The Bourne Legacy (Jason Bourne, #4)

by Eric Van Lustbader

Robert Ludlum's Bourne saga continues after Ludlum's death. While this installment doesn't lack in action and suspense, there were a few elements in the story I find hard to swallow. The relationship between Bourne and his son Joshua, for instance, is really hard to believe. For two thirds of the book Joshua is trying to kill Bourne, because Bourne abandoned him as a child in Cambodia, while believing the boy was dead??? I like the idea of the son coming around and changing his mind from wanting to kill his father to learning to like him, but...couldn't he have another, stronger motif to hate enough to kill? Also, he finds Bourne way too easy every time Bourne evades him.

Another implausible plot element was the villain Spalko. There's a conspiracy to kill the heads of states at a terrorism conference, for which Spako recruits Chechen radical Islamists, but there's never a reason why he wants to kill the leaders and what is he supposed to gain from it. Since he is obviously a very calculated character, and an atheist with it, there could be no religious motivation, and no alternative was given. Additionally, his own story, which he always replaces with lies, is never presented to readers.

If all you're looking for is action, fighting scenes and entertainment, you'll love this book. However, if you'd like a plausible multiple-layered plot as we come to expect from Ludlum, you will be disappointed. Lustbader is NOT Ludlum, and, sadly, it shows in this book.

35 k

It was a gorgeous morning, chilly but sunny. I managed to do the full 35 km long run, albeit very slow, around 6 min/km. The injured hamstring was quiet the whole time, which is great news. I ran like Andre Agassi, really small steps, so I wouldn't pull the muscle again and it paid off. Just have to continue the same way, not let myself get carried away and speed up the pace. In the past month every time I dared to go faster it ended in re-injury. Not going to let it happen this time!

Mom's coming

My mom is coming to visit us on April Fools Day. No kidding! She's already beside herself from excitement and panic. Mom is very prone to panic about the smallest things. Now she's convinced herself that at her age (72) intercontinental travel is a gigantic effort and, accordingly, she panics about every segment: from having to use e-tickets instead of the old fashioned paper ones, to not being able to speak English. Of course, none of these things bothered her on previous three visits to Canada.

Four Hands One Guitar

I've heard of two players playing a piano, but never heard of two guitarists playing one guitar. Well, this is when the picture—or, rather video—talks instead of words. Check it out.

Running again

My hamstring muscles are like guitar strings which have been tightened too much. Last Thursday, for no apparent reason, something snapped in the back of my right thigh (again). In the following few days there was a lot of pain when I walked. Today, almost a week later, is the first day I dared to run since it happened.

In the meantime, the emails from Boston Athletic Association are becoming more frequent. The race bib numbers have been assigned--mine is 4599. Funny--check the first two digits: my 45th birthday falls on the day of the marathon. I should be excited about it, but I'm actually terrified. Wish I could have done more training. Well, it seems that I'll go to Boston more for tourism than racing. :(

"Silent Screams," a novel

by C.E. Lawrence

A murder mystery told through—not a cop, as one would expect, but a criminal profiler Lee Campbell. He has problems on his own, trying to cope with the disappearance of his sister 5 years earlier , which subsequently led to his nervous breakdown, from which he emerges as a shaken-up NYPD criminal profiler. He is facing off against "Slasher," a serial killer and religious fanatic who is killing pretty young Catholic girls around New York and leaves the bodies sprawled at the altars of various churches with the Bible verses carved into their torsos. With each new victim Slasher becomes more brazen. He contacts Campbell on several occasions and even visits him in hospital where Campbell is recovering from meningitis. As the suspense builds toward the end, so does the absurdity of the characters and the interaction between good and bad guys.

C.E. Lawrence pays unhealthy attention to details and often interrupts nicely flowing dialogue or action, to describe elements of the surrounding environment irrelevant for the story. That breaks the flow and often slows the already slow pace of the story. As we reach the culmination, the situation becomes less believable and ends up in anticlimax.

Lee Campbell's character is solidly built, but unfortunately other characters don't have the same depth. The bad guys almost seem like work in progress to which a lot remains to be added.

Although significantly better than Dean Koontz's novel I read ("Your Heart Belongs to Me," the only Koontz I'll ever read--life's too short to be wasted on bad books), overall "Silent Screams" is a disappointment, although I could see it being a sufficient entertainment for a long flight. Beats the in-flight magazine, in any case.

