Comprised of chapters devoted to the dreams young Albert Einstein had while working on his theory of relativity, Einstein’s Dreams was the “it” book of 1992. One could find it both within the backpacks of lit majors and atop strollers of soccer moms. It wasn’t hard to see why. Lightman had a genius for merging seemingly incomprehensible scientific topics into illusive narratives laced with hypnotic lyricism. After reading it, everyone felt smarter and a little more human.

Consuming the book in one sitting as a young teenager, Einstein’s Dreams didn’t so much change my reading taste as reveal it. The novel was the perfect first date to a lifelong relationship with fictional fabulists like Borges, Eco, and Calvino. It showed that a fictional world could still be a fantastical place even without fire-breathing dragons flying overhead.

Following a series of more traditional narrative novels and non-fiction works that failed to have the impact of his fictional debut, Mr g seems conceived, conceptually and marketing-wise, to deliberately echo Einstein’s Dreams. When put side-by-side, both titles create a sort of cosmic Rashomon; Dreams focused on the secrets of the universe from man’s point-of-view, Mr g is a memoir of the creation as told by God.

As a novel, unfortunately, Mr g is a still-born prose universe brought forth by a well-meaning creator who is in over his head.

Einstein’s Dreams succeeded in part because the ethereal nature of dreams freed Lightman from worrying about typically essential novelistic elements like characters and plot.  Lightman’s attempt to incorporate those same elements in Mr. g result in muddled incoherence.

Mr g’s narrator is not a booming-voiced and bearded Yahweh/Zeus hybrid or even a wisecracking George Burns clone.  He’s the nebbish nephew of two other gods, Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva. (Don’t let their distinguished mythological names fool you, on the page Aunt P. and Uncle D. read like to wacky supporting characters from a rejected 80s TV pilot.)

On a whim our narrator creates several infant universes in a manner that could only be described as Quantum Jenga. Watching as his handiwork churns from chaos into creation, he eventually becomes attached to one universe in particular (bet you can’t guess which one?). As for the novel’s emotional thru-line, instead of “a boy and his dog,” think “a boy and his universe.”

Onto the void where our narrator resides, the mysterious Belhor arrives to challenge the conception of free will and the nature of evil, a duel that forms the thematic battleground for the rest of the novel. (Somewhat inexplicably, two creatures also accompany Belhor. By the description, they sound like less frightening [and far less funny] versions of the devil dogs Zuul and Vinz Clortho from Ghostbusters.)

In the many short chapters that follow, there are visits to various planets, omniscient interior monologues about the nature of existence and creaky vaudeville routines supposedly intended as comic relief. The low point of the novel is also one of the longest chapters; Belhor, in what can only be considered a failed audition to become the sixth Marx brother, causes chaos at an opera house located on a water-covered planet. (No, I’m not kidding.)

If Lightman had aborted the malformed conceit of anthropomorphizing the creation of the universe, Mr g could have perhaps achieved the same profundity of Einstein’s Dreams. Instead, the only times Mr g resuscitates from its fatal overdose of “cuteness” and “preciousness” is when Lightman removes the veil of novel writing and allows chapters exploring such topics as mortality and infinity to be straight up essays, an art form at which he excels.

And while Lightman’s ideas of how life would evolve on planets with different proximities to the sun are fascinating, his decision to devote so much page space to other worlds when ours is, in my humble opinion, mysterious enough, is a near-fatal miscalculation. I understand that there’s probably a lot more going on in the universe aside from all things Earth, but couldn’t we have at least discovered what the creator thinks about Tim Tebow?

Speaking of Tim Tebow, intentionally or not, proponents of intelligent design have their first legitimate work of literature. By giving the act of creation a persona, no matter how unbiblical, Lightman is still writing from the point of view of a creator. If Lightman were a more polished comic writer (imagine what Woody Allen could do with this concept?), the nagging feeling that one is reading an explicitly creationist work wouldn’t be nearly as strong, nor would the question of the author’s specific theological beliefs cast such an uncomfortable shadow. It’s hard to forget that Lightman, an exceedingly accomplished dual professor of theoretical physics and humanities at M.I.T., also likes to dip his toe into the murky pond of the spiritual.

Since Mr g forgoes scientific secularism and embraces that watered down religion on the rocks known as “spirituality,” any sort of passionate readership it finds will likely consist of those looking for pulpy self-help comfort food on Target book shelves rather than the seemingly infinite array of humanity who continue stare up at Einstein’s Dreams in awe and wonderment.

Follow Ryan Dixon on twitter @ryanbdixon. Order a copy of his graphic novel Hell House: The Awakening.

Why couldn’t I have read that book?

Considering that one of his previous novels focused on a travel agency that sold prostitution packages to Thailand and that several others contain enough sex and violence to make the Marquis de Sade blush, I had a large bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready when reading Michel Houellebecq’s new novel, THE MAP AND THE TERRITORY. Sadly, what I really needed by the end was a six pack of Red Bull.

At least from the view of these shores, the wave of controversy that surrounded THE MAP AND THE TERRITORY, which won the Prix Goncourt, France’s highest literary award, is rather perplexing. The novel follows artist Jed Martin as he reveals a new series of paintings after a ten year hiatus.  In order to get as much press attention as possible for his gallery opening, he commissions a certain Michel Houellebecq to write the essays for the catalog. The show’s a hit, there’s a gruesome murder and that’s about it.

As a satire on art and society the novel reads like Bret Easton Ellis on Prozac. And even though Houellebecq follows in the footsteps of Martin Amis by casting himself as a major supporting character, the novel is devoid of any other post-modern narrative game playing, aside from a brief detour into Grand Guignol thriller territory that is swiftly brushed aside without a satisfying  pay-off.  To be fair, Houellebecq isn’t interested in narrative pay-off, or storytelling at all really, as he made abundantly clear in a 2010 Paris Review interview with Susannah Hunnewel:

“You might get the impression that I have a mild contempt for storytelling, which is only somewhat true…At first, I don’t obey, I don’t plot, but then from time to time, I say to myself, Come on, there’s got to be a story. I control myself. But I will never give up a beautiful fragment merely because it doesn’t fit in the story.”

And Houellebecq’s novel really is nothing more than a series of fragments (some a lot less beautiful than others) on art, aging, assisted suicides, urban living, etymology, decapitation, etc., etc. Yet, this all-you-can-eat buffet of ideas would have perhaps been edible if The Map and the Territory were truly a novel of ideas. But to even his most ardent supporters, the essayistic elements are the least interesting aspect of Houellebecq’s work. For example, after calling Map “excellent,” Slate writer Vincent Glad complained (in the same sentence, no less) that Houellebecq’s digressions were “tedious.”

Ironically or not, Houellebecq seems to relish playing the role of polymath. But the joke’s on him. The hoarding and distribution of knowledge has almost no currency in our all-access, On Demand culture. What’s important is the delivery, the take, the angle. Unless you’re trying to compete on Jeopardy,  knowing something just isn’t enough anymore.

