When May rolled around this year, I was waiting any way but patiently on the latest book in the Sookie Stackhouse, or Southern Vampire, Series. This is my ritual: when school ends and finals come to a close each spring, I rush to Books A Million (sometimes multiple locations in order to find a store that has my book in stock), pay the $29.95 for the hardcover version (the only available in May), and curl up in hibernation until I turn the last page on my guilty pleasure. No, I'm not enriching my mind by perusing a classic, but I figure I deserve a treat after the hard work I've put in towards my education! So, I found this May's release from Charlaine Harris in my hands the day after it hit the shelves, and less than a week later, I closed the cover on my favorite telepathic barmaid.
Dead Reckoning starts where last year's release, Dead in the Family left off. Sookie is still recovering from her traumatic experience during the Fae War; dealing with her "marriage" and blood bond to vampire lover, Eric; planning the overthrow of the all- too nasty ruling vampire representative in Louisiana, Victor, all while holding down her waitressing job at Merlotte's where a recent bombing has left the customers scarce and Sookie facing the prospect of finding a new job. Old enemies return for Sookie's blood and, as always, she is fighting for her life on multiple occasions. In Dead Reckoning, Sookie learns even more about her family, including her beloved grandmother, and the telepathic gift that has haunted her since childhood.
Charlaine Harris
That being said, I was a little disappointed in the book. The plot lacked "oomph," a real climax, and I'm sorry to say that Sookie's raunchy escapades were missing, as well. Harris seems burned out on the series and even on her beloved character. This might actually be the case since the author recently announced she would be penning the last two novels ever in The Southern Vampire Mysteries. (Insert gasp) I can only hope that the next two books pack the punch that I and the rest of the readers have come to expect. Nonetheless, as a lover of Sookie, I still recommend Dead Reckoning as a juicy, can't-put-down, summer read.
Until next May's release of the second to last Sookie book, I will tide myself over with Season 4 of HBO's True Blood, based on the series. (Check out the trailer below.)
Two decades have brought me no closer to figuring out the mysteries of friendship. I often wonder why we befriend certain people... is it an innate attraction, a chemical connection in our brain, or much simpler? Do we consciously choose our friends?
Sometimes I think we fall into friendship without even knowing it. It comes to a point when someone is a natural part of your life, and you're not exactly sure when it happened or when you "became friends," but you just are. When you're driving home after a long day, you pull up in your driveway, and think to yourself I don't even remember driving home. Same scenario with friendship... you become so accustomed to it you don't remember how you got there. A friendship becomes an everyday thing, something mechanical, and, for the life of me, I can't recall how it all began. Sad, but true.
Maybe you say we do choose our friends and friendship. I say a friendship chooses us. It is the right place, the right time, a chance meeting, and mutual attraction. Friendship grows and prospers because we find pleasure in the other's company, and we will always choose to please ourselves given the chance. And when the pleasing is done? The friendship typically ends. Sure, ending a friendship is like amputating a limb because it is so near and dear to us, but we do it for self-preservation. In the end, we know it has run its course. A friendship steers both its beginning and its end; and this is the natural order of things. Sometimes, it's for the best that some things just don't work out. As Marilyn Monroe said, and I never thought I would quote Marilyn Monroe, "I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."
This weekend, I attended the long-awaited Hangout Festival in Gulf Shores, Alabama. I devoted one of my first blogs to the Hangout Fest and my excitement at such a prospect. Not only was I looking forward to hearing some of my favorite, "off the beaten path" bands, but I found myself feeling excitement for my home state in hosting such a publicly praised and progressive event. I can only imagine what wonders the past weekend has done to boost the economy of Alabama's Gulf Coast after the repercussions of last year's BP oil spill.
Folks from all over the country travelled the many miles and shoveled out the funds to make it to The Hangout Fest, and that fact is not lost on me. For many years, Alabama has been ridiculed and looked down upon for various reasons that I won't embark upon; we have somehow always been viewed as second-rate. In some walks, maybe we deserve this, but the show put on in Gulf Shores that attracted people and praise from all around perhaps gave the country a different perspective. Not only were we aiding ourselves in the post-oil spill struggles to regain a fraction of the prosperity we once knew, but we did it in a culturally rich way, welcoming people from all walks of life. Sure, I met plenty of the typical music festival-going hippies, but I also came across suburban moms hauling around wide-eyed kids; older couples probably reminded of the original music fest, Woodstock, of their own hey-day; and people like me, not a hippie, not a suburban mom, but somehow blending into this crowd of people united by their love of music.
... music. The music was phenomenal; and, of course, it had to be. That's what we expected. From the inspiring technical mash-ups of Pretty Lights to the hard, raw sounds of The Black Keys, the music surpassed our expectations. My Morning Jacket lit up the crowd with their quirky, energized performance that can only be described by the presence of the stuffed bear from the cover of their awe-inspiring album, It Still Moves. Grace Potter and The Nocturnals oozed soul, sweat, and lust if you asked the guys. Drive-By Truckers rocked the house as always with their unflinchingly honest lyrics and sounds from the guitar that can only be found in the South... social commentary at its finest. I am no music critic, but I surely guess it was a field day for those who are.
Sure, I was hot, wickedly hot from the lack of clouds in the sky (a plus), and covered in a layer of sweat under a layer of sand. Sure, I paid $6 for a beer and $9 for a hotdog. Sure, I waited in line for a wristband a whole hour... but in the grand scheme of things, was it worth it? Hell yeah.
A month long hiatus from blogging, although unplanned, has given me writing fever again! I've missed venting to you, myself, and no one in particular. I am pleasantly reminded of the reasons for blogging in the first place! I love sitting down to my computer and feeling the keys at my fingertips as I expose what's on my mind and in my heart. Writing is therapy in its simplest form; plain and simple. Unloading emotions, thoughts, and internal wanderings and wonderings into physical form is a beautiful release. To sum things up, I am happy to be back and ready for my next release.
