(I’m writing this on the train. The sky is pink and fluffy with the sunset. The waxing moon is peeking through cotton candy clouds. I am listening to Mark Kozelek’s album of Modest Mouse covers, which is as close as I get to actually listening to Modest Mouse. I am bookless and lost in thought.)

So, I’ve finished reading YORAS. And it only took me three months and 25 days (give or take a few hours) to do it!

I’ve gone into a little bit of explanation as to why the book has taken me so long to finish—short-story-like chapters, an unfamiliar author with an unusual narrative style, the Adam Carolla Show—so I won’t go over it again.

The book was a much-needed departure from my normal fare. Beyond the narrative style, which featured ideas and abstract characterization instead of relationships and emotions, YORAS focused on the eastern world to the exclusion of everything European and North American. I’ve read a lot of historical fiction, but it’s always Europe-based, and my contemporary fiction reading lists are the same.

Before I get too carried away, I suppose I should describe the premise of this book. Basically, it’s the story of a group of souls that travel from life to life repeating (correcting, remembering, learning from, forgetting) the same mistakes in a world where the population of Europe was eradicated during the Black Death. China and Islam fight for control and the souls find themselves on every side of the battle. The story spans 700-odd years, from the time of the plague to the present.

This is definitely a guy’s book, and not just because the cover is masculinely swathed in blacks and reds. The characters felt like they were presented at arm’s length, so even though I was seeing the same souls over and over, it still took me more than half of the book to get a good read on them. Also there was a lot of talk about machines and tools and not much talk about clothing and makeup, so that’s always a good indication the book is written with men in mind. (I wish I were kidding. Ah, chicklit, what have you done to me?)

I found it interesting that Kim Stanley Robinson pretty much stuck to our timeframe for inventions and world events. China visited America around the time that the Spaniards did in real life; trains showed up at nearly the same time; the Great War took place in the equivalent to the 20th century; the modern people had e-mail.

But that got me thinking: how much of what we do is based on the individuals performing the act and how much is driven by the momentum of our collective humanity? Would there be opera if there was no Italy? Would explorers have been so quick to take to the seas if Europe was lying open to them, fertile and uninhabited? Would the people of Africa, Australia and America have lived an unmolested, happy life, unaware of the rest of the world, for centuries more than they did?

That’s it. This is too much to think about; I’m back to chicklit. I think C dropped off a book about a bachelorette party? . . .

Another busy period at the office has come to an end and I’m finding it hard to remember what a weekend without having to work feels like. I have a feeling I won’t have much time to celebrate, as two major projects are joining what is already a writing and design intensive time of year.

But at least I can work in my jammies, unlike when we’re in season.

Anyways.

Elena was giving me a hard time this morning because she had to find out from an alternate source that Joss Whedon and Eliza Dushku are working together for a Fox series. (Hey, Elena, Joss also directed an episode of The Office. And it had vampires in it! And you never knew!)

She was also giving me a hard time about reading after I suggested that she take the writer’s strike (somehow this is my fault too—it turns out chimps with nicotine dependencies aren’t responsible for General Hospital) as an opportunity to read a book for a change. “Why don’t you read a book?” was her snarky reply (emphasis mine; when will Messenger create a sarcasm font?)

I am reading a book. Just really, really, ridiculously slowly.

It’s not that I’m not enjoying it, because I am. It’s just that it’s broken into about 70-page mini-stories and I’m so easily distracted. I finish a section and immediately want to start listening to one of the 10,000 albums I acquired over the past six months. And Years of Rice and Salt takes a lot of concentration, so I certainly can’t listen to Beatallica while reading. (Or ever.)

Now that it’s cold and dark again and I’ve started taking more baths and having less to look at from the train, I’ve been plowing through the book one mini-story at a time. And now that the season’s over at work a lazy Sunday morning or two should get me back on track.

P.S. Psst! Elena! Wanna watch the BSG movie? It’s been leaked! Happy torrenting!

