be replaced.

Chocolate Trifle

Do you like chocolate? No? Then go away. Your kind isn't welcome here in the land of cake and pudding and candy bars and slobber-slobber-slobber. Chocolate trifle is for Serious Chocolate Fans Only.

This is a recipe from my mom and while it's not exactly a holiday tradition, she did make it probably once a year or so. It's great for hosted functions or even to bring to parties (although be careful transporting it) because it's easy to make and looks nice and no one who's ever eaten it doesn't salivate at the thought of it. I made this two weekends ago when a group of friends visited and my goodness, I wish I was eating it again RIGHT NOW. Chocolate trifle, you'll be the death of me.

Chocolate Trifle

1 chocolate cake 
2 boxes of instant chocolate pudding
1 tub of Cool Whip
2 Skor bars (frozen)
Kahlua (optional)

How fancy you want to get depends on your preference. I make the cake from scratch because I'm  physically incapable of NOT making a chocolate cake from scratch; my grandmother's recipe is too deliciously moist and chocolatey that stuff from a box, even when smothered with other ingredients, just isn't the same. But I won't judge you (too harshly).

Bake cake in a 13x9 pan and let cool, then cut into 1x1 squares and divide in half. Make pudding as instructed on the box. Break Skor bars into pieces. When everything is prepared, layer ingredients in a trifle bowl in this order: cake, Kahlua (drizzled), pudding, Cool Whip, Skor bars. Usually two layers of each will fill the bowl. Refrigerate and serve.

Easy, right? The hardest part is trying to break up the frozen Skor bars. And it leaves you open to get creative. You can add other types of liquor, other types of candy bars, sprinkles to make it festive. I was wondering how it would taste with butterscotch pudding instead of chocolate and with caramel sauce drizzled on it, as well. Kind of a turtle trifle. Go wild.

But seriously. Don't forget the chocolate.

Book Review: Roadwork

Roadwork is the third of Stephen King's "Bachman books," the collection he published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman. It's not just that the name on the cover is different, however; the two men that wrote, say Rage and The Stand are two very different men, even if they live in the same head.

Bart Dawes, the main character in Roadwork, would understand that concept. Ever since the death of his young son Charlie of a brain tumor, Dawes own brain has been the home of two different personalities: George, a darker version of himself, and Freddy, a representative of Charlie that passes for his conscience. As the story goes on and Dawes falls deeper into a pit of depression and desperation, Freddy grows quieter, as though he's slowly killing what's left of Charlie and what's left of his own goodness.

While Dawes' decline started with Charlie's death, it is exacerbated by the impending installation of a new highway system that will be running right through his home and workplace, forcing him to relocate both. Except he does nothing to do that. He lies to his wife, Mary, and to his boss about finding a new home and a new factory in which to house the Blue Ribbon industrial laundry company. Instead he cashes in his life insurance policy, buys a couple of heavy-duty guns and squirrels away the evidence. His inaction is discovered, and he soon loses his wife and the only job he has ever known, sending him into a spiral of booze and television and darkness. Soon, the only people he can really open up to is a local crime boss named Sal and Olivia, a young co-ed hitchhiking her way to Las Vegas.

The more people tell him he has to move, to officially give up everything now that he's lost his son, wife, job, and house, the more he digs in and becomes desperate. He attacks the construction site with a carload of Molotov cocktails. He takes the city's settlement for his house and divides it between Mary and Olivia. And then he calls Sal for explosives. Lots of them.

I don't want to paint all the Bachman books with the same gray brush - after all, I really liked The Long Walk - but Roadwork is of the same ilk as Rage. There is nothing supernatural in this book; the Big Baddie is the city, or cancer, or fate, or the changing nature of middle age. Instead, like in Rage, we spend the book in the mind of someone deeply disturbed, driven to this point of violent desperation. In some ways, it's sad and you feel for Bart Dawes; if his son had lived, if the city had left him alone, how fulfilling or happy might his life had been? But I just found myself feeling bad for the innocent people he hurt with his actions. Mary also lost her son and house and marriage, but she's almost viewed as a villain because she mourned and then moved on in time. His inaction at the laundry cost a factory's worth of people their jobs. Even with Charlie/Freddy's voice begging him not to, he hurt people.

