In a Nutshell

Golf Ball. President’s Cup. A yawn of vanilla look-alike Americans vs. unknown international team. Ex-Prez’s Billy, George, Barack together. Hey. It’s right across the river at Liberty National. NFL has taken a knee financially as controversy sorts itself while the real crime of physical injuries sidelined. These days it’d be good to be confined inside a nutshell.

As Hamlet lamented to Rosnecrantz and Gildenstern:  “O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.”

Ian McEwan took this as his conceit for Nutshell, a novel. Our latest book group pick. Some of us liked it more than others. A fetus’ view from the womb. Premise a bit ludicrous. Some ludic moments. A long short story that seemed meant more to expound on the global issues of his time, McEwan’s pedantic take on Mother earth being poisoned, North Korea, Iran, race, religion. Unborn nugget sees what’s wrong in his own upcoming life and the world at large.

Mundo Quebrando

Earthquakes. Mexico. Check. Superstorms. Puerto Rico. Caribe. Florida. Check. World War 3. Iran. North Korea. Check. According to a Christian numerologist, this coming Saturday, September 23 the world will end. Biblical signs sure are lined up. Exoplanets newly discovered may go rogue. Nostradamus nothwithstanding. Won’t plan on going to book club next week.

Hillary’s List

Hillary Clinton’s new book. What Happened? An in-depth catharsis about why she stunningly lost the election to that “reality star clown” Donald Trump. It clearly wasn’t her fault.

On her blame list: James Comey. Vlad Putin. Julian Assange. Bernie Sanders. Joe Biden. Matt Lauer. Mark Zuckerberg. Baskets of deplorable men. Well. All white men. Plus Barack Obama. So. What happened? Men happened. Of course.

Deuces Wild

Wild storm. Hurricane Irma dodging around Florida defying predictions. Covering the entire peninsula. Relentless. Tenacious. Meanwhile. NFL season has begun. Wobbling on whether or not to keep watching. Patriots game was riddled with injury interruptions. Half of Sunday’s pregames are dedicated to who will be benched for various broken bones, torn muscles, not to mention concussions. It has gotten close to criminal.

Speaking of risks. New York in the ’70’s. Garth Risk Hallberg’s novel City on Fire makes a fair attempt at shining a light on the dark corners of that era in the City. Tonight, HBO’s The Deuce will focus on the porn industry when Times Square was a combat zone.

Summer Clunkers

Beach reads not even worth the reviews. Chick lit lite. At best. The Heirs, Susan Rieger. A superficial soap opera with implausible scenarios. Ditto. The Arrangement, Sarah Dunn. You guessed it. A couple with an autistic boy decides to set ground rules for cheating on each other for six months. Of course. It all goes wrong. Syrupy in the end.

Ray Donovan. This season better get better. Fast. Devolved into maudlin slow episodes. Last week of GOT. No! Good thing it’s gorgeous weather. Tavern on the Green patio. Or. Bringing our own chairs to watch eclipse, read, have lunch in the park. Yes!

GOT Books?

Game of Thrones returns. After reviewing the last two episodes of gory wars, exploding bodies, and dogs’ ravenous dinner of Ramsay, Season 7 began. It couldn’t get grosser, could it? Oh yes. How does a library become a cesspool. Literally. There are tomes and turds galore. And.

Speaking of bad reads. Leaving Lucy Pear, Solomon’s “mother load” touted by WaPo, is a dud.