I Cannot Ride A Bike

It's true. Up there, that is a true statement. Out in the open. Can't ride a bike. I'm a grown adult^[1] and I lack mastery of a transportation method used by children. Am I embarrassed? No. I have no fear.^[2] I am indestructible.^[3] I am America. I am youth incarnate^[4] and I keep no secrets.^[5]

What does this have to do with books? Everything.^[6]

I've been reading A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers for about a week now. Thus far, it is my favorite book of the summer. The writing style, manic and descriptive and conversational, is precisely what I want to read. Even with my full-time job^[7] and Rampaging Social Life,^[8] I have been tearing through this book. I cannot stop reading it.

The book, a fictionalized memoir, is about Dave raising his brother, Toph,^[9] after their parents die of cancer.^[10] It is hilarious and dark in a way that very few things are. If I'm forced to liken it to something, I'll say "Louie"^[11] is similar in tone. There's a part in particular where Dave and Toph are playing frisbee and Dave is talking (writing) about how he (Dave) is so fit and handsome and the personification of all that is Young and Right and Hip but he's worried that he's a little skinny, maybe too skinny, skinny like his Dad was when the cancer got worse, his frail legs unable to support him that time he fell in the driveway, fell on the hard pavement -- the sound of bone hitting ground resonating -- and maybe he's scaring Toph a little bit, what with the similarity to Death, and maybe he should hit the gym.^[12]

I Have Tried To Learn To Ride A Bike Twice Now

The first time was "normal" enough, in that I was of an appropriate age (five?) and my parents had the best intentions.^[13] I had even completed the Training Wheel Circuit in all its quadrupedal glory. At last, the moment of independence was nigh: the pushing, the guiding, the pushing some more, the letting go, the sailing through the wind, the mild steering, the teetering, the losing control --

-- the crying, the screaming, the red-faced anguish, the embarrassment, the swearing to never do it again.

I was a man of my word -- still am -- and so when I said, "I'm not doing that again," I meant it. "You don't mean that," I was told. "You have to learn how to ride a bike." Nay. I do not. I will walk. My ancestors walked, and I will walk. We don't have enough walking nowadays. These children, they get too accustomed to their bicycles. They don't know how great it is to hoof it. Hoofin' it. America. Smell the air!^[14] I will ride the rails if I have to! Hoboes! Culture! Lore! America.

I stayed strong for about sixteen years. I learned to drive,^[15] I went through high school (relatively) unfazed, and life was fine, all things considered.

Then there was the second time. Audience,^[16] I was swindled. A conversation between myself and J.:^[17]

I: Nice day out. Tryna^[18] read on the President's Lawn?^[19]
J: Sure, yeah. That sounds great. Come over.
Scene: Now at J.'s house.
J: Change of plans; let's go bike riding.
I: I cannot ride a bike.
J: I know. You will learn.
I: You are a lying troublemaker.
J: Shut up.
I: You shut up.
J: Oh, good one.
I: I have been deceived.
J: Get on the bike.
I: I am upset.
J: It will be fun. Cute, even.

This time, admittedly, was less violent. I did not fall -- I was 21; I was just naturally better at certain things like not falling on bicycles -- and I'll even say I made a good amount of progress in under an hour. But I did a lot of stopping. Not gracefully. Push. Stop. Push. Stop. Push while being pushed. Coast. Pedal two, three times. Swerve. Stop. Push. Pedal a bit more. Cheering, preemptive. Car. Fight or flight. Wobble, stop, walk to sidewalk.^[20]

Stayed upright on that two-wheeled death machine for a good clip towards the end, though -- rode from near Granoff^[21] to College Ave with minimal pants-shitting. Victory. America.