All of which made Dawes not entirely sympathetic and took away from my enjoyment of the book. Dawes isn't nearly as bad as Charlie Decker from Rage (hey, between these two books and Firestarter, we've got three Charlies. Quality name), whose reason for wanting to shoot up his school is because he has nothing better to do, but it's still a pretty extreme reaction. Stephen King wrote this book right after losing his mother to cancer and so was full of darkness and questions about the unfairness of it all himself; you can see where he's coming from. But it's almost as though his mother, through Charlie/Freddy, was telling him not to be so dark, as well. I have to say I agree.

Book Review: Firestarter

Firestarter, like The Dead Zone, is another book that I know I read in the past, remembered liking, but not being blown away by. Reading it a second time gave me another appreciation, brought on by my age or more life experience or who knows what else.

For many, Firestarter is about a girl who starts fires, which is technically accurate. Charlie McGee, the 7- (and then 8-) year-old title character, can indeed start fires with her mind. But the book is really about the dangers of the government, based on its well-known history of experimenting on unsuspecting, innocent people with some scary drugs and other things and then covering up their effects. The whole thing is more about Charlie's escape from this agency, a fictional arm of the U.S. government known as the Shop, than it is about OMG SHE LIGHTS FIRES WITH HER MIND WAY COOL (a la Carrie).

The first half of the book documents Charlie and her father Andy's flight from Shop agents trying to capture them. As they move from New York City to Albany to a farm run by a kindly older couple, the Manders, to an abandoned Vermont cabin once owned by Andy's grandfather, we learn their backstory. When Andy was a poor college student, he signed up to participate in some medical tests. The good news? It introduced him to Vicky, another volunteer who would become his wife. The bad news? The "hallucinogenic drug" they were supposedly injected with was actually a mysterious substance known as Lot 6. Vicky and Andy are two of the only participants who don't kill themselves or go insane, although they are left with some side effects - Vicky's ability to close doors from across the room and Andy's talent for dominating people's thoughts with mental pushes. Oh and the fact that when you combine their talents, you get a daughter who can start fires with her mind without problem (like the migraines Andy gets when he uses his mental domination abilities too often or too strong).

When agents from the Shop fear the McGees are going to escape (they aren't), they kill Vicky and send Andy and Charlie on the run. The second half of the book takes place after Shop agents have caught up with the father and daughter in Vermont and taken them into separate custody at their headquarters in Virginia. The two respond differently - Andy quickly gets hooked on the sedatives they give him and loses his power while Charlie refuses to participate in any of their tests. Until Andy's brain uses mental dominance on himself, gets him to quit the drugs and plot his and Charlie's escape and Charlie gets seduced by a kind orderly named John who is actually John Rainbird, the trained killer who captured them in the first place.

Stephen King uses a lot of his favorite plot devices and characterizations in this book - an innocent youth with supernatural powers (Carrie White, Danny Torrence), the danger of a too-powerful government (The Stand), substance abuse (Jack Torrence, Larry Underwood), the destructive nature of fire (every book he's ever written). What makes this one unique is that the Big Baddie is not Charlie's evil-seeming ability - yes, being able to light fires with the mind is straight of a witch's handbook - but the people who are chasing her. Rainbird, who has no supernatural abilities, is far more terrifying for his intelligence and lack of conscience, as is the swift, absolute power of the Shop as a whole. In the book's afterword, King states that while the book is fiction, there are plenty of documented instances of the government testing dangerous materials on unsuspecting people and putting those with perceived mental abilities through grueling experiments. That is far more frightening than a little girl helping an old man light a wood stove.

Chicago State of Mind

A few weeks ago, we spent quite a bit of time in Chicago. A portion of that time was dedicated to my work - the whole impetus for the trip was for me to attend the American Library Association's annual conference. The conference was fabulous, if overwhelming. Tens of thousands of representatives from public libraries, college libraries, school libraries, business libraries, etc., descended on the city like a swarm of conservatively dressed bees who only want to sting you with knowledge. But I certainly got a ton out of it work-wise, as well as interest-wise (highlights include seeing Temple Grandin and Octavia Spencer speak).

