“Chuck, it’s over. We’re through… Yes, I am breaking up with you, I’m sorry.” Yep, I said that back in my review of Pygmy. You can’t blame me though, I thought it was a bad book and really didn’t think I’d enjoy any of his other works that I had yet to read. I suppose what I really need to do is break up with his fiction side cause after reading this book I don’t want to break it off with his non-fictional tendencies.

Two and a half years ago I was living in San Diego at home (that means with my parents). Two and a half years ago I wanted nothing more than to leave San Diego and move out of home (that means away from my parents). I love my parents, don’t get me wrong, but do you have any idea how hard it is for a guy in his mid twenties to bring a girl home to his parents house? Yeah, you get my drift.

When I was researching where my next move would be I had a shortlist of cities. They included Seattle, Portland, San Fran, Austin, Salt Lake and Denver. Eventually whittled down to the first three I had a decision to make. Of those three cities I had been to Seattle and San Fran and knew people in each, as for Portland I had neither visited nor knew anyone there. Portland would have been the adventurous, spontaneous and scariest of the choices, I’d already did that when I moved to New Zealand and therefore justified choosing San Fran. I still have yet to visit Portland despite it being the one city I would consider moving to now.

Sweet home… Portland…

Ok, I’m not going to lie, nor am I embarrassed to say it, the cover of this book got me. How could anyone resist a bad ass skull? Just look at it! Once I actually read the leaf though I thought it would be a pretty interesting read. And as someone kindly pointed out to me would be somewhat relevant given the current crisis in Mexico (admittedly, I hadn’t really thought about that but was grateful it was mentioned).

Mexico and the history therein has always been pretty fascinating to me. My experiences in Mexico are probably much like many other gringos this side of the border, having been to most of the resort spots and very few of the rural and historical locales. I must say though, I learned more about Mexico growing up in San Diego on the border of Tijuana and from all my Hispanic friends than I did on any of those trips or in any classroom. Some of those all night, school night trips to the clubs in TJ taught me some things I can’t repeat here since my mom and dad read this, nor do I really want all of you knowing either. And that school trip to Ensenada where el gordo befriended Karl and I, I was forced to eat two disgusting sandwiches (thanks to Karl), our host mother used “milk” as a euphemism for the alcohol Karl and I reeked of and Laura’s abandonment of her cigarettes in a tampon box will most likely always remain the most important history of Mexico for me.

But this book is not an all encompassing history of Mexico. Instead is more specific, it examines the history of one of the largest cities in the world, Mexico, D.F. When you think of Mexico City what do you think of? The first things that pop into my head are enormously large in size and population, traffic, smog and danger. I hadn’t really ever considered the history of the city though and how it came to be so crowded. Well, John Ross has taken it upon himself to tell us in El Monstruo.

Honestly, this book did not grip me the way I was hoping it would. Somehow I actually found myself just reading the words on the pages at times without really paying any attention to what they were saying. At times I found it too broad and at others too dense. Of course I can understand that writing style to a degree given that Mexico City has a longer history than of those in the United States. And I do I completely and utterly respect the work that Mr. Ross put into writing this book yet I can’t exactly tell you that you should go read it.

“El Monstruo” por favor, por su salud…

The way I see it, my last book review, Run, had none of the personal stuff so you can pretty much assume you’re going to get more than your fair share here.

It’s been about 7 years since I last went scuba diving. Pretty sure I was taking in the Great Barrier Reef in Australia and I remember it being incredible. There are a couple other dives I have etched into my memory including shark diving with my brother in Nassau, night diving with my friend Mike, playing hang man on a slate with Mike sitting on the ocean floor 100 ft. below, and unsuccessfully lobster diving. Ok, those are quite a few dives that are etched. It’s amazing, yet not at all surprising, how much a book about diving can spark in me all these memories and give me the urge to want to dive again.

If you haven’t already figured out that this book has something to do with scuba diving I recommend you bow out now. I’ll only be a little offended. Shadow Divers is a true story of men on a mission to discover the undiscovered, underwater, at depths which were previously thought to be unsearchable.

When Bill Nagle, diver and boat captain, is given a set of coordinates of a location just off the coast of New Jersey where a fellow captain believes there to be a sunken something or other, he gathers a crack team of divers to do some exploring a la Indiana Jones. What they discover 200+ feet below the surface is a wreck divers wet dream. A WWII era U-Boat that no one had known was there. I know, I too was hoping that it would somehow have been the cast of The Jersey Shore but I think that’s a bit too contemporary.