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[1] This is debatable; a container of chicken stock made a farting noise last night and I laughed out loud.
[2] Except, of course, for bike-riding and demons.
[3] Bullets, knives, blunt objects, and harsh glances still yield tears.
[4] Complete with a lack of motor skills!
[5] I ran over a dog once. See?
[6] One thing, tangentially.
[7] Humble brag.
[8] I am writing this on a Friday night while listening to Beyoncé.^[*]
[9] Short for Christopher, pronounced "Tofe."
[10] Mom: stomach; dad: lung.
[11] Are you watching this show? Fucking watch this show. It's incredible.
[12] This writing style is just so infectious and fun. The frisbee scene in particular goes on for pages like that. Amazing.
[13] "Please, God, just let him get this down. Please. You owe us after the Barney thing."
[14] A bit staler, since you're not moving through it quite as fast.
[15] Failed twice on account of parallel parking, an act I still avoid like -- well, like riding a bike.
[16] Gentle reader, friends, kind observer, etc.
[17] Still great.
[18] "Trying to." "Would you like to." I am nothing if not in touch with the young people.
[19] Reading and sitting? Safe. Doable.
[20] There is video evidence of one of my more-triumphant runs. It will eventually be destroyed.
[21] Music building. Glass doors. Nice.






[*] Knowles.

The Heart Of The Matter

LOOK AT THIS LITTLE GUY

Sorry, I just had to get this out right away. "Where did you find a picture of such an adorable dog?" you ask. Find? Pssh. That's Ollie; he hangs out at my job sometimes. He's my (Australian!) boss's dog and he's small and adorable and look at him jesus christ how do you not love him and just pet him forever. If you put your arms in a hoop shape he'll jump through them! I am not even fucking kidding.

SPOILERS AHEAD.

Okay.

I finished The Heart of the Matter^[1] last night. My last post sort of had a bit of a (shitty) plot summary through the first Book (of three). Now that I've finished the rest of it, though:

All Of This Shit Happens In The Book And I'm Now Paraphrasing It

I was actually shocked at how quickly the plot picked up. The first bit was pretty repetitive -- Scobie works and is racist, Louise nags, Wilson pines, Yusef smells bad^[2] -- but then shit hits the fan in a big way.

So Scobie^[3] takes a loan from Yusef so he can send Louise to South Africa. A whole slew of people arrive in West Africa after a shipwreck and living in lifeboats for 40 days. One of them is a woman named Helen; she lost her husband in the wreck -- as in, he's dead, not misplaced -- and she's holding a book of stamps when she gets on shore. For whatever reason^[4] she reminds Scobie of youth and exuberance (she's 19, I think, so that sort of works out) so he falls for her right off the bat.

Helen and Scobie start banging each other^[5] in the African heat. It's sweaty. Around this point I should mention that Scobie and Louise (and a ton of other people) are Catholic.^[6] Scobie's committing the sin of adultery every time he cheats on his wife with Helen. Helen is an atheist who actually mocks Scobie for his beliefs. Helen (rightfully) explains that if Scobie stopped believing in Hell he wouldn't have to worry about going there. Scobie retorts that though he knows he's damning himself, he's gonna keep on loving her.^[7]

Right so Scobie's doing his thang^[8] and Wilson totally finds out. Wilson spends most of the book's second half stalking Scobie and writing down his every move. Soon after this, Helen comes home from her trip, ostensibly because she "was being silly" and "missed Scobie."^[9]

Scobie's screwed. Whenever he sees Helen, he's thinking about the eternity of torment he's getting himself into, but he can't stop doin' tha nasty.^[10] Louise pressures him to take Communion with her.

Interpolation

How Is This Not Cannibalism? -- On Communion^[11]

Holy Communion, aka the Eucharist, is a Christian ritual based on Jesus's instructions to his disciples at the Last Supper. He gave them bread and wine:

‘This is my body, which is for you: this do in remembrance of me.’

In like manner also the cup, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood: this do, as often as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.’

Christians, at a point in the Mass, will receive a bit of wafer (Jesus's body) and wine (his blood) in commemoration of this event. Roman Catholics believe that the bread and wine supplied are literally the body and blood of Christ.^[12]

End Interpolation

Why is it a Thing^[13] for Scobie to take Communion? Well, before one can receive Jesus's body and blood, he must be free of sin. To be free of sin, ya gotta go to Confession, where you tell a priest every seedy thing you've done since your last Confession. He tells you to say a varying amount of prayers and -- just like that -- the Big Guy Upstairs decides to not throw you into a lake of fire. Simple. Scobie goes to Confession but he can't bring himself to truly repent for his adultery; the Father behind the curtain denies him absolution in accordance with Church doctrine. (This, admittedly, makes sense: if you're not actually sorry, you're not being forgiven.)

