Smallville theme song in my brain ALL THE FREAKIN’ TIME, because Fred watches as many episodes of it as he can when he gets home (and puts together his jigsaw puzzles while watching it), so I feel like I’m hearing the theme song constantly.
It’s not a bad song, but DAMN. I’m ready to have some other song – ANY other song – bouncing around in my head.
Currently
reading:
The Breakdown Lane, by Jacquelyn Mitchard.
Recently finished:
The Last Time I Saw Paris, by Elizabeth Adler. Possibly if I had ever been to France, I might have enjoyed the blow-by-blow description of every single morsel of food the protagonist and her lover ate while they were visiting France, but it got really really tedious and I ended up skimming a great deal of the book thinking “Yeah, okay, the food in France is good. CAN WE MOVE ON?”
* * *
Speaking of books, I finally got around to watching the Larry King Live episode with James Frey on it. There was an awful lot of dancing around and non-question-answering going on during that interview, wasn’t there? I think that I’d have a lot more respect for Frey if he’d just said, straight-out, “Yeah, I exaggerated some things and I made up a few things. I suck, and I’m sorry if anyone was hurt by my actions.” The thing is, if you’re going to go onto a national show to talk about allegations that were made against you, either answer them or get OFF the show. For god’s sake.
And that said, I do have to say that I still think that
A Million Little Pieces was a book worth reading, which I know a lot of people disagree with. His writing style annoyed the hell out of me at first, but I got used to it. I found it interesting, and like I’ve said, it does give you some idea of what addiction feels like.
Like
Copper-Top does, I find James Frey’s personality a bit annoying. I think it’s important to him to be seen as a badass and I don’t think he’s nearly as much of a badass as he’d like to be. His voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me (he sounds exactly like a high school boyfriend, which is probably why), and I wish I’d marked down how many times during his appearance on Larry King he started a sentence with “You know” and stuck an “I mean” in random places, because he did it a LOT.
My favorite part of the interview, however, was when Larry King repeatedly referred to Frey’s other book as My Best Friend Leonard. For the record, it’s just
My Friend Leonard, no “Best” in there. It reminded me of the episode of Oprah, when she had Wally Lamb on her show, and she kept calling his book I Know This Much To Be True, rather than the correct
I Know This Much is True.
You better bet that when Oprah makes my first novel an Oprah Book Club pick and she gets the title of it wrong, I’ll be all “Oprah. Please. You’re making me twitch. It’s
How Much Shit Could a Dipshit Dip if a Dipshit Could Dip Shit?, not How Much
Dipshit Could a Dipsit Dip. PAY ATTENTION!”
I found Jacquelyn Mitchard’s
post on the topic an interesting read.
* * *
I think I took my first steps toward being an adult yesterday. I was sitting at my desk eating lunch (
roasted asparagus, yum!) when the doorbell rang. I glanced out the window and didn’t see a UPS or Fedex truck, so I walked over to the window and looked to see if there was a vehicle in the driveway, thinking that maybe Fred’s mother had stopped by. I didn’t see a vehicle, and I couldn’t see who was at the front door, and I thought about just not answering the door, but I thought it might be one of the neighborhood kids or a neighbor and I didn’t want to seem rude, so I finally just answered the damn door.
It was a woman – a tiny woman; I swear she couldn’t have been much over 4 1/2 feet tall – and she was with some company that builds sunrooms, and she immediately handed me a flyer and started with her sales spiel.
Now I, personally, would LIKE to have a sunroom on the back of the house, but if we’re going to put the house up for sale in a year or so it would be utterly ridiculous to build a sunroom now. Even I can see the ridiculosity of such a thing.
So I stood there, and I thought to myself “I have two choices here. I can listen politely to her spiel and tell her to come back and talk to my husband, or I can just interrupt her and say we’re not interested.” Now, to those of you who have already reached grownuphood, the choice would be easy. But I’m a big chicken – I know not why – and it’s always been my practice in the past to listen to the sales spiel and then make up some transparent excuse, like “I was just about to leave the house” or “Oh, we already have a sunroom” or “You need to come back and talk to my husband” until they leave.
But yesterday, I thought to myself “My asparagus is getting cold!” and lickety-split, I smiled and said “We’re not interested.” and she thanked me and went along her way. She didn’t insist that I listen to her speech, she didn’t try to force her way into the house to show me exactly where a sunroom would look good, she didn’t bonk me upside the head. She just THANKED ME and WENT ALONG HER WAY.
Amazing. Dare I suggest that this means I don’t have to be scared to answer the front door anymore?
Oh, who’m I kidding? I doubt I’ll ever answer the front door again.
* * *
Pet store kitty pics from Monday are
here.
* * *
::URRRRRRRRP:: “Oh! ‘Scuse me!”
“Bahahahaha! That was LOUD! Good one, Tommy!”
“Hee! Thanks! I’m the burpin’ KING!”
All of today’s uploaded pictures are
hither.
* * *
Previously
2005: Who the fuck knew?
2004: A Kitchenaid mixer!
2003: “My ass. Please let him go for my ass, and not my throat or my eyes, I’ve got plenty of ass to spare.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Double ear infection, thankyouverymuch.]]>