Similar to other treasure hunting type stories there is the ever present sense of competition. Just as Tommy Thompson had to deal with Wally Kreisle in Ship of Gold, Nagel and his cohort John Chatterton had to deal with another boat captained by Steve Bielinda.

Dive right in…

I’ve come to the conclusion, although it really should come as no surprise, that my brother prefers non-fiction war/battle books and non-fiction tales about runners above all else. That’s not to say he won’t read everything but come on, don’t kid yourself Josh. I bring this to light in good spirit though because I have just finished what I feel is one of the best non-fiction accounts of an episode during World War II I’ve ever read. Since I’ve started the blog I’ve reviewed four other war type books he’s recommended, We Were Soldiers Once and Young, The Things They Carried, Raid on the Sun and Forever War. All of which were good (Forever War being one of my favorites of the year). But, I’d have to say that Ghost Soldiers takes the cake. (Please note: Generation Kill is on the to be read list.)

Ghost Soldiers is a story of a platoon of army rangers (the first to call themselves “rangers”) and their rescue of some 500 mostly American POW’s at a Japanese detention camp in the Philippines. This book is no-nonsense. There is no confusion as to what is going on, there is no difficult jargon that the reader needs to understand, there are no technical descriptions of battle field tactics. Instead there are two distinct point of views portrayed. One from the prisoners inside Cabanatuan, who arrived at this prison camp after the Bataan death march and the other from the rangers who went on the rescue mission to save these soldiers of their own volition.

I mean this is an incredible true story. The gory details are for the most part not left out. The struggles and hardships endured by these men was not candy coated. The abuse inflicted upon these men was described in detail as the well as the gruesome disease and infection that were plaguing them. And the heroic effort of the “rangers” and the Filipino guerrillas who put their lives on the line to save these men from what they believed to imminent death. The language employed by Sides is truly colorful and strongly felt. With words like “fate-fucked men” he obviously uses vulgarities but with taste and in a way that truly gets you to feel what he’s conveying.

Stopping now will hurt you, more than me

Arggggggggggg!

Ahoy me matey’s. What we be havin’ here be a book about gentleman o’ fortunes (aka pirates aka bucaneers aka eye patch wearing, cutlass wielding, peg leg walking humanoids) an’ rather bad one at that! I be hopin’ fer a good story full o’ adventure on th’ high seas, instead I got a long winded history lesson which port me wi’ nay booty t’ keep. Gar.

Sea dogs, like vampires, be pretty much th’ “in” thin’ starboard now. So when me first see’ this har book naturally I thought, “wow, how cool, a mixture o’ swashbucklers an’ Jews.” I can learn about some o’ me heritage while at th’ same time get an excitin’ story. Boy be I wrong.

Ok, I had thought about doing the whole post in pirate lingo but seriously, it’s starting to strain me. Somehow this book kept popping up in every bookstore I went to and I eventually bought it with unfortunately high expectations. Really, pirates and Jews, wouldn’t you have high expectations too.

Click me, or walk the plank matey! Seriously, it’s worth it, some good pictures accompanying.

I’ve got this feeling that many of you out there that read my blog may have, at one point or another, watched the tv show “Grey’s Anatomy.” The quasi medical drama with the young, super attractive doctors that we all wish we could have when we go to the hospital, who take an hour out of lives weekly to discuss dramas that have nothing to do with a hospital. You know the one. Well, how many of you understand the name of this tv show is actually a play on words? I guess I’d have to go with somewhere around 50/50. For that other 50, Gray’s Anatomy not “Grey’s,” is actually a reference book on human anatomy which was written by Henry Gray and first published in the UK in 1858. Just a little lesson.

What we have here is a book about book. Hayes’ Anatomist pays tribute to the men who wrote Gray’s Anatomy and the human body. You don’t actually think I’d read a book about a tv show do you? (Confession: If it were a book on “Lost,” I’d probably read it.)

So, I guess I picked this book up at first because I thought the cover was pretty badass. I mean who doesn’t think a drawing of a skull isn’t cool? I also picked it up cause I am marginally interested in Gray’s Anatomy, knowing full well that it was and is the foremost educational resource on human anatomy and dissection.

I’m pretty sure the last thing I dissected was an earth worm somewhere back in middle school in the mid 90′s. I’m guessing I probably botched it and therefore was never again allowed to hold a scalpel. Probably for the best. Although, after reading this book I’m kind of tempted to purchase a cadaver and see what I can do and find.

The gore is that way…

I’m tired of reading non-fiction. It feels like I’ve been reading a lot of it recently. And by saying that by no means implies that I’m not going to read another.