Any grudging admiration for Houellebecq’s exhausting digressions is finally ground into dust upon learning that last year SlateFr discovered that many of them were taken, sometimes verbatim, from Wikipedia. Houellebecq didn’t abjectly apologize at this J’accuse, however. Instead, he argued that this re-use wasn’t copying at all, but just part of his style, a “patchwork, weavings, interlacings,” and that other writers (like Georges Perec) incorporated encyclopedic facts in far more blatant and plagiaristic ways. (I have to admit I find this defiant stance a breath of fresh air in comparison to authors like James Frey who, in order to win back the media’s good graces, eagerly lie prostrate in front of bloated cultural king makers like her divine O’ness.)

The question as to whether or not lifting Wikipedia content is a legitimate (or even legal) artistic choice is one for another day, however. All we can be sure of is that Houellebecq’s use of it results in a tedious reading experience. Despite the accompanying hype, controversy and acclaim, at least to this American’s eyes, The Map and the Territory is written in an unintelligible foreign language.

Follow Ryan Dixon on Twitter @ryanbdixon. Order a copy of his graphic novel, Hell House: The Awakening.

Once again most of our bloggers are resolving to lose weight and hit writing goals this year — we’re kind of predictable in that way. However, maybe because of the continued recession or the fact that we’re getting older, almost all of the resolutions seem a bit more practical this year — except for Sarah Fazeli’s. Actually, I think that’s why I like Sarah Fazeli’s resolution best of all. 

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, … AND LOSE WEIGHT

My resolution last year was to “change my eating habits for the better.” I did that, and even though it took me till the last few months to do so, I have managed to not only succeed, but also to drop 30 pounds in the process. My resolution for 2012: to stick with my gym habits and keep working out till I reach my goal. If I stick to it like I have over the last few months, I will be healthier and more fit than I have ever been in my whole life.

Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

Lose 25 pounds.  In 2011 I think I gained 25 pounds.  So I am looking to go back to 2010 basically.
Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

My 2011 resolutions were: keep my job, lose weight, finish novel. I did all of those things: kept the job until they fired all of us, lost weight and then gained half of it back, and yes, I finished the novel. This year the big resolution is to get paid to write, for the first time ever. The rest is always the same. Lose weight. Work. Be happy. All that. Goes without saying.
Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

I think that for 2011 I resolved to be nicer to myself, and I think for the most part I have been pretty good at refraining from constant self-recrimination.  For 2012, I resolve to take better care of my health.  I’ll be thirty-five this year, and while a marathon is not my style, I’d like to maintain my recent healthy habits like walking and eating more veggies, and add some new ones in time.  Also, I’d like to be less angry.  I’m pretty sure it will kill me or incarcerate me if left untreated.
Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

Since I didn’t make a resolution last year, I didn’t have to stick to one. It worked out really well. Can’t I just stick with that one for this year too? No? Ok, I resolute that I will lose 10 pounds (and gain it back, and lose it, and gain it back again, and, well… you get the picture).

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

I always keep my resolutions pretty simple and vague, as to make them easily achievable. So this year I will continue to “show them all”, “get even” , and “settle the score”… oh and lose ten to fifteen more pounds.

Sam Weitzner from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, … AND WRITE! 

Maybe this is how it goes when you have kids – your New Years resolutions become lifetime resolutions.  Maybe I’ll get last years done this year, maybe I won’t, but I can certainly start.  Keep working on my scripts.  Shoot a microbudget feature film.  Plug away at the self indulgent novel that I know at least 5 people want to read.  Find a good day care for my sprouting child.  Run a 5K in under 30 minutes.  See my friends more.  Score a goal.  Surf.  Dunk.  Get a dog.  Buy a house, if only to no longer be president of the HOA.  Too many?  Too few?  Too early to start now?
Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

The one thing I didn’t get around to is finishing my memoir THE YEAR THAT SUCKED. So, that’s what I’ll do in 2011. Really. Honest. I just took a memoir intensive course and ventured into a writing partnership for just that purpose. Plus, if I don’t finish it this year, then I’ll have to face up to you guys next year. I don’t wanna do that. Oh and I need to lose 20 lbs before our big 10th Anniversary party in June.

Amy Robinson, Blogumnist Editor and writer of Tall Drink of Nerd

So the 2011 goals – Overall grade: C-

• Write one new novel, one new screenplay, and shoot one short film. Check on the novel. CHeck on the screenplay. Fail on the short film.
• Volunteer two days per month. Total fail. I tried to assuage my guilt by over-donating to my regular charities. While they were happy, I’m still faced with the knowledge I didn’t get out into the real world and help others.
• Limit news/political intake to 15 minutes per day. This probably wound up being about right. But only because there were days when I was on a complete media blackout and other days where I didn’t stop reading HuffPo. Providing that it’s possible to fail through success.

2012 Goals:

• Be better. In general and specifically.
• Volunteer once a month.
• Write ten pages per day, every weekday.

R. B. Ripley from Hyperbolic Tendencies

THE RESOLUTIONS THAT (GASP!) DON’T INVOLVE WRITING OR WEIGHT LOSS

I will finally do that burlesque show I’ve been talking about since 2009. There. Now I’m on the record! I’ll be the one in a wig and glitter. Get out your tassles, Frances!

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

Less moping, more hoping!  (which is kind of ambitious for an election year) (and seems like a more succinct iteration of last year’s resolution) (so we’ll see how it goes)

Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

My 2012 resolution is to try and be more organized. Things really get messy cos I am working on lots of things at once, and I love to multi-task. You do not want to see my craft room, trust me. My resolution for 2011 was better penmanship. I started out good, and sometimes I take my time writing my name when I sign a check, but I feel I have slipped up again. My writing is not so neat lately. I need to slow down and take my time.

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

Finally get around to watching BREAKING BAD. I know. I know [dodges boot] I’ll get to it. Geez. I got around to quitting smoking in 2011, I’ll get around to more important things like watching a television show in 2012.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

I think I wrote about keeping your resolutions to yourself, but what the heck. Last year I vowed to try to run a half-marathon. I did that in October, and felt really good about it, but I know there’s more in the tank. This year, I’m doing a full 26.2 miles. Pittsburgh Marathon. May 6. I’m already registered, so there’s no backing out now (and no reason to keep it to myself).

Joe Rusin from On the Contrary

Last year I resolved to do better with anger management. It didn’t really go so well, but it’s not really my fault since the rest of the world didn’t live up to their resolution to STOP PISSING ME OFF.  So this year, I’m just gonna try and keep my DVR above 50% and make more gratuitous and obscure musical theatre references. God, I hope you get them.

