The Litrovert

Those of you reading this post might wonder why it takes me so long to generate new content for this blog.  Or maybe you're just wondering why I just used the phrase "generate new content" when I could have just said "write stuff."  Exactly! (Also, I literally just corrected one of my grade 8 students on the use of double negatives while I was writing that paragraph.  And then I warned him not to drop his chicken burger which he was carrying in an inadvisably risky way involving tupperware.  And you wonder why I have no time to write.) Anyway, I have decided to lower my own standards for this blog (yes, they can go even lower), and rather than exposing myself to public ridicule on account of my juvenile literary tastes , composing a magnificent essay involving memes that took me way too long to track down, or viciously tearing apart some poor, struggling author's life work, I will simply tell you about the history book I'm currently reading (which,

OK, we're going to start this one off with a skill-testing question.  Here it is: What does the acronym "YA" stand for? a) Yugoslavian Aristocrat b) Yak Artery c) Young Adult d) Yikes! Ameoba! If you said a , b , or d - congratulations! Your prize is waiting for you at the nearest psych ward. If you said c , you are boring but correct (trust me, being boring is way underrated). So, I really like YA literature. It's kind of embarrassing.  It often leads to awkward situations like when you take your kids to the library and you spend the whole time browsing in the section that has the vampire romances; meanwhile, two rows over, your youngest kid is eating The English Patient  and when the librarian finds him you're still trying to decide between A Series of Unfortunate Events  and the newest Eric Walters book. Of course, if you are a YA fan like me, you already know how ridiculous this scenario is: you CAN'T ever take out the newest Eri

If you haven't guessed already, movies are kind of a big deal to me.  I love them.  Love them like a sea urchin.  Sea urchins don't get much love. Anyways, movies speak to me on a pretty profound level.  A powerful film can call forth a depth of emotion usually reserved for things like the birth of a child or a really good piece of cheesecake.  The first time I remember feeling this strongly about a film is when I saw The Lion King as a small, impressionable child.  I cannot adequately describe the feeling that this film produced in me.  Seriously - I just sat here trying to describe it, and I had nothing except a bad analogy about high school grad.  See?  You think it's bad and you didn't even READ it, because I deleted it.  That's how bad it was - it wasn't even good enough for a fourth-rate blog in this backwater hick-town corner of the internet. So you'll just have to imagine how The Lion King  made me feel.  This can be accomplished with three e

Last night, my wife and I rented Star Wars: The Last Jedi  and watched it together for the first time.  Now, let's be clear on one thing - I am not a Star Wars  guy.  My fandom is pretty much limited to the hobbit/wizard/balrog spectrum - little green guys who speak with appalling grammar have never really done it for me. That being said, I always give a new movie a fair chance, even when it's not something I'm predisposed to like.  But no free passes here - when watching a new Star Wars  movie, a critical eye I will employ. Which leads me to The Last Jedi , or "TLJ"* for the fanboys.  Much as I want to be nice to all you Yoda-lovers out there, I have to say that this movie really did not do it for me.  It was not a good film.  It may have been a good Star Wars  film, but it was not a good film (there is a difference).  To be a good Star Wars  film, the bar is set pretty low. OK, that was a low blow, but you get the idea.  I really did want to