So I know that I've been a bad blogger, but life seems to have taken hold of me once again and left me no time for this blog. I blame it on the fact that it's Oct. 21 today and 24 freaking degrees outside! Who can blog when it's been Indian Summer for two whole months? (The answer to that is "not me, apparently.")

I watched the entire first season of Friday Night Lights in time to watch the premiere of season two, and god was it worth it. It's my new BSG and Deadwood, in that it's a genre that I'm not normally attracted to but the writing and acting manages to gut-punch me each and every week. So, in keeping with the topic name, here's my one-sentence review of FNL, followed by a short review of the other new shows I'm watching this season:

Friday Night Lights: I know I'm probably alone in this, but I don't hate the new season or the Big Bad Twist.

Reaper: It took me three separate watchings to get through the first ep so I gave up.

The Tudors: Surprisingly accurate, at least as far as Henry's love life goes.

Journeyman: I've been meaning to get to this!

Bionic Woman: First ep dropped off the Replay so I deleted the rest.

Pushing Daisies: So freaking fab, fantastic and pretty that I want to laugh and cry and eat pie all day.

Samantha Who?: I will watch anything featuring Christina Applegate, but even without her I might have watched this supercute show.

Did I miss anything?

Oh my God, I am so in love with Chuck that I don't know that I can talk about it coherently.

I haven't watched a lot of the new shows (only Reaper, Gossip Girl and, well, that's it really), but this one is rocking my world. So what if the bomb in the first episode would never have been connected to the Internet in a million, billion years? And what are the odds that anyone could fly a chopper by imaging it's a computer game?

But who cares about that when the show is so damned funny? From the Geek Squad to Captain Awesome ("Indeed!") to the ridiculously accessorized fight scenes, the series is hitting my comedy sweet spot.

Also, why did nobody tell me Adam Baldwin was on this show? I love Adam Baldwin! Like, love-love him! A Firefly-loving colleague once told me that he's a rampant gun-loving Republican and even that isn't enough to make me stop loving him! I would watch him react to paint drying, I would. Love, love, love, love, love. (Jana, that started out as just gushing and after the third "love" I just decided to go for it!)

I love this show, I really, really do.

Love.

I’m watching my first soccer game. It’s Music Club tonight and Tim and Alan are heading out to Lal’s after the game, so I figure I may as well see what all the fuss is about. I turn on the TV and the first thing I see is Tim and Alan in a zoom-in on the crowd. (As I keep watching and realize that the swaths of red in the audience are empty seats, I can understand why they panned in on the crazy fanatic section.)

Here are my thoughts, uncensored:

• I must say that it’s pretty funny to hear the English commentator say “soccer.” He kinda chokes on it a bit.
  
  
• The refs look like they must get quite a workout. Unlike the umps in baseball (the only sport I watch), they’re actually fit! I like the ref’s short-shorts. Very cute! They make his knees look extra nobby.
  
  
• I wonder, did soccer players not get the memo that long hair went out in 1997, or are they cutting-edge on the new long-hair trend?
  
  
• It looks like it will rain. Do they play in the rain or are their cleats lightning magnets?
  
  
• How do the Real Salt Lake players celebrate when they’re playing at home if it’s a dry state?
  
  
• Soccer players are kinda pusses, aren’t they? Just lay on the grass, writhing and whining until the ref gives out a yellow card? How unmanly!
  
  
• Oh, it turns out Utah is not a dry state. Scratch that comment.
  
  
• I wonder if TFC’s choice to wear red shirts was a bad idea. (“He’s dead, Jim.”)
  
  
• The Canadian broadcaster just called it “football.” That must irk the English guy to no end.
  
  
• Do they take commercials?
  
  
• The commentators are now determining that Toronto FC is about three games away from matching a U.K. record for number of hours played without a goal. Alan must be so proud.
  
  
• Ooh! Tussle!
  
