School supplies...

are some of my favorite things. When I was a kid, I could hardly wait until just before school started because that's when they would put the school supplies out in the stores. Now, it seems like they start stocking the shelves even before school is out for the summer! Target has the best stuff - WalMart has just too much Hannah Montana to suit me. But then again, I'm fifty years old and think they should have Sean Connery folders and Mark Harmon notebooks. I curbed my enthusiasm today by just buying a pack of notebook paper, three composition books (fifty cents each) and a plastic pencil box in pink. Household hint: you know how the dryer sheet box always falls apart and the sheets lose their scent? I'm putting them into the pink pencil box - how's that for ingenuity at the low, low price of seventy-nine cents? And to think I really just went into the store to pick up a bag of Newman's Own dog food for Aggie & Monty...

I know it sometimes seems that I like every book I read. And for the most part, every book has some redeeming value - even if it's only a temporary cure for insomnia. But there are some stinkers out there and I've read a lot of them. Case in point: Patricia Cornwell's Andy Brazil series. When Hornet's Nest was published, like most fans I was waiting with bated breath for yet another Scarpetta thriller. Imagine my disappointment (and no doubt thousands of other faithful readers) when the cast of characters was all new and for some reason, it seemed like Cornwell was trying to be funny - and failing miserably. In fact, it wasn't until much later when I read an interview with the author that I realized that she really was trying to write a humorous murder mystery; I just thought she'd gone round the bend or had developed an alcohol problem. The subsequent Isle of Dogs was just as bad; I don't even remember if there was a third book in the series. Occasionally, other authors seem to tire of writing in the middle of the book and just end it. John Grisham has done this a couple of times and I think he should be slapped and chained to his word processor until he finishes the story properly. I've read other books with great plots, wonderful character development and lots of suspense - but just way too much smut. Nancy Taylor Rosenberg is famous for that - and I finally gave up reading her work. I'm a Raymond Chandler fade-to-black kind of girl - I don't want to read about what happens when the lights go out, I want to imagine it. I want to be entertained in a PG-13 fashion.

Which brings me to Finger Lickin' Fifteen by Janet Evanovich, the latest installment in her Stephanie Plum series. Once again, murder and mayhem with a seriously comic style. Her books are always laugh out loud funny - to the point of having to reread passages just to make sure I didn't miss anything! The plot in this book centers around former 'ho, Lula (played in my imagination by Queen Latifah) who witnesses a murder by decapitation and enters a barbecue cook-off. Grandma Mazur is as hilarious as readers have come to expect - she never disappoints. I really enjoy Evanovich's books and amazingly, I almost never read any of them. My husband's friend Jon recommended the Plum series to me ten years ago and I discounted his taste in literature - mainly because he and my husband are devotees of science fiction and fantasy. Their mutual favorite is a strange tome called Spaceling by the late (and probably demented as well as lamented) Doris Piserchia; I read it at my husband's urging and it was, well, weird. I also read Glory Road by Robert Heinlein, a classic, they said. Not for me. I did enjoy Ray Bradbury's The Illustrated Man, but then isn't Fahrenheit 451 required high school reading for everyone? He's a great writer - whatever the subject. I have read some fantasy by Marion Zimmer Bradley and enjoyed it - but for the most part, I'm a murder mystery maven.