Here’s something to ponder. When you were in elementary school you most likely learned that Christobal Columbus discovered America in 1492. You also probably learned a song or rhyme to go along with it (now would be a good time to recite it). I’m also guessing that you learned about the landing of the pilgrims at Plymouth Rock and the “first” Thanksgiving held there in 1621. Well, what the hell went on between 1492 and 1621? Umm, excuse me teacher, why did you just skip nearly 130 years of American history? I’m guessing you’ve probably never really thought about it. I’m not going to lie, there had I. Thankfully though Tony Horwitz did and he decided to share with us what he found out.

I hate to sound callous, but I actually don’t care all that much. Maybe I should, I mean that is a pretty big chunk of Americas young history, but at the same time I’m not so sure I need anymore Jeopardy answers in my brain bank at the moment. Why read the book then right? Well, the cover is pretty neat (nice little cutesy illustrations), it was recommended and naturally the back cover made it sound pretty alluring.

must… keep… reading…

Let me start of by saying that I do not think I have ever asked myself “What was life like for the ancient Romans?” Or ” What went on every day on the streets of Rome?” These suppositions are proposed by Mr. Anegla in the first line, on the first page of his book. Um, kind of a brash statement if you ask me. But, playing devils advocate here I will mention that this book was originally written in Italian and perhaps what Mr. Angela is really assuming is that anyone who speaks Italian wants to know the answers to those questions. Still ludicrous but maybe a bit more understandable.

I’m being a little hard on the guy, I know. After all, I read it, didn’t I?

When I recently flew home to San Diego for Thanksgiving something bizarre happened. I arrived at SFO airport and low and behold in the terminal there was an exhibit of ancient Italian/Roman artifacts. Ok, I always tend to make some sort of coincidence out of things like this but it was pretty cool. Amphoras, which are ceramic vases used to store everything and anything, were prominently discussed in the book were there before me at the airport, legitimate or not I was looking at something ancient Roman (well, not if they were fakes I guess).

I’ve never quite read a non-fictional book like this. Instead of your traditional style, Mr. Angela actually provides us with a day in the life broken down by hours or parts of the day. It’s a pretty unique approach and actually made it a bit more enjoyable and little less text book like.

I know you want to know what I’ve got to say

The Year is 1994, Anne Lamott has decided to write a book to help people with their writing and with their life. It is now 2009, unfortunately Anne Lamott did not know in 1994 that by now everyone would be speaking in robot voices and would not require help with writing or living. Instead in 2009, we are… robots.

Sorry couldn’t resist.

I would never try to convince you or anyone that I am a writer or am really aspiring to be one. I think I’ve more or less hammered it home that I’m doing this for me. Obviously, I like that you take the time to read what I have to say but in the end it is my outlet. That being said, Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird serves as an instructional guide for aspiring writers. But, it’s not only for writers, it’s also for aspiring livers (not livers as in your organ that detoxifies, but livers as in people who want to live fulfilling lives).

Can’t promise it gets better, but yes, there is more

I don’t have any tattoos. Luckily the only ridiculous thing I’ll do when I drink too much is maybe get a piercing (who knew that piercing my septum when I was 18 would make my mother cry, sorry mom). Despite not having a tattoo, when I first read a blurb about this book (don’t remember where) I was instantly interested in reading this book. As it turns out whether or not you have tattoos it doesn’t really matter when it comes to reading the often funny, sometimes surreal stories Jeff Johnson tells.

I’m not actually too sure where I would rank or what my feelings are about Johnson’s book. At times I thought it was laugh out loud (LOL, for those of you that only understand acronyms) funny and at others somewhat dry and boring. At the end of the day though, the funny and bizarre make up for the parts of the book where these things are lacking. Johnson basically provides the reader with a good look at his life, so far, what and who has shaped his life and the madness he’s endured (madness in this case is not always bad). I don’t know about you but I had never really thought about the life a tattoo artist might live. I guess there is some silly reality tv show out there about tattoo parlors, but then again there are also reality tv shows out there that showcase people who sleep with animals (that is not a fact but I’m just taking a guess that something of that nature exists out there) so that doesn’t really say too much.

The book is broken up into 6 sections which is further divided into subsections with stories pertaining to an overriding theme of the section, more or less. I’m not really sure how I would change the format myself but there was just something off about it for me. It actually may not have been the format at all in retrospect it may just have been Johnson’s use of the English language. Instead of just telling the reader stories, Johnson just added a little too much background chatter. By that I think I mean attempting to find depth and meaning in stories that more or less spoke for themselves.

If I got a tattoo I think it would be a triceratops hugging a unicorn, just keep reading…