In fact, I made the Tandoori Chicken for dinner the other night. My husband and I were enthralled--it was absolutely delicious, and not a whole lot of work. I mixed up the marinade in the morning and let the chicken marinate in the fridge all day, and then took it out just before I fired up the grill. By the time the coals were ready, I had scraped the marinade off the chicken pieces, so all I had to do was throw them on the grill. I cooked them low and slow, over indirect heat, and they came out wonderfully fragrant, with a slightly smoky flavor from the charcoal. Mmmmm . . .

I plan to make this again for our next party, using chicken drumsticks. (Because they are easy to carry around and eat without utensils, they are great party food!) I know my guests will beg for the recipe--it really is scrumptious!

I have looked through recipe books before. We recently bought a church cookbook with hundreds of recipes. "Weber's Art of the Grill" had more mouth watering recipes than that entire church cookbook. I can't wait for someone to buy me my own copy so I can start trying the recipes.

In
the current dino-mania, fossil mammals are overshadowed. Too bad;
there are many curious and wonderful creatures in the mammalian
lineage. Yet, few well-illustrated popular books on the subject
exist. Bjorn Kurten's _Before the Indians_ had blurry charcoal
drawings. The late George Gaylord Simpson was an authority on
prehistoric South American mammals, but little more than a doodler
with a brush. And Colin Tudge's wonderful _The Time Before History_
had no pictures at all.

So this book is most welcome. Mauricio
Anton is a gifted artist. Cats and catlike creatures such as
nimravids, homotheriums, saber-tooths, dirk-tooths, all seem to live
again in these color and b/w pictures. The only beastie which is
unconvincingly rendered is the poorly-known _Thylacoleo_, the
marsupial lion.

Through the reproductions and discussions of these
and other animals, one gets a lesson in how different animals adopt
similar body plans, based on their ecological niche. Large top
predators are robust, while middle niche hunters are more
gracile. Thus, we are told, _Thylacoleo_, the largest nimravids, and
the largest saber-tooths resemble lions, while smaller predators
resemble cheetahs and leopards. All in all, a must for big cat- and
paleontology- lovers, the latter who may be getting tired of
dinosaurs!

E.G. it was pretty clear after reading the relevant chapters that for our family it was more appropiate to go to Wanaka instead of Queenstown because the children were not yet at an age that they could enjoy all the thrills of the latter and that Wanaka, whilst offering jetboating and biking was more appropiate.

We had the book continuously with us during the driving and it made the journey so much more interesting through knowing always a couple of KM ahead what the interesting sites and spots were.

The book could have been priced at a much higher level; we still would have bought it.

Highly recommended for every would be traveller to New Zealand

Quite frankly, our initial impression of the Lonely Planet book was too dense to be useful to us. The Frommer's guide was more helpful and the author, Elizabeth Hansen, was available to "consult" on the trip on an hourly basis. Because we'd be toting our 18-month old, we used her services and pre-booked the entire trip.

Once there, we found the Lonely Planet book much more useful. The Lonely Planet guide excels at providing abundant information about towns, including attractions, restaurants and maps giving a rough layout.

For example, one of the folks at a Visitor center clued us into Farewell Spit, an area we were going to forego because it was well off our chosen route. As it turned out, Tahuna Park, our campground in Nelson was pretty bad (right under an airport takeoff path; lots of people permanently living there; undermaintained kitchens), and we didn't relish the idea of spending three days there as originally planned.

The side trip to Farewell Spit was long and we'd have to find some place relatively nearby to the Spit to make it a reasonable trip.

This is where the Frommer's guide was very weak. It caters more to the B&B crowd, and there isn't that much north (or west) of Nelson. The Lonely Planet book, however, paid for itself by suggesting a lot of options, providing maps of the little towns, and listing restaurants where we might stop at for "snack time."

If you do intend a trip to New Zealand, you'll definitely appreciate the Lonely Planet guide.

