Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 4, 2026

In Which I Am Completely Normal About This AU Captain America Fanfic Turned Gay Hockey Smut Book Series


Game Changer (Game Changers, #1)Game Changer by Rachel Reid
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Did I like the romance plot?

No.

Did I enjoy the sex scenes?

Also no.

Am I nevertheless rating this 5 stars?

Absolutely yes!

Finally, I have found a hockey book series in which the protagonists actually play hockey!


Scott and Kip have your stereotypically cringey insta-love meet-cute, and their relationship progresses equally unrealistically--I think Scott beat out all the lesbians with how soon he brought out the metaphorical U-Haul. I also LOATHE the voices that this audiobook’s narrator chose for each guy; he literally should have switched them? Or just chosen ANYTHING besides cartoon “Brooklyn” meat-head who can’t pronounce r’s or t’s. I had to have a genuine serious talk with myself by the end of chapter 2 to see if I could even make it through this audiobook as-is. I only managed by pretending that these were real people, because obviously you can’t hate someone’s actual real voice. Or, you know, you can, but only silently inside your own head and outside your head you just have to deal with it. Also, Kip clearly has a very big speech impediment and it would be very wrong to hate him for it.
@hillarynorwood #heatedrivalry #gamechanger #kipandscott ♬ original sound - BGuy

I also hated that even though our rich and famous the man, the myth, the legend Scott Hunter insta-fell in love with a poor, it’s clear that Kip is a virtuous poor--and therefore deserving of love from a rich-and-famous--because he’s too proud to let Scott pay for things. Like, bro, we get it. You’re not a whore, and your love can’t be bought. But also, you work in a smoothie shop? And your boyfriend is a millionaire? Just let him pay off your student loans, which are a predatory scam designed to keep you poor, anyway!

Other than Kip’s moaning about not wanting to take Scott’s money, Kip has such a bad time for the majority of this book that I felt terrible for him. Scott Hunter was an asshole for almost this entire book. He took that beautiful social butterfly of a man and turned him into his dirty little secret, isolating him up inside his empty penthouse, making him feel uncomfortable talking to his own parents, much less all his friends, because he felt he had to maintain his boyfriend’s closet, and generally making him more miserable for the majority of the book than when he was still living at home with his parents and working a dead-end low-wage job. That scene in which his best friend, the only person Scott has allowed him to tell about their relationship, says she’s moving across the country, and when Kip tries to tell Scott about it he couldn’t be less interested or more irritated, got me in the gut. Poor Kip! What Scott should have done was leave that beautiful man alone, get a bunch of therapy from a licensed professional, come out properly, and then ask Kip out when he could finally deserve him. But some guys just have all the luck, and I guess it turned out fine in the end.

My first favorite thing about this book is how Scott actually plays hockey in it, and we get some mid-game drama, a couple of fights, gossip about players on other teams, trade deadline stress, dealing with the rookies, etc., but my second favorite thing about this book is, as in Heated Rivalry (which I read out of order), the real Big Bad is 1) toxic masculinity, closely followed by 2) the NHL as a whole (see: toxic masculinity). And I do think that Reid’s version of how the first openly gay player in the NHL comes out is just about the only realistic scenario. She starts with a remarkably empathetic and close-knit team, as evidenced by the removal of the team’s big jerk early on, and she makes the closeted gay player the team’s long-time and very beloved captain. He also has to be one of the best players in the league, and closer to retirement than not so he’s got a legacy of greatness and a terrific reputation. And although Hunter planned to come out at the end of the season regardless, it’s very important that it happens right after winning the Stanley Cup, just so nobody can pretend like Hunter’s sexuality affects his game or the team’s success. If any real NHL player actually wants to come out--and I really, really hope some NHL players will!--circumstances close to that would also be their best-case scenario.