  
• Red card for RSL. That’s a pisser. Now let’s see if TFC can score with a one-man advantage.
  
  
• If you’re up a man, shouldn’t you be able to keep the ball on the opponent’s half of the field for more than 40 seconds at a time? One would think, right?
  
  
• The goal is on the ground, TFC; not 45 feet in the air.
  
  
• Hey! They don’t stop the clock when they’re setting stuff up? Or is that what this two minutes added time is?
  
  
• Half time! Nil-nil! (See, I’m getting the lingo down already!)

So far I have to say this is not as boring as I thought. It’s been an hour but it really doesn’t feel like it. I like that they have a 20-minute break at half time as it gave me time to have a shower and order some food. Probably like at the stadium! Minus the shower!

• Someone on RSL was hurt and needed medical attention and then was fine! What’s up with that? Either you’re hurt or you’re not; stop wasting everyone’s time.
  
  
• Was that a goal?!? Oh, no. Never mind.
  
  
• No, no, fellas. The goal is the thing that guy is protecting, not the wide open space surrounding it.
  
  
• The commentator has to stop saying things like: “This surely is the goal!” It’s just embarrassing after a while.
  
  
• Update: 800 minutes without a goal.
  
  
• Is the TFC coach a ginger? Hee!
  
  
• What the fuck? The guy has a cramp and we all stand around? Putz.
  
  
• Toronto 22 shots at goal, Salt Lake 5. Man, RSL can’t give this game away.
  
  
• Now they’re comparing MLS to the CFL, suggesting that there will at least be a goal in the Argos/Lions game. Hah!
  
  
• Oh YEAH! YEAH! OH YEAH! My pizza’s here!
  
  
• Four minutes left. Let’s see if they can do it! (They can’t.)

And there’s the game. Wow. It must be depressing being a Toronto FC fan.

Jana says: Don't want to interrupt but must warn you: Shoot 'Em Up is the worst movie I have ever seen!

Jen Star says: Nooo!
Jen Star says: Really?
Jana says: Yesssssssss.
Jen Star says: How come?
Jana says: We just came out of it.
Jana says: Laughably awful, inconsistent, offensive, violent, clueless, pointless, plotless.
Jana says: We NEARLY left.
Jana says: But stuck it out.
Jen Star says: But . . . Clive!
Jana says: Oh it's awful!
Jana says: I know!!!!!
Jana says: Clive!
Jen Star says: But. . . .
Jana says: Two or three great close up shots of him.
Jen Star says: Is this the one he was doing in Toronto?
Jana says: Yes.
Jana says: Lots of shots of Toronto.
Jen Star says: But . . .
Jen Star says: But, Clive.
Jana says: Including one of Clive walking under the Gardiner—same shot as our [name redacted] image!
Jana says: Had to warn you.
Jana says: Save your $10.
Jana says: OR . . . go in pre-warned.
Jen Star says: So it's like Derailed and that one he did with Angelina all over again?
Jana says: Worse.
Jen Star says: Thanks for the warning! It really feels like he'll do anything for the right $$, eh?
Jana says: Seems so.
Jana says: I mean, the script is awful too!
Jen Star says: Not campy?
Jen Star says: Intentionally, that is?
Jana says: Yes it is.
Jana says: But not effectively.
Jana says: Supposed to be cartoonish fun.
Jana says: But it's not fun.
Jen Star says: How disappointing.
Jana says: It's not just mindless fun.
Jana says: It's mindless awfulness.
Jen Star says: Thank God he's so ridiculously hot.
Jana says: lol
Jen Star says: Or there might be trouble in that career of his.

A bit of a chill filtered down from the north today as we enjoyed a taste of the eight-month horror we know as fall-winter-spring. It's under 20 at the peak of the day (gasp!) for the first time since probably May and is cloudy with scattered misty showers, and it's really harshing my buzz, man. Of course, this could be from the letter I got from the government this afternoon asking me to submit evidence of the transit passes I claimed on my last tax return, or even just the fact that I'm spending the day tomorrow saying goodbye to my boss, who passed away last week. What does one wear to a funeral in the summer?