The intro, the only text in the book, talks about the artistic quality of the photographer, the mood the models, and the social meaning of the pictures - total bunk. You either like the pictures or you're offended. All that yap about "He leaves the stuffy and outdated photo scene to seek a self-confident, vibrant generation for whom the fetish..." is just fodder. These are colorized pictures of girls bound or wearing corsets - period.

I liked the pictures. Although the pictures have an over-exposed look, he processed the pictures a second time and added reds and yellows which is very cool. It makes the people look like they are posing under red lights but their clothing is still yellow or whatever.

Overall, it's an interesting book to look at, once. From the title, I was expecting more commentary. Owning it, isn't really necessary.

It's a breathtaking new vision, albeit one that not everyone will immediately understand, so don't be surprised to hear critics saying they didn't "get it". Don't be swayed though, the art world would be well served if it had more creatives like Lee Higgs pumping out exciting and original works like this.

Generation Fetish is a superb publication and a great intro to Lee Higgs' work. And after working your way through its 368 pages you'll very likely be craving for more.

This would not do for any kind of performance because it provides very little, if any, notes as to what is going on in the background, what the actors should be doing, how they are feeling, details at all! It is simply a horrible edition for anything but putting on your bookshelf to rot. Unless you never plan on reading this book, don't buy it. PLEASE!

The short novel is an introspective account of a year spent in a nursing home. Being confined to such a place is not a terrible thing to the narrator. It's simply what his life has boiled down to, and there is no right or wrong about it. He isn't sad or lonely-except perhaps when thinking of his long-dead wife, who seems to have attained a kind of perfection by virtue of her irrevocable absence. But Hollon tempers this loneliness with clarity of vision, something the narrator, at this point in his life, treasures even more than love or companionship. Thus, nothing here is conventionally sentimental, and Hollon's prose is wonderfully saved from maudlin regrets or depressive appeals for sympathy.

Chief to his observations is roommate Weber, a man yet instilled with spirit, vigor, and the attitude of a pubescent rascal. Weber's lapses into lunacy-seeing herds of buffalo in the parking lot; telling stories about dogs trapped in trees-are counterbalanced with his desire to continue living a full-blown life, by staging "escapes" into the real world, to go fishing or to get hilarious, unlikely tattoos. Even his eventual 'descent' into the rear dining room (where only the profoundly infirmed take their meals) seems to be an experiment in living all angles of life.

As the narrator grapples with how he feels towards Weber's insurrection towards the regimented life in the home, avenues into his own life are traversed. Photographs become portals into both memories and conjectures; glimpsed scars become poetic guesses into not only the nature of lasting pain but the duty of forgiveness. The short, meditative episodes are both deeply specific, even quirky, yet carry a resonance that will speak to any reader, of any generation.

Though the narrator may be an elderly gentleman in a nursing home, this is no withered, plaintive voice bemoaning his final surroundings; this is no gloomy, baleful journey into twilight. Rather, he is paradoxically liberated by the weight of his life, and ultimately finds a kind of ironic comfort in the fact that he has lived a life providing him, at the end, with more questions than he had as a child at the beginning. And Hollon's insight into the nature of those essential questions-the formation of our lives around the speculations of who we are and what we should be doing with ourselves, and how-is blazing and precise and as hopeful as the first home run of spring training.

Not yet published were the forthright descriptions and defiance of Wright, Ellison, Baldwin, and many others. The bold fulminations of Malcolm, the brilliant oratory of King---not even dreamt of. Toomer asks---but through a mist of poetic images, through the circuitous meanderings of the oppressed---what have we done to deserve this fate? Who am I ? No firebrand he. "Wish that I might fly out past the moon/ And curl forever in some far-off farmyard flower." This is hardly rebellion. But he wrote, he dared that. From our so-privileged vantage point of eight decades into the future shall we challenge him, shall we scorn him ? Let's praise him, for he began the trickle that turned into a mighty flood.