I like Heated Rivalry so much better than this book that I’m wondering if it’s the fact that this is a reskinned Captain America fanfic that’s throwing it off. (Yes, it is. YES, IT IS!). Like, you can have some amazing writing in fanfic (see: All the Young Dudes), but it’s very, very different in most cases from a “proper” book, and every book I’ve read knowing that it’s a reskinned fanfic I think has suffered from it. In this specific case, there's some backstory that it's easy to gloss over in a Captain America fic, because we already know that Steve's mother died when he was young, for instance, so you don't really need to build all the ways that affects him into his character yourself, because your readers already know it's there. But when you reskin the brief paragraph in which Steve Rogers mentions his mother's death into one in which Scott Hunter does, you've got the same backstory beat, but you DON'T automatically get the same understanding of all the ways that affects him, because Scott Hunter's backstory isn't part of the cultural canon the way Steve Roger's is. I think Reid could have done a lot more to make Scott Hunter a more sympathetic and realistic character by showing how his isolation and lack of family has led to some of his problematics behaviors towards Kip, especially, but I wonder if he was always Steve Rogers in her head, and so she didn't notice that she needed to. In contrast, I think she handled Ilya's emotionally complicated backstory in Heated Rivalry very adeptly, and I can even see some places where I think she's foreshadowing some more things for Ilya and Shane in her later books, so she's very capable of writing a full character when she's not having to wade through a whole other IP to get there.

Maybe the lesson is to keep the concept, keep the plot, but otherwise just pretend like you’re writing a brand-new story and start it from scratch.

Other than the characters of Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov, that is. Those two should obviously be characters in EVERY book.

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Monday, January 26, 2026

I Have Discovered Gay Hockey Smut


Heated Rivalry (Game Changers, #2)Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I apparently started reading in the wrong order, because I was actually supposed to read Game Changer first, but whatever.

I’m actually more mad that I’ve been loudly cheering for hockey and reading smut for YEARS, and nobody has loved me enough to tell me that this entire book series of genuine hockey smut--bonus points: GAY hockey smut!--even exists! I had to rely on TIKTOK to clue me in, so I guess my parasocial relationship with TikTok has officially reached the next level. Thank you, TikTok, for knowing what I like before I know it myself! I checked this out of the library as an audiobook, and spent much of December plopping myself down with a big armful of cross-stitching next to my husband as soon as he fired up his Playstation and turning this on "so we could listen together." At first he was mortified, but it didn't take long before he was as in the weeds as I was with Shane and Ilya, and now I'm very much looking forward to watching the TV series together. Breaking down those gender essentialist stereotypes one tropey romance at a time!



My two favorite things about Heated Rivalry are that 1) it has a genuine plot, and isn’t just a bunch of sex scenes pasted together with mildly plotty paragraphs in between them, and 2) there is actual hockey contained within. Not, like, a ton of actual hockey, because even I understand that, given the extended timeframe of the book, full play-by-plays of every game our heroes played during that time would be too much (but if someone wanted to make some fan videos attempting it, I’d watch them!), but enough to flesh the characters out as actual hockey players, and enough to make the game of hockey an actual part of the book. Because my personal belief is that, if you’re reading a hockey romance, you want to read romance and YOU WANT TO READ HOCKEY, and I will never understand how a self-proclaimed hockey romance (*cough, cough* Icebreaker *cough*) can manage to have absolute zero hockey therein.



Since I am now apparently one of the Old Ones, and have been known to regale my fourth-wave daughters with stories about the bad old days when everyone was in the closet and being queer felt so fraught, one of the things that interests me the most about Heated Rivalry is how, by choosing a setting of male professional sports, the book is able to harken back to those bad old days and the experience of feeling actively in danger simply because of one’s sexual identity. Like, yes, I know homophobia is still out there (though not really in the circles in which my own kids run, hence why I feel the need to regularly trauma dump some lived experience truth bombs on them), but only in male professional sports does it really feel Brokeback Mountain-level these days. So setting the book series in the world of the NHL is a great way to access those Brokeback Mountain-levels of angst again, albeit with, at least in Heated Rivalry, a happy-ish ending.



And of course, since I’ve also been bitching about this issue for years, finding out that in Heated Rivalry the REAL Big Bad is the NHL itself is right up my alley. Bring back Pride jerseys, you buncha assholes! I swear the administration’s bullshit toxic masculinity is so out of touch with their fan base that it’s ridiculous. Like, they genuinely thought that their fans would overlook the fact that the Golden Knights’ entirely mid goalie is a rapist?!? Just the fact that there are no out NHL players should make the administration realize that something about its playing environment is very, very wrong and they ought to treat that like the mental health crisis that it surely is. But nope! We’ve apparently just got to be hockey fans as best we can while they actively act like they’re playing in 1950, not 2025.