I also spent a portion of this trip sick. Like, really sick. On the second day of the conference, I could have sworn I had strep throat and I'm not entirely convinced I didn't. I couldn't swallow for a few days. Then I couldn't breathe through my nose. Then I couldn't go 30 seconds without delving into a coughing fit. Add to that the fact that I was also 6 and a half months pregnant (and found out a week after returning that I shouldn't be walking long distances or standing for long periods of time...my bad) and we weren't QUITE able to keep to the itinerary we had originally planned. Luckily, we also stayed for 10 days so we had the luxury of turning in at 6 p.m. without feeling like we were missing anything.

Here are some of the things we did, in the order in which we did them because I have OCD and that's how I roll. Some I'd recommend wholeheartedly (Field Museum, Lincoln Park Zoo); others, I'd say you could skip if constrained by time or money (Adler Planetarium). But all were fun in their own way.

Field Museum

The day after we arrived in Chicago was the victory parade for the Chicago Blackhawks' recent Stanley Cup win. You know, the one they beat the Bruins for. We had no ill will toward the Blackhawks, were happy that the Bruins lost to a likeable team (unlike, say, the Canucks), but still. Did I mention that the parade was RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM OUR HOTEL? Because it was.

We opted to walk a few blocks and hide in the Field Museum of Natural History. It was a good choice, even if we were greeted by a gigantic taunt:

The Field Museum is famous for a few things. One is that it is the workplace of perhaps the most famous anthropologist of all time - Indiana Jones. Another is that it is home to the most complete and preserved Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton in the world.

Its dinosaur fossil collection in general is immense and impressive, as is its exhibit on Egypt. Frankly, the whole thing is pretty awesome and definitely worth an afternoon.

Adler Planetarium

I spent the next few days post-Field Museum at the conference and therefore, we didn't do much sightseeing. Well, I say we, but Matt did take a walk and photograph some of the city's famous drawbridges. But since I wasn't there, it doesn't count.

After the final day of the session, with tickets already purchased for a baseball game that night, we headed to the nearby Adler Planetarium. The planetarium was in the same area as the Field Museum and the Shedd Aquarium, known as the Museum Campus. (We skipped the aquarium because of time and because you had to pay extra to see the exhibits that normal people would want to see, like penguins. I mean, really, what else is the point?) Adler is famous for a few things; namely, it's exquisite view of the Chicago skyline.

The actual planetarium was...OK. If the tickets had been cheaper, I would have probably liked it more. Like Shedd Aquarium, you had to pay more to see all the exhibits and we did upgrade so we could see at least one show. I'm glad we did; that was, by far, the best part.

The other interesting thing about the museum stems from the fact that astronaut Jim Lovell lives nearby so there is a ton of artifacts from his various trips. As a fan of that era of space travel (you know, the era where we actually traveled in space), I enjoyed it.

U.S. Cellular Field 

When we told people that we were going to Chicago, their first question always was, "Are you going to Wrigley Field?" Everyone seems to forget that there are, in fact, TWO professional baseball teams in Chi-town and we planned on hitting them both.

Obviously, U.S. Cellular Field doesn't have the same cache as the second-oldest ballpark in the country. It's named U.S. Cellular Field, for starters. And it's kind of in a shady part of town. The whole atmosphere had a kind of minor-league feel to it - the food was terrible but cheap, we bought tickets for $10 online and the promotions wouldn't have been out of place at a 9-year-old's birthday party.

That being said, it was still baseball. Professional baseball. And it had its moments. Before the game even started, we hung out in the bar located right behind right field. And by "right behind," I mean you are literally on field-level looking at the outfielder's back. We drank some sodas and watched batting practice just long enough for a practice ball by Baltimore's Chris Davis to land right next to our table. Instant souvenir!

We also got great seats on the cheap, saw some fireworks every time a member of the White Sox hit a home run and watched as the home team defeated Red Sox division foe Baltimore.

Lincoln Park Zoo

It's been a couple of weeks since we got back and I still can't believe the Lincoln Park Zoo exists. It's not just because it's a nice zoo; I've been to nice zoos before (the Pittsburgh Zoo remains my gold standard). No, it's the fact that it's a nice zoo with a huge collection of different types of animals in non-depressing environments and it's COMPLETELY FREE. Not just free on Tuesday mornings or on the third Wednesday of each month or free for kids if you buy the parents' tickets. Just free. For everyone. Always. No kid in the Chicago area will grow up having not seen a lion or a gorilla or a flamingo in the flesh. That's just awesome.

