Sex on the Moon by Ben Mezrich

I’d give her the moon, if only I could.

Damn, people do some stupid things all in the name of love (myself included). I have to say that if I had been in Thad Roberts position, I may very well have done the exact same thing he did. Although, I think I would have done it a little bit differently. I may never have worked at NASA but I’m fairly confident that I’d make a better thief than he did.

It’s been awhile since I’ve read any non-fiction books and there’s a reason for that. Right now, at this stage in my life, I need something that I can read quickly, easily grasp and escape into. I’ve had this book on my shelf since the day it came out (admittedly it hasn’t been that long) and have been hesitant to pick it up for the reasons I just stated. But, I was pretty compelled to read about “the most audacious heist in history.” The thing is, this book didn’t read like non-fiction. It truly read like fiction, not because the story was so unbelievable that I didn’t think it could be true, but because of the way Mezrich wrote the book. And for that, I thank you Mr. Ben Mezrich. (I had no idea that Mezrich also wrote “The Accidental Billionaires” which most of us now know as the move “The Social Network.”)

This book chronicles the theft of one of the most precious elements on Earth, that is not actually from Earth, moon rocks. In case you didn’t already know this, possessing, owning or attempting to sell these “national treasures” is against the law. NASA and the United States government are the only agencies with the ability to study and present these precious rocks as gifts in either tribute or for the use of study. These rocks though, yeah, they’re worth a lot. And when I say “a lot” I’m talking like somewhere between $400k to $5M for a gram (compared to a gram of blow, I’d say that’s a lot). It’s shocking to me that Kim Kardashian doesn’t already own some sort of bikini made out of the stuff to cover her big, fat ass.

Thad Roberts never thought he wanted to be an astronaut until he was stumbling around the University of Utah career services files. After being expelled from his home for doing un-Mormon like things (pre-marital sex, drinking soda, beer, and who knows what else) the wheels were set in motion and like so many children who aspire to become astronauts, Roberts was well on his way when he was accepted to NASA’s prestigious co-op program. He left his life in Utah behind, including his wife, and began a new adventure in Texas that would sooner or later put him in the big house.

Thad Roberts (out of jail and about get a windfall from this book and a probable movie based on his attempted robbery)

As with so many crimes, there was a catalyst, and in my opinion, many catalysts for Thad. The most clear and most obvious of course is love, but beyond that I think there was a desire for notoriety, aspirations of wealth, greed and escaping his past that propelled him to do what he did. I can’t say that I would have acted any differently. But… I wouldn’t have gotten caught!

The story flows nicely and doesn’t jump around in time as much as so many other similar books do. It’s fairly linear, well written and definitely kept me engaged despite knowing how it all turns out in the end. Oddly enough, my favorite parts of this book were the letters interspersed throughout the book, between chapters, which Thad had written to his accomplice and love, Rebecca, while he spent his time behind bars. These letters felt, like something I would write but probably not nearly as eloquently. Here is just one of my favorites (feel free to insert another name in lieu of Rebecca, I know I do every time I read this):

“Beautiful Rebecca,
I hope you find yourself living a dream. I think of you often and send my love out into the unknown, hoping that somehow it finds you and warms you with a smile. I hope you have not let trouble convince you of impossibilities. There is no dream beyond your grasp, Rebecca. You are the rarest type of person there is and you deserve the best that emotion and experience can offer. Someday I hope to learn that every day finds you laughing, that your path matches your dreams, and that you have discovered that your fate isn’t to be an old lady with a few cats, but to live in passion to receive love, companionship, trust, and comfort to the degree that those fires live in you… the ones I knew briefly. Although it pains me to imagine you with another, it hurts more to imagine you living without love.”

I will give Thad Roberts this… he truly was the first man to ever have sex on the moon (or at least a piece of it).

The Lost Cyclist by David V. Herlihy

I can’t quite pin what it was that encouraged me to read this book, but I’d have to guess that it was my discovery that Mr. Herlihy was going to be at Book Passage back in July. Looking back at my description of the book I provided I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to read this book. Ok, that may be pushing it.

