Mystery: One False Move, by Harlan Coben

Burning through mysteries in the offhours while reading this month’s challenge book.

The next in the Myron Bolitar series (after these). Still enjoying these, but not quite as much thanks to throwaway paragraphs with pedantic tones like this one:

Win waited by Myron’s car. He was bent slightly at the waist, practicing his golf swing. He did not have a club or a ball, of course. Remember blasting rock music and jumping on your bed and playing air guitar? Golfers do the same thing. They hear some internal sounds of nature, step on imaginary first tees, and swing air clubs. Air woods usually. Sometimes, when they want more control, they take air irons out of the air bags. And like teens with air guitars, golfers like to watch themselves in mirrors…

Seriously? Do tell. Who is the audience for that? Or, better yet, who does the writer think his audience is that he needs to write that? You can, indeed, take dumbing down a bit too far.

Dear Harlan Coben,
There aren’t that many Myron Bolitar books after this one. So I’m sure I’ll keep reading them up until the end. Because I like Myron. And I love Win, despite the fact that he’s a raving psychopath. (He makes Joe Pike look well adjusted.) But seriously? You can do better than that.
who would’ve thought golf could be made more boring than it actually is,

In Concert: Crowded House

Dear Neil Finn,
I honestly thought this night would never happen. I mean, first the band either broke up or just stopped playing together, whichever. Then one of the members died (committed suicide, if I recall?). And sure, I went to see you do a solo show in New York, and that was fine, I can dig your solo stuff. But honestly? Hearing “Weather With You”? Live and in person? (Preceded by “Don’t Dream It’s Over” and followed by “7 Worlds Collide”)
I can die happy now,
Smooches, CMS

To Whom It May Concern:

A customer comment I sent to Philosophy today:

Why oh why did you discontinue the Orange Sherbet? It was SOOOOO MUCH better than the Mimosa. In fact, it was so much better that I cannot even stand to sniff the Mimosa, as it is just a sad, sad imitation and not worthy.

If there are any bottles of Orange Sherbet left in the warehouse that I could in some way purchase, please do not hesitate to let me know.
I am very sad.

my hair misses it the most,

Open Letter to The Shins

Dear Goofy Albuquerque/Now Living in Portland Boys,
You need to fire the copyeditor/proofreader of your liner notes. Seriously. And James Mercer, if it’s you…you’re smarter than this.
“Reign” = what a king or queen does. i.e. “rule”
“Rein” = the leather stringy bits that you pull back on to slow down a horse, or a fast situation, or what have you.
When you sing, in Turn on Me “You always had to hold the reigns“, you mean reins.
Still love you, but come on, that’s an easy one,
smooches, CMS

Old dog, old tricks.

Dear Cranky Monkey Butt,
Never buy special limited edition Kitkats for your dad if you are not sending them RIGHT THEN because you know what will happen? YOU WILL EAT THEM YOURSELF. Or at least some of them.
haven’t we been over this before?

I am such a good cousin. And – Boys Suck. As usual.

Here’s an email response I wrote for one of my cousins who has a jackhat sending her the most ridiculous emails on earth. The items in bold = those are where I am quoting him back at him.
Dear [name removed to protect the GUILTY],
When I said “I won’t meet up with you for dinner”, I was being honest to where my feelings were at the time, but not entirely true of my overall feelings about you. I did not mean “I won’t meet up with you for dinner next week”, I meant “I do not want to see you, speak to you, or get emails from you ever again.” By “next week”, I meant “for eternity.” By “I won’t meet up with you,” I meant “I do not want you in my life.” I just thought you should know that–however hurtful it may be. I just have a difficult time understanding when there are what I perceive as conflicting desires. I’m sorry for how I’ve interpreted my feelings.
I hope they are clear to you now.
please do not contact me ever again, stupid moron,
[name removed to protect the INNOCENT].