And here it is Friday, and only seven days until we leave for Portland (and that's counting today). So things are getting weird and hectic. I've never been to Portland, but Spooky lived there for three years, 1996-1999, and has tremendous trepidation about returning. So, we're coping with that, too. But I am not a traveling writer. There seem to be
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At least I know now that I do not care for Hemingway.
Oh, I adore Hemingway, warts and all.
I own a copy of Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies, but haven't read it yet because my mind insists on me reading the original text so I won't be influenced by the parody or something of that sort.
Didn't care for the original, and can't imagine slogging through the parody. I think I look at these books, and sometimes the concept is funny. And it might make a funny fifteen minute sketch. But a whole book?
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For Whom the Bell Tolls is good, and "The Snows of Kilimanjaro."
I think the zombies book was more of an impulse buy on my part because I had a temporary zombie obsession that still rears its head every so often.
I do love zombies. Just not in places they don't belong.
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The best and only Austen satire I have ever read was written by a friend of mine at Brandeis for a class on Jane Austen: it was called "Mansfield Jurassic Park" and it ended, inevitably, with everyone eaten by perfectly mannered, eminently marriageable velociraptors. It was brilliant. It was also about four thousand words.
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It was also about four thousand words.
See, that's kind of reasonable. Like the very funny Gor parody.
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