The GirlAlive Blog

Death Rat!

Death Rat!
by Michael J. Nelson
Published 2003

If you recall my review of “Mind Over Matters”, you’ll remember that I made a solemn vow to buy everything that Mike Nelson writes. Now, that obviously does not include things like grocery lists or letters to his uncle. That would cross the line from fan to stalker, I am told by my lawyers. So I have to amend that vow and limit it only to published works. Anyway, true to my word, I have recently purchased Mr. Nelson’s newest book, “Mike Nelson’s Death Rat!”.

“Death Rat!” is Mike Nelson’s first novel. It is the story of Pontius Feeb, an aging writer of obscure history books, who writes a cheesy novel about a six-foot rat. He is unable to get it published because he doesn’t have the right “look” for an adventure writer. So he hires a ruggedly handsome actor, Jack Ryback, to pretend to have written the book. But Jack unintentionally tells the publisher that it is non-fiction. So to cover their tracks, Jack and Ponty go to Holey, MN and convince all 38 residents to cover for them and pretend that the rat thing really happened. Then there is some stuff with a rival author and a disturbing funk star and a new rat-based religion. But you’ll have to buy it for details of all that stuff.

“Death Rat!” made me laugh out loud just as much as Mike’s previous two books. It is a well-crafted story with engaging characters. And I’ve never read so much use of the word “moist” in a non-sexual context in any other book in my life. It was a fast and completely enjoyable read. It will especially appeal to people from Minnesota, but I think that the humor is accesible to anyone. In case you are not yet convinced to buy this masterpiece, here is a sample of some dialogue from pages 270 and 271. (It of course was written by Mike Nelson and he owns all the rights to it and all.)

They had found their cabin, unloaded their belongings, and
staked claim on their separate rooms when Stig appeared in
Bromstad’s door naked save for the towel he was holding. Since
this was really covering only a portion of the four fingers on his
right hand, he was in practice naked.
Bromstad shrieked, calmed himself, and then summed the
situation up accurately.
“You are as naked as a newborn.”
“Yes.”
“Will this be happening frequently during our stay together?
If so, I’ll need to make some plans to blind myself.”
“I’m going to the sauna.”
“There’s a sauna?”
“Yes. It’s fifty yards on toward the lake.”
“And you’re going there naked?”
“Yes.”
“I see you have a towel. Might you not want to use that to
cover things?”
“No.”
“I strongly advise it.
“The Danish way is to sauna naked.”
“And to actually go to the sauna naked as well?”
“When one has one’s aquavit stowed in one’s towel, yes. Are
you ashamed of the male body, Mr. Bromsted?”
“Yes. Deeply. It is a travesty of engineering.”

This book is strange and funny and wonderful, like Mike Nelson himself. I’d recommend it to anyone who has the ability to read. (And if you don’t, how are you reading this?)

Good In Bed

Good In Bed
by Jennifer Weiner

I saw this book in the book store in Seattle several years ago, but I didn’t buy it. I looked at the title and the back cover and my stomach sank at the thought of reading another book about a “large sized” woman where it turned out that she was really just a neurotic size 12 who has no idea what being fat is.

I found Good In Bed at the Oxfam charity shop near me and I was desparate for a fluffy best-selling type novel to read, so I picked it up. I’m glad I did. First of all, the heroine of the story, Cannie Shapiro, is genuinely large. About 5 sizes smaller than me, but still large enough to know what prejudice is about.

I knew everything that was going to happen in this story. It was predictable because it is a fat girl fantasy. So most fat girls will see where it is going because that’s how they fantasize about themselves. But at the same time, it isn’t a dull kind of predictablility, where you feel like there’s no point reading it. Cannie feels like an old friend, and you have to keep reading because you want to make sure she really is okay at the end.

I don’t want to give away too much about the story, but I do want to tell you that in the end, Cannie is still fat. That was important to me. In too many love stories and movies, the answer in the end is that the fat girl loses weight and then lives happily ever after. But it overlooks the fact that millions of fat girls live happily ever after and are still fat. I loved it for the same reason I loved 50 First Dates. It shows that a miracle cure isn’t always needed for a happy ending.

I’m fat. I knew for years that I have a “pretty face” and I could probably get any man I want if I dropped 80 pounds or so. But I didn’t want “any man”. I wanted the man who loved me with the 80 extra pounds, not a man who doesn’t notice me until I lose it. And I married that man last year. That’s why I love the ending where the hero is still damaged, but okay with it.

Good In Bed is worth your time. It is funny and entertaining, but also deeply likable and in some parts may even make you cry. I just hope that the author stands by her statements that this book will not be made into a movie until she finds a genuinely fat actress to play the part. I don’t want to see it made with some skinny twig who gains 8 pounds or even worse, some stick girl in a fat suit.

Bus to Church

I always hate riding the bus. It’s slow and it’s usually fairly disgusting. I think that most of the communicable diseases I’ve had in the last four years were acquired while riding the Seattle metro. But as I don’t know how to drive and can’t afford a taxi except on rare occasions, the bus is a necessary evil in my life. At least I can have the arrogant joy of telling all the snotty Seattle natives who think I should go back to Minnesota that, “At least I’m not contributing to gridlock and pollution. Unlike some people.” That aside, the bus is still not really a fun mode of transport.