So before actually reading this book I thought I had a pretty good idea of what it was about. I had thought that someone, maybe Mr. Herlihy himself, would be retracing the adventure and route in which a Mr. Frank Lenz embarked on in 1892 and find out what happened to him. Mr. Lenz’s adventure and mishap? Yeah, he was to ride his bicycle around the world solo, only to be never heard from again after entering Turkey . Honestly, it doesn’t sound like much a feat these days. Of course it is, but I imagine that these days quite a few accomplish this journey yearly.

The book, as you would have it, was not about a current day trip to discover what happened to Mr. Lenz. Instead it was about the history of the bicycle, a round the world trip on bicycle by William Satchleben and Thomas Allen, Frank Lenz’s rise in the cycling world and his attempt on cycle around the world, Satchleben’s subsequent search for Lenz and lastly the political situation in Turkey during the time surrounding Lenz’s disappearance.

While I did enjoy this book there were certainly elements of it that I felt dragged on a bit. For instance, the trip made by Satchleben and Allen, although interesting, seemed to take up more of the book than I thought necessary and towards the end, again, the focus on Satchleben was a bit daunting at times. Ultimately, I kind of wish that my perception about this book had been true. That this book had been about a current day search for Mr. Lenz rather than a 19th century search. Of course, seeing as Satchleben had already completed this mission there would be no point in doing a similar search now.

The most fascinating aspect of the book for me was the history of the bicycle and it’s rise to common use as well as that of the story of Lenz’s rise in the world of cycling. These two story lines run parallel to one another as Lenz’s outlook on the future changes throughout his various rides, races and challenges. Lenz begins his cycling foray with a “ordinary” cycle (big front wheel) and continues to progress to the “safety” cycle (what we more or less know of today) and with that, eventually, the pneumatic bicycle tire.

Whether your a cycling fanatic or not, except for cyclist haters, this book shares some interesting information that really can be enjoyed by all. Herlihy is certainly a good writer and for the most part draws you into the book. To say that this is a book that is hard to put down would be a put of a push, none the less, it provided me with an insight of the cycling world in the 19th century as well as some of the politics of the time. Although Lenz’s solo attempt at cycling around the world may seem a bit trite these days, at the time it was surely a monumental expedition.

War by Sebastian Junger

I don’t quite recall when I first saw the trailer for Restrepo but after I saw it I immediately felt the need to read Junger’s War prior to seeing the movie. I don’t know whether or not the following trailers will have the same affect on you, but for good measure I’ve decided to include them and let you judge for yourself.

And this one… It’s a bit more graphic.

Whether or not you agree with the politics of the ongoing war/s the United States are engaged in, what you take away after reading War is not the right or wrong of the US’s actions. Instead, what you come away with is a better understanding of the American soldier. Or, at least, for me that’s what it was.

The men who were stationed in the Korengal Valley of Afghanistan, a region which is around 25 miles from the border of Pakistan, were placed in this isolated location to intercept Taliban soldiers that would use this locale to enter further into Afghanistan. Junger and a photographer by the name of Tim Hetherington (co-director of Restrepo) spent months, sometimes together but mostly apart, embedded with the soldiers of the second platoon of Battle Company (173rd Airborne Brigade) to experience, as well as they could, what life was like for these men as they spent their tour in the Korengal.

While it’s no lie that I enjoy books about war (to date I’ve reviewed roughly 7) there is one inherent problem with them. They are nearly impossible to understand. Obviously that’s a bit vague but what I mean to say is that no matter how many maps are provided, no matter how much detail there is, I consistently have trouble following the action from one location to another. I mean I love maps, I love looking at them and understanding them but in war stories the various fire bases, operation centers, ridge lines and other features are so difficult to actually place in my mental map that I have a hard time following the action.

Luckily, as I said, this book was less about the “action” and more about the men engaged in that “action.” Junger goes into a great deal of detail describing many of the emotions, the psychology and the attitude of soldiers that are stationed in what was one of the most deadly places for soldiers in the world.