And like I said, it's a nice zoo.

Second City

For those unaware, Second City is the comedy troupe that kickstarted a lot of careers. Stephen Colbert, Tina Fey, John Belushi, Amy Poehler, the list goes on and is highlighted by handprints and signatures of people who have performed there (even just as visitors). It's also known for its improv and while I'm not usually a big stand-up comedy fan for people I don't know, I love me some improv. So that's the show we went to.

We made sure to keep the program and circle the troupe members we saw perform. You know, just in case we turn on Saturday Night Live in a couple of years and someone looks kind of familiar.

Untouchables Tour

Embarrassingly enough, when we started looking into things to do in Chicago, this is what excited me most. Not Wrigley Field or Navy Pier or the famous museums. Not deep-dish pizza or Chinatown. No, I wanted to learn about gangsters and I wanted to do so from a guy dressed like an extra in Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Check and check.


The tour was equal parts interesting and corny because obviously. In short, it was everything I thought it would be (although somewhat overpriced). We saw the site of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, where John Dillinger was shot, the brewery where Al Capone made his near-beer during prohibition (as well as the alcohol to add to said "near-beer"). Perhaps most interesting was the church where Capone put a hit on a rival; his body wound up at the entrance to the church and while they attempted to hide it over the years with installed concrete stairs, there is still one bullet hole that was too high and is still visible.


Navy Pier

Our original goal had been to time walk on Navy Pier with the Fourth of July fireworks because Navy Pier is known for its fireworks and it would be festive. Nothing beats festive. Well, nothing except pregnancy, a terrible cold (treated with nothing stronger than tissues and cough drops) and the fact that we got there seven hours before the fireworks would start. Then nothing beats a hotel room bed.

So we did spend the Fourth of July at Navy Pier; it just happened to be mid-day, sans fireworks. I'm OK with that. For those that don't know, Navy Pier does have some military origin but now it's more of a combination mini-amusement park, kitschy shopping plaza and waterfront boardwalk. It's a nice place to walk around, do some fine people-watching (within 20 minutes, we saw a Forrest Gump impersonator and a wedding where all of the bridesmaids were wearing leopard-print dresses) and check out the views of the city. It probably would have been even more fun if I had been able to go on any of the rides, or at least the famous ferris wheel, but oh well. I still had a fine time taking an obscene amount of pictures of it.

Architecture Boat Tour

Other than Wrigley Field, this was the thing everyone said to do. Home of Frank Lloyd Wright and a slew of other architects that people with more architecture knowledge than me (i.e. everyone), it seems like every building has some sort of unique design history. And even if you don't know much about architecture, it's a nice way to go on a relaxing boat ride through the city and see some impressive sites. 

John Hancock Observatory

At first, I figured we would go to the top of Willis (Sears) Tower. I mean, it is the most famous building in Chicago's skyline. But then I thought about it - if you're on top of Willis (Sears) Tower, then you can't take a picture of Willis (Sears) Tower. Also, the Hancock Observatory is cheaper and, from everything I've read, nicer.

The views were, as expected, great, particularly of the beach and coastline. Strangely, they seem to really like marketing their Skywalk, which is just this little walkway between the two sides of the building that has terrible views blocked by grates so you can't even take photos. Why use the worst part of your product to sell it? But anyway, yes. Pretty sweet.

Wrigley Field  

Of course we went to Wrigley Field! Duh! It was exactly what I thought/hoped it would be (other than the utterly confusing way they label sections and rows) - a nice combination of history and pure baseball love. As a Fenway Park regular, I felt as much at home as I have at any other ballpark. No free batting practice ball this time, but it did happen to be free t-shirt day, so there's that.

Around Chicago

Other than the big sites, we hit a few places walking and driving around. Millennium Park was a sight, particularly the famous Bean statue (above) and the weird Cloud Gate water fountains (below).

Grant Park was across the street from our hotel (and the location of the Blackhawks victory parade) and had some interesting installations.

This being a library-themed trip, we stopped by the Chicago Public Library's main branch (above), a huge place made slightly less impressive when I learned it was only built a couple decades ago and made to look old. Making up for it was the children's library dollhouse containing references (obvious and not) to dozens of different classic children's books. We also passed by the Chicago Cultural Center (below), which was the original public library ages ago, and hung out with a group of librarian friends at Branch 27, a former branch building of the public library system that has since been made into a restaurant and bar.