I did think that the book was making too big a meal out of the “rivalry” part of Heated Rivalry. Yes, you can easily convince me that the gay part is an issue, because hey, toxically masculine NHL, but the rivalry? Um, lots of players have good friends from different teams? How could they not, when players get traded so often? And when there are regular goodwill events like All-Star Weekend and the Olympics? I just didn’t buy it as an issue, and every time a character tried to act like it was an issue it fell flat for me. Shane and Ilya had all the reasons in the world to be best buddies right from the start, AND it would have made their years-long situationship soooo much easier. Like, why wouldn’t they be friends, as top young players and top draftees and with so much in common? If they couldn’t figure out how to make it happen before, then the All-Star Weekend during which they were finally on the same team should have been the time! They publicly realize that they actually get along great! They make no secret of exchanging numbers! Whenever they play each other ever afterwards, they make a point of chatting during warm-ups, during which the announcers will fall all over themselves to say, “That’s what sportsmanship is all about, y’all.” They could even do the cute thing where their teams start fighting and one of them skates over, grabs the other by the scruff of their jersey, and skates them away from the scrum. The fans LOVE that stuff! And then after the game, their teammates are all, “Hey, you coming out with us?”, and each of them replies, “Nah, I’m hanging with Shane/Ilya tonight,” and that’s that.

Anyway, now onto Game Changer!

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Monday, January 19, 2026

Shall I Cross-Stitch You a Bookmark? Because I I Can Cross-Stitch Bookmarks Now!

These bookmarks are going into the kids' Valentine's Day care packages. Each one matches its recipient's school color!
Lit Stitch: 25 Cross-Stitch Patterns for Book LoversLit Stitch: 25 Cross-Stitch Patterns for Book Lovers by Book Riot
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The thing about cross-stitch that I’m still not sure about is its focus on decoration. I mostly sew, and any sewing book, even one confined to quilting, will always have a variety of projects, some decorative, but most useful in some way. You’ll get instructions for the odd wall hanging, sure, but you’ll also get pillow covers and zippered bags and pot holders and clothing items and everything else practical and impractical under the sun. So I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that a cross-stitch book seems to generally just show you the actual cross-stitch pattern, and it’s up to you to figure out what to do with it. I feel like you absolutely CAN do a ton of things with a finished cross-stitch, especially something like those pillow covers and zippered bags, maybe even ornaments and patches and embellishments, but it adds more mental work to the process, especially when all I want to do when I see a pattern I like is to literally just stitch it, not try to imagine what its actual purpose in my life will be.

So that’s part of the reason why I ended up stitching multiples of the BOOKS! bookmark pattern. For one thing, I really like the font. And for another, I know what to do with a bookmark!

I didn’t love the book’s instructions for finishing the bookmark, but tbh I didn’t love the way I decided to finish the bookmarks, either. The two bookmarks that I stitched onto Aida I backed with felt and blanket stitched with embroidery floss around the perimeter. The bookmark that I stitched onto burlap I backstitched to the felt and frayed the excess. Neither method looked as tidy as I wanted it to, especially compared to how precise cross-stitching looks to the eye. So if you’ve got a sure-fire, go-to way to finish a cross-stitch bookmark, please let me know!

Backed with felt and midway through its blanket-stitching. I feel like the knots are SO visible!

I loved the font used for the BOOKS! bookmark so much that I was super bummed to see that the book does not contain a complete alphabet in that font. I feel like every craft book that contains a word art project should have to also publish a full alphabet in that font, just in case you like it so much you want to make your own words with it… which in this case I did! Fortunately, with graph paper and plenty of erasing, I did figure out how to make the other letters I needed look like the BOOKS! font. The “A” is maybe a little wonky, but whatever.

Despite the wonky knots, I am so pleased with how this bookmark turned out! I drew F, I, and A patterns to match the font, calculated how to divide seven colors by five letters, and matched the rainbow in the blanket-stitching. I then mailed it to my niece in a box also containing two Eyewitness books and two size 6 T-shirts... and the USPS lost it. I'm waiting to hear from you, Mail Recovery Center!


After reading this book, here are the things that I now know how to do:
* Figure out how many strands of floss to use, within a limited range. I can definitely now eyeball when I need two strands vs. three strands, at least.
* Substitute colors. When I had the revelation that I did not have to purchase the exact color of DMC floss the pattern calls for if I have a similar color already in my stash, it BLEW MY MIND, lol.