The book itself is broken into three distinct sections titled “Fear,” “Killing, and “Love.” Each of which aptly describe the stories and images portrayed in the pages. The writing, despite my inability to actually place things on a map, was vivid and allows the reader to truly get inside these noble fighters heads. You can feel there boredom during times of lull, their anticipation when they know an attack is coming and their undying camaraderie. Of all these things it was the camaraderie of these men that struck me the hardest. For most of them, like many of us, they are unaware of the politics unfolding around them. All they know is that they are in a place filled with danger around every corner and that there only salvation is the men standing next to them.

In April of this year the US military operations in the Korengal Valley ceased, giving the Taliban free reign to run amok and enter Afghanistan through this region. Yet, that does not in anyway take away from what these men fought and died for in this remote part of the world. It’s hard to not come away from War with that feeling.

Lost City of Z by David Grann

Let’s be honest though, my “real deal” and the actual “real deal” are two completely different things. Had I had the pleasure of reading Grann’s The Lost City of Z before or while I was in Colombia there is a pretty good chance I would have made the trek to the Amazon, only if it had been for a couple of days. After reading this book all I want to do is get there and just have a taste, albeit a small one, of the Amazon.

The Lost City of Z struck the right chord with me in more way than one. Not only was it about exploration but it was also about mapping, two things which have always held my attention. It chronicles the life of Percy Fawcett and his adventures and exploration of the Amazon and his search for “The lost city of Z.”

Grann, in his attempt to tell Fawcett’s story, takes it upon himself to retrace the path that Fawcett last took while looking for Fawcett’s remains and the alleged “Lost City.” I must say that this was the least interesting part of the story. I almost felt as though Grann’s own interest in finding “Z” was some what contrived and was really only there for the purpose of the book, which makes sense seeing as he’s writing a book about it an, but at the same time I wanted to believe that he was genuinely interested. I’m confident that the reason he chose to go so far as going to the Amazon was only to facilitate Fawcett’s story and create his own, but at the same time the chapters that were about Grann himself were certainly the least interesting.

Despite not really believing Grann’s interest his graphic descriptions really made the book that much more fascinating. Between the bugs, nasty fish and hostile natives he met I wouldn’t be surprised if this book ends up scaring people from going to the Amazon. As for me, it only heightened my interest.

As with many books of this sort the ending is what you would most likely expect. Closure in books such as this is often non-existent and this book was no exception. I guess I saw it coming though so it didn’t bother me too much. Treasure hunters and explorers looking for the “lost” will always be hunting and never be contented. For that reason alone you have to take books about such adventures with a grain of salt and not expect that the outcome will be groundbreaking. In Grann’s defense he does do a nice job of tidying things up but, as a reader, I was/am still curious.

After all is said and done I would recommend this book. Would I recommend it highly? Well, that all depends on what your into. If your a big time Indiana Jones fan than yes, if your a Twilight or Eat, Pray, Love fan than not so much. Use your own discretion but I doubt you’d be too disappointed either way,.

page 78 – brazilian needle fish, candiru

Stiff by Mary Roach

I was supposed to return to the United States today. I’m not.

Every now and then I get one of those cheesy “out of body” type sensations. At the moment I´m kind of dealing with that sensation. At this exact moment I´m physically on a bart train riding to the airport to begin my Colombian vacation. Mentally and existentially i´m anywhere but. I should be ecstatic, I should be thrilled and I should be full of adrenaline. Instead, I feel like a submarine that has just received a fatal, sinking blow from an enemy torpedo. That pretty much sums up the sensation I´m feeling at the moment.

It´s as though I´m looking down upon my dead and bloated body (I know, awesome image right?) right now. It´s amazing how quickly I’ve gone from feeling so alive to feeling so empty and dead.

