To Buy, or Not to Buy: Snooki's Novel

This weekend I took the plunge and bought Snooki's novel A Shore Thing.  The jury is still out on whether or not I'm the proud owner of a delicious morsel of literature. As of today I haven't begun reading it, so I'm unable to testify to its quality just yet.  However, I fully expect to enjoy it; and I promise to report back in blog post form regarding my thoughts on the reality star's attempt at fiction.  Honestly though, how can a book go wrong when it begins with an explanation of crafting the perfect "pouf"--perhaps the only thing that Snooki and I have in common? And then features said pouf on the cover of its pages?

Holding A Shore Thing gingerly in Wal-Mart, I prayed silently that no acquaintance or friend of mine would turn the corner. I feared being made fun of and ostracized for contemplating such a purchase! But then I caught sight of its first line and knew in an instant that I had to have it:

"Life was hard.  But a pouf?  That should be easy."

Move over, Herman Melville, with your "Call me Ishmael."  Watch out, Jane Austen, with your oft quoted opener of Pride and Prejudice.  Can the first line of a novel get any better than this? Okay, I'm being facetious.  But it did get my attention, and I can't wait to hear what the rest of Snooki's reading public has to say about her work.

Many people tend to criticize Snooki and the other stars of Jersey Shore, the MTV reality television series whose fourth season will air in August, for a variety of reasons.  I, on the other hand, happen to like the show and was hooked after watching the first couple of episodes.  My mind reeled with that all-important question, "Just what are they going to do next?" 

I was instantly drawn in by the humorous catchlines of Pauly D, especially those referring to his hair:

"My hair's windproof, waterproof, soccerproof, motorcycleproof.  I'm not sure if my hair's bulletproof.  I'm not willin' to try that."

(Is it just me, or is the cast of Jersey Shore preoccupied with hairstyles?)  I'm likewise entertained by the drama that is Ronnie and Sammi's relationship, as it has unfolded before my very eyes on national television. They seem to be drawn to each other like magnets, as if there's some force preventing them from severing ties once and for all.  Yet, they're completely toxic to one another, as the other Jersey Shore castmates have adamantly expressed.  Nevertheless, I google their names periodically to update myself on most the recent status of their on-again, off-again tryst.

But back to Snooki's novel--I think I'm most interested in her work because I'm an aspiring writer myself.  In many ways, it's seems unfair that all it takes to get a book deal in our day is making a spectacle of yourself on national television.  What about the real talent out there that's passed up for publication every day?  I guess the attitude I've decided to take toward it is this:  If Snooki can become a published author, so can I.

Right?

Reading for Pleasure

Last week I had the opporunity (and good fortune) to read four books!  Prior to that, I can't remember when I last had the time and freedom to read works of my choosing.  It's a good feeling! 

While in graduate school, a prescribed reading list loomed over my head, so I didn't allow myself to read for pleasure.  Or write for pleasure, for that matter.  By engaging in either activity, I thought I would be "cheating" on my preparation and study for the comprehensive exam.  On the subject of assigned reading lists, I truly don't know where I stand.  I'm tempted to agree with Samuel Johnson, who is quoted as saying:

"A man ought to read just as inclination leads him, for what he reads as a task will do him little good."

Even when assigned reading lists are developed through a collaborative effort, the thought of including some "important" works while excluding others is such an impossibly subjective task.  Good thing I'm not commissioned to make those judgment calls.  I doubt I'd ever be able to come to a hard and fast decision.

As much as I hate to admit it, the aforementioned reading list wasn't all bad.  After all, it did introduce me to Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence and Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie--two books I might not have read on my own but now consider a couple of my favorites.

In any case, I'm now free to read whatever I want!  I've recently developed a renewed interest in crime novels with a subplot of romance thrown in for good measure, especially when I'm in the mood for quick and light reading.  I really enjoyed reading The Dark Tide by Andrew Gross and bought two more of his novels to read (Reckless and The Blue Zone).  In many ways, crime novels are all the same--simple characters, basic and predictable plots. But the elements of suspense within encourage me to read faster than normal, which means moving on to the next thing even sooner.  When it comes to good thrillers, I can generally churn out a book a day.

On the other hand, there's a lot to be said for reading materials of "heavier" subject matter--a novel (because I prefer fiction) that communicates some universal truth, makes a statement about human nature, or describes the society/culture of a group of people.  I recently read both The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison and The Color Purple by Alice Walker, which are thought-provoking, powerful, and the opposite of light reading!  For me, reading for pleasure equals alternating the meaningless, dime-a-dozen crime or romance novel with a beloved literary classic.

