more moments in consumer hell
Feb. 26th, 2009 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threeplusfireThis review just made me depressed. It's for a book by that couple who had eight kids and now do reality TV:
I am 25 years old and have never finished reading a book until i read jon & kates book. It is very touching, understanding and real. It is not like a tv show or movie! It's real life.
Seriously? Ugh.
Now this, this was by far the weirdest thing I've seen in ages. It was supposed to be a review for an $800 fishing reel. (Are you kidding me? My grandfather would roll over in his grave if I bought an $800 reel.) Instead, it is a bizarre little fishing story that has me imagining Gandalf fishing:
He threw more casts, neat, long, monstrous hauls that shot out near ninety-feet. With his peaked European-style hat, and my Helios in hand, he looked like a wizard. Between the vivid blues of his pipe smoke, the variegated camouflage of the scattered Madrone, Doug Fir and Cedar, the greens of the waters, the slates and granites of that pebbled beach and a background of coppered sky, you might of thought Easy was fishing a different, untouched era. But look closer, in those seconds, double hauling, line slipping through guides like a phantom channeled, this final cast now, dredged up out of this rod, a well-flogged stick of resins, graphites and mojo-stained cork, a veteran of a thousand trips, look how timeless he makes it.
Now he’s laying my rod parallel to the water, tip pointing like ballplayer calling a homer, the looped bolt of line straightening in slow, unwavering motions and settling in that precise vicinity, settling like parachute silk on a long bubble of air.
When you see all that, it’s almost a letdown to watch this fat Coho corrupt the stillness, explode on the surface, grab fly and vanish. Not for him though, Easy set the hook with gentle certitude, made his way down thigh-high water towards me, my rod-held off-angle to the side, my reel whirring with piscine strengths. Every third pace or so a new blast of pipe smoke emerged, synchronous with the reel, spinning now like a governor. Here’s a man you say, powered by steams and fumes and only harnessed with such a fine rod. I’d say perhaps, wishing, again, that I could fish like Easy. But know this my friend, although I love that rod, it was Easy that conducted that day, it was Easy that made it magic.
I am 25 years old and have never finished reading a book until i read jon & kates book. It is very touching, understanding and real. It is not like a tv show or movie! It's real life.
Seriously? Ugh.
Now this, this was by far the weirdest thing I've seen in ages. It was supposed to be a review for an $800 fishing reel. (Are you kidding me? My grandfather would roll over in his grave if I bought an $800 reel.) Instead, it is a bizarre little fishing story that has me imagining Gandalf fishing:
He threw more casts, neat, long, monstrous hauls that shot out near ninety-feet. With his peaked European-style hat, and my Helios in hand, he looked like a wizard. Between the vivid blues of his pipe smoke, the variegated camouflage of the scattered Madrone, Doug Fir and Cedar, the greens of the waters, the slates and granites of that pebbled beach and a background of coppered sky, you might of thought Easy was fishing a different, untouched era. But look closer, in those seconds, double hauling, line slipping through guides like a phantom channeled, this final cast now, dredged up out of this rod, a well-flogged stick of resins, graphites and mojo-stained cork, a veteran of a thousand trips, look how timeless he makes it.
Now he’s laying my rod parallel to the water, tip pointing like ballplayer calling a homer, the looped bolt of line straightening in slow, unwavering motions and settling in that precise vicinity, settling like parachute silk on a long bubble of air.
When you see all that, it’s almost a letdown to watch this fat Coho corrupt the stillness, explode on the surface, grab fly and vanish. Not for him though, Easy set the hook with gentle certitude, made his way down thigh-high water towards me, my rod-held off-angle to the side, my reel whirring with piscine strengths. Every third pace or so a new blast of pipe smoke emerged, synchronous with the reel, spinning now like a governor. Here’s a man you say, powered by steams and fumes and only harnessed with such a fine rod. I’d say perhaps, wishing, again, that I could fish like Easy. But know this my friend, although I love that rod, it was Easy that conducted that day, it was Easy that made it magic.
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Date: 2009-02-27 04:23 pm (UTC)