Things that I still do not know how to do:
* Figure out what size the project will be. Should I count all the little squares on the pattern and then count all the little squares on my fabric? Measure the number of squares per inch and multiply?
* Finish a project. Do I bind the edges or anything? Glue them? Put it in a frame or something? The blanket stitching that I used to finish two of my bookmarks was particularly irritating to me, since I couldn’t find an invisible, or even tidy-looking, way to knot the ends of the floss. So all my knots are basically either the biggest, most visible knots ever created… or already falling out. Sigh!

In related news, I both own more bookmarks than I’ll ever need in this lifetime and am obsessed with how quickly cross-stitch bookmarks stitch up and how cute they are. Raise your hand if you want me to cross-stitch you a bookmark, I guess!

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Monday, January 12, 2026

That Time You Saw Bigfoot Is Like That Time That I Definitely Met The Real Santa Claus

Bigfoot probably doesn't live in my woods, but anything is spooky when you photograph it in black and white!


The Secret History of Bigfoot: Field Notes on a North American MonsterThe Secret History of Bigfoot: Field Notes on a North American Monster by John O'Connor
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I believe the people who say that they saw Bigfoot, even though I also think that Bigfoot is not real. I get the cognitive dissonance of having an encounter completely unexplainable except by an impossible reason. This is the only thing that explains your encounter. And yet this thing is not real.

Because when I was twenty, I definitely met Santa Claus.

At the time, I was a Senior in college. Everyone I knew was a college student, a professor, or one of the few townies also into punk rock and also too young to get into the good clubs to hear our favorite bands play. I spent a lot of time loitering downtown outside of said clubs, in class, or at house parties.

I hit the books a LOT less than my own children do, but don’t tell them that. I work very hard on my “I want you to have fun at college, but remember that you’re there to study” face.



One afternoon in early December, when I should have been studying for finals, my boyfriend and I instead found ourselves wandering around the local mall. I needed to buy Christmas presents, ideally for less than five bucks a person, and if some pretzel bites also happened to find their way into my possession, well then so be it. My boyfriend was keeping me company because hey, any excuse not to study!

The Santa Claus spot at this mall was set up like an ice castle, with the line snaking towards the castle and Santa himself inside it. There were open windows all around the castle so that you could look in and see the kids sitting on Santa’s lap, but I imagine that when you were inside it you felt sort of cozy and private and like you had Santa all to yourself.

As my boyfriend and I walked past, I peeped through one of the windows and saw that Santa was sitting there all alone, nobody on his lap, so I impulsively called out, “Hi, Santa!”

He looked up, smiled, and I swear he gave a jolly, “Well, hello, Julie!”

I don’t think I even replied or responded in any way, because my flabbers were too ghasted. My boyfriend heard our exchange, but he didn’t respond either, because he said later that he just assumed that random guy and I knew each other from somewhere and that’s why I’d called out to him in the first place. But Y’ALL. I did not know that old guy with the white whiskers sitting on Santa’s throne! None of my professors were at all Santa-like, and this college I went to was the kind of place where the professors weren’t moonlighting as Mall Santas. My college friends were very much college-aged, and my three or four local friends were around that age, as well, with the addition of lip piercings and neck tattoos, etc. I did not know a single other soul in the entirety of Texas.

I've told this story dozens of times, to friends and acquaintances, to kids who believe in Santa Claus and to kids who don't, and I always tell it about the same (occasionally leaving out the punk scene and or my lack of studiousness, depending on my audience), and I'm always all, "I dunno, guys. The only rational explanation is that it was Santa."

Like, yes, I recognize that logically it wasn't Santa. Logically, the person wearing the Santa suit in that mall on that afternoon did randomly know my name, or he said something else and I just thought I heard my name. It obviously wasn't actually Santa, because Santa isn't real. But also: I dunno, guys. The only rational explanation is that it was Santa.



So that's what I think a lot of these Bigfoot hunters are feeling. Logically, they know Bigfoot isn't real. But they have an encounter that is best explained by Bigfoot being real, so now they're all "I dunno, guys"ing around reddit and maybe going on the odd Bigfoot hunt and attending the occasional meet-up with other people who've had encounters best explained by Bigfoot being real. And then other Bigfoot hunters are more woo about it and have psychic links to Bigfoot and use crystals to communicate with it, etc.

And then other Bigfoot hunters… Honestly, based on O’Connor’s book, other Bigfoot hunters just seem like they want something where they can be right and everyone else is wrong, where they’ve got the truth that’s out there and everyone else is a sheeple. O’Connor compares them to Trumpers, which many of them already are, in an interesting and alarming and kind of obvious-when-you-really-think-about-it way.