Back to the Stone Age with ING Direct

ING Direct offers high-interest savings accounts with no transaction fees. Who could resist something like that! A year ago Meg and I opened the joint savings account with ING, where we grow interest on our savings before it's all gone toward the mortgage. We easily transfer the money to our regular banking accounts via the web site.

But, a few months ago, I dared to do unspeakable--I changed my bank account. That's when the troubles began. See, ING requires pre-printed personal cheques in order to link my savings account with the new banking account. But, I don't use cheques any longer, in the day and age of Internet and digital transactions. Over the phone, the ING representative told me that I can send them a direct deposit form from my bank so they can link the accounts. In the meantime, ING still does the automatic withdrawal from Meg's bank every month, but because of the broken link with my bank, our account is practically frozen.

So, this week I finally found some time to go to the bank, get the requested form and send it to ING. Alas, that's not enough! They failed to inform me that the form needs to be stamped and signed by the bank representative.

By now, of course, I have enough. The form I sent them has my signature and authorization to my bank to disclose the account information to ING. But, that's not enough for ING! Over the phone they tell me that they can only accept stamped document. I ask why. Because, they say, anyone can forge the document with my signature. As if a stamp can't be forged! I'm thinking it would take me probably 2 minutes to scan a stamp from a document from the bank and print it on the form. But, I don't do forgery!

By now I'm already fuming. I tell the ING guy on the phone that I don't want to go back to the bank, that I don't need to have access to that savings account and that I would like to close it and leave Meg as a sole owner of the account.

Sure, they can do it, as soon as I send them the form with the bank's stamp and a signature. Now I'm completely livid! Is there anyone who can help me close the account? He will gladly transfer me to the supervisor, but he's afraid the company's policy is to obtain the stamped document and no one can authorize the closing of the account without it. I tell him in 21st century there are so many ways to check the validity of the information I gave him--the obvious one would be to call the bank and obtain the confirmation for which I already authorized them. But, no--ING does not recognize any other means of confirmation. No digital files, no copy of my drivers licence, only the DAMNED STAMPED direct deposit FORM from the bank!!!

I'm defeated. On Monday I'll go back to the 20th century, walk to my bank and get the stupid stamp so I can close my own freakin' account. ING Direct, my ass! They should be called ING INdirect!

Tears and fears

Meg has a soap opera at work: the company changed the manager of Meg's department, the girls from the department don't like the new boss woman (they say she's disorganized and sloppy) and are teaming up against her. It looks like they want to start a revolution. The problem is, there's no room for democracy in the corporate environment, and someone may soon end up on the street. Meg doesn't want any part in this and as a result she spends her lunch breaks wandering alone through the neighborhood, to stay away from the gossip and scheming, which usually happens in the dining room. Then she comes home hungry, having left her lunch untouched to avoid the dining room at all cost.

The politics within the department divides the girls against the boss, and Meg is expected to take a side, what she refuses to do. As a result she belongs nowhere and feels utterly alone.

In the morning, as we drive to work, I see the dread in Meg's eyes. This morning she reminded me of a student first-grader, who is terrified of frogs, but is forced to dissect them in the class. Her eyes were teary, her lips were trembling, her voice unsteady. Yet, she swallowed her resentment and managed the strength to walk unfalteringly into the building and get on with the day. I can tell the whole situation is taking toll on her, and it breaks my heart to see her so unhappy and not being able to help her. The whole week I've been trying silly jokes, I goofed around, tried to elicit a smile, but never got more than a half-smile. Her mind was always somewhere else.

Tonight we went for sushi (Meg's all-time favorite dinner), topped it with a beer (me) and an alcoholized lemonade (Meg) in our local pub. She's now smiling and even singing. I'm not sure is it because she finally got over the situation (unlikely), or because of the drink and the weekend break from work. In any case, it's nice to see her smile again.

The Short Stories [The First 49 Stories]

by Ernest Hemingway

Early works of the old master. Although some of them seem a bit unpolished and read like stylistic exercises, Hemingway's short stories are still a must-read for any lover of good prose, and any aspiring storyteller.

Back to training after physio

I'm running out of time lately to do pretty much anything. I had to revert to running after work, because of the injured hamstring, which doesn't leave much time for anything else. Not that I did much running anyway. Last two weeks I rested the leg, slacked on training and went to physiotherapy. Finally, there was no delaying it any longer, and I did the 32k run on Saturday. I went much slower than usually, consciously shortening the stride so not to re-injure the hamstring. It took me 3 hrs and 10 min, but I felt strangely fresh afterwards, able to walk around and accompany Meg for grocery shopping. Maybe all is not lost yet for the Boston marathon.