Eric Sims from California Seething

Travel more?  My 2011 Resolution was to travel and i didn’t do any of it, because I was so busy. So I guess 2012, Im freaking going somewhere. Even if it’s Dallas. Ok, not Dallas, but somewhere.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

THE REBEL OR JUST FORGETFUL NON-RESOLUTERS

I don’t do this.
CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

To remember my 2011 resolution and accomplish it.
Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line

ONCE UPON A TIME, AMERICAN HORROR STORY, PAN AM and gasp! NEW GIRL all made both the Best of and Worst of lists. The bigger surprise, however, is how many cable shows ended up in the Worse of, which in the past might as well have been called a “worst broadcast and reality shows of the year” list. However, in 2011, many of us were disappointed by what were supposed to be the quality shows. Especially…

THE WALKING DEAD 

THE WALKING DEAD. I so didn’t care what happened to that little girl after she wandered off… After two episodes I was already sick of hearing about her, so dragging the storyline out to the mid-season finale (whatever the hell that is) really annoyed me. All the fun of the first season’s constant change was replaced with pregnancy tests and a big boring farm housing a barn full of zombies. I know i’ll tune back in when they resume episodes in February, but if they don’t pick up the pace soon I’m going to tune out. I have been reading the graphic novel it is based on, and boy don’t I wish they did it better justice. Now I see what all you fanboy purists were bitching about after episode 3 last year.
Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

For the second year in a row, I’m giving Worst of honors to THE BORING WALKING DEAD. Last year, it felt like I spent an entire season waiting for this show to live up to the promise of its series opener, only to be disappointed by the season finale. This year, I spent the entire season just waiting for something to happen, only to be a little bit pleasantly surprised by its last two episodes. That time-spent math is so bad. Sadly, I feel compelled to keep watching, because the show has promised that Michionne (one of the most badass black women in comic history) will be introduced in season, and I’m hoping that even this show’s writing staff won’t be able to figure out how to render her completely boring.

Ernessa from Fierce and Nerdy

THE WALKING DEAD. I want to love it.I try and try, but it just keeps disappointing.

CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

MORE NON-QUALITY CABLE

Pfff I don’t know. HUNG has lost its appeal, but I couldn’t say why. And the last episode of ENTOURAGE was pretty terrible. I hope there’s an Ari spinoff where he turns into an a-hole again.

Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

 
The second half of AMERICAN HORROR STORY. It’s not that hard to engross viewers in a mystery, it’s damn near-impossible to pay off that mystery in a satisfying way [see Dexter Season One]. Once the writers started to reveal the secrets (I had a bad feeling when they note-for-note copied the Columbine incident for a character’s exposition) the show went downhill fast.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

PAN AM was a total plane wreck. A wanna be that never got off the ground.
Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

It’s sad how far  GLEE has fallen. It was my favorite show in its dazzling, unmarred first season. Now its a crapshoot if its even watchable week to week. Inconsistent much? Also, anything with “Real” and “Housewives” in the title.

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered
 
The GOP debates- or as they are known on Bravo- The Real Nutbags of the American Right. They are like one long infomercial for Obama’s reelection. Also, GLEE. Is this what teen entertainment has been reduced to? John Hughes must be rolling in his grave. I ought to track down the writers of GLEE and duct-tape their butt-cheeks together. Saturday detention would be totally worth it.

Eric Sims from California Seething

Sadly, I must say SUPERNATURAL has been deeply disappointing since the whole “Cass is the new God and not a very good one” plot line.  Woe is me!

Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

GRIMM.  I don’t understand why people like this show.
Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

PARENTHOOD.  An over-dramatization of an already overly dramatic experience.  None for me, thanks.

Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

I’m not sure I have the right to say this, since I only watched about 7 minutes of it – but it was that bad that I had to turn it off. TWO BROKE GIRLS was so annoyingly stupid for the 7 minutes that I watched it, that all I could keep thinking was, “Wow, Kat Denning’s got big boobs, and a nice ‘real-girl figure’…”

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

NEW GIRL. Zooey, STOP IT. You’re adorable. I get that, America gets that. You don’t need to do this… Let’s stop this charade… call me.

Sam Weitzner from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

 DISAPPOINTING REALITY

SUPER BOWL XLV – Green Bay Packers 31 – Pittsburgh Steelers 25. Enough said.

Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line

WE THE PEOPLE with Gloria Alred.  Why does she have a court show?  I hope everyone understands that this show is 100% fake.  These are actors doing re-enactments of old court cases.  It’s from Entertainment Studios, the same people behind AMERICA’S COURT with Judge Ross, which is also fake.  And don’t get me started on the sub-par production values.  My high school AV department could crank out a better show than this.

Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe

LADY HOGGERS - I mean, WHY???

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

All Real Housewives shows. Why do I feel like I’m the only person who’s not entertained by manufactured conflict? It raises my blood pressure to watch 5 min of this thing.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

Amy wasn’t the only one who will dearly miss this show. For the first time ever an already cancelled show is making an appearance on our Best of list. Also of note: a return of the scripted show. This is our most fictional Best of list yet. GAME OF THRONES, ONCE UPON A TIME, and AMERICAN HORROR STORY also received its share of love, but OUAT and AHS are just two of the shows that’ll also show up on tomorrow’s worst of list. What other dramas did we both love and hate? Come back tomorrow to find out. 

MORE DRAMA FOR YOUR MAMA

PRIME SUSPECT.  I suspect that this show, which has already been cancelled, may be brought back to prime time.  That Maria Bello is something else.

Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad
 
AMERICAN HORROR STORY. The best new show on television this season. It has all my favorite things: A wicked sense of humor, freaks, creepy plot twists, sex, bitchy gay ghosts, things that make you cringe and the most horrific neighbor you can imagine played brilliantly by Jessica Lange. (If she doesn’t win an Emmy I will eat my blogumn.) I haven’t enjoyed a show this much since Twin Peaks!
Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

The First Half of AMERICAN HORROR STORY. This show started out with a bang. A great mystery, macabre characters, creepiness at every turn. Jessica Lange chain smoking and chewing scenery. Tami Taylor sans drawl. What could go wrong?

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

I am going to say REVENGE even though I only saw one episode. I am busy trying to catch up with life on DVD.  Shame on me.  I work in television.

Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

RINGER because an actress like Sarah Michelle Gellar should be on TV dammit.  Buffy will never die!

Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

I can’t remember the last time a show took over my day-to-day imagination like the all-too-brief ten episodes of HBO’s GAME OF THRONES.

Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line
 
GAME OF THRONES. It was like a medieval fantasy version of THE WIRE with its multiple characters and story arcs (and willingness to kill off any character). There was a fair amount of sex and violence, but none of it gratuitous, since it all worked to move the story forward instead of being merely exploitive like the awful TRUE BLOOD. Plus, it’s gotten a lot of people (myself included) to read the books, to which so far the series has been remarkably faithful.

Joe Rusin from On the Contrary

ONCE UPON A TIME.  I don’t know why.  I really don’t.  But I kind of love it.

Michael Kass from Single White Nerd
 

ONCE UPON A TIME on ABC. Why didn’t I think of this show? Why didn’t I write it? Why am I not starring in it? I demand to know. It’s like someone took the way I think and made an hour-long drama out of it.

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered
 

I don’t watcha  lot of TV except for Sunday AMC shows and stupid pawning shows that make me fall asleep at 12:30. So Im gonna have to default to the latest AMC show, HELL ON WHEELS. Otherwise known as “that train show with Common.”

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

DOWNTON ABBEY – I love the scenery, costumes, and the story. I love how it really transports me to another time.

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle
 
I know it’s not groundbreaking, or mind-bending, or even that exciting, but something about PAN AM has me hooked. Those little blue dresses, jet setting around the world, opportunities to meet good-looking men in suits in a hotel lobby… some of my deepest fantasies are embedded in that show. I’m sure that’s what ABC was counting on with us 25-35 year olds.

Frankie V from Frankie Says…
 

*DEAD* 

HAPPY ENDINGS makes me laugh so hard. It’s a modern version of FRIENDS.

CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

I don’t know if it’s because if my friends Sallie Patrick and Delia Hauser had a baby, she would look exactly like Zooey Daschanal or because she’s just so darn awkwardly adorable in this show. But NEW GIRL is the only new show right now that I just have to watch every week and as close to its time slot as possible. I love her roommates and I just adore all the high jinks they get into. Couldn’t love this show more . Though, I also want to give shout-outs to the hilarious (and way better than FRIENDS) HAPPY ENDINGS (Damon Wayons Jr — who knew?), REVENGE, and ONCE UPON A TIME, which I’m enjoying despite that annoying-as-heck kid.

Ernessa from Fierce and Nerdy

NEW GIRL.  I jumped on the bandwagon late on this one, but I’m glad I did.  It’s nice to see a new sitcom back on television and Zooey Deschanel is hilarious. The show is funny, imaginative, and has great writing.  The laughs work and shouldn’t be missed!

Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe
 
Comedy – UP ALL NIGHT (Fox). It’s the cast. I can’t get enough of Christina Applegate and the relationship she and Will Arnett (who is refreshingly un-schticky) is just fabulous. Maya Rudolph’s gravy. Drama – AWAKE on NBC. Just wait, you’ll see.

R. B. Ripley from Hyperbolic Tendencies

LOUIE. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I’m supposed to pick some piece of shit show that premiered in 2011 but, to quote the theme song, it’s “Louie, Louie, Louie, Louie.” When I watch Louie, I’m 24 again, laughing uncontrollably in the back of the Comedy Cellar watching a genius at work on a Tuesday night and begging the MC for a five minute spot in front of the six drunks left in the club at 11:30 PM (two of them are making out and one only speaks Hebrew) so I can try out my new Scrooge McDuck: Baby Raper bit. It’s a shitty, wonderful life being a comic and he nails it perfectly.

Eric Sims from California Seething

NON-FICTION GEMS 

CURIOSITY (on The Discovery Channel). I think the format of the show, coupled with the breadth of topics it covers keeps this show engaging to not just science nerds, but also anybody, as the title suggests, curious about a given topic. The Adam Savage episode particularly blew my mind, talking about technology extending human life well into the future.

Sam Weitzner from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

MASTERCHEF FRANCE– LOVED IT! MASTERCHEF was great for my language studies. Here’s why: people bring their accents from all over the country, they talk normally so you hear lots of swearing and slang, you learn about French food, not just what’s done in the restaurant but what home chefs are capable of (for example, they don’t panic when faced with a dessert challenge, or octopus for that matter), you learn about French chefs, big shot visits every week for the final elimination challenge, and they go to cool places in France to do their challenges. They even went to New York City for one episode, which was disappointing because the challenge in cooking “American food” was to make a hamburger and cheesecake. Even the chefs are clueless about what we eat.

Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

Amy wasn’t the only one disappointed in a highly-anticipated action film this year. Check out the other Action Clunkers below. Also of note: Best of picks TAKE SHELTER and BRIDESMAIDS made this Worst of list; nobody liked SUCKERPUNCH, and surprisingly only one of us picked the latest TWILIGHT installment as the worst movie of the year.

ACTION CLUNKERS

I AM NUMBER FOUR. Having not seen any previews, all I knew was this came from kidlit, so of course I jumped at it. But the film was trying too hard to be grownup and in the end, it couldn’t hold its gun.

Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

BATTLE: LOS ANGELES. While the plot was cool, as with many disaster films, the characters are clichéd and just didn’t work.  The soldiers seemed flat and generic, while the dialogue just wasn’t real life.  Some of the effects screamed computer generated and at times the sub-par camerawork got in the way of the story.  There are far more polished films out there and with a little more work, this could have worked.  (This film’s main rival, SKYLINE, from a year earlier, was even worse.)
Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe

NOT SO FEEL GOOD FAMILY MOVIES

HUGO.  What is wrong with me?   It found it soul-less and uninteresting. Do not get why people are gaga over it.

Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

And Amy wasn’t the only one who loved this movie. We had so much agreement at FaN this year, that we could easily split our Best of list up as THE MUPPETS, BRIDESMAIDS, ATTACK THE BLOCK, THE LAST HARRY POTTER, and EVERYTHING ELSE. So um, that’s what we did…

IT’S A TIE BETWEEN THE MUPPETS AND…

It’s a tie between THE MUPPETS and RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES - because those were the movies I came closest to seeing this year. I couldn’t, though because I had to stay home and watch Pawn Stars instead since my DVR was down to 18% and I had to clear space for the Psych marathon over the weekend. It’s a hard knock life for me.

Eric Sims from California Seething

It’s a toss-up between GNOMEO & JULIET and THE MUPPETS. GNOMEO & JULIET is a feast for Shakespeare fans and actor geeks everywhere. Montagues are the blue garden gnomes; the Capulets are the red garden gnomes. Get it? It’s seriously the best, funniest, and surprisingly faithful adaptation of a Shakespeare play I’ve seen in a long time, besting the R & J a German company did in 1995 at the RSC’s London International Shakespeare Festival –  where Juliet refused Paris by stamping her feet and smearing her face with a chocolate bar, a long line of her suitors bearing gifts entered the stage on skateboards, and the balcony scene was done on trapeze. GNOMEO & JULIET is also your one big chance to hear Maggie Smith, Patrick Stewert, Julie Walters, Jason Statham perform together.

Watching THE MUPPETS was like looking in on my childhood, like living Emily’s climactic speech in Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town,” when, during the herafter-death peek in on her life on earth, the morning of her 12th birthday, she says, “Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners….Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking….and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths….and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it–every,every minute?” — only the theme of the movie was that you don’t have to say goodbye. The Muppets never left. The world just…forgot about them.

Oh, Kermit. Piggie! Manomana Doo Doo Da Doo Doo and Wakka Wakka! Someday we’ll find it, The Rainbow Connection! The Lovers, the Dreamers, and Me…sniff.

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

BRIDESMAIDS 

BRIDESMAIDS. Because nothing is funnier than watching a girl crap her wedding dress in the middle of the street.

Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

BRIDESMAIDS. This was a huge surprise to me. I have to admit that even though I think I am a highbrow subtitle reading poser, I love juvenile bathroom humor movies, and this one was a bathroom humor movie with heart.  I haven’t laughed so much since SUPER BAD.

Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

BRIDESMAIDS: I can’t remember the last time I almost peed in my pants in a movie theater.

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

ATTACK THE BLOCK

It is my mission in life to get every nerd I know to 1) read READY PLAYER ONE, and 2) watch ATTACK THE BLOCK. Both of them are gifts from Nerd Heaven. And ATTACK THE BLOCK is a great crowd pleaser if you’re convening with family over the holidays. It’s the one new release on video right now that everyone over the age of 12 will at least sorta enjoy — like REAL STEEL with English project kids, weed, and aliens. Okay, nothing like REAL STEEL — but it really is a crowd pleaser. Seriously, give it some love. I also adored MIDNIGHT IN PARIS, REAL STEEL, CRAZY STUPID LOVE, and DRIVE.

Ernessa T. Carter from Fierce and Nerdy
 

ATTACK THE BLOCK. Just go on iTunes right now and rent it. You will not be disappointed.

