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It’s Thanksgiving week! You know what that means – book recommendations! Well, maybe to you it means family or turkey or football. But my family doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, I don’t eat meat, and I don’t believe in watching football*. So all I’ve really got left are the book recommendations.


Drew Hayden Taylor is a Curve Lake First Nation playwright who has curated three books of essays on different aspects of First Nation life.

(Yes, he and his contributors are Canadians.)


Me Funny  and  Me Sexy  and  Me Artsy  are all books of essays about humor or sex or art in the Native American community.
(Each topic corresponds to its logical title.)

(As you might have inferred.)

And if you don’t read much about aboriginals, I can’t think of a better introduction. Then come back and tell me which essays are your favorite and we can get in a fight over who’s the best.

(Full disclosure? I haven’t read Me Artsy. But based on how great the other two are, I’m still prepared to recommend it.)

If you haven’t read a book by Sherman Alexie you must rectify this right now. Stop looking at this blog and immediately purchase and consume one of his books.

(Unless your local bookstore community has been so decimated by online sales that you have to order online and wait a few days.)

(Then feel free to finish this post and eat dinner with your loved ones or whatever you use to fill your time around reading.)

Alexie was raised on the Spokane Indian Reservation and has Coeur d’Alene, Colville, Choctaw, & Spokane ancestry. And his writing is brilliant. My personal favorite of his books is Flight, about a teenage boy in foster care who robs a bank and starts uncontrollably moving through time. Also amazing are The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time IndianThe Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, and Ten Little Indians.

(And probably everything else he’s written, but those are all still on my TBR list.)


Gyasi Ross’s book Don’t Know Much About Indians (but i wrote a book about us anyways) is a collection of short stories and essays and deep thought and heartbreak. There’s a story from a college student’s perspective on being Native American in a white history class that I think about roughly once a week. He’s a member of the Blackfeet Tribe and has also written How to Say I Love You in Indian.

Joy Harjo is a Mvskoke/Creek Nation poet, and you can see her poetic origins in every line of her memoir, Crazy Brave. It’s about motherhood and spirituality and Oklahoma and she can sell it far better than I can, so just go read it already.

Super Indian Volume One is a comic book by Kickapoo Tribe of Oklahoma member Arigon Starr. Hubert Logan eats tainted commodity cheese and becomes Super Indian. Come for the super hero, stay for Diogi, his brilliant dog sidekick.

(If Hawkeye’s Pizza Dog & Super Indian’s Diogi don’t start a trend of all super heroes having dog assistance, I just don’t know what the comic book industry is doing.)

And if  you can’t get enough of Hubert Logan, Starr has released Super Indian Volume Two!

Finally, Louise Erdrich is the Ojibwe/Chippewa author of The Round House. Which, warning, is centered around a woman violently raped in said house, a sacred structure on the Ojibwe reservation in North Dakota, and the expanding reverberations in her life and community, as seen through the eyes of her son.

(Did that description have enough commas for you?)

(I do what I can.)

I hope however you spend these days

You feel loved,


*This belief does not stop me from continuing to lose terribly at fantasy football, a loss I place squarely at the feet of Houston. You are the city of my nightmares.

p.s. I have noticed the line breaks with every link and no, I for the life of me cannot fix it. So feel free to tell me whatever secret code I’m missing in the comments!

{Links are affiliate.}


March 2014 (13)

My mom used to assure child Megan that cats only ignored me because I wouldn’t sit still.

I proved her terribly wrong by entering many cat homes and proceeding to sit perfectly still FOREVER.

Not once was I ever deemed cat worthy.

My mom, having had a lifetime of owning cats, would sit down and be in the middle of a story, gesticulating and swaying about and there would come a cat, rubbing and jumping and bestowing favor.

Because cats are withholding and evil.

(I may retain a bit of bitterness regarding this topic.)

With the exception of bowl cat I have kept my adult distance from felines.

March 2014 (15)

This hatred was testing while I was visiting Skye in Martinique.

We were touring something historical.

(Or perhaps just a reenactment of a traditional Martinique village?)

(Is reenactment the wrong word for such a thing?)

(All my mind can really remember is the cat.)

March 2014 (18)

When my rejected soul was soothed by the affection of this cat.

I named him Franz.

(It was suppose to be in honor of Frantz Fanon, only it turns out his name was Frantz which I’d forgotten because I can remember nothing pronounced in a French accent.)