Ultimately, I think that O’Connor did the work of writing an ethnography of the search for Bigfoot in a world in which Bigfoot is not real. It does mean that the book feels like a lot of… well… nothing, but that’s because ultimately, there’s nothing to tell. Bigfoot isn’t real, and the search for Bigfoot is just a bunch of people poking around the woods, finding out that Bigfoot isn’t real, and ignoring that in favor of continuing to wonder if maybe Bigfoot is real. I think O’Connor could have made the storytelling more dramatic, but likely only at the expense of the individuals who I think he was trying his best to treat respectfully. It reminds me of The Cold Vanish, in which the author has more dramatic stories to tell, but those stories often involve tearing apart some extremely vulnerable moments in the lives of vulnerable people, in ways in which he ought to be ashamed. This book, on the other hand, toyed with being boring, but nobody was victimized by the telling.

I think O’Connor’s most interesting and most important point is this:

“The ties that bound together flesh-and-blooders with the woo’ers and idly curious had everything to do with pursuit of the extraordinary and in turn with a desire to understand the world. A commonality, it seemed to me, that hitched them to the rest of us and to the great folkloric heroes and heroines of the past. And even, in a sense, to scientific tradition.”

In O’Connor’s worldview--and mine!--everyone wants, or should want, a meaningful life. A life that understands, perhaps, its place in the world. A life, perhaps, that understands the world itself. Personally, I’d love it if the world and everything that happened in it made sense and had a greater purpose to it! It doesn’t, and I find my meaning elsewhere, in my husband and children, in the pursuit of knowledge, in writing and in creating, but I’d love it if it did. Is it those who cannot find their meaning elsewhere, and who cannot take comfort in the meaningful fiction of organized religion, who find it in conspiracy theories and tempting untruths like these? Are they the ones wearing Trump hats and protesting floridated water and insisting that Forrest Fenn’s treasure is still out there and searching for Bigfoot?

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Monday, January 5, 2026

Fetishizing the Concept of "Hockey Player" Does Not Make a Book Hockey Smut. There Has to Actually BE Hockey In It!

Yes, I am also STILL slogging through A Court of Silver Flames! Not right this second, though, because my Heated Rivalry audiobook just came in...

Mister Hockey (Hellions Hockey #1)Mister Hockey by Lia Riley
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

If it’s supposed to be hockey smut, then why is there no hockey?

Like, yes, there *is* a hockey player in the book, but 1) he not only never plays hockey in the book, but he also never so much as puts on his uniform or steps out onto the ice, and 2) he’s pretty much already decided to retire by the time the book opens, so is he even really a hockey player in the official professional sense? That present tense is barely hanging in there!

Without any actual hockey, the book instead becomes smut that revolves around the simple fetishization of “hockey player” as object, which is fine but not what I thought I was going to be reading. Jed doesn’t do anything particularly hockey-forward, so he’s basically just embodying the concept of hockey player in this book. There was a second, when we learn that Breezy hid all her Jed merch before she let him in the door so he wouldn’t find out she was a superfan of him in particular, that I thought this idea of fetishizing the concept of hockey player would be an important topic in the book, perhaps one that the book ends up speaking to and complicating and making us think about what it is to both love hockey and to enact a fandom that makes sexy CapCuts of players and calls going to games “visiting the boy aquarium.” But no. Breezy doesn’t really spend any time thinking about the man vs. the myth and what it means to love one vs. the other, other than to mention in passing that this was easily resolved (in the right direction, of course!), and even when her previous lack of full disclosure causes her to be the one that Jed accuses of selling his private information to reporters, it’s not really about that, as Jed himself later said, and it’s solved with basically zero effort on either side.

@gasquatchmama Ladies, I think they're on to us...it's quite a show. #hockey #hockeywarmups #stretching #hockeystretches #fatherfigure ♬ Father Figure - George Michael


Or rather, Breezy puts forth a LOT of effort, but for some reason Riley decides to make Breezy’s actions irrelevant to the solution? And also, that podcast confession is the cringiest thing a romance character could possibly do, and if someone did that to me, I don’t care how blameless they were for whatever I’d accused them of, I’d never speak to them again. I’d burn their face out of photos and try to forget they’d ever existed, solely for my own sanity. Honestly, I might have to murder them and then invent time travel and go back in time and murder all their grandparents just to make sure I’d erased their entire timeline.