CH from CH’s Picture of the Day

Going over the list of 2011 movies, I am shocked at both how little I saw and how little I thoroughly enjoyed what I saw. I did like ATTACK THE BLOCK a lot because it was a simple movie, and I am a sucker for sci-fi, cockney Brits, and hip hop. Also liked THOR, CAPTAIN AMERICA, RISE OF THE PLANET APES (amazed at how much I liked this!), FRIGHT NIGHT (also shocked), and THE MUPPETS. Yes, I clearly went style over substance this year.

Sam Weitzner from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

THE LAST HARRY POTTER

I’m going to have to geek out and say HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS: Part 2. As a longtime HP fan, I’d been waiting for this film for a while, and as someone who didn’t so much love Part 1, or even the film before that, I was worried that they would screw it up. But in my opinion, they didn’t.

Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

That last Harry Potter – I am only saying this cos it is the ONLY movie I saw in the theater!

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

AND EVERYTHING ELSE…

Michael Winterbottom’s THE TRIP. Not since SIDEWAYS has there been a better exploration of the subtly twisting tides of male friendship. Equally hilarious, heartbreaking and cringe inducing. Plus, it makes you really hungry for scallops.

Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line

SUPER 8 made me feel like a kid growing up in the eighties again.  I loved the storytelling, the emotional adventure, and grew nostalgic for those pre-digital days before twihards and texting.

Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

MONEYBALL. I’m a big baseball fan and I thought this film captured the magic of the 2002 Oakland A’s and the attempt to create the perfect team.  The film takes a hard look at the inside workings of the game from the stats, to recruiting, the politics, and economics involved in signing the perfect player.

Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe

THE ARTIST.  Precise, moving, deceptively layered, amazing performances and a dance sequence.  Loved it muchly.

Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

The first hour and fifty-five minutes of TAKE SHELTER. TAKE SHELTER is a patient, deeply moving portrayal of a good man trying everything he can to stave off the inevitable destruction of schizophrenia. Michael Shannon and Jessica Chastain deserve Oscar consideration.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION
 

BELIEVE YOU ME.  Films should mean something and this one does.  Here’s a link: http://fischersfork.com/

Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

There’s just no way to pick one, so I’ll thumb my nose at the rules and declare that I was equally thrilled by WIN WIN, TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY, CONTAGION, MIDNIGHT IN PARIS, RANG, THE KING’S SPEECH, BEGINNERS, THE BEAVER, BRIDESMAIDS, and HUGO. Let’s just call that my best picture nomination list.

R. B. Ripley from Hyperbolic Tendencies

DRIVE. Who thought an arty little genre movie would have such impact. It was SHANE set in lonely Los Angeles, with a wonderful soundtrack that added to the mood, great performances by all involved (Ryan Gosling even won me back with this one), and great surprises (mostly of the violent sort). Most of all, as an Angeleno I thought it really captured the feel of Los Angeles. Its geography was actually correct in chase scenes, and the sense of isolation in a crowd while driving a car really rang true for the experience of living in L.A.

Joe Rusin from On the Contrary

MIDNIGHT IN PARIS. I expected to see a decent romantic comedy, and it turns out that its actually a fantasy movie And of course, any artist can relate to this theme: “Why does everyone keep calling my art a freaking hobby.” Oh life.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

Just like last year, the only things we fierce nerds can’t agree on are which books sucked the worst. Though, in a happy surprise, unlike last year, only one book that I loved, showed up on this year’s Worst of List. Go HERE to read why THE EMPEROR OF ALL MALADIES was my favorite non-fiction book of 2011, and go below to see why Ryan Dixon did not feel the same way. 
 

BESTSELLER BOOS

I tried to read A TOUCH OF DEAD by Charlaine Harris, the Sookie Stackhouse book of short stories, in French and, while I really need to practice my French and am a fan of True Blood, it’s just too dumb.
Gudrun Cram-Drach from Secret Life of an Expat

ABRAHAM LINCOLN: VAMPIRE HUNTER by Seth Grahame-Smith. I read this because of all the hype surrounding it. I found it uninspired and average at best.
CH from CH’s Picture of the Day
 
While the amount of research I do before purchasing books usually allows me to avoid true stink bombs, the most disappointing read for me this year was Siddhartha Mukherjee’s Pulitzer-prize winning biography of cancer, THE EMPEROR OF ALL MALADIES. I had fiercely anticipated this book for half a year before it was published, but in the end, I appreciated it more as a monument than an actual reading experience. It’s amazing that this subject hadn’t been tackled before in a vast canvass approach, but a lot of the time it still felt like I was reading a text book written by a really good novelist.

I know that one of Murkherjee’s major influences was Randy Shilts’ And the Band Played On, which was a much more gripping “read” (and far more emotionally devastating) thanks in part to Shilts’ skill at sliding the hard-science seamlessly into the narrative, wherein Emperor seemed awkwardly divided between “story” and “science.”
Ryan Dixon, FIERCE ANTICIPATION editor and writer of The Ryan Dixon Line
 
Note: Let me spin this category on its head. I’ve spent much of 2011 avoiding reading Tina Fey’s BOSSYPANTS because my expectations are so utterly astronomical, I can’t chance being disappointed. So, I guess you could say it’s my favorite book I haven’t read, and my least favorite book to risk reading. Still here’s hoping the hardcopy is under my tree on Christmas morning.

Sarah Fazeli from Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

This is difficult because if I hate something I tend to stop reading it, mainly because I have calculated about how much time I have left on this planet minus the time spent sleeping, driving, showering etc., and there is just not enough time to read badly written books.  Also, I get bored easily.  However I did skim BATTLE HYMN OF THE TIGER MOTHER by Amy Chua until I became sickened and filled with rage at the audacity and cruelty of people who think over-controlling their children leads to anything but lifelong resentment.  And nervous bowels.

Roya Hamadani from Fierce Foodie

HOW TO LIVE SAFELY IN A SCIENCE FICTIONAL UNIVERSE by Charles Yu.  Critics loved it.  At first read, I kind of liked it.  Now I admire it and really kind of dislike it.  I can’t really describe why without going into all sorts of detail.  Which might be why I dislike it.
Michael Kass from Single White Nerd

I didn’t hate anything this year. My least favorite reading experience this year would be MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA by Arthur Golden. I finally read it and… Wow. Just repetitive and dull.
Amy Robinson, Blogumnist Editor and writer of Tall Drink of Nerd

THE TRAGEDY OF ARTHUR by Arthur Phillips. Really this was just an excuse for author try to write a Shakespeare play, but he muddied it up with a cliche-riddled fictional memoir before it. It felt like intellectual masturbation without a climax (sorry…too much?).

Joe Rusin from On the Contrary
 
I will put in the book that I got almost all the way through here: SKINNY BITCH by Rory Freedman. I know it’s a bit older, but the information in that book will make you put down meat for good. Well, at least for 4 months, like I did. And that is why it’s my least favorite book… I don’t want to know the truth!!

Frankie V from Frankie Says…

THE SUN ALSO RISES - Ernest Hemmingway. If you’re an insufferable, rich, white, alcoholic, anti-Semitic whiner with no dick — this is the book for you! Otherwise, stay away. This is the sort of book that actually makes sitting on the toilet worse. Fuck you to the dude who forced us to read this for the book club. He hates Jews. (kidding!) (maybe)
Eric Sims from California Seething

LOSING MY RELIGION….