To please Louise, Scobie goes to Mass and receives the Sacrament. This is a huge fucking deal because God doesn't like being ingested by sinners. It's a mortal sin -- Scobie's going to Hell now. No turning back. He's damned forever. This bothers Scobie,^[14] but it doesn't bother him as much as all the suffering he's causing Louise and Helen. He only sees one way out.

Scobie decides to throw himself on the mercy of God and kill himself. In Catholicism, this, too, is a mortal sin -- as bad as murder. Life is sacred.^[15] He pretends to have sleep problems (to get a prescription for sleeping pills) and angina (a deadly disease, making a death plausible). He'll overdose on the sleep meds and die and those he's hurt will have peace.

Scobie had to choose between two options: (A) divorce Louise -- bad Catholic! -- and live with his (alleged, fleeting) love, Helen or (B) Leave Helen -- hurting her -- and stay with Louise (whom he does not love). He Wild Cards it instead, taking himself out of the equation entirely. He dies thinking he'll go to Hell.

Louise is revealed to have known about the affair; Wilson starts making moves on her the day Scobie's buried, which she doesn't reject especially strongly. He says that he'll wind up marrying her, to which she replies, "Maybe you will."^[16] Helen moves on to a new man immediately.^[17]

The End.






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[1] I've linked that stupid Wikipedia article like four times now, just in case you keep forgetting general information about the novel. The things I do for you.
[2] Greene was pretty intent on really driving this point home.
[3] You're gonna want to read my last post (linked above, you lazy person) because I'm not explaining who these people are again. MY BLOG MY RULES.
[4] Oh, Ian! Your attention to detail is simply too much.
[5] My parents and family read this -- hi, guys.
[6] I should have mentioned it a while ago, actually. The Heart of the Matter is often identified as a "Catholic Novel," which means it's designed to guilt you into suppressing women's rights.^[*]
[7] Dude this song takes so long to get to the chorus.
[8] Gross. My b.
[9] Nope: someone wrote to her about her husband's hanging around Helen.
[10] Listen I have no regrets about my crass language so we should just move on.
[11] Alternative titles include: We're All Okay With This? and LITERALLY?
[12] Bread and wine, then the priest performs a magic trick,^[*][+] then Body and Blood.
[13] Capital T denotes the severity of the struggle.
[14] Lake of fire for the rest of forever, bro.
[15] Early on in the book, a man commits suicide. A priest on the scene openly hopes he had been murdered instead -- he longs for the man's earthly suffering (and possible betrayal) in exchange for his not being damned by the Lord (who, again, is all-loving).
[16] This is a weird moment.
[17] This doesn't fit with the rest of Helen's character; she constantly pledges her love for Scobie. I wouldn't have expected her to mourn forever -- he's dead, after all -- but she picks up a new guy within a day of Scobie's death.



[*] Zing!
[+] Sorry; is "casts a spell" better?

The AC Of The Matter

I finished Book One of The Heart Of The Matter on Friday, so I'm a bit less than halfway done. It's really good; despite feeling like a Book I Read In High School,^[1] the plot is really interesting.^[2] Plus the main character is named Major Scobie, which reminds me of the ol' childhood mystery cartoon.

"I will never deny knowing a man from whom I've borrowed money," lol

Plot Summary Time!

Believe it or not my (shallow, ridiculous) Psychic Synopsis of this book was actually more accurate than not.^[3] It's set in a British colony in West Africa during World War II. Okay, that's actually the only thing I was sort of right about. This setting is important to me because HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS it was so hot this week. I'd sit in my stupid room upstairs,^[4] reading a book where the main characters are constantly sweating and waiting for "the rains," dying. I bought a window air conditioner yesterday^[5] but I cut my finger setting it up.^[6] Every day is a struggle.

So far, the book is mostly about Major Scobie living a pretty terrible life working as a police officer in the colony. He doesn't love his wife, Louise, but he's got this drastic sense of duty to her and wants to make her happy. I don't care for Louise.^[7] Louise bemoans her not having any friends^[8] fairly constantly, even after meeting Wilson, an overly-nice fat man who shares her love of poetry.