I didn't realize how much I missed reading for pleasure until I was forced to focus all of my efforts on assigned reading.  I had taken the luxury for granted, and when I didn't have it anymore, truly felt as if something were missing in my life! 

Reading is a big part of any given week for me.  It's a means by which I decompress and relax; it's a distraction that keeps my mind occupied and free of anxiety or stress.  More importantly, it's an opportunity to discover new things about myself and about the world around me.

Pay at the Pump

When I am running late, I especially enjoy the convenience of paying for gas at the pump.  Only recently have I discovered how much of a luxury it is, and I suspect that my generation largely takes it for granted.  I didn't realize--until moving into our current residence--that gas stations exist that aren't equipped with pay-at-the-pump technology. I had previously categorized them as obsolete, lumping them in with VHS copies of Disney movies and my Rocky soundtrack on cassette tape.

Though I've just confirmed that I like the convenience of such technology, I believe the advertisement can be misleading.  We consumers are tricked into thinking that it means the entire process, which includes getting a receipt, will take place at the pump.  Yet it has been my experience that, in my moments of utmost desperation and hurry, the receipt dispenser at the pump is inevitably out of paper.  I'm henceforth instructed to "Please see attendant" in order to obtain proof of my purchase. 

Now, why on earth would I want to go in for my receipt if I've chosen to pay at the pump?  Doesn't that defeat the purpose?  What's the use of swiping your card at the pump if you have to go inside for the receipt?  I will not go see your attendant no matter how politely your machine suggests it! 

You know, there are some establishments (like Quiznos) that offer complementary "stuff" if you don't get a receipt with your purchase.  I think someone should force this upon gas stations.  Like, I would get free gas if I paid at the pump and didn't get a receipt at the pump. If such a proposal were granted, we consumers would see a lot fewer attendants and a lot more receipt paper...

Creative Writing

I remember taking advanced math courses in high school such as trigonometry, pre-calculus, and calculus in addition to the core curriculum algebra courses.  And in all of those courses, I remember teachers stressing the importance of showing your work.  For when a student encounters a math problem, there might be several methods of arriving at the right answer.  As the teacher grades, he or she looks for that one right answer and marks all others wrong.

I enjoyed math courses and excelled in them.  Yet, I knew that math wasn't something I wanted to pursue as a career.  I felt stifled and "imprisoned" by the fact that there was only one right answer to any given problem.  Yes, you might get partial credit for executing some process of the figuring correctly.  But where was creativity? Imagination? Individual expression?

For all of those reasons, I like creative writing.  I like the fact that a scene written on, let's say, a Monday would be different than the same scene written the following Thursday, the following week, or next month.  When I write, I know that any number of influences--whether I'm conscious of them or not--will contribute to the finished product.  I like the freedom that creative writing offers, knowing that the end result doesn't have to fit some prescribed mold, that it won't be marked "wrong" in red ink. Because I will be pleased and satisfied with my own work even when (perhaps) a publisher is not.

I've thought about what it would be like to lose all of my files, all of my precious works in progress.  I could try to recreate the documents with the same plot and characters in mind, but I would never be able to recapture the exact phrasing of the original manuscripts. Creative work can't be duplicated or replicated in the exact same way like an answer to a math problem can. Who knows? If I had to start from scratch, with only my ideas, a rewrite might turn out better.  Or it might turn out worse.  In either case, it all depends on me, the writer.  I'm responsible for my own successes and my own failures.  And most importantly, I alone decide what's right or wrong when it comes to my work.

Turd Watch 2011

I've often joked that my smallest (and youngest) dog will be the death of me.  She's a Hoover vacuum, sucking up anything and everything in her path.  She scarfs food down as if every meal is her last, and most recently she's taken up eating earthworms in the backyard when she's supposed to be going potty.

The first day she was sick, I didn't panic.  We're used to her eating treebark and other paraphernalia in the yard and throwing it all up later.  So when I saw foreign objects in the mess, I dismissed her upset stomach as resulting from her usual outdoor antics.  The rest of that week, however, she continued to show signs of an upset stomach.  We finally put together, and I think we're right, that she'd chomp on a few live earthworms during each A.M. trip outside and spend the rest of her day paying the price for it.  It became a week of inspecting turds and vomit for the root of her problem, hence the title of this blog post.