THE BOOK OF MORMON by Joseph Smith (the source material for my favorite Book of the year)

Patrick Connolly from Piping Hot Nerd: Adventures of a Bagpiper Mastering Manhattan

FORGED: WRITING IN THE NAME OF GOD — WHY THE BIBLE’S AUTHORS ARE NOT WHO WE THINK THEY ARE by Bart D. Ehrman.  This is a fine book for anyone interested in the pseudonymous authorship of the New Testament (or the ancient world in general) but if you’re familiar with Ehrman’s previous work, this one is a bit redundant. Much like “Misquoting Jesus” was a less scholarly rewrite of “The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture”, “Forged” feels a little too familiar.

Joshua Mauldin from FIERCE ANTICIPATION

THE GOSPELS by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Just too many contradictions in the narrative to sweep me along for the ride.

R. B. Ripley from Hyperbolic Tendencies

NON-FICTION NON-LIKES

SEE A LITTLE LIGHT: THE TRAIL OF RAGE AND MELODY by Bob Mould with Michael Azerrad. For some reason I thought i’d love this book, especially considering I love Bob Mould as a musician and DJ as well as us having the whole “Bear Community” thing as something in common…. alas, no. This book wasn’t the exciting memoir I had hoped for, instead it read like a long explanation of why he was better than his counterparts in Husker Du and why they will never reunite. Every fun story or interesting anecdote about his life in general or time in Husker Du was followed by some smug self indulgent reminder about how he has changed the history of music without even trying. In a memoir it is hard not to be a little self indulgent, but I don’t believe the word “humble”  appears anywhere near the printed pages of this book. We get it Bob, you won’t ever get back together and perform with Husker Du… We aren’t even asking you to.
Zack Bunker from Tall Glass of Shame and Runway Rundown

1999: VICTORY WITHOUT WAR by Richard Nixon.  Okay, after the initial novelty wore off, the dry subject matter and long drawn out sentences started to put a damper on the evening and Mr. “I am not a crook” had to go back on the shelf.
 
Jersey Joe from Kicking Back with Jersey Joe
 
and tango makes three by Justin Rischardson and Peter Parnell. Illustrated by Henry Cole. I don’t hate it because it’s about penguins, although I, unlike other people that find penguins adorable (see MARCH OF THE PENGUINS and/or HAPPY FEET 1 & 2 if you don’t believe me), find birds that can’t fly to be somewhat of an oxymoron, ostriches exempted. I don’t even hate the book because it’s a true story about gay penguins that tried to have their own baby penguin, but couldn’t because of you know, biology. And, I don’t even hate it because they left out what I find to be the funny part of the story – you know, the part about how after the zookeeper gives them an egg that needs a family and they do a good job at raising it, one of the penguins discovers that he’s not gay after all and starts up with a female penguin. I hate it because it’s one of my son’s favorite books even though it’s chock-full of thick paragraphs and requires an enormous time commitment to read once, let alone the three or four or more times it takes for a toddler to tire of being read to.

Josh Pullin from Stay-at-Home Dad

 
That STEVE JOBS book. Are we really so deep into commercialization that a book has to come out right when someone dies?  Come on, man.

Matt Udvari from Gamer by Design

I don’t read a lot, but I did hate this Rachel Ray cookbook I perused. I can hear how smug she is in the pages!

Sam Weitzner from FIERCE ANTICIPATION
 

AND MISSY KULIK HAS IMPECCABLE TASTE

I did not buy any I did not like.

Missy Kulik from Dork Lifesyle

“May I try a free sample?”

After speaking those six simple words, the ritual would always be the same: A smiling gray-haired clerk at a Hickory Farms Christmas stand in one of the many Western Pennsylvania malls I visited during my childhood would poke a toothpick into a delicately cut square of meat, hand it to me and the door to paradise would open…

I love Hickory Farms Beef Stick.

Like that Christmas Eve story Grandpa always told that became longer and more convoluted as the years went on, the time has once again arrived for my ever-growing annual holiday column on Hickory Farms Beef Stick. If George Lucas can give us approximately 18,281 Special Editions of Star Wars, there’s no reason why I can’t write an additional hundred words or so each year, expanding on the joys and sorrows experienced while eating the greatest of the great American foods.

(Attention conspiracy theorists: Just because I wrote about my McRib addiction a few weeks ago and am now once more delving into a hagiography of Hickory Farms Beef Stick does not mean that I’m on the American Meat Institute’s payroll. Of course, if anyone from the American Meat Institute is reading this post, I would actually very much like to be on the payroll. Feel free to tweet me up at @ryanbdixon.)

And so, dear readers, Fierce and Nerdy is proud to present:

ON THE EXEGESIS OF THE SOUL OR: WHY I LOVE BEEF STICK:

2011 REVISED and EXPANDED EDITION with a SLIGHTLY NEW, or more accurately, NEWLY REVISED INTRODUCTION (Which You Just Read) and a BRAND NEW (And Very Tragic) EPILOGUE

1: BEEF STICK, LORD OF THE MEMORY PALACE

There is a popular dinner party question that goes something like this: Would you give up a year of your life to relive your favorite day?

My answer is usually no, but when I stop for a moment to seriously consider the question, one exception comes to mind: Any Christmas Day where Beef Stick was served.

Christmas. Beef Stick. Beef Stick. Christmas.

Writing those words sends my memory drifting back into the specter of adolescence… There I am, age eleven, ignoring my unopened copy of Super Mario Bros. 3 and staring instead at a Beef Stick in my hand. My mother, seeing a concerned look on my face, approaches and whispers in my ear, “Honey, it’s okay. Your uncle doesn’t know any better. Next year I’ll tell him to get you a Ninja Turtle.”

Little does she know that I’m not bemoaning the fact that my Uncle got me a piece of processed meat product for Christmas, but actually asking myself the question that will haunt me for the rest of my life: Do I want to savor the Beef Stick over several days or eat it all now? On that Christmas I eat it all, blissfully unaware that my caloric innocence will one day end.

And backwards we fall again, to yet another December 25th…Since no adult had the presence of mind to buy me a Beef Stick for Christmas, my ten year-old eyes zero in on my parents opening their gifts. I’m hoping so-so-so much that the wrapping paper being torn apart will reveal the iconic packaging of the Hickory Farms Gift Pack — Wait. Is that a slither of the Hickory Farms’ red cardboard I see underneath the wrapping paper? It is!

Finally, we land inside a cozy little house in a Pittsburgh suburb… I am eight years-old, still wearing my footed pajamas, in a post-presents state of euphoria, and continually re-entering Baba’s* kitchen to gobble up, slice by succulent slice, an entire 3lb Beef Stick. (If anyone’s counting that’s 4560 calories, 384g of fat, 16g of carbs and 216g of protein in one 3lb Beef Stick.)

An hour passes. I return to the kitchen and find myself face-to-face with one final two-inch, end slice. I reach for it, my mouth already opening, preparing to stuff it inside, when a voice, unrecognizable, yet distantly familiar, as if spoken through the melancholic echo chambers of time by a much older version of myself, fills my head with one word– Remember.