Wilson mistakes Louise's friendship for love; he kisses her in some sort of shelter in a rain storm (!!!) and she's oddly cavalier about rejecting him after he does it a second time. Louise has (not unreasonably) been asking Scobie to leave West Africa; when Scobie gets passed over for a promotion to Commissioner, she steps her begging up a notch. Scobie takes a loan from Yusef, a Syrian,^[9] so that she can go on a boat to South Africa. She leaves and Scobie's pretty okay with it.

I'll admit that this synopsis is kind of weak. Normally I would have waited to finish the book, but I hadn't written anything in a while and I hate to leave my fans waiting.^[10] Here's a fun video. Are we cool?

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[1] This isn't necessarily a slam / burn / zinger. It just means that the book has an air about it of Having Something To Say, which -- in an academic context -- is one of the least appealing things a work of literature can possibly have. If I read this novel and had to discuss its symbolism or themes in any concrete way, I'd hate it. Since it's summer time and I do what I want, though -- wheeeee.
[2] This is especially important for a book with a style that doesn't really suit my tastes. This is kind of an extension of FN[1]: the plot of this book is so cool and the characters are so interesting that it overcomes what I see as a dry, dated form.
[3] This is not true. There are, thus far, no elves.
[4] "Live on the third floor," they said. "It won't be too hot," they said.
[5] Shout out to J. for driving me around and generally being really great. Big fan.
[6] Did you know that the backs of window AC units are made of razors?
[7] Largely because she's a complainer -- this is ironic, as I frequently complain and moan about something as minor as a finger cut.^[*]
[8] Not even books.
[9] There's a ton of casual racism in this novel. I know it was just How The Times Were, but seriously, the "Greatest Generation" was (and is -- dammit, grandpa) ultra-bigoted.
[10] Someone please love me.




[*] No but seriously you guys someone needs to investigate why there's like a ton of barbed wire on the backs of AC cabinets this is not okay.

Psychic Synopses

I finished up Consider The Lobster earlier today. I can't think of anything to write about it; the essays were wonderful and hilarious and you should read the book. I'd say "Up, Simba"^[1] and "Consider The Lobster"^[2] were my favorites. In lieu of spoilers (not that I can spoil topical essays without plots), I'll just give it a hearty recommendation^[3] because I really liked it. Okay moving on now wheeeeeeeeeee

I picked up two more books a few days ago that aren't on the Kindle Store (fucking bullshit, I know -- I didn't pay all this money for an Ego Tablet to not be able to read everything I want immediately all the time): The Heart Of The Matter^[4] by Graham Greene and A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius^[5] by Dave Eggers. I'm gonna do Heart first and then dive right into Genius.

But before that, I'm going to predict the plots of these books based entirely on their front and back covers.

Oh No The Back Covers Don't Have Any Plot Information

The Heart Of The Matter

Our protagonist, Toni,^[6] is a native of a Caribbean island invaded by British troops during some sort of war that may or may not be fictional. The war, brutal on its unfortunate pawns yet empowering for its hawkish orchestrators, illuminates the struggle inherent within man whilst stifling -- okay I can't do this anymore MAYBE THERE WILL BE ELVES

I REALLY WANT THERE TO BE ELVES IN THIS BOOK

NOT NECESSARILY LIKE LEGOLAS BUT DEFINITELY IN THAT VEIN

Also talking clouds? Talking clouds are in like zero things. What the hell, collective creative consciousness? Are you telling me I just had an idea that literally zero^[7] people have had before? I didn't even have to think about it. Shit, name one of them Nimbus. You're welcome.

A Heartbreaking Work .  . .

In the interest of full disclosure I have to say that I sort of know the general idea behind Genius. Dave's parents get cancer and die and he's got to take care of his brother. Something like that -- maybe his brother isn't of an age where he needs to be taken care of. Maybe all of us always need to be taken care of. Maybe . . .

FAAARRTTSSSSSSS

No but really I'm pumped to read both of these books in spite of these totally dickish "summaries." I've heard nothing but good things about Eggers^[8] and MVP is just Da Best and I trust her implicitly.

