Packing for Mars

As a seven year old, I wanted to be astronaut when I grew up; (I also wanted to be a firefighter, detective, actress, teacher, and librarian—the career I eventually settled on). Though I’ve now chosen a different career path, had I still been hankering for a life riding rocketships, Mary Roach’s book Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void, would have changed my mind. Turns out that astronauts have to deal with more challenges than just years and years of math and science: like how do you poop in zero-gravity?

Packing for Mars is a hilarious (and informative) look at space travel. Roach focuses each chapter on a particular space curiosity; in addition to the previously mentioned bathroom-problem, Roach tackles the issues of motion sickness (specifically how NASA deals with vomit in space suits), the possibility of zero-gravity sex, coexisting with others in tight spaces, lack of personal hygiene, and the difficulty of creating non-disgusting space food (dehydrated astronaut ice cream is delicious, but what about a dehydrated beef sandwich?), among others.

Roach asks NASA for all the answers we (and our inner fifth-grader) want to know and presents the facts in an entertaining, funny, easy to read, and educational book. Though the book reveals that astronaut-life is full of struggles and discomforts, it doesn’t make the subject any less interesting (it fact, I'd say it makes reading about space that much more exciting).

I am giving Packing for Mars a 5/5, and I definitely recommend it to everyone. And you know who else recommends it? A.J. Jacobs, the guy who unintentionally got me started on this whole Daily Shill mission. Here’s his blurb from the back of the book: “Mary Roach is the most entertaining science writer in America. She has given us far more than the Right Stuff. She’s given us the funny stuff, the weird stuff, and the human stuff. In space, no one can hear you cackle like an insane person, which is what I did while reading this book.” So, read it!

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Mary Roach

Buy the Book

Just FYI, there will probably not be a new review next week. I’ve been inundated with homework and employment-work and will probably not have time to finish the Daily Shill book I’m currently working on. I will still try to post something, though, so check back!

Earth (The Book)

If I were given only one word to describe Earth (The Book): A Visitor's Guide to the Human Race, I would choose delightful. The book, written by Jon Stewart and the Daily Show team, has everything I love about the Daily Show: namely, jokes (both smart and silly). Following the textbook-like format of their previous publication, America (The Book), Earth (The Book) presents itself as a guide to the aliens who will find our planet after human life is eradicated.

I can’t tell you how many times I laughed out loud as I was reading the book – seriously, my family asked me “What’s so funny?” on more than one occasion. The book, which covers basics like Earth, Life, Society, Religion, and Culture (among others), is filled with big pictures and tons of jokey copy. It was the polar opposite of many of the books I’ve read for the Daily Shill.

Though the pages of the book are designed to be read in any order (on someone’s coffee table or in the bathroom, for example), I went through and read every page consecutively. And I loved it all. Even though I read the library’s copy, I am considering buying Earth (The Book) for myself so that it will be on hand whenever I have only a few minutes to read and need a good laugh.

I give Earth (The Book) a 5/5, and recommend it to everyone. It is a delight.


Buy the Book


And, thus ends my week(ish) of daily reviews. For those of you who celebrate Christmas, have a super one this weekend, and for those of you who don’t, still have a super weekend! I’ll be back on Monday with my weekly review.

I Know I Am, But What Are You

What with it being the week before finals, it certainly isn’t a good time to sit and read an entire book in a single day. But that didn’t stop me from pretending schoolwork didn’t exist and spending my Sunday reading Samantha Bee’s memoir I Know I Am, But What Are You. I couldn’t put it down.

Bee’s humor smoothly transitioned from the Daily Show stage to the pages of her book. As she told of her unconventional childhood and her strange personality quirks, I couldn’t help laughing out loud, even though the circumstances she described would come across as sad when told by anyone else. And Bee is the queen of one-liners. (I don’t mean to be making an insect-bee pun…really).

But I Know I Am, But What Are You is more than just jokes. The book wouldn’t have been so good if it weren’t for the intriguing subject matter. Bee has had a pretty crazy life. And lucky for us, she’s willing to share. Plus, the book ended shortly after Bee met Jason Jones (her husband and Daily Show co-correspondent), which leads me to believe more of these memoirs are in store. After all, she has to talk about her Daily Show time, right? I mean, I can only hope.

This is a short review, but it’s a bonus one, so hopefully there are no complaints. I give the book a 5/5. If you are going to read it, do know that the book can be rather brash (with language and some sexual stuff).