I've been busy since I got home from B.C. getting reacquainted with my old friend Adam Carolla. I stopped listening to him on a regular basis when he got his own show, so this has been a welcome reunion. That said, it's given me next to no time for reading or even listening to music. Which also makes me sad, because I like to read books and listen to music. But Adam's crazy funny, so what's a girl to do?

My brain hurts.

I need to eat.

Yes, I know I just got back from Scotland a month and a half ago, but vacations wait for no woman and I am heading back on the road to visit my Jalapeno and her new little one in B.C.

I bought about 10 dozen books while I was in Scotland, as trade paperbacks are the same price there as pocket, so even with the exchange we're looking at $15 as opposed to $25. Plus, they were buy two get one free so it was more like $10 a trade! Sweet!

My neighbour C has been showing up with chicklit books the past couple weeks, and I plan to take each one she gave me with me to B.C. there is nothing better than reading an entire book on a flight, and chicklits are wonderful for that. I will be taking Swapping Lives by Jane Green, The Bachelorette Party by Karen McCullough Lutz and Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner. The latter is the only one I've ever heard of, so I'm not sure what to expect.

I will also bring Sebastian Faulks' The Girl at the Lion D'or, a book I've been dying to read for years but have never been able to find on this side of the pond. Bless British bookstores for stocking British authors.

I am currently reading my first man-authored book since GGK's Ysabel: Kim Stanley Robinson's The Years of Rice and Salt. It's sci-fi, which I read only rarely (okay, just Douglas Adams), but it comes highly recommended and so far is pretty intriguing. Plus, hopefully I'll get a new GGK convert in the recommendation bargain. And I'm guessing Jalapeno's hubby is going to dig this one too, so I'll lend it his way once I'm done. It's like I'm arriving bearing gifts (beyond the yummy essential oil soap I picked up for my girl on Skye, that is)!

It's been an upgradey few days for me. On Friday, my old work Dell (256 MB of RAM to run Dreamweaver, Photoshop and Flash at once, yummy!) finally found itself a new home as a bigger, newer model stopped by. My IT guy said it should take two hours to transfer all the files off my C drive (we have network storage for everything except personal/music files). He was back five and a half hours later. He was astonished that I had a massive 10 GB of music on my computer; I was rather surprised that it was only 10 GB. Perspective, I suppose.

My dad upgraded his laptop this week and I was next on the list for a replacement, so I got his one-year-old Inspiron. It is about 100 lb. lighter than my old HP, and has about 1000 times more power, so I'm hoping for Great Moments of Creative Productivity over the next while.

Surprise of surprises, it has Vista on it. He's finally decided to give the new OS a chance, and it appears he's taking me along for the ride. He told me that I can go back to XP if I want, but there's something so fun about having no idea how to turn off Autoplay or how to find your My Computer. It a rare moment when I know more about computers than my dad (I've been able to teach him a few tricks with iPods, and of course HTML, but he's been building the things since '82 and trains cable companies on how to improve broadband connectivity, or something, for a living), but I was able to figure a few things out before him.

Everything went well with the software installs, but when I got home and tried to connect to my remote storage, things took a dramatic step backward. Netgear doesn't support Vista. 160 GB, all my photos, music files and documents, are completely inaccessible to me. So I did some searching around and discovered (amongst the complaints that my particular device likes to overheat and sometimes erase all its files—how do I back up 160 GB without going insane?) that there's a new beta version of the software needed to connect the device to Vista.

And that's what I'm up to today. Cross your fingers for me that this beta won't cause me to lose everything, and that my printers and tablet are not as difficult to troubleshoot.

Update: Success! Now onto the printers!
Update 2: Anyone need a Samsung laser printer? Works great with XP!
Update 3: Scratch that. It was the print server that was causing the trouble. The printer works fine with a little third-party software and a direct connection to the computer.