Plus they'll have plots -- definitely at least Heart -- so if nothing else you'll all get to read me making an ass of myself some more.







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[1] Written for Rolling Stone, "Up, Simba" is about the week (I think) DFW spent on the John McCain 2000 campaign. His analysis of Young Voters and how a population's apathy towards the democratic process can be used by a campaign to its advantage is really interesting. It's also written in a style I can only describe as "rapid," with some sentences running longer than a page.^* You can pick up just this essay, weirdly enough -- it is over 60 pages^* long -- on Amazon or read it on a shadily-illegitimate pdf-scanning website. Google it, click on the second one, and TELL NO ONE I SENT YOU.
[2] Written for Gourmet Magazine, this one's about the Maine Lobster Festival but it also delves into the morality of boiling a living animal. It's not too heavy-handed, either: his case is more objective and ends on a skeptical note. Again, it is also very funny. It's even available on Gourmet's website! Free! Read it!
[3] Completely unrelated but also something I heavily recommend: Frank Ocean's new album, Channel Orange, was released today. That link there will play the whole thing through -- give it some of your time. "Sweet Life" is an early favorite.
[4] Via the lovely MVP.
[5] Mind-reading recommendation from SB.
[6] My friend MS and I once tried to write a novel modeled after -- stolen from -- Toni Morrison and the jury's still out on whether it was (A) racist or (B) oddly transcendent. We finished roughly two-thirds of the first page.
[7] Zero people have worked talking clouds into books, at least. It's worth noting that I've read every book in the history of ever and speak from high authority.
[8] From CP, SB, JL; Klosterman said he re-defined the memoir genre.



[*] Is a Kindle page the same as a normal page? I don't think so. They feel shorter, but that obviously isn't an objective measurement. (Also yes I did just put a footnote in a footnote do you want to say it to my face.)

T Etiquette

This post does not directly involve books. Fight me. #IDGAF #YOLO^[1] #Kony2012.^[2] I've started using footnotes, too, because I'm still reading Consider The Lobster and I can't very well write a plot summary for a series of essays. Rather than write about the articles -- an act that would largely consist of me saying, "Yep, he's about right," idiotically -- I'm just going to bite a bit of DFW's style. It's not stealing, it's an homage.

Google Images says this is a "modern yuppie,"
I shit you not.

As a young, urban professional,^[3] I am familiar with the public transportation system in my favored Metropolis. No one owns a car anymore, not in these times. Especially not me: I can't drive and be admired for reading a Kindle simultaneously!^[4] Riding the T every day -- I have a monthly pass -- of course qualifies me to pass judgement judgment judgement on those who irk me. Here's a list of things you shouldn't do on/near the T; thank me later, preferably with pie.^[5]

Shit You Do On The T That Makes Me Want To Punch Your Stupid Head

1. Try to board before everyone has gotten out. This is super-rude and it really does fuck everybody up. The people leaving (A) have places to go and (B) are making the train less densely-packed by departing. Just wait the two goddamn seconds so we don't have to awkwardly shuffle past one another. How do you not know this rule? I assume your parents didn't teach you manners because they killed themselves early on, unable to raise such an awful, shitty child.
2. Stand in front of an open seat. I'm not going to read my Kindle standing up like some poor commoner. Move, or at least sit in the seat so I can tower above you, my eBook reader glistening in the (almost certainly carcinogenic) fluorescent lights.
3. Initiate conversation. Do you not see the Kindle? I am above you. What am I reading? Aww, look who's literate! I'm reading an essay collection -- maybe you can get it at a library, you dead-broke socialist.
4. Stand on the left side of the escalator. It's unhealthy for me to experience this much boiling rage in the morning. Nah, it's cool -- block everybody. To be fair, though, the Big People Stairs might be tough with your wheelchair.^[6]

There you have it. Proceed with caution, friends. Also here's a goofy picture I planned on using:

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[1]"You Only Live Once," for those fortunate enough to not know. There's even a song.text