It's always something with my sweet little baby.  In the spring, she likes to eat little white flowers (weeds) that grow in our backyard.  In the summer, it's earthworms--mostly the crunchy, dried up ones--which don't seem to give her any problems.  Finally, in the autumn months, we'll see her sniffing out acorns.  I try to prevent her from eating any, if possible, since I found out through "googling" that they contain toxins and should not be ingested in large quantities.

The jury is still out on whether she will be the death of me or not, but I do spend a significant amount of time worrying about her health.  Pets are like perpetual babies.  They can't tell you what's hurting, and they depend on their owners to provide proper care.  That's why I invest time and money as needed to ensure that my dogs are properly vaccinated and/or protected from disease, parasites, etc.  Likewise, I try to pick up on any unusual behavior that might indicate a serious contition so that I may schedule a trip to the vet if necessary. 

On that subject, the vet's office either loves me or hates me.  I certainly pay them a great deal for services and medicine, and if I had a couple more pets, could probably keep their practice in business singlehandedly.  On the other hand, it's probable that they are annoyed by my frequent calls and questions.  I have been known to call the "emergency" number after hours regarding circumstances that end up not being emergencies.  But my philosophy is that they shouldn't put one of the vet's phone numbers on the answering machine if they don't want me calling it.  Because I will, and I have.

My husband tries to discourage me from researching doggy symptoms on the Internet because inevitably I'll find worst-case-scenario, life-threatening conditions to link them to.  Is it possible to be a hypochondriac for your pet?  If so, I think I could be certifiably diagnosed. It's both a blessing and a curse that websites like protectyourdogfromthings.com and petmd.com exist on the World Wide Web.

But enough on this subject.  I have worried myself into a frenzy.

The Miracle of (Bird) Life

This spring I had the pleasure of housing a family of birds on our property. 

In light of the damaging weather we'd experienced, I was happy to provide a safe haven for this mama bird and her eggs.  Because she built her nest on a ladder hanging horizontally in our carport, I was able to watch her secretly from our enclosed porch; I routinely checked on her as she incubated her eggs.  She was always aware of my presence when I needed to go to and from my car, but she only occasionally abandoned her nest to perch on the eletrical wiring overhead. 

I was mesmerized as new bird life emerged before my eyes.  When the eggs hatched, the baby birds had long, skinny necks--there were four of them--that peaked over the rim of the nest.  They had beaks that never seemed to close, and their heads were too big for their bodies so they looked like bobblehead dolls.  Likewise, I noticed that two different birds shared in searching out and feeding worms to their nestlings.  Why was I so surprised that a second bird, I'm guessing the daddy, would play a role in furthering the nestlings' development? 

After a couple of weeks, the babies were so big that two of them had to sit outside the nest, on the ladder. And one got so big all of a sudden that on first glance I thought it was one of its parents! The baby birds didn't have any orange on them yet like their mama and daddy. (From what I could figure out, they were American robins.)  But they were beautiful, and I was sad to see them go.

The babies have flown the nest by now.  I saw one of them, the biggest one, not long afterward in our backyard on a piece of patio furniture.  I don't know which one of us was more surprised:  I jumped back frightened, and the once-baby bird flew off squawking.  I see the parents daily, as they scavenge our yard for sustenance.

This spring I became a silent observer of the miracle of bird life and all that it entails.  Now if I can only convince them to come back and stay again next year...

The Love Of Money

The "money issue" has been on my mind for quite some time, now that my peers and I have completed our educational requirements and are securing long-term jobs.

I'm fortunate (at least for now, because my position is temporary) to work in a professional and intellectual environment that suits my interests.  I did not, however, seek out this position for its pay.  Nor can I imagine myself ever choosing a job or career field based solely on monetary compensation.  That being said, I loath being around people that brag about how much they earn and/or how much they spend on material possessions, and I wonder where the compulsion comes from.  

I knew when I focused my academic study on composition and literature that jobs associated with my degree would not be particularly lucrative.  Yet that knowledge did not dissuade me from pursuing a career in reading and writing.  In my opinion, life is too short to enter into a profession based on dollar signs and subsequently spend the rest of your life trapped doing something you don't love, which brings to mind the following Maya Angelou quote that I only recently stumbled upon:

"You can only become truly accomplished at something you love. Don't make money your goal. Instead, pursue the things you love doing, and then do them so well that people can't take their eyes off you."

I admire Maya Angelou as a writer, of course, but also for her level-headedness about the "money issue" and where it should rank on one's priority list.