We also stopped for photo ops at Steppenwolf Theatre (where Gary Sinise and John Malkovich got their starts) and Oprah Winfrey's Harpo Studios.

Eatin' (and Drinkin')

Unfortunately, I didn't much drinkin' done because, you know, fetus. But we ate a lot. Like, a lot. Some of my favorites included:

• Lou Malnati's - The best pizza we had in Deep Dish Country, we went more than once.
• Pizzeria Due - The Pizzeria Uno chain was started in Chicago, and the second franchise was known as Pizzeria Due (for some reason, the two franchises are located about 20 feet from each other despite using pretty much the same menu). The menus for both are limited to their specialty - deep dish pizza that takes 45 minutes to prepare - and we went to Due rather than Uno because it had a cool balcony to sit on. I love the Uno's chain and it was fun for historical purposes, although I do think Lou Malnati's pizza was better.
• Hackney's - This chain bar was located right down the road from our hotel, in a district known as Printer's Row because of its history of publishing companies. The food wasn't superb but it had a good drink menu, the people were nice, and it was just our kind of hangout. 
• Yolk - Also a Chicago chain, this breakfast and lunch eatery was awesome. Really awesome. So awesome that we ate three out of four straight meals there at one point. Gahhhh, so good.
• Eleven City Diner - A famed Jewish deli, even things like turkey burgers were made from scratch and extra seasoned. 
• Lou Mitchell's - So disappointing. I had read about this breakfast joint and got excited because I do love me some breakfast joints. While it did have some charms (like giving out donut holes and Milk Duds to people waiting for tables), the whole thing was so disorganized. The hostess was grouchy, the waitstaff completely forgot about us for awhile and the prices were not worth the food quality/quantity we got.
• Goose Island Brewery - This was located right near Wrigley Field and was the perfect type of brewpub. 
• Rock n' Roll McDonald's - OK, full disclosure: We didn't really eat here. I think I may have had a smoothie for my sore throat and Matt might have gotten some breakfast biscuits while we waited for the Untouchables Tour to depart from right outside. But we hung out in there a lot. It's like a McDonald's Museum, with old photos and artifacts from the history of McDonald's, as well as general pop culture stuff. There was a display building outside that was, strangely, locked, so you could only see so much, but that included Elvis' car and statues of the Beatles.

Movie Review: Inglorious Basterds

I never really thought of myself as a Quentin Tarantino fan and still don't, for the most part. I appreciated Pulp Fiction as a good movie but wasn't really my thing and stuff like Kill Bill et al. just never appealed to me. Things changed with Django Unchained, a really good story with awesome acting that, despite its gratuitous violence, didn't really turn into a "Tarantino movie" until the very end when (SPOILER ALERT) an entire plantation's worth of people get their innards splattered against the wall.

Because of how much I liked that movie, I thought I'd give Tarantino's other recently critically acclaimed movie a shot. Plus, Christoph Waltz. I mean, c'mon.

Inglorious Basterds is the historically fictitious story of two separate plots to assassinate Adolf Hitler and a slew of other Nazi leaders at the exact same time. One of the plots comes from Shoshanna (Melanie Laurent), a young French Jewish woman whose family is shot by the vicious Nazi officer Hans Landa (Waltz) while trying to hide in a neighbor's floorboards. That scene tells you a lot about Shoshanna's fighting spirit and tragic tale but even more about Landa, equal parts brilliant and pure evil.

A few years after her escape, Shoshanna is living as Emmanuelle Mimieux, a cinema owner in Paris. She inadvertently catches the eye of Fredrick Zoller, whose recent heroics (the Nazi sniper killed hundreds of enemy soldiers while holed up by himself for three days in a bird's nest) are being turned into a Nazi propaganda film by Hitler's second-in-command Joseph Goebbels. In order to impress his new ladyfriend, Zoller convinces Goebbels to hold the film's premiere in her theater, much to her chagrin. But after she realizes that her theater will be full of Nazis, including Landa, she plots a way to burn the whole building down with them inside.