I had great expectations that while I would be gone all the pieces of my life that I had been hoping to fall into place would. Instead, only 30 minutes before leaving for the airport, a person who I would say has grown to be one of my closest friends over the last 3 months told me that she really didn´t think it was a good idea that we continue to talk. In a way her reasoning may be right and I can´t or couldn´t argue with her, but it also left me heartbroken. Like I said, not exactly how I imagine feeling on my way to the airport.

It´s never been hard for me to correlate what I´m reading with what´s going on directly around me. Sometimes it´s a stretch (I`ll admit it) but other times it´s just a plain old coincidence. In this instance it´s half stretch, half coincidence. Stiff, you see, is about cadavers or dead bodies for those of you who live on mars.

But in an effort to turn things around (from that bizarre “out of body” sensation) I´ll start telling you how that experience, my travel to Colombia and and Mary Roach´s book are related.

In 1992 in the city of Barranqilla, Colombia a gentleman by the name of Oscar Rafael Hernandez was “bludgeoned” over the head while responding to a request to appear at the Universidad Libre. It’s reported Hernandez woke up in a vat of fermaldyhyde next to a handful of corpses that were to be used for “medicine.” Mr. Hernandez was fortunate, unlike the roughly 13 other people actually murdered at the Universidad, he survived, while those others bodies where used for dissection and who knows what else at the medical facility. At this point I’d really just like to thank Mary Roach for the advice to stay away from Universidad Libre.

This little story comes early in Roach’s book while she explains the art of human dissection for medical practice as well as the history of said dissection. Throughout the means of obtaining corpses for this purpose has always been questionable and Mr. Hernandez’s story just goes to demonstrate that murder for corpses still happens. That said though it shouldn’t really come as much of a surprise that physical dissection is a dying (no pun intended) educational tool.

While here in Colombia I had the opportunity to actually visit a medical school campus at the Universidad de Antiocha in Medellin. While I was not exactly vigilant about my safety I felt pretty secure that no one was going to try and kill me so they could see what was inside me. If they did, they’d probably be in for a shock anyways, I don’t think there’s much there anyhow. The campus itself though was really nice, I can’t say that I’d liked to be cut open there due to the lack of air conditioning and the patient which we say being moved around on gurney’s outside over speed bumps. But for the most part, it was quite impressive. And like I said the fact that there was no one lurking around ready to take my body and sell it helped, just a little.

Now I must take the time to thank Mary for my next vacation location. I think I would like to visit the University of Tennessee and their anthropological research facility. For this is where human decomposition is studied. Just lovely. I think a nice stroll through the forested grove behind the UT Medical Center would be quite romantic on a humid May afternoon, despite the people spread out lying on their backs in the grove. Or maybe a jaunt around the ponds near by would be nice. So long, that is, you don’t mind strolling amongst a bunch of decomposing bodies or jaunts around ponds in which there are bodies submerged for the same purpose, the study of human decomposition. Ah Mary, you’ve enlightened me so.

Unfortunately at this point in my review I must scorn Ms. Roach (after all, so far all i’ve done is trumpet her). I happened to be on an airplane while reading the chapter titles “Beyond the Black Box.” As you may be able to guess this particular chapter deals with planes crashes and how the bodies of the victims may be studied to determine the cause of the crash. As you can imagine it was pretty unsettling reading about that 35k feet in the air. Reading this chapter mid-flight was very much a kin to being the only gringo riding on a 12 hour night bus through Colombia during which the movie Hostel is played, not scary at all, I promise. Luckily in the case of Roach’s book this was a short chapter. And luckily for me on that bus I made it where I was headed in one piece.

At the end of the day I liked Mary’s book. So much so that I let my travel mate David borrow, read and consequently destroy the book (due to back sweat, I’ll tell you the story if you really want to know). After which the book was loaned to Elena a friend we made on our travels. The only thing I will be critical of is the end of the book. I started to get a little bit bored. It’s true, it happened. It almost felt as though Ms. Roach or her publisher needed a little bit more for the book to actually be considered a book and threw in some filler to make up for its length or something else. Honestly, I’m not really sure. Despite that though, everyone who recommended this book to me was right, it was good, good in a “some day I may read that chapter again” kind of way. So, there you have it, if you’re interested in medicine, corpses and a have that little organ donor sticker on your driver’s license, I recommend Stiff.