I turn back to the living room. Not knowing what I should be remembering, I scan the room, silently watching my little sisters play Candy Land at the feet of my parents who are laughing at how Buffy the cat has gotten herself entangled in refuse wrapping. I glance over to see my grandfather sipping on an Old Fashioned while he discretely holds hands with Baba, who uses her free hand to inhale a Now 100 cigarette.

Bored by the prosaic image of my family doing the same thing that they had done every Christmas for my entire eight years of existence, I’m about to turn away when the voice, much more urgent this time, returns.

Remember.

I continue to stare,  focusing in on every sight, smell and sound. Another moment passes. Finally feeling that I have gleaned every detail possible from this familiar familial tableaux, I  turn away from the living room unaware that I will be forever thankful for this eternal memory.  Christmas would never really be the same– over the next few years my parents divorced, my sisters stopped playing Candy Land and started to play with boys, and health problems forced my grandparents to sell their house and move into a retirement home.

My eyes go back to that final slice of Beef Stick. Instead of gulping it down in total, I sit down at the small kitchen table, gently pick the slice up and roll it around in my hands, feeling its rubbery texture, inhaling its smoky scent. I then begin to take slow, small bites as the hazy magic hour glow representing the last light of Christmas Day shines through the kitchen window, painting us into a perfect moment in time.*

*Katherine S.  Libbey (April 30, 1922 – April 27, 2008) — Despite imparting many wonderful life lessons and being the first person outside of my parents to give me a bath, the fondest memories I have of my maternal grandmother revolve around her introducing me to the three food items that became the pillars of my diet: chewy jelly candy, Kraft Easy Cheese and, of course, Hickory Farms Beef Stick. Yet somehow, as a child, I never thought of spraying the Easy Cheese over the Beef Stick. This tragic oversight remains, outside of the time I chickened out and didn’t try to kiss Lisa Griffith on Valentine’s Day 1992 while we waited for our trombone lesson,  the major regret of my childhood.

2: BEEF STICK AND THE COMMUNION OF THE DEAD

My father was many things: Teacher. Golf pro. Cross country track and basketball coach. DJ extraordinaire. Lip-syncing super star. Car show impresario. Slot-machine kingpin. All-around Raconteur. Son. Grandfather. Husband (four times).

And Beef Stick lover.

Eating a Beef Stick was us having a game of catch. During my childhood, it was around our kitchen table at Christmastime, and not on any diamond or field, that we’d bond over the stories, songs and life lessons that would flow from his mouth in between bites of Beef Stick.

When he removed the plastic packaging and started carving up the Beef Stick, I’d always ask him to remind me how the “Imperial March” from The Empire Strikes Back went. And as he broke into a vigorous humming of the melody–Bum, Bum, Bum, Bum bumbum, Bum bumbum– I’d fantasize that we were actually eating a rare alien delicacy on an Imperial Star Destroyer.  While making “B.S.” sandwiches with Ritz crackers and mustard, he would re-tell one of my favorite vignettes from his experience in Boot Camp:  standing guard every night as his drill sergeant took a shit in the woods. And as we split the final piece, he’d unwrap his haunting holiday tale of a Christmas Eve in 1896 when a carriage and the family of four traveling inside sank into the foggy depths of the river that bordered our property, never to be seen again.

Best of all was when he’d reveal the secret histories of the golfers who were members of the public course our family owned. Hearing these character sketches was when I first learned one of the key tenants of good writing: people contained far more depth than the one-dimensional caricatures they often presented to the outside world. The jolly man who always gave me a piece of candy before teeing off was abusive to his own children. The misanthropic loner who refused to join others to make a foursome on busy days had lost both his wife and only child to cancer.

And while there will be Beef Stick on the table this holiday, I’ll be eating it alone. My father was devoured by cancer in July 2010 at age sixty-three. Along with all the other emotional tribulations that attend Christmases yet to come without loved ones, his death created a new holiday tradition for me: peripatetic existence.

Last Christmas my family and I stayed in the half-finished home of a friend in Pennsylvania; close enough to our old property that each trip down the road was endowed with a modicum of heartbreak. This year I will remain in Los Angeles for the holidays, away from all vestiges of home. The only snow I’ll see is the fake stuff that falls at The Grove.

Next Christmas? Perhaps I will return to Pennsylvania — my mother, sisters and step family still live there, scattered across the state — but it will be just that, a return, not a homecoming. When my father passed away, his house, the final relic of what once was a grand estate with two other houses, hundreds of acres of property, and the golf course — plenty of space for our family and the multitudinous mass of step members — was sold off.

No matter where I stay, it can’t change the fact that I no longer have a place called home. Or a father. They now only exist in my mind. And in every future first bite of Beef Stick I take.

3: BEEF STICK, MASTER OF THE QUIET MONSTER

I know love because I know Beef Stick, but I also know rage and the uncontrollable hunger that haunts only the most destitute of drug addicts because I know Beef Stick. More than once, it has pushed my relationships with loved ones and friends to the breaking point. Here is just one example:

Is a cylinder of processed meat worth a ten-year friendship?

Two years ago, my roommate Zac had purchased two 14oz. Beef Sticks from Target to serve as a continuing late night snack. Thus, as the clock struck midnight, we dug in. Never had our friendship felt so close as it did that night, when we reminisced about a college-aged trip to a local abandoned insane asylum over a few slices of B.S. Around 2am, Zac went to sleep and I was left alone with the kitchen mere feet away…

Cut To: The Next Evening. Around Midnight, Again.

As I sat typing on my laptop in the dining room, Zac entered the kitchen for another late night snack. But, instead of encountering meat to feed his stomach and soul, he was confronted by nothing but my guilty gaze. I broke down and confessed: I had eaten the rest of the first stick and the entirety of the other the previous night, after he had gone to bed. Although we have made small strides in regaining some semblance of trust, when I think of how Beef Stick affected our never-to-be-the-same friendship I am haunted by the words of Tennessee Williams, “How beautiful it was and how easily it can be broken.”

4: WHAT A PIECE OF WORK IS BEEF STICK

It’s called “Beef Stick.” What part of a cow or a pig looks remotely like a stick? Officially, Beef Stick is a summer sausage, which, according to Wikipedia, is any sort of sausage that can be kept fresh without the aid of a refrigerator. Beef Stick, a subspecies of said meat medley, is made from a flesh potpourri of leftover scrap and organ meat that would otherwise be wasted. Alas, how my soul weeps when I think of the suffering involved in the creation of one Beef Stick, the primal cries of those poor animals as their soft, innocent flesh is sliced open–

Who am I kidding? F&%K the animals. I love Beef Stick and I always will. As a Christmas tradition, it’s far tastier than Mistletoe, eggnog and the virgin birth. Like Mandy Patinkin, Steven Spielberg, Gore Vidal, Stephen King, Christopher Hitchens, my teachers and my parents, Hickory Farms Beef Stick, for better or worse, remains one of the great influences of my life and has helped to make me the person I am.

Yet, as the aging winds wither me away, I am forced  to reckon with one unpleasant, immutable fact: many of those glorious totems that made me who I am no longer exist.  With abject heartbreak, I must now add Beef Stick to that tragic roll…

5. EPILOGUE: THE BEEF STICK IN WINTER, SUMMER SAUSAGE ASCENDANT

Every tragedy grows from a small seed of discovery. And so it was last year, while at a friend’s Christmas party, I made a startling realization:  I had just left several slices of beef stick uneaten on the buffet table.