Rally to Restore Sanity

I was super disappointed when I couldn't make it to the rally a few weeks ago. Lucky for me, my friend Georgia Knapp made the trip from Georgia (yes, Georgia from Georgia) to DC and was willing to write about it. So, let me turn to floor over to our first piece by Daily Shill correspondent, Georgia Knapp.

I am not sure what I had expected, boarding the rally bus, but it was not the actual occupants who looked back at me as I gave the captain my reservation number. In a way, I had stumbled upon my own haven (or heaven): gay men, ex-hippies, and socially inept nerds (the kind that think interface jokes are really cool – and if you didn’t understand that then you actually are cool). One of the older women I had befriended while waiting to get on the bus hailed me towards the back and offered the window seat next to her. I had taken an instant liking to her when she first pulled up in an orange Honda Fit (I own a silver one) that was littered in COEXIST and OBAMA bumper stickers. We sat across the aisle from two older women who had most certainly put flowers in police rifles back in the 60’s and behind us were two guys bonding over Dungeons and Dragons references. Our bus captain informed us that he had never been in charge of a large group of people before, but would do his best not to lose anyone, and we were off.

Atlanta was the only city in Georgia to send buses to the rally and, from what I was over hearing from fellow passengers, it was the closest stop for many out-of-staters as well. Coming from five hours south, I believed myself to have traveled the farthest, but soon found others from Alabama, Tennessee, and both of the Carolinas. People (myself included) often joke about the South’s lack of open-minded people, but the occupancy of Atlanta Bus #1 certainly did not help to prove otherwise. Within a five hundred mile radius Atlanta was only able to scrounge up enough people to fill up two buses factoring into a little over one hundred people. And friends wonder why I refrain from vocalizing my political beliefs within large crowds down here.

The bus was full of chatter and debate, as one would expect of travelers headed to a political rally. Besides the aged hippies and computer geeks, my corner of the bus also consisted of two young hipsters (one of whom carried a stuffed white owl for no reason), two Georgia Tech students studying for an exam, and a biker-chick-divorcee. One of the hippies, Charlene, joked that we should all watch Fox News just before pulling into the capitol just so we could get riled up. Conversational topics ranged from everything between taxes, Bush, Monica Lewinsky, Rand Paul, Hugh Grant, the stereotypes of smoking and smokers (most of which were negative, which made me feel bad because no one had noticed my fellow Honda Fit seat partner had brought a pack of Camels with her), and bald vs buzz-cut men.

Lights began to turn off around midnight and through my contact lens-less eyes I could make out a sign pointing towards Clemson University just before nodding off. I woke up a few more times during the night (if our bus hit a pebble it sounded as if the entire façade might crumble) only to find the Tech boys still awake. The other bus-ers finally began to stir around seven a.m. as we sailed through North Carolina.

I’m not sure what happened next. One minute we were passing a sign for the Blue Ridge Parkway and then I was awoken by a blinding light, everyone around me had sunglasses on (and I mean literally everyone), and the Washington Monument could be seen out the left windows. Our bus was oddly calm and quiet as we pulled onto Massachusetts Avenue and made our way to Union Station. Already a thick line of people with picket signs and lawn chairs were filing straight from the station to the Mall. We circled Union twice before finding a parking spot and unloading. As we departed, our bus captain assured us that our bus would remain in this spot until we were to leave at eight p.m. “If for some reason it does have to move, however,” he said, making everyone freeze and pay attention, “we have a sign posted in the window that says Atlanta Bus Number One.” And with that we all dispersed, confident in the knowledge that if our bus were to leave all we would have to do is look for the 8x11 sheet of scrawled on computer paper in the front window. That should be enough to distinguish it from the other ninety-nine buses that had shuttled over five thousand ralliers from across two time zones.

Walking through Union was about as fascinating as the dichotomies of the people on Atlanta Bus #1. It was easy to see that the entire station had been over run with ralliers as the terminal was an ocean of red, blue, poster boards, and costumes. Cardboard cutouts of Barack and Michelle Obama had been placed near a storefront and I watched as everyone posed excitedly with the couple. This was foiled against the Sarah Palin cutout, which stood opposite, that people, for the most part, pretended to strangle.