Marching Powder by Rusty Young and Thomas McFadden

Sometimes you read a piece of non-fiction and think it’s too over the top, too extravagant or too complicated to be a true story. Well, at least I do. Luckily, this book was written so simplistically that it’s obvious there’s a lot of truth to what’s being said. But, I kind of think this book could have benefited from some extravagances or complications in the story. I’m not trying to be arrogant, but I kind of think this book was written for sixth graders. Of course the content wouldn’t suitable for them but the writing itself certainly could.

The story revolves around one of the authors, Thomas McFadden, and his time spent in San Pedro prison in Bolivia after being locked up for attempting to smuggle cocaine out of the country. Seeing as I’m not even stupid enough to attempt something like that, this guy’s IQ must be in the single digits. A part of me thinks that while reading this story the authors were attempting to illicit a feeling of sympathy from the readers for the jailed smuggler. Really? Come on. My theory on this is that he committed the crime (or more importantly got caught) and therefore should serve the time.

For me this story was less about Mr. McFadden than it was about San Pedro. I’m not going to go out of the way and say that this prison is equatable to one of our very own federal “country club” prisons like Butner Prison, with their manicured lawns and cable television (where Bernie Madoff is incarcerated), but in terms of Central/South American jails I think it’s about as close as you can get.

I’m guessing you didn’t know that Bolivia, along with Peru, is among the top producers of coca (just the leaf) in the world. Much of their product is then shipped to other countries such as Colombia where the actual cocaine is produced.

Well, inside San Pedro, the drug is produced in large laboratories just as it is in Colombia. In fact it is a huge source of income for the inmates. But wait, why would inmates need income? Aha, good question my friend. One of the other unique things about San Pedro is that your jail “cell” is not free.

As you learn quite quickly in the book, once Mr. McFadden finds himself in the jail, all inmates are on their own once inside the walls. They must fend for themselves, which includes finding shelter and food. If an inmate enters without any money, on the inside or outside, he quickly finds himself in the most dangerous portion of the jail and sleeping on the cold and probably damp concrete floor. But, if he does have funds, he could end up in a cell which has a private bathroom, a kitchen and cable television. Not too shabby. Hell, I know people who live New York that don’t have all those amenities.

I realize I haven’t said much about the book itself but that’s just because I don’t really know what to tell you. Like I said the jail is the real story.

I will tell you how it was that Thomas managed to survive in the prison though. I believe that even today if you were to visit La Paz you could still benefit from what Thomas did at San Pedro prison. His largest accomplishment while there was to make the jail accessible to tourists for a small fee. If you wanted to, you could go to the gates and take a tour of the facility given by Thomas or at times by other inmates. I’m thinking that by now it’s probably a bit overdone and a little commercial or something but, back when the tours began, it sounds like these tours were pretty nuts. It got to the point where tourists could actually spend the night in the jail (as in sleep there) partying, snorting cocaine and fraternizing with the inmates until they passed out on the floor of a “cell.”

These days, from what I understand, this book has made the jail tour the thing to do when in La Paz. Of course Mr. Mcfadden is no longer incarcerated there but the tours are still available. As far as I’m concerned I pretty much told you the coolest and most interesting things about this book. Sure you could read more about how McFadden got caught, the drinking and drug use in the prison and the inherent problems there if you read the book but I don’t know if I can fully endorse that. If the writing were a bit more… grown-up (ie. less like my own), that’s what I’ll say, I’d push you into it. Alas, it is not so and I am left feeling a little crummy about reading it and not just finding out about San Pedro prison by reading the article on wikipedia.

Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead: Frank Meeink's Story as told to Jody M. Roy, Ph.D.