Meanwhile, the Basterds, a group of Jewish-American soldiers (with a couple of anti-Nazi Germans thrown in) headed by Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt), also hear of the premiere. This group is dedicated to killing Nazis in the most Tarantino-esque ways possible. In one 10-minute stretch, we see scalpings, throat-cuttings, and a guy get bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat. Raine's plan for the premiere is similar to Shoshanna's - all of Germany's worst baddies in the same small space is too good to turn down.

I won't ruin the end, but suffice to say that my attempt to keep a tally of on-screen deaths was futile when I was no longer able to keep the numbers straight.

Like Django, the movie had a vigilante justice theme with the least sympathetic villains ever. (Seriously, Nazis? Slave owners? I'm curious who Tarantino has left in his Most Hated People Ever drawer.) But while we had our obvious heroes in Django and King Schultz, the heroes in Inglorious Basterds are a little different, if only because there were almost too many of them. The two different plots were hard to keep track of, and even more so considering more than half the movie was in subtitles. One scene that takes place in a German bar had such weird lighting that it was almost impossible to read the yellow words. I found myself so focused on not missing what they were saying that I completely forgot who was talking at all.

This makes me sound like a simple American and that's probably true. I don't love subtitles for this reason. I doubly don't love subtitles when watching at home (I'm sure it was easier to read this stuff on a big movie screen). Oh well.

In the end, Inglorious Basterds leaned more toward Pulp Fiction than Django Unchained in my Tarantino Spectrum. I could appreciate the quality of the film, the intricacies of the plot, and the fantastic acting of Christoph Waltz, who is seriously just awesome. But I wouldn't say I loved it and I can't say I'd want to see it again.

Greatest Movies of All Time? Inglorious Basterds ranked in at No. 267, spurred by its Best Picture nomination. (Waltz won for Best Supporting Actor, although that didn't come into consideration for the GMoAT list.)

Book Review: Gorgeous George: The Outrageous Bad Boy Wrestler Who Created American Pop Culture

I'm going to lose people right off the bat, thanks to the title and cover. And while, yes, this book is a biography of a professional wrestler, you don't have to like professional wrestling to be intrigued by the story of Gorgeous George. More than just serve as a fake pugilist, George did exactly what the subtitle suggests - he affected American pop culture in a way that is still being felt today (even if those performers don't even realize it). And by pop culture, I'm not talking about professional wrestling - I'm talking sports in general, music, TV, and the grand idea of "celebrity."

For those unfamiliar, Gorgeous George was a professional wrestler whose heyday came in the 1940s and 1950s. He was the ultimate "heel," wrestlespeak for "bad guy." He talked about how much better he was than not just his opponent, but the people of the crowd. How they were all dirty and poor and unattractive and beneath him. His "performance" began not when the bell sounded the start of a match, but before he even began walking to the ring: he would be preceded by a valet who would "disinfect" the ring with Chanel No. 10 perfume and then lay down a clean carpet on which his master could tread. Then, with the dulcet tones of "Pomp and Circumstance" ringing through the arena, Gorgeous George would begin walking to the ring. He would wear long, ornate, effeminate robes in bright colors; his hair would be bleached blonde and styled using gold bobby pins (which he called "Georgie pins.") He would rankle the audience members as they showered him with boos. When he got to the ring, his valet would help him disrobe and prepare for the match. The whole process took about 15 minutes; all the while, his opponent would be hanging out watching the show from his corner.

For more information about him, check out this video. You won't be disappointed.

To understand why George became such a phenomena, you have to look at that period of history. George first arrived as "Gorgeous," flaunting the luxury and expensiveness of his clothes and lifestyle, at the end of the Depression and then during World War II, a time when most people's funds were limited. He also arrived right around the time of television. This new medium of entertainment made professional wrestling extremely popular, as it didn't have to worry about paying writers or actors (unlike scripted TV shows); they could get away with using only one camera (unlike field sports like baseball or football); and because wrestling matches were predetermined, they didn't have to worry about one ending too soon to be worthwhile (unlike boxing). So wrestling was big, and as the biggest wrestler in the business, Gorgeous George was a household name for decades.