I had planned to meet some of my friends and roommates from college at the rally so I sat on a giant stone structure outside of the station and waited for the Ann Arbor buses to arrive. I could not have picked a more perfect spot to perch as this was the exact corner that everyone snaked around when marching from Union Station to the Mall. Wizards, hippies, superheroes, Nixon masks, cat women, and an infinite number of Where’s Waldos filed past me. It became hard to tell who was dressed up for the rally and who was prematurely in their Halloween costume (it was October 30th after all). A television crew from a Catholic network (I assumed they were with a Catholic network because the anchorman was dressed as a priest, but maybe that was his Halloween outfit) stationed themselves on the stairs directly below me, asking passersby their reasons for journeying to Washington. Most answers consisted of, “The country’s gone insane,” “We need to restore sanity,” and “I love Jon Stewart and/or Stephen Colbert.” Two guys around my age sat near me to display their signs: “I’m moderate as HELL!” and “One of these things is not like the other” written above photos of President Obama, Hilary Clinton, and Hitler.

When the Ann Arbor bus arrived, our group of graduated college students consisted of a 6’3” guy dressed as Karl Marx, a kid in traditional army camouflage (including short shorts and a purple bandana), a cow, a sign that read “Did Jesus have health insurance?” on the front and “You tell me! I can’t even read!” on the back and someone with a box over his head that was painted to look like a TV and had a picture of Anderson Cooper. Those of us in the gaggle not dressed up paled in comparison, but between the cow, Jesus sign, and Marx’s shock of white hair, we were able to keep up with most of the group throughout the rally; a feat that I assure you was no where near simple.

To say the Mall was packed would be an understatement. To say that it was like being one of those red crabs during migratory season on Christmas Island in South Asia (where, from a distance, it looks as though the ground is actually red instead of just being papered in crabs) is a bit more accurate. My former housemate, Jeanette, and her boyfriend, Zack, and I joined hands as we squeezed through people, keeping our eyes peeled on the Jesus sign so that we wouldn’t lose our group. There were Pro-Choice advocates, anti-Tea Party posters, people inside giant marijuana leaves, Gay Rights banners, a trio of Banana People (and that is exactly what it sounds like), and a slew of signs that were just about being signs: “Sign!,” “My sign’s too damn big!,” “I wanted to carry a sign, but couldn’t think of anything to write,” “My sign is sad,” etc.

I will say this: the crowd was the most courteous and polite mob I had ever been a part of. There was no real shoving or cutting off and if people saw that you were holding hands with someone so as not to get separated then they kindly waited until you both passed. Those who did push past people apologized saying, “Excuse me,” and as we finally found our way to the entrance of the Mall (the National Park Service had blocked off the actual Mall property with fences and port-a-potties) everyone took their turn flooding inside (like a controlled dam, if you will).

The scene inside the fences and port-a-potties was even more jam-packed, if that was possible. Some viewers were lucky enough to make it up into the trees, although how they got up the trunks whose branches didn’t even start for the first seven or eight feet is beyond me. Others stood on top of the port-a-potties, leaving the durability of the plastic houses in question. While following our Jesus sign, Jeanette, Zack, and I somehow managed to loop in front of our group. At that point we decided to stay where we were, which was about twenty to thirty yards away from the stage, in between the National Gallery of Art and the First Aid tent (incase there was a sudden stampede), and with a clear view to one of the giant projection screens that would show us what was happening onstage. The rally itself was to a level of phenomenal that I can’t even begin to describe. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert put on such a show that the liberals and conservatives within the crowd couldn’t resist but feel united for once and even in our sardine-like state everyone was cheery throughout the entire three-hour stand-athon.

Since we couldn’t actually see the stage, I took pleasure in watching everyone around me. It struck me that the age range of the crowd seemed to be sixteen to mid-twenties and then leapt to fifty through well...old. Where were all the middle-aged people? The demographic was also alarmingly pale and Jeanette and I were surprised when, as Father Guido Sarducci asked for shout-outs for different religions, the faith that got the loudest cheers was Roman Catholic. Baptists and Methodists received a medium amount, Islam got an expected supportive cry, and the religion that I shouted for, Buddhism, had so few yells that Father Sarducci thought there were none in the mass.