[2] For reference, it's this video. I'll save you a lot of editorializing and just say it was a really, really good example of two things: 1. The power of social media to "raise awareness" and 2. The credulity of people willing to hit that "share" button without any hesitation. (The leader of Invisible Children was arrested for public drunken masturbation shortly after the video went viral, which is hilarious in a very dark way.)text

[3] I once saw an older man wearing a "Die, Yuppie Scum!" shirt, presumably without irony. He had an angry walk and smelled of despair.text

[4] If they (the plebs) saw me driving and reading at the same time, I would assume they'd admire me while being terrified; this is precisely the emotional cocktail I want to instill in the seedy, Kindle-less underbelly.text

[5] Why am I not always eating pie?text

[6] This did not actually happen, though I'd like the record to show that I have no problem violently assaulting the physically handicapped.text

English Class

I started reading David Foster Wallace's Consider The Lobster last night. I'm trying to see if I like his style without jumping right into Infinite Jest, a book I will never read on a Kindle: over 1,000 pages long with nearly 400 endnotes, the formatting just won't work electronically. Plus, if I pick up the paperback, I'll be able to carry a huge tome around -- and as we all know, size correlates strongly with quality. Hiyoooo!

I really like "Lobster" so far. I just finished the first essay, which is about the 1998 Annual AVN Awards and porn in general. It's not even the first essay about porn I've read: Chuck Klosterman wrote an essay called (go figure) "Porn" in his Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I'm not going to write about (icky!!) porn here because I am a gentleman, but the whole thing does kind of remind me of my high school English class. We shot porn in my English class.

Based on a true story

That's not true at all, actually. Sorry. We did have to follow very strict rules about writing, though. I got pretty mediocre grades in English classes; my essays never really connected with the "correct" answer. I didn't follow The Rules because I'm a dark, mysterious figure with a body that just won't quit. So when I see someone like DFW write an essay about porn (!!) and use run-on sentences and footnotes, it reminds me of how little I use everything I learned in those tedious AP English lectures.

What I Learned In English Classes

1. Kneel before your formulaic gods. Only Five-Paragraph Essays. Er, okay, fine. It's a general form. I can see it, kind of. Oh, the first and last paragraphs are shorter than the others? Each one is three sentences? Weird, but -- the other paragraphs are 5-7 sentences? Listen, I don't know why we're setting limits -- and the first and last sentences of each paragraph are spoken for? The former summarizes what follows, and the latter summarizes what preceded? Do I get to bring a formula sheet to the exam? What do you mean, I should stop using rhetorical questions?
2. 19th-Century England is boring as hell. Why is everyone visiting each other for like a month at a time? Linton Heathcliff is sick for his entire life. He's got a serious disease and no one helps him. "Just a sickly constitution," they said. YOUR CHILD HAS HAD TUBERCULOSIS FOR FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS. GET HIM A DOCTOR.
3. Dystopias are bad. You'd think that the name would give it away. As an extension of this, everyone will now have an opinion on how the US is but one misstep away from becoming a totalitarian police state. Ron Paul 2008.
4. Semicolons are weird and pretentious. No joke, I stopped using semicolons in my essays because a teacher actually told me to use periods instead. "A cleaner stop," she said. A related note: I don't know what the "--" thing is, but I fucking love using those now. They were discouraged back in the day! (Ostensibly this is because I did not know what they were for. Still don't. Get at me, haters.)
5. Any object is given more than a cursory description? Discuss for an hour. Hey, guess what? I write things -- jokes, mostly, but it's the same idea: Sometimes adjectives aren't revelations. Can't we just have nice descriptions of things without rehashing the same Man v. Self argument over and over?

6. To break Rule #1 or #4, or to have an interesting style at all, you must be universally acclaimed. Joyce is allowed to write arguably the weirdest introductory paragraph in all of literature and Dickens can write the shit out of a run-on sentence, but, see, they're extremely famous now even though we never really talk about how they were received upon release back in the day so we're mostly worshipping everything in hindsight while completely ignoring the present and why haven't you punctuated this part of your essay you lose three points.

Louis CK has a bit about how technical high schools exist to narrow dreams:

We raise kids and tell them they can be whatever they want. We send them to technical high schools and say, "You can be one of these eight things."

