The CACA goes to...

This just in from the Associated Press:

Sharing the spotlight with the esteemed Caldecott, Newbury and Michael Printz awards comes another type of award.  

O. Pennbook, president of the ALA* had this to say: "A myriad of awards are presented each year to recognize excellence in youth literature. But what of the truly lame cover illustrations that serve to detract from this so-called fine literature? Where is their recognition? Where is their tribute for being so truly awful as to negate the intrinsic worth of a book, to cause a young impressionable mind to choose not to read? To create such an illustration demonstrates profound talent! And so, we now present the Craptastic Art Cover Awards or the CACAs. This year's winner, The Watcher in the Garden, was chosen not only for its perfect melding of the crappy with the creepy but for featuring characters from other works of fiction as depicted in their movie adaptations! That droog intensely eyeing us comes courtesy of Anthony Burgess while the greasy-haired foppish sucka in the foreground comes courtesy of Anne Rice. Bravo!"

* Association of Lame Artists, not to be confused with the American Library Association.

The Academy Award goes to...

Sheesh, calm the heck down, people, it's just a movie! And a lame one at that. Yeah, I've heard all the buzz about how brave the actor was for taking on such a challenging role. How his character suffers great physical pain - it's old age, dude, get used to it! I can even understand how alarming his appearance may seem to some. Granny and little bro look like they've never seen an ugly mug before. But I'll be damned if he gets to bring home a little gold statue tomorrow night for that boring shit!  

Academy, don't let me down. You know who really deserves it! 

Ciao'n'Meow!

If it weren't for that jerk Sebastian, I could play with my pussy in peace. (Hey, get your minds out of the gutter!)

I'll be going on vacation this week thanks to the public school system (yay!) so I won't be posting for a little while. Here are some instructions while I'm gone.

Crappy Valentine's Day!

Look, girls, I get it. You want me to call all those shiny, happy people who kiss in the hallways and hold hands in the cafeteria losers just to give you a fleeting sense of superiority. I won't do that. Instead, I'd like to address all you adorkable girls out there with the bad feathered hair who idle away your free time staring into space fantasizing about being best friends with a couple of superstars; to the girls who gently hold their glasses while in deep discussion with a friend who has formed an unhealthy relationship with her volleyball; to the girls who the boys never talk to and who never get asked out; to the girls who could never really relate to the sophisticated girls with the great hair and perfect makeup and awesome disco threads; to the girls who end up eating their lunch in the music wing with all the other social outcasts,* I've got this to say to you: JUST SAY NO to that odious popularity contest coming up on February 14. Accept the fact that you will receive nary a card nor chocolate heart on that despicable Hallmark Hall of Shame Holiday. Ignore the pretty girls carrying cheap bouquets of roses into Chem class. Because you know what? Valentine's day means nothing and high school sucks! Put some music on and get over it!

* Even though this pretty much sums up my wretched life c.1978, I did not, in fact, have a close friend with an unhealthy attachment to a volleyball...tho that would have been fun!

A couple of readers told me that they didn't realize my posts contain links within the text. For anyone else who didn't realize that, just click on the highlighted underlined words and you'll be taken to another place and time!

Going Down the Road (feeling confused)

Something about this image is jogging my memory. I've never read this particular book, yet I'm certain I've read something that describes this illustration perfectly! Excuse me while I sift through some musty boxes of tomes in the basement. Yes, here it is! Right on page 315 of the 1968 edition of the Official Handbook of the Boy Scouts of America:

When road-tripping in a hippie van, your troop may come across an old camp in the woods, the cabins of which may show signs of recent meteorite damage. Occupying such a place, you may encounter the likes of old Stella Blueshoes and her crazy hunchbacked son, ruthless members of a mostly female North Woods crime syndicate called the Sharkes. Your only defense is to have a statue of Anubis propped on the front seat of the van. 

I was curious about this strange warning, particularly the odd instruction concerning Anubis, an Egyptian God of the Dead. None of this can be found in any other scouting handbook, both in previous and subsequent years.  On further inspection, I found a name in the editorial masthead in the 1968 edition which sheds some light, albeit from a lava lamp, on this mystery.

Photography 101

I love this book cover! Finally, a title font that complements the illustration. And the placement of the author's name (who, by the way, is still a prolific YA novelist) is perfect. But enough of that, I want to jump aboard the Crystal love train - she is pure pop 80's perfection! From her hoop earrings to her neon pink tunic; from her knock off Chanel belt to her shiny 

leggings, her hotness is melting the polar ice caps! This girl's got it on, especially while gracing the paps with a pose as she's leaving her steel-clad fortress of fashion. The world will know who she is. She's ready for .........! 

Uh-oh. I got so blinded by Crystal, that I missed something that's a bit off, something of a "Persian flaw" the artist tossed into an otherwise perfect composition. Do you see it? Look carefully. Girl is gonna be pissed when she turns to tomorrow's "Seen About Town" column of the paper and lays her Cover Girl eyes on this!

Seriously, the angle and distance of that camera lens is so off. Arghhh!

Dear Everyone

Dear Everyone,

I've had it. I learned to accept my unfortunate first name and all its cruel variations my peers find so amusing - Transy, Pansy, Mansy - you name it. I even learned to live with the inexplicable and sudden shrinking of my parents. But now I find myself being  caught in the middle of their pen-and- ink-stippled world of anger and depression and I just. can't. cope. Mom is always pissed off; Dad just stares at the wall wearing that same dirty turtleneck day after day. If I hear one more teacher or guidance counselor tell me to turn my frown upside down I will have a cow, I swear! It is time for my liberation. Goodbye cruel world. Hello to a new one. I have a plan.  

Love, Tanz

*This was the last known document to be verified as written by Tansy Warner. She disappeared from her home in Nutley, New Jersey on January 31, 1989. It is the belief, of those who knew her, that in the years that followed her mysterious disappearance she somehow managed to disguise her gender, hone her acting talents and enter into a very lucrative career in film and television. This has yet to be proven.