I do like that both Breezy and Jed are portrayed as kind of stupid, making basic jokes and inane puns and bad decisions and rolling way too hard on commitment without letting nearly enough time pass. There’s a lid for every pot! The strongest part of the book was their meet-cute through their first sex scene, when I could pretend that the stupid things they said or thought were just because of nerves and their awkward chemistry could be read as adorable rather than off-putting. It was only after that when I looked at my hoopla app, saw I was something like 70% through the entire book, and went, “Uh, oh…” There was plenty to flesh out to make the book longer, resolve some of these issues, and basically just carry its weight. The conflict with Breezy’s mom was just abandoned with an unrealistic insta-fix, the same with the mean library director but in the other direction, Jed’s brother remained mostly off-screen, and, oh, right… NOBODY PLAYED HOCKEY!!!

@more_than_parents Boy aquarium anyone? 🤣#boyaquarium #hockey #hockeyromance ♬ Pony - Ginuwine


I did appreciate the attention paid to the issue of concussions in sports, because as a fan of hockey I’m very concerned that the players stay safe (and I wish they’d wear their neck guards!), but I did NOT appreciate the way that the wider impact of Jed’s brother’s concussion injury is portrayed. Jed announces that he’s solved the problem of his SIL trying to sell his private information by… paying off her house? I get that money does solve problems, but not ONLY money! Can you not, like, talk to the SIL about, you know, your feelings and her feelings and your boundaries and what she needs for her family to thrive economically and emotionally and maybe have some therapy and commit to spending more time together so she’s not isolated and offer to take your nephews for a few weeks so they can have quality time with a male role model? No? Just… money? Okay…

Oh, and I'm not buying for a second that an independent bookstore focusing solely on children's titles is going to thrive in this day and age. Sorry, Breezy, but you're about to have a hobby business propped up by your boyfriend's professional hockey money.

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Monday, December 29, 2025

TIL I Was Definitely Lead-Poisoned As A Child

Murderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial KillersMurderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial Killers by Caroline Fraser
My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I’ve had a Special Interest in serial killers since the summer between my younger kid’s freshman and sophomore years of high school. Told that she could take any classes she wanted that summer at the local community college, she chose 1) Introduction to Food Safety, which enabled her to get her ServSafe certification and set her up to take a proper baking class at the college the next fall, and 2) Serial Killers and Their Victims. This latter was in some ways EXTREMELY inadvisable, considering it was WAAAAY more graphic than I stupidly thought it would be and thank goodness, I guess, that it was online so the professor never realized that one of his students was only fourteen years old, but it also encouraged the kid’s academic interest in Criminology, taught her the concept of “ethical true crime storytelling,” and made her probably the most safety-conscious of all her college peers. She told me once during her freshman year that several of her hallmates never locked their dorm room doors.


“I asked them,” she said, “if they had any idea how many serial killers there are currently active in the US, because it’s a lot!”


Whenever someone pisses her off she also speculates about how they fared on the MacDonald Triad as a kid, but that’s a different issue…


@horror_chronicles Replying to @Taylorkay #greenscreen #horror #horrortok #horrorcommunity #psychology #psychologyfacts #macdonaldtriad ♬ Suspense, horror, piano and music box - takaya


Because she was only fourteen during this class (oops!), I often helped her study, so I, too, read the entirety of Serial Killers and Their Victims, spent several months talking too loudly and too often about Jeffrey Dahmer, and, while I’m admittedly less married to my kid’s commitment to “ethical true crime storytelling,” I still seek it out.


Murderland doesn’t perfectly embody ethical true crime storytelling, but I think it comes about as close as you can when the subject of your book really is the criminals and not the victims. Like, yes, there’s a lot of blow-by-blow details of what victims endured, and that always skates the line of what is necessary to tell the story vs. what is simply lascivious, but I never felt like my gaze was inappropriate. And anyway, this was NOTHING compared to the level of graphic detail in Serial Killers and Their Victims! I also felt like there was a proper point to all the detail: making it very clear that these serial killers were as they were because they were also walking Superfund sites.