C'mon, English classes everywhere. Step your game up. I'm going to write about dragons. Singing dragons. 

Cat's Cradle

I finished Cat's Cradle just now. What the hell, man? What the fuck was that about? This is what I read first? Are you serious? I loved it, but (spoilers) everyone dies? Seriously? Everyone? Did you guys know about this? Why would you -- ugh.

Plot Summary Time!

Cat's Cradle is about this dude named John who wants to be called Jonah who is writing this book about what people were doing on the day the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.

"I am a Bokononist lol"

He doesn't give a shit about the people in Hiroshima; he just needs to talk to people involved in the making of the bomb. He talks about one of the fathers of the Kill Explosion (I'm tired of writing "bomb"), Felix Hoenikker. Felix isn't that prevalent. Like, he exists, but we never meet him. He dies pretty quick. Well, the story of his death is relayed to John. It was a while ago. He worked on the atomic bomb and invented one other very important thing. I'll get to that; calm down.

Okay so John / Jonah writes a letter to Felix's three kids to see what they were up to when all those people got incinerated. One, Newt, responds. The other two kids are Frank and Angela. Angela plays clarinet and doesn't contribute much else. Frank builds pretty sick train sets in a store and bangs the shopkeeper's wife every day.

Frank Hoenikker, laying tracks instead of pipe. For now.

Newt is a dropout from Cornell. He was pre-med. Likes to paint. Newt is also a midget. Once we know he's a midget, Vonnegut only refers to him as "little Newt." Not "Little Newt." It doesn't become part of his name. He's just constantly referred to as "little." It's a permanent adjective. If one of the characters were pregnant, Vonnegut would presumably describe her as "rotund Sally" every fucking time. This is hilarious.

Autistic Raymond

John goes to some shitty town in New York to interview everyone, where he also learns about Ice-Nine, the other thing Felix Hoenikker invented. Ice-Nine is a compound that changes water's molecular structure so its freezing point becomes ~114 degrees Fahrenheit. For the less-sciencey folks, this means that if you throw Ice-Nine in water, the water will freeze if it's at a temperature below 114 degrees. Normally that freezing temperature is 32 degrees. Okay.

Somehow or other John / Jonah goes to some made-up island called San Lorenzo. I forget why. He goes there, probably to interview somebody. But San Lorenzo's weird as shit! It's ruled by this dictator named "Papa" (his name is always in quotes) who's got cancer and threatens to execute people constantly. They've got this banned religion called Bokononism that was started by some Bokonon bloke who's now on the run. He's not really on the run; Bokononism is officially banned in San Lorenzo, but only to give it a certain mystique. Everyone on the island is secretly a Bokononist.

Also supports banning things he secretly practices (gay orgies)

Bokononism is pretty cool, I guess -- it acknowledges that everything it claims isn't true. The idea is to believe the lies and maybe you'll have a decent life. They've got this weird foot-ritual, too, but it's no sillier than actual religious rites. Pressing soles together, eating a wafer, same deal. I think that's the point, anyway.

"Papa" is feeling a bit ill

So Papa's really sick. He collapses. In the hospital, he kills himself with Ice-Nine; he ingests it and his body (containing moisture) turns into a block of ice. Frank Hoenikker is in line to become the next President of San Lorenzo, but he gives the position to John. John accepts reluctantly, but mostly so he can fornicate with / defile this gorgeous woman named Mona. He keeps talking about her feet. These people have a thing for feet.

So then San Lorenzo's doing this inverse-Hate Week thing where jets fly over their island and destroy caricatures of "Enemies Of Freedom," like Hitler, Marx, etc. It's a celebration of their freedom; one big, masturbatory "We're awesome!" But one of the jets is on fire (whoops) and it crashes into the island and Papa's palace crumbles. Papa slides into the ocean and -- oh fuck -- all of the water in the ocean turns to ice. All of the water on Earth turns to ice.

Suddenly, glaciers

Then there are a bunch of tornados for some reason. John / Jonah and Mona hole up in an old torture chamber. John makes sex on Mona. Get it, bro:

I will not go into the sordid sex episode that followed. Suffice it to say that I was both repulsive and repulsed.