"Holy shit, is your Dan a ginger?"

(Part of a conversation between three woman in the office reading the Outlander series for the first time, in response to one's statement that she'd tried to get her boyfriend to grow out his hair and sport a kilt.)

(I wrote this on the train, which seems to be my habit lately. I've got a book in my bag but it's way too historical fiction-y for me to read while I'm listening to my dozens of new albums. Alas, alack.

There is a woman in her mid-20s sitting near me that has tweezed her eyebrows completely away on the outside of her face and then pencilled them in to resemble Vulcan brows. And they are at least as thick as Nimoy's, which is just plain strange.)

So I went to see Knocked Up over the holiday weekend. It was freaking awesome! I laughed and giggled and snickered my way through the entire movie. I think it was the first time my neighbour C has accompanied me to that kind of movie, as I usually take my lower-brow friends to the movies that have a 2:1 "fuck" to any other word in the English language ratio. But she seemed to enjoy it, so now she'll have to come with me to Superbad.

It turns out that a bunch of my colleagues saw it over the weekend too, so that meant that we were able to put the office-favourite "that's what she said" on hold for a day or two to recite quotes to one another.

(Okay, Honest Again from the Aliens just came on my iPod and I'm totally digging it! How Boston of them!)

On Friday C and I went to see Ocean's Thirteen. I never expect to like the Ocean's movies, and every time a new one comes out and I see it and like it. I didn't remember any of the characters—I know Vincent Cassel from his role as the duc d'Anjou in Elizabeth, not from this franchise, tho he was apparently in the last movie. Eddie Izzard was in the last one too? Huh. Who knew?—but enjoy the movie, mostly because I can see that the actors are enjoying themselves so much.

(Okay, now Peter, Bjorn and John's The Chills is playing. Great stuff.)

That said, I think it was the preview for The Bourne Ultimatum that excited me the most. And Ellen Barkin should a) kill the plastic surgeon that made her boob job so noticeable, and b) kill the dressmaker that allowed the top of her fake boobs to be so noticeable in the seduction scene. It killed the romance faster than Linus's fake nose.

So, TV Guide has released its list of the Top 30 Cult Shows of all time. Since I pride myself on being a) unique, and b) desperate to show others how unique I am by watching shows that other unique people watch, I thought I'd copy the list below and let you know how cool I am. Grey is watched for at least a season, while blue is watched for most or all of the entire run.

30) Strangers with Candy (1999-2000)
29) Absolutely Fabulous (1994-2003)
28) Stargate SG-1 (1997-2007)
27) H.R. Pufnstuf (1969-1971)
26) Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman (1975-1978)
25) Firefly (2002-2003)
24) Twin Peaks (1990-1991)
23) Dark Shadows (1966-1971)
22) Doctor Who (1963-present)
21) Freaks and Geeks (1999-2000)

20) The Avengers (1966-1969)
19) Quantum Leap (1989-1993)
18) Veronica Mars (2004-2007)
17) Beauty and the Beast (1987-1990)
16) Babylon 5 (1994-1998)
15) Family Guy (1999-present)
14) Battlestar Galactica (2003-present)
13) Mystery Science Theater 3000 (1989-1999)
12) Pee-Wee's Playhouse (1986-1991)
11) Jericho (2006-present)

10) Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001)
9) Twilight Zone (1959-1964)
8 ) The Simpsons (1989-present)
7) The Prisoner (1967-1968)
6) Monty Python's Flying Circus (1969-1974)
5) Lost (2004-present)
4) Farscape (1999-2003)
3) Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003)
2) The X-Files (1993-2002)
1) Star Trek (1966-1969)

Not too shabby, though the people that created this list should be ashamed of themselves for not finding a place for Futurama and Arrested Development. Come to think of it, Action and Grosse Pointe would have also made my list. But they're straight-up comedies, so maybe they're too chic to count.