The universal lead poisoning of our older generations has become a cultural joke at this point, but it is genuinely horrifying how prevalent heavy metal contaminants and chromosome disruptors and just general poisons were. The constant smelter pollution of the Pacific Northwest is one thing, but apparently everyone who was in the vicinity of a car was actively lead poisoned? Like, DUDE, I was born in 1976, and have actual memories of the not one, but TWO Ford Pintos that my family owned! Thankfully nobody ever rear-ended us while I was riding in one, but I was absolutely being lead poisoned well into the 1980s.

When I asked my partner if he thought that he had been lead poisoned as a child, he said, "I spent much of my childhood in Europe." Well, la-dee-dah, Mr. I'm Too Good for Lead Poisoning! You've got to deal with it secondhand now, don't you?!?

Murderland had another personal-ish connection in its discussion of Israel Keyes, a sometimes suspect, at least among armchair investigators, for the disappearance of local college student Lauren Spierer. I'm pretty sure that all the real authorities have long dismissed him, but reading about all of ground that all of these serial killers covered, just driving back and forth and murdering people along the way, honestly makes me not want to rule him out. I mean, Ted Bundy's road trips often involved detours to seemingly random spots just to abduct and murder random people, so it feels possible, however unlikely, that Keyes or another active serial killer could have done the same. That's not my own personal conspiracy theory, though. Like everyone else in town, I've got my own pet conspiracy theories and, overall, just the wish that somehow somebody will figure out what happened to her so her loved ones can have closure.

Elaborating the full context for all the environmental poisoning people, especially the economically disenfranchised, were subject to was a LOT: the history of industrialization, the biographies of prominent corporate families, the geological history of the Pacific Northwest, the shoddy decision-making at every level that led to shoddy construction projects that further disenfranchised the vulnerable. That, combined with the elements of memoir, did cause me to get pretty lost in the weeds sometimes. What I really needed were maps and timelines and graphs; after a while, there was so much information I was trying to hold onto that the author simply jumping back and forth between serial killers confused me. I read a whole crime committed by BTK before I realized I wasn’t reading another Ted Bundy joint!

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Monday, December 22, 2025

My Potato Soup is Terrible But My Pie Is Delicious

The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie: Recipes, Techniques, and Wisdom from the Hoosier Mama Pie CompanyThe Hoosier Mama Book of Pie: Recipes, Techniques, and Wisdom from the Hoosier Mama Pie Company by Allison Scott
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Our theme for Thanksgiving this year (other than Indian take-out, because that’s a given) was Pies, and thanks to every other patron of my local public library also taking a particular late-November interest in pie cookbooks, The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie was the only one that had made it out of my holds queue and into my house by Thanksgiving week.

So this is the book that three novice pie bakers paged through to determine our Thanksgiving pies!



I settled on Peanut Butter Pie with Chocolate Ganache. The kid picked Cranberry Chess Pie. My partner decided on Raspberry Pie, but then the kid was all, “...nobody’s going to make pumpkin?” so for love of his daughter, he condemned himself to also making a second pie, the Pumpkin.

We’re all notably basic cooks. As far as I know, the kid has never once so much as turned on the stove in her college apartment’s kitchen. I cook pretty often, but something usually goes wrong, and that something is me. For instance, I have attempted potato soup twice within the past year, both times using well-regarded recipes, and ruined it both times, even though I have the suspicion that potato soup is the easiest and most basic of soups. My partner at least will follow a recipe, but generally as ham-handedly as it’s possible for one to follow a recipe and still have it regarded as following the recipe. It’s like his reading comprehension tanks as soon as he starts reading recipe instructions. Which I feel like is a really fair thing to do, because for some reason recipe instructions are often so inscrutable!

I’m happy to report, however, that by Thanksgiving Day, the three of us had created four perfectly passable, perfectly delicious pies!


I did not believe that the graham cracker crust I made was going to hold together like a store-bought crust, and I still don’t understand how graham crackers plus sugar plus butter equal a functioning crust, but it did, indeed, hold together quite nicely. I don’t know if the peanut butter filling was my favorite--I somehow wanted it to be more peanut butter tasting, I guess?--but the chocolate ganache was AWESOME on it, and it made a ton. I heavily drizzled it on the peanut butter pie, and then dipped homemade rum balls in the rest, and now I’m going to have to do that the next time I make rum balls, too, because that was freaking delicious.


The all-butter pie crusts came out awesome, too, as did everyone else’s pies. We feasted so hard on them Thanksgiving morning that I spent the rest of the morning with a sugar headache, and to be honest, as soon as that felt better I went back for more pie.


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