(Sorry Frantz!)

(I’m not sorry Franz, because that’s just a quality name and now you don’t have the pressure of having to live up to Frantz.)

(So, really, this all worked out for the best.)

March 2014 (20)

Given his obvious unending love of me and his adorable little face, I decided the only thing to do was smuggle him back to America.

March 2014 (21)

But then I remembered how Canadian immigration one had me break down and confess over an entrance lie I’d tried to tell and figured I couldn’t pull it off.

Plus, I don’t even know where to buy weed, so finding a modern day pirate seemed even trickier.

Franz and I were not meant to love long.

But we loved well.

March 2014 (22)

At least until I had to run back to the woman guiding us around the whatever-that-place-was to learn about whatever-it-was-she-was-discussing.

(There was definitely something about trees.)

(In my defense, I do remember turning to Skye to ask what the guide had just said, as the guide was speaking in French and I don’t speak French and Skye, who does speak French, responding, “oh, sorry, I’d stopped paying attention,” which didn’t really give me the chance to truly know the place.)

(However, Skye remembers traveling far better than I, so anyone wanting to meet Franz in real life, she’ll probably correct me as to our location in the comments.)

I would argue that my outfit looked less ludicrous in real life than in these photos

But we all know that’s not how photos work,


p.s. You have ONE DAY LEFT to win a copy of Fightball: Dying of Suck for the total price of typing words onto a screen! What are you waiting for?


I don’t watch the news.*

Hence, I often encounter stories embarrassingly late in their cycle. That is to say, I saw this Flavorwire article about Lamar Odom and fame, which was written in response to his recent coma.

Then I paused for a moment to be like, wait, Lamar Odem is in a coma? WHY HAS NOBODY REALIZED THIS IS MY WHEELHOUSE** AND KEPT ME SO INFORMED?**** Also, that article makes many salient points, but doesn’t once state the number one reason that story is news, and that is because he’s a person you’ve heard of being found unconscious in a BROTHEL.

I capitalized brothel to save your brain the work of doing it for you.

I realize brothels still exist in America (I once read and have since forgotten the entirety of Brothel: Mustang Ranch and its Women) and he made the great choice of having a drug overdose in a legal brothel.

But that’s still a dream news story.

In a not-similar fashion, I was reading Ayoade on Ayoade and discovered that Michael Fassbender was naked in Shame and then spent 20 minutes googling for said scene. It took 20 minutes because I’m rubbish at googling so in case you suffer from the same malady, please enjoy this headless gif.

You’re welcome.

(I somehow wrote this post, saved the draft, didn’t include the link, went back to post it, then had to re-find that video. Only it turns out I’m even WORSE at googling than previously, so I eventually had to elicit help. If you’re enjoying that gif, the full credit belongs to Lindsey.)

(Yes, looking up a link of an actor naked for pure prurient/curiosity reasons is sketchy but I have to get such curiosity sated where I can, as I don’t allow myself to look at stolen nudity.)

(Such as: Jennifer Lawrence; Scarlett Johansson; Rihanna; the Lil Wayne sex tape – the existence of which is maybe a sign the universe is taunting me to break my moral code.)

If you were wondering, yes, I did write this post on my phone very late at night, how could you tell?

So what amazing stories are out there that you haven’t told me about?

I am all ears

And the first Fassbender link does not include prurient images and is amazing so I highly recommend clicking,


*Because the news is the worst.

**Yes, I once had a deep love for Lamar & Khloe and believed they’d be super happy together forever. This love and belief doomed them, as it has every couple before or after.  (This terrible taste in celebrity love started with Dave Navarro & Carmen Electra*** and has only devolved from there.)

*** I may or may not own the only season of their reality show documenting their upcoming nuptials wherein Dave emphasizes to Carmen that he wasn’t that into the stripper procured for his bachelor party, as proven by him farting during her lap dance. It’s cinematic (& romantic) gold.

****I am looking at all of you.

p.s. I’ve decided to keep comments open for a week on my review of Fightball: Dying of Suck so you can still win a copy! And no one has taken me up on my pun offer, so the field is wide open.


{Links are affiliate}

{Though if you were wondering, just seemed like why not make them affiliate, I didn’t purposefully write a post to try to sell you a decade old book on a brothel I can’t remember reading.}

{Not to say that the book isn’t great – I’ve forgotten TONS of great books in my time.}

{If you end up reading it or remember reading it in the past, let me know!}