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Powell's Staff:
Five Book Friday: In Memoriam
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Every year, the booksellers at Powell’s submit their Top Fives: their five favorite books that were released in 2023. It’s a list that, when put together, shows just how varied and interesting the book tastes of Powell’s booksellers are. I highly recommend digging into the recommendations — we would never lead you astray — but today...
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Brontez Purnell:
Powell’s Q&A: Brontez Purnell, author of ‘Ten Bridges I’ve Burnt’
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Rachael P.:
Starter Pack: Where to Begin with Ursula K. Le Guin
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Don't Ask What I Shot: How President Eisenhower's Love of Golf Helped Shape 1950's America
by
Lewis, Catherine
toddsentell
, March 28, 2007
REPUBLICAN PROVES GOLF IS A DEMOCRATIC GAME! Imagine the rumpus if Dwight Eisenhower was bowling when some international calamity cropped up. In his two terms as president—spanning 1953 to 1961—he was usually on the golf course when they did. Better to receive heavy news in spikes than in three-tone bowling shoes. In Catherine Lewis’ revealing new book, the Atlanta-based golf historian and Kennesaw State University professor tells an intimate story about a President’s obsession—an obsession so passionate that at times you wonder if he cared what America thought about how he spent his work time. Free time, too. Eisenhower cared what America thought. Golf addicts, though, just can’t help themselves. The 1950s was a time when an average American didn’t know what their President was doing every minute. We do today, whether we like it or not, and seeing Presidents in jogging togs or delivering insignificant speeches they’ve been pushed to deliver just ain’t that inspiring. Eisenhower played golf nearly eight hundred times while he was in office. He was the first President to have a putting green installed on the grounds of the White House. It wasn’t his idea—it was the USGA’s—but Eisenhower saw its completion a little over a year after he was sworn in the first time. Eisenhower played at the nation’s most exclusive golf and country clubs. Most of the time he was seen, and even photographed, with a golf club in his hand. He recuperated from heart attacks by playing golf. He had some golf pals named Snead and Hogan. Jones. He snuck out of the office like everyone else—even though it was the oval one—to whack nuts and he always came back to the office less agitated. He was already a member of Augusta National Golf Club before his first term and made twenty-nine trips to his club during his two terms, sporting a handicap between 14 and 18. He broke 80 four times in eight years. He paid dues to Augusta National Golf Club like every other member. He had a big pine tree on the 17th hole named after him. A cabin, too. Addiction satisfied. Lewis eloquently tells us that America’s attitude toward their golf nut president was positive when things were swell. During his presidency, the birth control pill was introduced. Polyester was invented. He did something he loved—a lot—when things weren’t so swell in 1950’s America, but it wasn’t scandalous. It wasn’t impeachable. But his magnificent addiction made more Americans aware of the sport and Eisenhower publicly proved you didn’t have to be good at golf to enjoy it. You really didn’t have to know what he shot … because in this book you learn that Presidents of the United States finally do something right sometimes, even if it’s way over par. —Todd Sentell, Author of Toonamint of Champions: How LaJuanita Mumps Got to Join Augusta National Golf Club Real Easy
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Toonamint of Champions: How Lajuanita Mumps Got to Join Augusta National Golf Club Real Easy
by
Todd Sentell
toddsentell
, January 09, 2007
"Hilarity for adults ... perhaps the funniest novel of the year." ?Films and Books Magazine A Clarion Review by M. Wayne Cunningham of ForeWard Magazine If it?s wacky you want, it?s wacky you?ll get with Toonamint of Champions, Georgia humorist Todd Sentell?s spoof about a golf nut?s lifelong dream to putt around the Augusta National Golf Course, and, as a bonus, have his non-golfing hairdresser girlfriend, LaJuanita Mumps, pinned as ?the first ever? female member of the club. Where else but in Sentell?s bubbly imagination could a kooky hero like Waymon Poodle from Mullet Luv, Georgia rise to the top? A constant daydreamer with one blue eye and one green, his office is located ?right by the condom and genital lubricant counter? of a busy supermarket. He?s so addicted to golf he rents only apartments numbered 1931 to commemorate the year Bobby Jones debuted at the Augusta Masters. His bedroom replicates the course, and, believe it or not, he prefers golfing to giving up his virginity to LaJuanita despite her come-ons. To complicate the comedy, Waymon?s duffer of a supervisor is also named Waymon, which leads to several convoluted conversations reminiscent of Abbott and Costello routines. Toss in Poodle?s paranoia about Giant Cicada Killer Wasps and their impending take over of Augusta?s famous twelfth hole?despite the attempts of entomology professor, Jeevpil Biswapati, and his flamethrower?and you end up with a ?toonamint? even the Marx brothers would roll their eyes at. Sentell?s nine years as ?the director of sales and marketing for an ootsie-tootsie private golf club? gives him the background material for carving up golf?s sacred rituals and icons of the greens. His expertise as an established humorist has him operating with wit and polish. The problem with humor, though, is that what tickles one man?s funny bone may aggravate another?s. Some readers may find the raunchy fondling between Augusta?s 79-year-old receptionist, Betty Simpson, and 42-year-old head accountant, Frank Johnson (a.k.a.: Emiglio Rafsooliwicki) not as hilarious as the author had hoped. Others may shy away from our hero?s abortive attempts to cover up Betty?s Bermuda grass when she hikes her skirt to give Chi Chi Rodriguez a peek at her private turf. On the other hand, Waymon?s volunteer position?position number 1931, by the way?as ?Manager of the Rope at the Practice Facility Invitee Entrance and Exit,? and his round of golf with The Golden Bear lead to moments of universal fun. His initial telephone conversation with Rafsooliwicki is true classic comedy, while the episode of his orange jacket among all the green jackets in the Augusta club?s dining room is Mastersful satire. Regardless of which way your funny bone swings, Sentell?s Toonamint of Champions will give a brand new meaning to ?par for the course.? Reviewed by Bill Ott, Senior Editor of Booklist Golf inspires its share of mystical celebration, but it also provides fertile ground for low comedy?take Caddyshack, or the novels of Dan Jenkins and Rick Reilly. When it comes to over-the-top slapstick, though, golf journalist Sentell makes Jenkins and Reilly look like somber social realists out of the Emile Zola school. Summarizing the plot of a farce filled with fart jokes is treacherous, but here goes: Waymon Poodle, the best damn bank teller in Mullet Luv, Georgia, dreams of playing a round of golf at Augusta National Golf Club, home of the Masters. Sentell?s novel purports to tell us how Waymon tries to achieve his goal, but its real purpose is to expose ?what goes on behind the gates of ootsie tootsie private clubs.? Are we really expected to believe that the chairman of the ootsiest-tootsiest private club in America goes by the nickname of Huge Pecker? Well, not exactly, but thousands of otherwise sensible, workaday golf fans will jump at the chance to pretend it?s so. There?s no explaining why golf slapstick is funny, just as there?s no reason why anybody should like licorice ice cream.
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