Finally got the new Rasputina. It's okay, but it needs a few more listens I think.

But! New Bad Religion out July 10! Whee!

Update: I turned the corner on Rasputina this weekend. I now love it. Love. It.

One of the the things about going out for drinks with friends you've known for years is sometimes the conversations veer into unexpected areas. I never thought I'd have to try to explain my theory of life, the universe and everything on three pints of cider, but I did. It wasn't very successful. Greg Graffin can explain better than me, so here goes:

Random blobs of power expressed as that which we all disregard.
Ordered states of nature on a scale which no one things about.

Don't speak to me of anarchy or peace or calm revolt, man.
We're in a play of slow decay orchestrated by Boltzmann.

It's entropy, it's not a human issue,
Entropy, it's matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.
And your pathetic moans of suffrage tend to lose all significance.

Extinction, degradation: the natural outcome of our ordered lives.
Power, motivation: temporary fixtures for which we strive.

Something in our synapses assures us were OK,
But in our disequilibrium we simply cannot stay.

It's entropy, it's not a human issue,
Entropy, it's matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.

A stolid proposition from a man unkempt as I.
My affectatious nature I cannot rectify.
But we are out of equilibrium unnaturally,
A pang of consciousness at death and then you will agree.

It's entropy . . .
Entropy, its matter of course,
Entropy, energy at all levels,
Entropy, from it you cannot divorce.

Sadly, this theory was expressed to defend my belief in astrology.

(Entropy is from one of my top 5 albums of all time, Against the Grain (1990), which I am listening to for the first time in months. Aah Greg, I've missed you. . . .)

So what started as Alan and I going for an after-work pint to kick off the long weekend and to talk about my trip turned into a bit of a drinks fest which left me walking home at midnight through some dodgy parts of town. (Seriously, who decided on orange streetlights? It's like a freaking horror movie in my neighbourhood at night!)

We went to Scotland Yard, one of the quieter pubs on The Esplanade, and sat in the library. Over the course of the evening I had a chance to explore some of the books behind me, and I happened upon The Velvet Doublet by James Street. Intrigued, I opened it to a random page and read:

"I am glad I cried. Women like tears, as I was to learn, and mine overflowed and she was pleased and hugged me, and we both cried. I wiped her tears on the soft cuff of my doublet."

Jana, we are so going to get our story published. In the very least for display in the library at Scotland Yard.

Now, If I could only remember where I left my car. . . .

So yesterday My iPod finally did it: it died a noisy, angry death. I got the Sad iPod.

I'd seen the Sad Mac once or twice during my years as a high-powered magazine editor (one time the Mac even made a sound like a fiery car-wreck to highlight its distress at becoming completely inoperable without prior warning), but this is the first time I'd ever been personally confronted with its helpless, hopeless face.

And to add insult to injury, it took my iTunes with it when it crashed. I was forced to listen to my own thoughts all afternoon, and it's scary in here!

And yes, I probably should have predicted my old Mini's time was up, given that I'd dropped it on the sidewalk the night before while collecting my mail, but it still surprised and shocked me to bits.

Gone were the GBs of fabulous new music (Eagles of Death Metal, Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly, Kasabian), carefully selected from the crappier new music (Babyshambles) given to me by my new Scottish friends. Gone were the hundreds of songs from the office I'd never transferred over to my home computer because, frankly, it sucks ass these days. And gone was my sanity, zapped away randomly by a sad face and a link to Apple's support pages.

But since it is my Sweet 16 (plus 15) in a week, I've decided to turn my frown upside down by getting myself a new 30 GB video iPod. And if I make it through today music-free, I'll know I can make it after all.

(It probably doesn't hurt that I'm planning to listen to the Jays game all afternoon on my Homer-head radio.)

