Recommend something to me! Especially nonfiction - I really don't read much of that, so I can promise that I'll never have read whatever you recommend! (Whereas if you recommend anything kidlit or YA there's better than even odds that I've read it.)
Later I'll post up my own list of random recommendations for everybody, but right now I really must dash.
Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death, so I thought I'd feature some appropriate cakes. However, I realize many of our younger readers may not be familiar with The King. So listen up, whipper snappers! Picture an older, more talented, better looking, Southern Justin Bieber wearing a white, bedazzled jumpsuit.
Also, he may or may not be dead.
Maybe don't picture that part.
Right. All together now? Then let's get started!
This is Elvis:
Rawr! Ffft ffft...
...is not Elvis. I'm thinking either Ray Liotta or Wayne Newton.
John claims this looks like Jimmy Durante. It's like I don't even know who he is anymore. (John, I mean. Jimmy I had to wiki.)
I'm going with Liza Minelli.
Oh! Wait! I know this one!
The Brawny paper towel guy!
And finally, Elvis:
Queen Amidala. Or maybe one of the guys from Menudo. (Thanks, John!)
No, no, I'm staying with Amidala.
Thanks to Paula H., Diana C., Connie B., and Chrissy K. who are all, collectively, nuthin' but hound dogs. And oh! The crying! ALL the TIME! Enough, already!
Ah thank you. Thankyouverramuuuch.
Update from john: The Munsters! The last one looks like the kid from The Munsters! I knew it was something with an "M" from my childhood.
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:
just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.
She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once
as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
-rainer maria rilke