Day 2,069, Quasi-Quarantine: The Last Frontier, The Great Outdoors Propel Eerie "Black Woods Blue Sky"

 

“Again and again, fury and shame hot in her belly, she had tried to solve the problem of how a little girl can save her mother.”

Eowyn Ivey has done it again, making the rugged accessible and the raw beautiful. "Black Woods Blue Sky" brings to life a small girl's connection to a nature and creature she loves but doesn't understand.

After discovering and enjoying "The Snow Child," I received this book as part of a giveaway on Goodreads. The books share some similarities, but the presence of the Alaskan redneck community lends an important humanity to the tale.

“Her mom knew how to do lots of things. She knew how to find blueberries and catch fish and shoot a gun, but Emaleen was worried that she didn’t know how to keep them safe.”

The novel ran the risk of being too on the (bear) nose, but rescued itself with a beautiful and oddly sentimental ending. The tender tone created by this finale gave the author a clever vehicle to explore forgiveness and peace. 

“Unlike some lawmen and prosecutors Warren had known over the years, he did not see the world neatly split between perpetrators and victims but rather as a complex interchange of suffering.”

This book is a love note to Alaska, unexamined frontiers, and the endless internal struggle between who we are and who we'd like to be.

“So much left to happenstance and incredible endurance. Yet life thrived, unfurled its leaves toward the sun, and poured hope into its tender, fragile flowers.”

Day 2,066, Quasi-Quarantine: Hey Look, It's That Kind Of Season Again!

The Scooters are in the midst of a three-game losing streak (5-6 overall), and I really wish there was something on the roster I could point to as the culprit. But the reality is that, beyond the relatively normal litany of injuries, there's nothing tangible to point to.

Except:

• Dudes you first heard of like a week ago being picked up the day before the games and going for 30+ points against you (see Tucker, Sean).
• Opponents with shite rosters having the week of their lives on the weekend they happen to play you (I'm the league leader in fantasy points scored against by a large margin).
• Impossible-to-bench superstar players turning in weekly performances that pale in comparison to practice-squad call-ups (see Jefferson, Justin).

It's also a strange-ass league. Not only do we operate under a Premier League format that features annual relegations, but I've had two owners back out of trades they proposed. There is no interaction in the league message boards, no chat exchanges (not even to shit-talk), and trade requests come through via an automated mechanism that features no explanation.

I mean, hell, there's someone in the league carrying four quarterbacks, three tight ends, and two defenses! He's fucking 6-4. 

Look, I've been playing fantasy football for more than a quarter-century at this point (jeezus, that hurt to type). You're simply going to encounter a season where everything feels stacked against you, from injuries to randos having career days against you on the regular to trade offers that feel designed to incite violence.

I've experienced this type of season before. While the natural reaction is to toss up your hands -- especially when you legitimately struggle to see how or where you'd improve your roster -- I'm reminding my crew that there are still three weeks left in the regular season.

Onward. 

Now who the fuck is Emari Demercado ...

Limerick Friday #646: Yet More Grist For A Most-Awaited Obit -- Day 2,602

The latest scandal does really smell

But it's hard to actually tell

What will rattle his sycophants

Enough for them to pull up their pants

Hoping that sound is a death knell

Performances for the trash bins

Offset by easy wins

A different team every week

Collective schizophrenia at its peak

How do you figger the goddam 'Fins?

The Triangle media's afraid

After years being lazy and paid

Wolfpack hoops needs attention

From reporters with anal retention

Chalk it up to freaking Will Wade

Another Aaron Judge MVP snore

Critical thinking by votes was poor

The catcher got jobbed

You could even say robbed

Cal Raleigh deserved the award more

After horseshit luck in bunches

Decided to start playing hunches

Then things got even more rough

And lost to someone named Tyler Shough

And this is why I now just drink my lunches

Last time ...

Day 2,060, Quasi-Quarantine: Short-Story Collection "Oral History Of Atlantis" Blends Humor And Existential Dread

“Something is in the air, something desperate and a little depraved, held together by circuits and signals and stuffed up above in the cloud.”

~“Seven Women”

Possessing an irresistible fever-dream quality, "An Oral History of Atlantis" is an absorbing collection of short stories from Ed Park. Many of the characters seemed to have unexamined interconnections, and the tales themselves feature ennui, hilarity, and self-doubt.

“Psychopaths in office casual, USC pennants on the wall. All the guys talked fast, used nouns as verbs, verbs as nouns. Surface the stipend. Table the trash. They loved to hear themselves produce language.”

~“The Air as Air”

The book has a number of standouts, including "Weird Menace," "Bring on the Dancing Horses," "The Wife on Ambien," and "Slide to Unlock," with the overall impression being that of a master storyteller at work. Park is a clever observer, imbuing his clipped sentences with meaning and humor -- making for an unforgettable read.

“In our dreams no one knows what anyone is saying. The words are all wrong but the meanings are all right.”

~“Weird Menace”

Limerick Friday #645: Another Epic Night At The Finley -- Day 2,057

Carter-Finley was lit

The crowd would barely sit

In the seasonal cold

The Wolfpack got bold

Memories created as the field we hit

Another ridiculous fantasy loss

My hands I did toss

So I'm changing my tack

And trading for a viable back

Swinging for the fences as Scooters boss

The reaper took the long way

But all evil does finally pay

Burn in hell, Dick

You criminal prick

It's a helluva start to today

So many screams and screeds

Who actually hears and heeds?

Thought Stephen A. Smith was ignored years ago

But ESPN has tripled down on his show

Who actually listens to these anal beads?

Giving up the most points

'Tis a kick in the beans and joints

Third in points scored

But I can't afford

The BS that fantasy football anoints

Last time ...

Day 2,055, Quasi-Quarantine: Remembering When SNL Skewered The "Undecided" Voters

I've never understood "undecided" voters and never will, so until one of them can offer a coherent explanation of their existence, I'm just going to assume that they are incapable of critical thinking and never outgrew a sense of elementary-school entitlement.

Day 2,054, Quasi-Quarantine: Improbable Levels Of Turmoil Mark Spiritual Journey Revealed In "Isola"

“The stars are words enough. I understood this on the island.”

Based on the purportedly true story of Marguerite de La Rocque de Roberval, "Isola" documents the orphan's privileged young life and its quick descent into abuse. Allegra Goodman's work is captivating from the jump, as Marguerite becomes subject to the whims of a distant cousin who squanders her inherited fortune and imprisons her.

“As for me, I had fine slippers, silk gowns, and more land than I could see. Even my finch lived in a gilt cage, but when I looked at Claire and Madame D’Artois, I felt like a beggar at the door.”

She eventually becomes exiled to a barren Canadian island, where she suffers a series of almost infathomable losses. Marguerite prevails through abandonment in unforgiving environments to ultimately find her spiritual center.

“I considered the waves and thought, You are another riddle. What is constant and ever-changing? Who confines and consoles at the same time?”

The book gets preachy, beholden to sudden whims by key characters, and difficult to conclude satisfyingly, but Goodman's prose and pacing overcome most of the obstacles, making "Isola" an entrancing story.

“I wept for joy because I could escape, and for sorrow I must leave alone.”