What most endeared me at the rally, however, were all the single parents who had brought their children. My back corner of Atlanta Bus #1 had consisted of a mother who had brought her young teenage son along and in front of my group (and sometimes surrounded by my group depending on the crowd shift) was a father who had obviously dragged his daughter to the event. The dad was full of so much glee and pride that I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Every now and then he would stop looking at the screens and turn in full circle to get a panoramic view of the historic event. Each time his rotation was ended with a comment along the lines of, “This is such a great nation that we live in.” His angst-filled daughter, on the other hand, was less than amused. Her clenched mouth, hunched shoulders and folded arms made it apparent that she (probably no more than fifteen) was not a fan of crowds and would rather seek solace in a book in her room. However, with each glance at her father, who simply beamed out over the sea of ralliers, her tension eased just a little. By the time Stewart and Colbert were having a musical war of sanity (Cat Stevens) versus fear (Ozzy Osbourne), the girl’s shoulders were completely relaxed and she was laughing right along with nearly 215,000 of her new friends.

No one was a stranger at the Rally to Restore Sanity. Everyone commented on everyone’s conversation and half the time, a question to Jeanette or Zack was answered by someone behind us. We laughed together; we cheered together; we even all shook our heads shamefacedly when a point was made that neither political side was wholly in the right: democrats, liberals, conservatives, and republicans attack each other with as much gusto and prejudice as the opposing side.

In the closing remarks, Jon Stewart made an analogy to something I found extremely appropriate to the crowdedness of the rally. On the giant screens appeared an image of the entrance to New York City’s Holland Tunnel as cars merged from multiple lanes into one single flow of traffic. He said that the way in which the cars let each other go one at a time was a display of the decency that we, as Americans, needed to show one another. It didn’t matter the make and model of the car or what bumper stickers it displayed, each vehicle yielded and shared the space. Every now and then some jerk will pull up along the shoulder and cut everyone, but there are people like that all over the world. The trick is to not become one of them.

“We know, instinctively, as a people, that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light, we have to work together. And the truth is, there will always be darkness. And sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the Promised Land. Sometimes, it’s just New Jersey.”
– Jon Stewart

It's Emily again! Thanks so much for that, Georgia! When I asked Georgia to give the rally a rating from 1-5 (because why not?) she said, "I would definitely give the rally a 5. It was handled beautifully, the performances were fantastic, and all the speeches were amazing."

Precious

After waiting for months, I finally got my turn to watch the library’s copy of Precious (Am I legally obligated to say the part about the novel it’s based on? I’m going to risk it, and you say it in your mind if you so choose.) Despite all I’d heard about Precious not being a complete downer movie, I didn’t quite believe it and braced myself for a rough hour-and-a-half. But, even though there were plenty of depressing moments (and one scene that made me say “no, no, no” to my screen) Precious was not an emotionally overwhelming movie.

Precious (Gabourey Sidibe), an overweight black teen, lives in an abusive household. She is pregnant with her second child by her father, who sexually abuses her, and her mother (Mo’Nique), resenting her for this, abuses her physically. When Precious is kicked out of her high school, she begins attending an alternative school where an attentive teacher (Paula Patton) teaches her (and the class of struggling teen girls) how to read and write.

The acting in Precious was phenomenal. After watching Sidibe stumble through hosting Saturday Night Live last year, I didn’t expect her acting to impress me, (though I now recognize this was stupid, considering she was nominated for an Academy Award). Sidibe was great, though, making me care about Precious right from the beginning. Mo’Nique portrayed the depth of her character, making her more than the one-sided villain of the movie (though you do hate her).

One of things I found most effective within Precious was the use of internal monologue and fantasies. Typically, using a voiceover to show what a character is thinking seems cheesy and tacked on, but in Precious, it was natural.

I recommend Precious, and give it a 5/5. Though it’s not one of those movies you want to watch a million times, it is definitely worth watching it once.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with director Lee Daniels

Buy the DVD

The Coming Population Crash

The Coming Population Crash and our Planet’s Surprising Future looked like it was going to be a book filled with doom and gloom about how we were all going to die. That was not the case. Fred Pearce, the author, presents a warning about how our planet may not be able to continue to support us, but also shows how we could prevent this from happening.

The Coming Population Crash begins with historical information about previous fears of overpopulation and birthrates of the past. Pearce then continues to give portraits of various countries’ current fertility rates and struggles with population (whether it be too high or too small), and finishes the book with various ways our future could turn out.