When the jovial host drunkenly stumbled past, he put an arm on my shoulder and slurred, “Having a good time?”

I nodded enthusiastically, then added, “Thanks for getting Beef Stick.”

The host opened his mouth, ready to reply, then paused. I assumed he was drifting away from the present party into the hazy ether where several cups of mulled wine with whiskey shots take you, but he eventually responded, “What’s Beef Stick?”

In Greek Tragedy, the term anagnorisis refers to the hero’s sudden awareness of a real situation, the realization of things as they stood, and finally, the hero’s insight into a relationship with an often antagonistic character. That was the moment of my own anagnorisis, when I became a very reluctant protagonist in my own unforeseen tragedy. Hadn’t several other people at the party besides my host given me quizzical looks when I mentioned “Beef Stick”? And hadn’t they responded, after I explained what it was, by asking, “You mean summer sausage?”

I didn’t mean just summer sausage. I meant Hickory Farms Beef Stick. Saying it was just summer sausage was like to saying Allagash Curieux was just beer or Rick Perry was just an idiot.

The gnawing fear that had been lurking in the back of my mind roared forth. What if the fleshy wonders stuffed within the faux intestinal casing before me wasn’t actually Beef Stick? For the first time in years, I looked at the label. It said “Hickory Farms Beef Summer Sausage.”

I ignored this ominous omen, theorizing that Hickory Farms had finally realized that some segments of the Vox populi were not all that inclined to eat something with the words “Beef” and “Stick” situated next to each other. A re-branding and re-design I could handle. But what if it was new recipe?

I emailed Hickory Farms as soon as I arrived home, demanding confirmation that even though the name and packaging had changed, the magical elixir that was Hickory Farms’ own proprietary recipe was still the same.

A few weeks later, I read the true crime book of the year:

Dear Mr. Dixon:

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us regarding Our Signature Beef Summer Sausage, and for allowing us to be part of your holiday traditions. You are correct, we have made adjustments to our former Original Beef Stick recipe along with the name change. I apologize if you were disappointed with our new recipe. As a company we strive to offer only the most premium products to our customers, and it appears we have disappointed you in this instance.

Please know that we have shared your comments with our Vice President of Marketing, and that they will be taken into consideration while planning for our next season.

Again, I apologize if we have disappointed you by changing our Summer Sausage recipe and I hope we can better serve you in the future.

Best,

Lindsay

Beef Stick as I knew and loved it was gone. I would never taste its wonders again.

Yet, as this year has progressed, I’ve slowly come to realize that not tasting again, not seeing again, not doing again and not loving again is all a natural part of aging. In youth, each singular loss is an unbearable, mighty blow that threatens to shatter our very being.  As we grow older our emotional armor strengthens so that losses, despite piling up at an ever increasing rate, have the dully throbbing, ever present pain of an ontological toothache.

This Christmas season, as you think of lost love ones, think too of Hickory Farms Beef Stick.  Mourn that you will never know its gastro glories again. Then smile, for once eaten, Beef Stick stays with you forever. A deliciously eternal icon to the true spirit of Christmas.

If you liked this post, please do us the further boon of Liking the Fierce and Nerdy page on FaceBook. Also, we’re giving great stream on Twitter, so do give us follow.

featured image credit: iwantamonkey

Unfortunately, Eco’s next three fictional efforts, The Island of the Day Before, Baudolino and The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana, were bloated, meandering tales of ephemera and arcana, written by a brilliant professor without a syllabus.

Already a literary sensation throughout much of the rest of the world, his newest novel The Prague Cemetery, seems blessed with a premise tailor-made for a return to form: The memoirs of master document forger Captain Simone Simonini, the fictional “evil genius” behind many the 19^th Century’s most infamous events.

Unlike Foucault’s Pendulum, where the professorial protagonists were on hand to explain the bevy of conspiracy theories and secret societies, the historical exposition of The Prague Cemetery is about as inviting as the Korean DMZ. (A word of caution:  if you’re not up to speed on such topics as the Unification of Italy, the Paris Commune or the Dreyfus affair, don’t stray too far from a device with internet capacity.)

The morass of names, dates and battles wouldn’t have been so exhausting an endurance test if Eco had allowed the reader to enjoy his evil genius’s machinations. After all, the book jacket promises of a plot filled with “forgeries, plots, and massacres.” There’s a good reason, however, why one can’t playfully bathe in Simonini’s venom: It’s hard to root for a villain whose main motivation is unchecked anti-Semitism.

Even though our narrator’s greatest triumph is forging The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the Rosetta Stone of modern anti-Semitism, the proceedings seem disarmingly light considering the apocalyptic 20^th Century epilogue. And there’s the rub: since The Prague Cemetery seems designed as a beach read for Mensa members, Eco can’t really have his protagonist descend into the abyss of the truly monstrous. Simonini is neither a debased ancestor to Dr. Maximilien Aue, the incestuous Nazi narrator of Jonathan Littell’s mammoth The Kindly Ones, nor a frock-coated Keyser Söze. He is just an anti-Semitic Forrest Gump, impotently floating within the muddy, slow moving waters of Eco’s historical narrative.

Despite the compelling possibilities presented by Eco’s claim that every character aside from Simonini actually existed, the “real-life” personages rarely induce the Bill & Ted-like twinge of pleasure found in Winston Groom’s Forrest Gump or even The Kindly Ones (“Dude, isn’t that Joseph Goebbels?!?!”). In fact, Simonini’s second career as a closeted gourmand is endowed with far more depth and detail than most of the characters. Not since Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking has so much page space been dedicated to Gallic gustatory. By the end of the novel, the reader will know how to cook Fricassée de poulet mareng, but still be in the dark as to what exactly inspired Maurice Joly to write The Dialogue in Hell Between Machiavelli and Montesquieu.

In its final third, The Prague Cemetery at last attains some semblance of narrative momentum. Not surprisingly the book switches gears from chalkboard dry political history to a red meat menu of Satanism, Palladism and occultism, bringing to the fore the personage of anti-Catholic French writer and Freemason Leo Taxil, the first character to make more than just a passing impression.

Fans of the New Atheist antics of Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, and Sam Harris, will delight in Eco’s chronicle of how Simonini helps convince Taxil, for a tidy sum of money, to convert to Catholicism and reveal the “secrets” of Freemasonry to an all-too-willing public. As Taxil’s tales of human sacrifice and orgies grow ever gorier and more ridiculous, The Prague Cemetery comes alive not only as an engaging read, but as a biting contemporary satire for our internet age, reminding us that it’s easier than ever to defraud a gullible public made up of yearning, willing believers with a unquenchable thirst for exploitation.

If Eco had been able to deliver the goods at this level throughout the entire novel, The Prague Cemetery would have been worthy follow up to The Name of the Rose and Foucault’s Pendulum. Instead, he has made a different sort of literary history. Umberto Eco has written the first official novelization of a Wikipedia article.

Follow Ryan Dixon on Twitter @ryanbdixon. Order a copy of his graphic novel Hell House: The Awakening here.

If you liked this post, please do us the further boon of Liking the Fierce and Nerdy page on FaceBook. Also, we’re giving great stream on Twitter, so do give us follow.