Errr, oops, rewind, wrong story. It should be a little something more like this…

“In South Philadelphia born and kind of raised, in the alley where I spent most of my days (and nights), chatting it up, grovelling, fighting like mad, and all smashing some skulls outside on the street, when a couple of friends, they followed me along, we started making trouble in the city of brotherly love, I beat someone silly and the cops got mad, and I said I’m going to Indiana to get away from it all. The cops caught up with me and sent me to jail, just like they said they always would, I made some new friends and tried to turn my life around and this here is the story I’m going to tell.”

In all likelihood you’re familiar with American History X. After all, it was a pretty popular and powerful movie. I don’t like to be cliche but it would be ridiculous of me not to recognize the similarities between this book and that movie. The book itself at one point actually makes a reference to this fact, but rest assured Frank Meeink is a real person unlike X’s fictional Derek Vineyard.

Meeink’s story is exactly something that you would expect to see a 20/20, Dateline or 60 Minutes news story on. It’s got all of the right elements. Obviously you start with the hatred, move along to addiction, followed by fathering children, turning around, returning to addiction and eventually becoming whole again. But, I will say that reading it in autobiographical form was a lot more powerful than a short television vignette. Sure you may not get the actual visuals but they’re really not necessary. The words are themselves all the visuals you need.

It’s really quite a scary story. For me one of the hardest things was reading about Frank’s upbringing. It was physically hard for me to continue reading about his mother and the way he was treated in her home. If reading something like that doesn’t make someone grateful for the way they were raised I really don’t know what will. This is of course the beginning of his story and as you can guess it only gets harder from there.

His affiliations with hate groups began once he was all but forced to find a new family when he was finally kicked out of his own home. The unusual part about this “hate” period in Frank’s life was his aversion to drugs, something which would become extremely prevalent in his later years. As these stories go eventually Meeink was caught for one of his many acts of violence (he was eager to beat up college kids, jews, S.H.A.R.P.S (skin heads against racial prejudice) and frankly anyone else that got in his way) and eventually shuttled off to jail. From this point on in the story you can see and feel the emotional changes occurring within and can get an idea of how things may turn out. Yet, as the reader you really don’t know whats going to happen next or at the very least what you expect to happen doesn’t.

By the end of the story it is not hard to feel a great deal of relief and happiness to know that it doesn’t really take much for a person to see how hurtful they can be. In Frank’s case his transformation occurs in jail which by all means seems to be almost the hardest place for that to occur. In order to preserve some sort of mystery regarding the book I won’t give away what happens in the jail but it is a very uplifting part of this book. (And Frank, if you happen to read this what ever happened to your friendship with Little G and Jello?)

Aside from the changes in himself during his time in jail it was his friendship once out of jail with a Jewish business owner who employed him that really set him on the course to racial recovery. It was at this point in his life that he realized that all he had been told and taught about Jews was not true. Eventually he found himself calling his boss a friend and in due time became associated with ADL (anti-defamation league) and began to speak about his experiences as a skinhead. It would be nice and fluffy if this is where his story ends but it’s not. Unfortunately for Frank the story continues with yet another breakdown, his drug addictions once again get the best of him and time and again he is forced to deal with this problem and the consequences associated with it.

Honestly, I wasn’t so sure how I was going to feel about this book going into it. I’ve read my share of similar tales and have seen enough movies like American History X to make myself a little leery about yet another tale of bad boy gone good. But, this one was good. Good in that it was written well, unlike another book which I recently read that was an autobiographical tale, and the way Frank tells his story is powerful and the prose is more than adequate.

There is an interview following the text of the novel that offers a little more insight into Frank which was helpful and offered a peek into Frank’s person more so than the book itself did. It was a nice touch to finish the book off with.

At the end of the day I am skeptical on this books true power though. The likelihood of it changing lives it hard to see as I wouldn’t expect many hateful people out there to pick it up. With any luck hopefully it will be read in various classes and teach something to people that being humane is human. I would though suggest picking it up and reading it if your into these kind of stories. I left a lot out of my review including his love interests and his development of “Harmony through hockey” both interesting elements of Mr. Meeink’s life and worthy of hearing about. I don’t usually appreciate stories that take you on a journey from hate to love, but I did come to appreciate this one.

Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl

The first word out of my mouth upon finishing reading this was “intense.” I’m not quite sure that another word could amply explain the way I felt. My fear of it being a self-help book was quickly put to bed and in it’s place was a fear that perhaps I, myself, am not quite adequate.

The book itself is not a story but gives the reader an inside look at “how… everyday life in a concentration camp [was] reflected in the mind of the average prisoner?” If you were to try and answer that question from an outside perspective (by outside I mean from the perspective of someone who was not actually in a concentration camp) you would maybe have some ideas of how life was reflected. In all fairness, you’d be wrong.

In what is a juxtaposition of psychiatry, philosophy and religion, Viktor Frankl imparts on the reader why there is a “reason” to live. This book is broken down into two sections, the first of which is the section on the concentration camp circumstances and the second is that of Frankl’s theory of Logotherapy.

The autobiographical concentration camp portion takes place between 1942 and 1945 in various camps. Without knowing much about logotherapy this first section is pretty hard to swallow. The images Frankl provides of the separation of families, the gas chambers, the starvation and the torture endured will make your stomach ache.

Frankl breaks down the camp existence into three stages. Without going into too much detail I will broadly define each. The first of which is the existential idea that “He who has a why to live can bear with almost any how” (Nietzsche). Secondly, Frankl introduces us to his “will to meaning,” which in other words is the drive to having meaning in one’s life. Lastly, with three sections itself, are the three sources of meaning which are love, work and suffering. Love identified as surviving as a result of connection to a loved one. Work identified as surviving to complete what one has always desired. And suffering identified as a source of power to change one’s own attitude. It may not make much sense her in simplistic terms but once you take the chance to read it in Frankl’s book you will more than understand.

The second portion of the book is dedicated to explaining logotherapy. Due to my inability to phrase it properly I will revert to the definition provided by Websters dictionary: a highly directive existential psychotherapy that emphasizes the importance of meaning in the patient’s life especially as gained through spiritual values. I could have provided you with Frankl’s but this one just seems a little easier to digest.

There are so many quotes to pull from this book that for me to choose any would have been too difficult without just rewriting the whole book for you right here. My suggestion is that you read it. Either you’ll get it and appreciate what Frankl went through and how the man changed psychiatry and the way one may look at their meaning in life or your ignorance will get the better of you.

I decided to strip this post of any humor what so ever if you hadn’t noticed. As I see it there are two reasons for that. First off, I will never and can never make the slightest joke or sarcastic comment about incredible people who lost so much for nothing more than one man’s idiocy, ignorance and insanity. The holocaust will never be made into a laughing matter in anything I have anything to do with. Secondly, there is no room for humor in Frankl’s ideas. It is that simple.

Naked Airport by Alastair Gordon

I’ve had this book on my list to read ever since I visited William Stout Architecture Books a while back. It’s a bizarre choice, I know. I guess it was something in the title that encouraged me to pick it up, you know two things I like “naked” and “airport” (if you didn’t know I like the word or the implications of the word “naked” now you do).

Ok, this book is actually not about airports at all. Ha, got ya. Of course it is! Not only is it about airports it also dives into a bit of the history of flight, airlines, routes and pretty much everything related to aviation. Personally, I was kind of hoping the book really would just stick to airports, even though that wasn’t the case I did still find it incredibly interesting.

I really do like airports. I know some people dread them but honestly, I know of no other place for better people watching. You get all types of people in one place. The wayward traveler, the businessman, the family (with mother dragging small child), the geriatric, the cute brunette (my favorite), the lovers and of course the distressed. Take for example my most recent trip the airport this past Sunday. While waiting in the security line at Lindbergh Field (San Diego) I nearly saw a fight break out when a woman tried to cut in line. Whether or not she really did try to cut I don’t know but the verbal battle was pretty entertaining. It was really just a lot of huffing and puffing but I couldn’t help but chuckle a little as I observed this going on. Airports are truly one place where you can see it all.

