I can’t believe I’m about to write the following sentence. Stephen King’s latest doorstop of a novel, Under The Dome, is ponderous, predictable and, worst of all, boring. And this is coming from one of the biggest Stephen King fans on the planet. Heck. I even read From a Buick 8 and liked it, [...]]]> by Richard

I can’t believe I’m about to write the following sentence. Stephen King’s latest doorstop of a novel, Under The Dome, is ponderous, predictable and, worst of all, boring. And this is coming from one of the biggest Stephen King fans on the planet. Heck. I even read From a Buick 8 and liked it, but this latest forest killer is just plain awful.

Not only was this bad, but I think it’s broken me of my automatic purchasing of Stephen King novels. I had no idea what Under The Dome was about. I just ordered it because I love his novels. When it arrived, I discovered its length and the fact that this was a book he’d tried to write many years before and I began to get a bad feeling about it.

Turns out, my bad feeling was fully justified. Let’s start with the most noticeable thing; it’s length. This puppy could have been put to bed at a third of the length if it weren’t for the fact that Stephen King loves his characters. He stuffs the book full of them and lets us know the backstory of almost every single one of them. And, not only that, he also documents just about every second of every day that the New England town of Chester’s Mill spends trapped under an unexplainable (to them, but not – unfortunately – to us), invisible and impenetrable dome.

Each of the approximately one thousand, nine hundred and fifty three characters gets some quality speaking time and, each time one of them opens his or her mouth, they get to spout some by-now clichéd Stephen King dialogue. Words are changed around and then repeated again and again as if this were a new technique. Some event happens once and then it’s thereafter referred to as “the famous” fill in the blank. Basically it’s Stephen King at his he-really-needs-an-assertive-editor worst.

Once the characters find they are trapped inside the Dome, we’re allowed a look around at the skeletons in the closet, particularly the closet of the local bigwig Big Jim Rennie. It’s Rennie who, when the Dome comes down, begins to take draconian measures to grab power. It’s also revealed that Rennie, along with other town leaders, have been running the country’s largest meth lab near the local radio station. At the time of the book, the only person out there with the highly flammable meth chemicals and enough propane to fuel a battleship, is a religiously crazy meth smoker. What happens next isn’t really a surprise if you think for more than two seconds.

Finally, we find out who or what dropped the Dome on Chester’s Mill. Once I found out, though, I began to beg for mercy. Surely it couldn’t be what I thought it was. It was. It was hoary and dusty when Star Trek used it way back in the 1960s. This trope hasn’t improved with age.

No, I think Under The Dome has definitely given me something to think about. Mainly, why did I buy this thing without checking it out first.

I’m giving this book one (1) dude out of five, if only because I got a little exercise lugging the thing around for a week; a week I’ll never get back. Don’t waste your time or money on this book. Seriously, life is too short.

You can find this review, along with thousands of other, on a great book site, Novelspot. It’s a fantastic site, full of book lovers sharing that love with anyone who’ll listen. You can find all books reviewed here at Novelspot as well.

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It’s winter and there’s still cold seeping around most doors, causing us to dress in sweaters and bundle up under blankets. But that doesn’t stop time from marching on. Believe it or not, it’s time to start looking for summer camps.

I know. It’s hard to believe, but it is true.

Over the last couple of [...]]]> by Richard

It’s winter and there’s still cold seeping around most doors, causing us to dress in sweaters and bundle up under blankets. But that doesn’t stop time from marching on. Believe it or not, it’s time to start looking for summer camps.

I know. It’s hard to believe, but it is true.

Over the last couple of days, we’ve begun to receive many, many thick catalogs with ideas for different camps and summer programs in which we could enroll our little dude and our teen dudes. We’re lucky. We already know what they’re going to go away to do. Unlike some camps where the little dudes and dudettes go for months, we send ours to shorter, normally two-week, camps. They get a trip out of town on their own and we get to keep a few pennies in the bank account. A few, mind you.

There are many, many fine summer camps all over the country. A lot of the ones I’ve dealt with, either by attending or by sending a little dude there, are associated with the YMCA. For the most part, they run a great camp.

All three of our little dudes have attended Camp Cheerio (no relation to or association with the cereal) up in the mountains of North Carolina. Each of our dudes have really loved their time there. Two years ago, George of the Jungle aged out. Last year was Zippy the Monkey Boy’s last time at that camp. This year, Speed Racer will be attending without benefit of brothers. He can’t decide if he’s going to be sad or going to explode with joy because he doesn’t have to watch out for surprise noogies.

The two older little dudes are going a bit farther afield. Last year, George of the Jungle went to Costa Rica to help rehabilitate habitats for endangered animals on a wildlife preserve. He got 25 community service hours and had the time of his life traveling with Rustic Pathways, a teen travel and service organization. This year, he’s going with Rustic Pathways to New Orleans to help rehabilitate homes destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. He’ll be there working and playing for about two weeks. He actually said he didn’t want to go out of the country this time because it would be “too much hassle.” He stuck to it, even after we had the doctor check him over for hidden head trauma.

Zippy the Monkey Boy has signed up to travel to the United Kingdom and tour Scotland, Ireland and England with a number of his classmates and other high-school dudes from around Charlotte with Educational Tours. Not so many opportunities for service with this one, but he will be exposed to a different culture or two.

We know these are all expensive, but they’re worth every penny in the joy and horizon-broadening they bring to the little dudes. So start researching now if you want your little dude or dudette to experience the joys of sleep-away camp or even find a service opportunity.

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Normally when I get all misty-eyed about the internet, it’s because I’ve found something funny or just plain fun. Or something so awful I just can’t leave it alone, like a scab not ready to drop off, but just healed enough to pick. Or perhaps I’ve said too much. Onward.

This time, though, I’m praising [...]]]> by Richard

Normally when I get all misty-eyed about the internet, it’s because I’ve found something funny or just plain fun. Or something so awful I just can’t leave it alone, like a scab not ready to drop off, but just healed enough to pick. Or perhaps I’ve said too much. Onward.

This time, though, I’m praising the internet because of some wonderful pictures I just received today.

Turns out I’m going to be a cousin again. Well, all right, that really doesn’t make much sense. Let’s try it again. Seems my cousin, a young dudette who’s currently living across the pond in Jolly Old England, is going to become a first-time mom by having a baby sometime around the middle of 2010. I learned about this great news the other day with the arrival of an e-mail from my aunt and uncle.

They alluded to some news from EnglishGirl and then hit us with four ultrasound images of the baby growing in utero. It was amazing. All the way from England, we got to see pictures of the new cousin before she/he has even been born.

Ultrasound has been around so long that even I got to get a pretty good look at my unborn dudes. It’s the distance I’m loving here. Used to be if you wanted to get information from England to America you’d have to back up a money truck for the phone call or wait weeks for mail to be delivered. Now? A point. A click and a metaphorical woosh and it’s arrived.

This is what I call good news. Another baby to play with and then hand back to his/her parent at the first sniff of something appalling gathering in it’s diapers. The joys of cousin-hood as opposed to parenthood.

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