Jesus christ I'm so sorry you guys

They stay in the chamber for a while, and when they come out, everyone's dead. There's a mass grave where people have all killed themselves by ingesting Ice-Nine. Mona does the same. Boop. John gets in a cab (??) with some other people (????) and drives past Bokonon, just sitting on the road. He's finishing Bokononism's holy text, The Books Of Bokonon. He needs help with the last sentence, where he talks about the stupidity of mankind.

This prompts John / Jonah to climb a really high mountain, leave his now-complete book -- the book we've been reading!!! -- at the peak, eat some Ice-Nine, and die. The Fucking End.

Kindle-Worthy Books

You asked, "What books should I read on my Kindle?" Well, put the Digiorno back in the freezer, baby, 'cause I deliver.

1. Books assigned in high school, but only ones you claim were over-appreciated. Identify with the commoner: You've read some of the same books. Exert dominance: You just know they're shit.
2. The Bible. Acknowledging that The Word is given away for free, you spring for the Platinum Edition when your soul is on the line. Not that you're religious -- you're more spiritual. A free-thinker who has shunned dogma, you follow a vaguely Eastern philosophy focused on the Self's Path to Righteousness and Noodles. T-Pain is 'bout it, 'bout it; did you not know?
3. Motley Crue's The Dirt. When prompted, sigh over a "lost era." Kickstart the lowly man's heart. You know the true relevance of Tommy Lee's throbbing, pulsing, explosive -- er, bass kicks.
4. Any and all books featured in the first season of FOX's The OC. Speak of the first season's unabashed genius whenever the subject is even remotely broached. "What am I reading? Just a little book I saw on an episode of The OC. Shame it fell off after that first season. No one seems to appreciate the way the show captured teen privilege in an era of bourgeois . . ." It is not important that you know what any of these words mean.
5. Fifty Shades Of Grey, because no one -- to my knowledge -- has masturbated on the T ironically. Squirming under the weight of your own arousal, you will bite your lip. "What in the world are you reading?" the basest of classes will marvel. "Marley and Me," you will whisper, taking your leave, having conquered a new frontier.

So there it is! A list of books your Kindle Lifestyle demands. I'm just kidding about the lewd sex acts on the T, by the way. Don't do that -- unless you chase glory like none before you.

You Did This To Me (Thanks)

I bought a Kindle because I need to be seen reading. That's why anyone buys a Kindle; no one buys one and reads it in his house. Look at this technology! It's sleek. It's fashionable. I feel intellectual just holding the thing. Never mind what I'm reading -- I read in public. More importantly, I am the kind of person who reads in public. I'm deep. I have thoughts about things. The issues. Ask me about the Affordable Care Act.

Not pictured: me, holding one, looking nuanced and sexual

Yes, plebeians, enjoy your iPods, earbuds, and The Metro's yellow journalism. TomCat split up? Really, now. How very sad. I thought they were going places, but -- oh, this little thing? It's my Kindle. Surely you've heard. You know, the screensaver doesn't use any battery. Truly a marvel. I just don't know how I went on without it.

Yet the problem with establishing superiority over the groveling eBook-less masses is that I, in fact, had no eBooks. A proud new Kindle owner, I had no material with which to fuel my insatiable Holier Than Thou attitude. To be sure, I'd read books before -- silly essays about cereal, depressing fables, the rantings of an angry stand up, a categorization of nerdiness -- but nothing my newfound serfs could truly appreciate. I was no better than the people reading Fifty Shades Of Grey on the bus, diddling themselves. I needed a solid ground on which to dictate and glow.

So I asked you folks for books, and you delivered. A ton. So many. Honestly, fuck you. I'm only one man. You know that books, like, take a while to read, right? It's not the same as recommending an album or a movie: this is like homework. But I'll read all of them. Okay, not all of them -- I don't want people to talk about my "book friends." But I promise I'll read a large majority of what you all recommended, and I'll write about those books here.

I'm about halfway through Cat's Cradle now. I know I'm halfway because my Kindle (I have one, you see) tells me I'm sitting at 50% completion, though there are no page numbers. I'm swirling in a realm lacking frames of reference, reading and tapping that "next page" button. It's fun.