So I’m back from Scotland and trying to get back into the swing of things at work after three weeks away. My trip was a tonne of fun, as the 1,652 photos I took can attest. I’m still trying to sort through to find my favourites, or at least the best that represent my trip, since as my mother so nicely pointed out, most are “arty shots.” Once I have, however, they will be up on my photo blog, Playing With My Rebel.

Here are five things I learned about British TV while I was away:

1. There are some sick, sick shows on Channel 4. Embarrassing Illnesses alone is enough to make any North American faint and gag at the same time.

2. BBC Two Scotland is one boring channel. Unless you’re into watching birds mate and nest. Then it’s fascinating.

3. Big Brother U.K. is as addictive as crack. I can’t get enough and check Channel 4’s website several times a day to see if the housemates have quit on their latest challenge (they have), and to see if Chanelle and Ziggy are still together (they are).

4. I have no idea who Angus Deayton, Lee Mack or David Mitchell are, but Would I Lie To You? made me laugh so hard I nearly woke up the people in the next room. (Here’s the episode I watched: Part One / Part Two / Part Three)

5. I really want someone on this side of the pond to pick up Time of Your Life (shame on ITV1 that there was no information on their website. Christ, what a disaster site that was to wade through). I saw the pilot and I love it.

Why does not one of my friends listen to Rasputina? Why do I have to rely on Amazon.ca sending me an e-mail to tell me their new album, Oh Perilous World, came out today? What am I paying you people for?

(It's not my fault I haven't posted in nearly a month. Blame Facebook and too much work. Well, mostly Facebook.)

So I'm heading out to sunny, balmy Scotland (a girl can dream) in five days for a two-week car trip to the Highlands and Western Isles, with a few days in Edinburgh, Stirling and Glasgow. This is the trip I've wanted to do my entire adult life, and I can't hardly wait to get started.

I headed to the local Costco this evening to pick up some yummy treats for a couple friends of friends I will bend an elbow (of Tom Collins) with while I'm there. I didn't find what I was looking for, but instead picked up four books, three of them trade paperback, for less than $50.

I just finished read Reay Tannahill's The Seventh Son, a historical look at Richard III, my favourite of all England's kings (she doesn't think he did it either!), and had nothing on tap for my trip, so the find came at a great time. I picked up Suite Française by Irène Némirovsky, which has won all sorts of awards; The Other Boleyn Girl and The Queen's Fool by Philippa Gregory, which were $9.99 each for trade; and a Canadian chicklit called The Continuity Girl by Leah McLaren.

And which one do I want to read first? Not the harrowing Second World War epic that the National Post calls "a masterpiece on the page." Not the two prequels to The Virgin's Lover, which I finished only one week ago.

Nope. It's the chicklit.

I blame the weather. As soon as I no longer need a jacket on my morning walk to work, I lose all ability to read complex novels.

So, as you may have gathered, I am a bit of a reader. (And of female-authored books, no less! I promise there will be a man-written book on my list by September, if I have to re-read one of my James Ellroys or Sebastian Faulks to get it there!) And as a reader—and a woman, as I alluded to in the bracketed sentence above—I appreciate a well-plotted love story. It's been a pleasant surprise to find a good love story in the middle of a series of books about a telepathic barmaid in Louisiana.

I read Charlaine Harris's All Together Dead on Saturday, and as I read I realized that in between the mind reading and the blood-giving and the vampire machinations, Harris is telling one hell of a love story between Sookie, the aforementioned telepathic barmaid, and Eric, the hot Viking vampire. From the first book, readers knew there was something there, and here we are in book six still waiting for the big payoff. But unlike the will-they-won't-they dance they do on TV, Harris gives readers just enough that we feel like the story is progressing and that the characters are moving towards one hell of a romance.

I wonder if the HBO series is going to mess with that to play up Sookie's relationship with Bill. I wonder if Eric will even see the light of day (no pun intended) in the first season, beyond maybe a trip to Fangtasia. And most of all, I wonder when True Blood will air. Since I burned through this book and have to wait a year for the next one, I can't fricken wait.