I was trying to figure out how to log on to my blog at another computer and a search revealed my Alexa rating – my global ranking is 22,350,244. When I’m rich and famous, I’ll try to remember all you little people who got me there. Up, up, up the ziggurat, lickety-split. I have no idea if this is out of 22,350,244 sites or a billion or what. I was just surprised to find I have a rank. I’m also pretty sure all the people I visit and who visit me are higher up the rankings, so perhaps I should put a lid on any ‘little people’ comments. Thank you, dear readers, both of you, for making this possible!
Reading the Bricks is hosting a minithon for the lazy. I am highly qualified for this mini-thon, I might even be over-qualified, but I’m hoping they won’t kick me out because of that. This Saturday, the plan is to eat mini-foods, read mini-books, and… well, that’s it really. Only 8 hours instead of 24, so totally doable.
And then there’s Mort. Ah, Mort. I keep wanting to throw in the towel. I was supposed to report days ago on the second section which is supposed to be books VII – X, I think. I believe I’ve now made it to IX. Sir Tristram turns out to be (so far, anyway) quite the jerk himself. Telling La Beale Isoud he loved her forever, handing her to his uncle Mark, and marrying the very next Isoud he meets. Oh, but he doesn’t consumate the marriage, so that’s supposed to somehow make it all right instead of being even jerkier, which is how I see it. Isoud de Beaux Mains can’t have a real husband because she’s married to Tristram who only kisses her because he actually loves someone else. How much would that suck? I forget all the other jerky things he did. That’s the problem with this book. It’s sooo repetitive and sooo long that even though I read it within the last few weeks, I don’t remember what Tristram did. I should probably write about it more often, but then, who would want to read this? It’s just like Rimmer giving the turn-by-turn description of his game of Risk, but instead of rolling a 2 and a 6, Sir La Cote Male Taile feutres his spear and knocks someone to the ground. I did acquire, however, the illustrations Aubrey Beardsley did for Mort in 1892 or so. All the illustrations are by themselves in a big book. Might have been nicer to have the illustrations with the work, but this was cheap. It is gorgeous. I’ve hardly looked at it, so maybe if I do that a bit more it will inspire me to carry on. After all, I’m almost halfway through this sucker. Surely I’ve come too far to quit now?