by John Scalzi
ONE LINE SUMMARY: Unless Harry Creek can locate the last remaining Android’s Dream breed of sheep, Earth will be destroyed by an alien race.
I got mixed up and thought this book was set in the same world as Old Man’s War, so I had some difficulty getting into it. When I finally realized this book was completely different from Scalzi’s previous two books, I enjoyed it. The ending is particularly good.
However, I can’t say that this book lingers in my memory the way Old Man’s War did. You have to forget about Scalzi’s other books, enjoy this one for what it is, and wait until April for Scalzi’s sequel to Old Man’s War.
This morning I woke up and felt as though I had been running marathons in my sleep. The pain on my right arm and back from the carpal tunnel/repetitive stress injury had spread overnight to the left side.
This may have occurred because Chris and I played a game on the Wii a few days ago. The Wii, if you don’t know already, requires more audience participation than most gaming systems. But I couldn’t chalk it all up to the Wii. I had played for maybe 45 minutes, perhaps even less, so my pain was probably not entirely due to the Wii.
When I staggered out of bed this morning, I immediately thought about something Greg Behrendt said on his Uncool special. Loosely paraphrased, it was about how his father used to complain that he slept wrong, and young Greg would wonder how people could sleep wrong, because all he had to do to sleep was sleep.
Well, now I’m old enough to not know how to sleep anymore. I did nothing at night but sleep, and I hurt myself. Even worse, a few minutes ago I somehow ripped a muscle or tendon in my left shoulder while typing. While TYPING!!
Sadly, I was not typing while flying the trapeze. Nor was I typing while weight-lifting. I just sat at my computer typing some emails, and then I made the mistake of rubbing my neck. I heard a strange, squishy noise, and next thing I knew, I had a weird pain in my shoulder. It only hurts when my skin shifts.
So now I’m afraid to move, but also afraid not to move. Both situations are apparently dangerous to me in my frail old age.
Oh, show, how you disappointed me and forced me to give up on last season within five minutes of viewing Mischa Barton’s overindulgent, inexplicably emotionless emoting! And how you cruelly tempted me to begin watching again after you killed her off and replaced her with someone whom I could actually watch without battling those feelings of homicide and righteous fury! Now, now…at long last, I must reconcile myself to this grievous loss and pray my broken heart shall soon mend, mayhaps with some extended viewings of My Name Is Earl.
The last episode will air February 22.
This post has been brought to you by the letter S for Shakespeare.
I came home from work today and found five piles of vomit.
I can’t help but think that isn’t good, even if I do have three dogs.