A handful of well-known celebrities directly credit George with their own personas. James "Godfather of Soul" Brown remembers watching him and adopting his fancy robes and outgoing ways. A chance meeting with George, after which George spent some time tutoring the then-teenager, Muhammad Ali's "I am the prettiest! I am the greatest!" routine is something that could have been taking word-for-word by a Gorgeous George interview. Even Bob Dylan - not exactly known for his flashy style - points to a meeting with George as what helped him figure out how to change his name and create a stage personality. The author of the book, John Capouya, does a good job of following those lines, those trends, down to the celebrities of today. Gorgeous George's influence is still felt.

In his personal life, while George did adopt his Gorgeous persona to the point where he legally changed his name to "Gorgeous George," he was not really the guy he portrayed on TV. For much of his career, he was a loving family man to his wife and two adopted children. Then he struggled with alcoholism and gambling and adultery, which cost him two marriages, two families, and all of his money, and when he died in 1963 of a heart attack brought on (probably) by his alcohol usage, he was destitute.

While the story of a famous person brought down by personal demons is not a new one, the story of Gorgeous George is utterly original, fitting of this breaking-ground man. It's also an exceptionally researched and well-written work by Capouya that would be easy for anyone - even the non-wrestling fan - to read and enjoy.

Book Review: The Dead Zone

Life was good for Johnny Smith. A year out of college, he was excelling with both students and his bosses teaching high school in small-town Maine and things were starting to get serious with another young teacher named Sarah Bracknell. The couple went on a sweet date to a local fair and things got even better: they exchanged I love yous, Sarah was ready to go all the way with Johnny and Johnny was able to use his strange sense of ESP to win hundreds of dollars at the carny version of roulette. Whether it was Johnny's mental theatrics or the carny hot dog she ate, Sarah soon grew sick and the couple postponed their plans for late-night entertainment. Johnny dropped her off at home and then promptly got in a car accident.

Five years later, Sarah's married with a baby, Johnny's mother has entered the world of religious extremism and Johnny is just waking from his coma with a newfound gift of being able to tell people's future by touching them. Word spreads about his new talent and he hides out with his father while he recuperates. Until, that is, he is approached by local police and winds up solving a case of a serial rapist/murderer, which puts him back on the media map.

Again Johnny escapes, this time to New Hampshire, where he gets a job tutoring the learning disabled teenaged son of a wealthy businessman. Johnny's still a good teacher and grows close with the family, and when he uses his powers to save his young student, he again loses his anonymity.

As we're getting to know the pleasant and good-hearted Johnny, we're also meeting his counterpart in Greg Stillson. When we first meet Stillson - back when Johnny is still a boy - he's a door-to-door Bible salesman who murders family pets for fun. Later on, he develops a successful real estate business in New Hampshire and climbs the corporate and political ladder using some tactics (blackmail, threats, physical violence) that aren't exactly exemplary. By the time Johnny's tutoring in the same state, Stillson is running as a renegade third-party candidate to his district's national seat in the House.

During the political season, Johnny gets in the habit of shaking hands with politicians to see what he might find out. Other than a chance encounter with Jimmy Carter, who he learns will soon be President, he doesn't see much until he meets Stillson. What might be in store for him?

I read this book ages ago and liked it, but this time, I liked it so much more. I don't know if it's because I'm older and can appreciate the goodness of Johnny, the badness of Stillson and the dangers of political powers or if I just didn't give it enough of a try, but it really hit me as a great read. It's not like a lot of Stephen King's books - there is no monster (at least no non-human ones) and while Johnny's abilities are certainly supernatural, they aren't over-the-top like Carrie White's.

Frankly, the supernatural undertones, while a big part of the story, are not the whole story. The real question is, are assassins ever right? If you could go back in time and kill Hitler before he ever did anything wrong, would you? You take the story at the surface - regular guy who some people think is crazy takes on a beloved, popular rising politician - and you think you know who the protagonist and antagonist are. But Johnny's utter likeability (perhaps the most likable main character in a King book yet, Johnny doesn't even get bothered when he learns how Sarah's life has moved on since his coma) and Stillson's innate evilness turn that on its head. Plus, there's a lot of comparisons to be made between Stillson's made-up third party and the Tea Party fiasco currently happening in the U.S., almost to the point of freakiness.

Anyway, I don't know that I would have thought The Dead Zone would be a book I'd recommend quickly to someone before, but I certainly do now. For those who are turned off by King's goblins and monsters, who prefer The Green Mile and The Shawshank Redemption to It, this might be a good place to go.