What I liked best about The Coming Population Crash is that it taught me things I didn’t know, but, unlike many of the other books that presented new information, I felt like I understood what I was taught. Pearce writes in a style that can be understood by all, and he avoids “science talk” even though his subject could certainly be discussed in that vernacular. Rather than sticking solely to the big picture, Pearce makes his points by focusing on particular countries, using individual people’s stories which make the problems much more tangible.

A book simply about population sounds like it might be boring; I certainly thought it would be. But a book about population also means a book about eugenics, about birth control, about one-child policy, about feminism, about poverty, about environmentalism, about immigration. And those things are all interesting.

I liked The Coming Population Crash a lot. It not only made me think, but it also made me want to keep reading. I was planning on rating it 4/5, but then I asked myself, “What kept it from getting a five?” and I had no answer. So, 5/5 it is. I recommend it.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Fred Pearce (It's a good one!)

Buy the book

Louie (Day of Reviews, post 1)

Today, Friday, July 9, will mark a day in Daily Shill History. (Perhaps it will be the only day in its history. Time will tell). Today, I am going to attempt to make as many Daily Shill updates and reviews as possible. I have done just a little bit of prep work. Last night, I watch the episode of Louie that I am about to review (but, it was after midnight, so, technically, it counts as today), and over the past week, I’ve read all but the last 15 pages of No One Would Listen. But other than that, everything that is reviewed today will have been seen today. So I’d better get started.

But before I jump right in to my first review, I have to fix something from last week. When I wrote my thank-you section in my “Progress Report” I thanked my friend Brodie for designing the Daily Shill logo, but forgot to thank him for the more important thing he did. Brodie came up with the name Daily Shill. I came to him with my mission and asked him what I should call it. (I had no idea, and I knew he was awesome at this sort of thing). It was a tough one, but in a day or so, Brodie came up with the Daily Shill, which is perfect. So, thanks again, Brodie! And now, the review.

Louis C.K. is a funny guy, but being funny doesn’t always translate well into a sitcom. Louie, however, gets every word right. The show, which is about one-third standup, two-thirds sitcom, blends the two together nicely, with switches between the two not feeling abrupt. I watched the first two episodes, (yes, I enjoyed the pilot enough to keep going) and the issues in the shows I saw (and likely in the whole series) mirror ones in C.K.’s life: namely being a newly divorced father of two children.

The thing about Louie is that it’s not funny in the traditional, expected sit-com style (though, since it is on FX, I guess you wouldn’t expect an Everybody Loves Raymond). Instead, much of the humor is irreverent and out there, dark and dirty. The show takes you by surprise, too; towards the end of the first episode, a woman on a terrible date with Louie escapes in an almost whimsical way that is never addressed by the show. And in an opposite type of surprising, within the first five minutes of the second episode, Louie gets in a conversation with another comedian (who happens to be gay) about whether it is okay to use the word faggot in stand-up for the laughs. The conversation, for the most part, is not funny (and not trying to be), yet it didn’t feel out of place in this comedy. It was an engaging question, given a thorough answer that, when finished, naturally transitioned into jokes.

I’ve never given a TV show a 5/5 before, but I think with Louie, I’m going to do it. Sure, every joke didn’t make me laugh out loud, but many of them did, even though I was watching it alone in my room. If you’re looking for a different take on a sitcom, I definitely recommend it.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Louis C.K.

Watch Louie on Hulu (You can also watch it on FX on Tuesdays at 11)

A Single Man

I had no idea what to expect when I started to watch A Single Man. All I knew was that Colin Firth was in it and that it must be an arty film because it didn’t come to Kalamazoo. What I got was a heartbreaking, but wonderful, hour and a half.

A Single Man follows George Falconer (Firth), a gay man whose partner was recently killed in a car crash. Falconer is struggling to get over this loss, and throughout much of the movie, is preparing to kill himself. The movie takes place over one day (though it does show flashbacks) and is set in the early 1960s.

Firth’s stunning performance (and boy was he great) was enhanced by the imagery and music of the film. Dialogue is used to explain little in the movie; instead, the viewer is shown scenes accompanied by classical music and invited to make conclusions from there.

I’m having a hard time putting my thoughts and feelings about this movie into words (which is probably apparent). I can’t say exactly what did it, but I was completely drawn into A Single Man, and it commanded all of my attention when I was watching it. I give it a 5/5.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Colin Firth

Buy the DVD

A Captain's Duty

A Captain’s Duty is a riveting, exhilarating read that I wholeheartedly recommend. Richard Phillips, the captain whose ship was taken by Somali pirates and who became their captive in exchange for the safety of his crew, tells his story.