This morning, I had to take the bus to church. There is no other option. I was down to my last three dollars in cash, so a taxi was out. No one at my church really likes me as anything but an interesting conversation piece, so I don’t bother asking for rides anywhere. So I tied on my trusty green Chuck Taylors with the holes in the bottom (after doing a quick prayer that it wouldn’t rain) and walked to the bus stop downtown. I could have taken a bus downtown instead of making the 10 block hike, but why add yet another bus to the whole proposition?

I got to the stop between Pike and Pine on Third Avenue at 9:15. Crap. Too early. I’d be at least 25 minutes early for church, thus having to make conversation for that much extra time once I got there. Must remember to leave the house a bit later next week. The bus stop is more vacant than usual. Only a couple of guys who look like they don’t remember how they got downtown, and aren’t sure how to get wherever they live. I stare at the pavement until the 16 comes.

I board the 16 (to Greenlake and Wallingford) through the back door and grab a convenient empty seat. By this time, I’ve completely forgotten that just before I left my apartment, I had shoved a book into my bag, for the bus ride. The population of the bus seems to be split neatly into fourths. 25% are tourists asking the bus driver endless questions. 25% are crazy people, talking loudly to themselves and occasionally to each other. 25% are talking on cell phones. The remaining 25% (myself included) are rapidly developing headaches from the endless din of cigarette-burned voices, scraping against our brains like cheap sandpaper.

About 10 minutes after I give up my slippery grasp on sanity, I finally get to my stop at 45th and Woodlawn. I shove my money into the slot and wave off the driver’s offer of a transfer while mumbling “thanks” and stumble onto the sunlit sidewalk. Just as I start to think that the worst is over, I remember that I am on my way to church. The inane conversation and grating voices have only just begun.

I Want to Be a Duck

I used to have a job in Kirkland. I hated that job. I had to spend an hour on the bus each way to get there, and the job was boring and my boss was semi-evil. When I was on the bus, I could look out the window as we went over the 520 bridge over Lake Washington. In the lake was a huge flock of ducks. They were there every day.

As I gazed out the window, I realized that those ducks really have the sweet life. They can fly and go wherever they want. When they find someplace they like, they can land on a lake and swim all day, eating whatever it is that ducks eat. (I’m guessing it’s something underwater, by the amount of time they spend diving and bobbing back up.)

Yes, most places have a duck hunting season, and ducks could get shot. But this is the brilliance of these city ducks. It’s illegal to shoot them. And people like city ducks. They don’t screech and crap all over everything like seagulls. They aren’t fat little feathered rats like pigeons. They’re well-liked and amusing.

Everytime I saw those ducks on Lake Washington, I wanted to be one of them. That’s how I knew it was about time to quit that job. Fantasizing about becoming waterfowl is clearly a sign of nearly psychotic stress.

Drew!

I was visiting my usual Poor Old Lu discussion board a while ago (this was before it mysteriously disappeared, leaving me severed from all my friends whose real names I don’t know) and someone posted a link to Toothpaste For Dinner. I looked around and thought it was silly. So I looked at all the pictures and they made me laugh. It is made by a guy named Drew. He is funny.

As I was wandering aimlessly on the web, I also found his other web site, and it was also funny. As I read his writing archives, I started to become alarmed. He likes Chinese and Indian food as much as me. He understands the pain of working a horrible job, and the pain of getting laid off and having no money, like me. He also has a healthy appreciation for good coffee. Not to mention that we share a love of Pokey the Penguin, explodingdog.com and police car chase video shows. I started to wonder if maybe this strange man in Ohio was my soulmate or something. But then I read some more of his stuff, and he seems to like sunny weather and meatless corn dogs. I cannot tolerate meatless corndogs because I’m allergic to soy, and “meatless” really just means “evil soy death”. And I think direct sunlight might make me burst into flames. So, alas, it could never work. I shall continue to admire his writing and pictures from a safe inter-net distance. I fear that if we ever met in person, we could not possibly both survive the meeting. Like when you try to put a parrot and a clown fish together. They look like they’d look good together, but either the parrot drowns or the clown fish dies and gets pecked apart by the parrot.

So, anyway, you should go to his sites or something. But be warned that it might make you crave coffee. Which is usually not a bad thing.

Food Labels

A lot of times, I buy food to eat, then I bring it home and eat it. Sometimes the food that I buy comes in packages, so that I don’t have to carry armloads of loose marshmallows home from the store. A lot of places on the web have pictures of labels, and I do not dare hope to join their ranks. But I have two that I bought that made me laugh. Here they are.

Tillamook Beef Nuggets

Okay so the part about not eating the freshness packet was meant to be funny but the part that makes me giggle is the phrase, “The meat herein is for personal use only…” It just makes me giggle to think of people trying to sell unpackaged hunks of dried meat illegally on the streets.

Fireside Marshmallows

…Cause there just aren’t enough snack foods that are extruded near an airport.