Alright, on to the book. Because Mr. Gordon sums up exactly what the book is about so eloquently I’ve decided to just quote the man directly. “This book traces the [airport] history through mutations of technology, design, and marketing – showing how the airport gradually shaped into a new kind of human environment, while, in turn, shaping the rest of the modern world.” Pretty concise isn’t it? The Book itself is broken into distinct time periods which makes sense given the dramatic changes the world saw in the 20th century.

As far as “reviewing” this book goes I’m kind of befuddled cause I don’t really know how to do it. I mean, I learned quite a bit about the influences and such that went into and go into airports but it’s pretty tough to recreate that and explain it to you here. So instead of doing a “traditional” review that’s all your getting. Too bad, so sad.

Oh, I will actually end with one last idea projected in the book that I had not thought of prior to reading this but am in full agreeance with. The fact of the matter is that airports have lost their romantic appeal. What were once a place full of romantic ideas and ideals have quickly turned into giant shopping malls with airplanes. Is it because we are such consumerists that we have to be surrounded by things we can buy all the time? Or is it simply because people know that anytime you have thousands and thousands of people in one place everyday that peddling your wares will be a smart move? Whatever it may be, I’m pretty tired of it. I wish we could get back to the time where airports weren’t shopping malls and were instead jumping points for great adventures.

You Can't Win by Jack Black

“You Can’t Win,” possible theme for 2010, could very well be. That very first week of the year, I thought, no one can beat me. I almost thought about screaming “I’m on top of the world” while standing on the bow of a ship, but I didn’t. And damn, am I glad I didn’t. Right about now “you can’t win” pretty much sums things up. I’m not gonna wallow and look for pity and sympathy, it’s not my style instead I’ll just start kicking some ass, taking names and stay out of jail, kind of the same way Mr. Jack Black did. Oh, and before I delve too far into this review I should mention that this is not the big boned Jack Black from Nacho Libre, this is Jack Black the professional hobo, born in 1881. (visual comparison below)

If you didn’t know it you could almost mistake this book for fiction. Yet, it is not. It is a true account of this remarkable professional hobo/outlaw written by the man himself. Originally written in order to help dissuade criminals from continuing on their downward spiral this book has never faded (after all the book has been reprinted).

His lifestyle and the adventures therein as displayed in the book are very representative of the times. Here is a guy who grew up stealing, freight hopping, doing stints in jail, escaping from jail and for a time getting hooked on opium. Of course it’s only representative of the “yegg” community (criminal brotherhood) of the time but at the same time displays the futility of the justice system and the prisons in early America.

I think that had I read this story when I was much younger I would probably have been running around the hills surrounding my house playing Jack Black as opposed to GI Joe. Then again I’m pretty sure that my mother wouldn’t have wanted me reading this book back then for fear that I would be so moved by it that I’d aspire to be a professional hobo criminal. Which, in reality, actually sounds quite alluring right now. Naturally, the exact opposite effect that Black was trying to inspire. Ambiguous cowboys never really did it for me (of course they do now) but Black is like a not-as-ruthless Billy the Kid.

If I were to print out one page of the book that encapsulates the intentions behind Black’s book it would have to be page 177. I would almost say I’d give this page to a hardened criminal to reflect but I have a hard time acknowledging that it would truly affect them. On this particular page Black outlines how it is he became a criminal and how every time he stole he was aware of the crime being committed and the way he was “working a hardship on the loser.”  He goes ahead and states that “nobody wants to live and die a criminal,” which is something that he clearly comes to realize late in his career. Fortunately for Black he was able to heed his own advice and during his last stint in prison befriended the owner of The San Francisco Call, a newspaper of the time, and was hired on as a librarian.

I can’t recall who recommended I read this book but I’m thankful. It was, after all, pretty interesting. Black’s stories of the Wild West were wildly entertaining and the book itself was cohesive. In the end it’s a romantic story of what our society was like leading up to the great depression and the emergence of the underground beat movement.

Fake Jack Black

Real Jack Black