I knew a story about pirates would be exciting, but I had no idea just how much I was going to be drawn into the book. Phillips is an unbelievable protagonist; his calm head in the harrowing situations and his ingenuity in misleading the pirates to protect his crew are awe-inspiring. A Captain’s Duty is a thriller, made all the more exciting because it’s true. I cannot wait for the movie that will inevitably be made about this: Hollywood won’t need to change a thing.

Phillips’s voice carries through the entire book; it is clear that he did the writing, rather than relying on a ghostwriter. Phillips is a storyteller, but his voice and his jokes also convey that he’s a normal guy—one you’d want to be your next-door neighbor.

Throughout reading this book, I was debating what to rate it. Though I loved it almost immediately, it was one told simply and will probably not live down as a classic. But when I teared up reading of Phillips’s rescue (despite knowing that it would happen), it sealed it: I’m giving A Captain’s Duty a 5/5. You should read it.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Richard Phillips (If I haven’t convinced you to read the book, you should at least watch this.)

Buy the Book

Crazy Like Us

Woah man, I loved Crazy Like Us. Seriously, the whole time I was reading it, I couldn’t help saying, “This is so fascinating,” (sometimes even out loud), and I wouldn’t shut up about it to my family and friends.

The book, written by Ethan Watters, chronicles the globalization of American mental disorders and their treatments. Crazy Like Us is separated into four parts, each of which focuses on a particular disorder and geographic area: Anorexia in Hong Kong, PTSD in Sri Lanka, Schizophrenia in Zanzibar, and Depression in Japan. Each section is broken into smaller parts, where Watters focuses on individual cases, discusses how the American disorder (or mentality about the disorder) came to be in the area at hand, and a brief description about the disorder itself. The organized nature of the text, coupled with Watters’s easy to understand prose, makes the book an easy one to put down and pick up. But, if you’re anything like me, you’ll be so interested, you can’t help but read entire sections at a time.

Though Watters’s opinion and voice carries through the text, making it read easier than articles in Psychology journals, he does not let it overwhelm the content. And it is the content that made me so enthralled by Crazy Like Us. Though I could regurgitate all the knowledge I gained from reading the book, instead, I will tell you to read the book and learn it for yourself. It’ll give you a new insight both on the cultural differences in dealing with disease and disorder and on the mental disorders in the United States. As you may have guessed, I’m giving Crazy Like Us a 5/5.

Watch Jon Stewart’s interview with Ethan Watters

Buy the Book

Food Rules Rules!

Let me apologize for that terrible pun. But I loved the book.

When Jon Stewart said reading Michael Pollan's Food Rules would take less than an hour, he wasn't lying. Even if you don't read it in one sitting, though, it won't take long to get through. Pollan boils his book down to seven words "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants," and he has written 64 rules relating to this idea. Because Food Rules is broken into these rules, with no more than a few paragraphs describing each one, you can pick up the book for just a few minutes and get something from it. I actually read most of Food Rules in pieces during the lulls at work while my computer was thinking.

And I loved Food Rules for more than its brevity. Pollan writes well, but in an almost casual tone that everyday readers can latch onto. And the book is interesting! (Something I wish I could say about John Yoo's Crisis in Command, the book I took a break from to read Food Rules). The rules are straightforward, not preachy or laden with guilt. Do I think I'll follow them all? Certainly not. I can't afford to buy only natural/local foods, and even though I know it's bad for me, I love my sugar. But will I think about them and follow some of them? You bet. I'm going to start reading ingredient lists and try to buy products that follow rule #7 "Avoid food products containing ingredients that a third-grader cannot pronounce."

All-in-all, I would recommend Food Rules to anybody. I'm actually going to give it a 5/5 because I don't have any complaints. Way to go, Mr. Pollan.

Watch Jon Stewart's interview with Michael Pollan

Buy the Book

In other news, this should be a good week for Daily Shill posts. Crazy Heart (the movie Maggie Gyllenhaal came on the show to promote) has finally come to Kalamazoo; I'm going to see it tomorrow night. And, as I said earlier, I am currently reading Crisis in Command, which I sure hope I'll finish soon.