DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Anyone taking bets that the dancing monkey boy is on the verge of a massive coronary?

Seriously, check out the sweat rings, the pained grimace, and the way he tries to mask the fact that he can barely breathe. Bill Gates ought to be shopping for a new CEO right about now. And Ballmer is in desperate need of a healthier lifestyle.

(Thanks to camworld for the “developers! developers! developers!” link.)

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• Mirror sites
• Related humor

Sheldon Siegel worked at the law firm that was the target of the 101 California shooting, in which a disgruntled client used automatic weapons to kill 8 people. This event pushed Siegel to try to do some of the things he’d been postponing, such as writing a novel. Special Circumstances is the result.

This is a classic page-turner, combining a courtroom drama with aspects of the thriller genre. The text is eminently readable, demonstrating the work Siegel did to hone the “narrative voice” (as he documents on his website). Truly, it’s a pleasure to read — clear, fiesty, and quick, with memorable characters (who resurface in Siegel’s next book, Incriminating Evidence) and accurate (to my ear) court dialog. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and recommend it heartily.

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• Amazon (paperback)
• Amazon (hardback)

I loathe politics, but I enjoyed this book as much as Tarloff’s more recent The Man Who Wrote the Book (which I heartily recommend, as well).

Face-Time recounts the story of a Presidential love affair, told from the perspective of the woman’s boyfriend — himself the lead speechwriter for the President. While work-related love triangles are probably somewhat common, having the “boss” figure be the President is (we hope, anyway) uncommon. The book presents a deep investigation into love, trust, power, guilt, and I suppose politics although you needn’t understand or even like politics to enjoy the story.

There are only a handful of characters, and the plot is simple. The narrator is an intelligent man with a wry sense of humor, and Tarloff’s outstanding writing shines throughout. The dialog is impeccable, and even better, the narrator’s internal analysis (which probably represents a significant percentage of the text) is fascinating and heartfelt.

This would probably be an uncomfortable read, if your spouse has been unfaithful. The narrator’s pain is so pure, so evident, that at times I felt like I do when someone talks about grisly oral surgery or, even worse, prostate procedures: empathy can kill! Tarloff sets up wholly wretched situations but populates them with likeable, even admirable characters, whose justifications and rationalizations are completely reasonable. It’s impossible for the reader not to project himself into the story, to ask “what would I do?”

This book should probably be required reading for couples prior to marriage!

Patronize these links, man:

• Amazon (paperback)

This is an absorbing thriller. I dislike the title, which is clearly a marketing ploy and which has no meaning within the context of the story, but it’s quite likely Sandford didn’t write the title.

Silent Prey features ex-cop Lucas Davenport, an engaging, three-dimensional character familiar to readers of the other Prey stories (which I haven’t read, but will now). He’s clever; he doesn’t take B.S.; and he doesn’t take himself too seriously either. He’s tracking a Hannibal-like psychopath introduced in Eyes of Prey, Michael Bekker, through a series of grisly murders in New York City.

All the requisite plot-twists are in place to keep the reader guessing, up until the very end. I enjoyed this book and recommend it to fans of the genre — including cop dramas, investigative procedurals, mysteries, thrillers, etc.

Patronize these links, man:

• Amazon (paperback)

I am only slightly embarrassed to share with you the following irrational and complicated fear: I am deathly afraid of being suspended far above the ground by a cable. Or, more specifically, I’m deathly afraid of falling, especially after having been temporarily and unsuccessfully suspended far above the ground by a cable.

This is not a fear of heights. I ride elevators and airplanes without issue. I peer over the edge from roofs of tall buildings, peaks of mountains, and bridges with no problem. I’ve ridden up the Gateway Arch many times, leaned heavily on the thin metal walls 630 feet above the plaza, and felt the structure sway in the wind. And I’ve even ridden the aerial tram at Sterling Vineyards a half-dozen times with barely a quiver.

On the other hand, I quit a snow-skiing class after only a half-day because the instructor expected me to ride a chair lift that went about a mile into the air. Yeah, right!

And I nearly squeezed fingernail dents into the metal seat on the Kölner Seilbahn, the sky-tram that lifts riders way too high over the Rhine River in Cologne, Germany, in tiny cars that are much too small to die in if you know what I mean. This virtual tour only hints at my pain. (browsing tip: “nächstes Bild” means “next picture”)

So it was with some trepidation that I agreed to ride the Jasper Tramway, an aerial tram up the side of Whistlers Mountain, in Jasper National Park. Face your fears, I muttered to myself behind nervous laughter and transparently false bravado, as all the blood drained from my head to leave me dizzily contemplating the climb of packed tramcars into the afternoon sky. I had a long time to contemplate, too — the line ahead of us was the season’s longest. I stood there for an hour, watching a dozen groups of 30 people ascend to maddening heights over the mountainside, imagining grisly deaths from falling and the snap of the 8800-foot cable whipping down the mountain, clearcutting acres of old-growth spruce and perhaps beheading a few hundred tourists as well.

I knew I could handle it — really, all you have to do is stand there. Like I said, it’s an irrational fear, not that that knowledge keeps my pulse steady when I’m equally certain I’m about to plunge two hundred feet into the asphalt parking lot. If I can walk on fire, I remember thinking, I can certainly handle this.

And so I did. The ascent was uneventful, and I arrived safe and sane at the top, breathing normally, with all my fingernails intact. It was, after all that, a non-event.

Queueing up for the ride back down the mountain, I was proud to have no residual fear. I even planned to film the descent through an open window in the car. Yet while I waited, I shifted the video camera from one hand to the other to notice a palm-shaped pool of nervous sweat on the side of the case — a wet handprint that belied my newfound nonchalance. Maybe I’m about to die after all! I thought in a moment of panic.