I really like writing fiction and occasionally editorial pieces; and what's more, I consider myself well suited for it!  While talking to my supervisor recently about why I like writing, I blurted out, "I have a lot of opinions and think other people should know about them!" (I've never been one for subtlety.)  While my comment was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, it has some truth to it.

One final quote from John Ruskin about work, and I'll wrap up this post:

"In order that people may be happy in their work, these three things are needed:  They must be fit for it. They must not do too much of it.  And they must have a sense of success in it."

Even in work, one should practice moderation!  There are days when I can't get the creative juices flowing, and I have to take some time away from a particular project.  There are others instances in which I've read furiously for several days and can't stomach the thought of reading another page.  I allow myself breaks because I need them. While I want to be a successful published author one day, I also want to keep hold of my sanity.

Animal Lover

I saw more than my share of dead animals during the month of May.

Maybe it's because I drive so much now--commuting an hour to and from work--and cover more ground, that I see more lifeless animals than the average person.  While driving past dead pets off the side of the highway has become commonplace for me, it hasn't gotten any less sad.  I still hold a little vigil for each one, saying a prayer for the owner who might or might not know of its end.

Most recently, I discovered a dead cat in our front yard.  When I determimed that the unknown mass was indeed a furry animal of some kind, I clapped and spoke and made a bunch of noise in order to wake it.  I realized upon getting closer, however, that this feline was taking more than a cat nap. He or she had begun the eternal slumber.

It's really a shame that so many animals aren't taken care of in this world.  It makes me sick to think about the great number that are abused or abandoned.  The ASPCA commercial on the subject (with Sarah McLachlan singing in the background) nearly always brings tears to my eyes.  If I had the space and resources, I'd adopt them all.

Spoiler Alert

For those who are planning to read the Harry Potter series and haven't, STOP READING THIS BLOG POST!  It will address something that happens in the fifth book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and will ruin the suspense for someone who hasn't completed the series.

Perhaps reading the latter part of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix while at work was a bad idea.  Having just read the Ministry of Magic scene in which Sirius is killed, my coworkers and I were called to report to a meeting.  How does one concentrate on work-related tasks after Sirius, Harry's beloved godfather and friend, has just been murdered by his own Death Eater cousin?

In addition to the sense of loss I was experiencing, the exact circumstances of Sirius's death confused me.  For example, why don't we hear Bellatrix utter Avada Kedavra? Couldn't the "second jet of light" have referred to any number of curses?  Sirius' facial expression registers shock upon getting struck with said curse, but does it necessarily register death?

• And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place.

Sirius' face is already "wasted" as a result of his time in Azkaban, so why should we assume that he's dead based on the above description?  And what does the veil represent anyway?  The function and/or purpose of the veil is never developed, so why should we assume that his falling through it signalls death or his passing on to the "other side" as some readers suggest?  All of this to say that I fully expected (like Harry did) for Sirius to reappear and rejoin their ranks--if not in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, surely in subsequent Harry Potter installments.

(At this point in my reading, I interrogated Melissa, coworker and Harry Potter enthusiast, as to whether Sirius would indeed return.  When she would neither confirm nor deny my suspicions, I resorted to "googling" the topic to find the answer to my query.  I'm not proud of my behavior, but after all, I was in a panic!  When the answer I found was not to my liking, I temporarily refused to read the remainer of the series.  But after a weekend of mourning, I began reading again in earnest.)

The Harry Potter fan will know that many disturbing and saddening events take place along the young wizard's journey.  But for me, a reader invested in Harry's success and deeply concerned for his well-being, the most devastating event within the series is the death of Sirius Black.  And here's why:

1. Harry deserves a father figure, and he's robbed of that privilege not once but twice (or actually three times, if you count Dumbledore).  Since Harry has been deprived of a relationship with his biological father, he should be granted a lifetime of interaction with his godfather, right?  Well, J. K. Rowling didn't think so. 
2. The death of Sirius is ironic--He's the one person Harry escapes from Hogwarts to rescue and the only person killed in action at the Ministry of Magic.  Can you say tragic? 
3. In a way, Sirius's death is an indirect result of Harry's decisions and actions.  Because Harry didn't take his occlumency lessons with Snape seriously, Voldemort is able to plant a fake "vision" in Harry's mind that lures him to the Ministry of Magic.  Furthermore, Harry's endeavor to rescue Sirius from Voldemort's alleged torture brings about the battle during which Bellatrix is able to kill Sirius.
4. His death is unexpected.  Up to this point in the series, Cedric is the only person to have been killed by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. His death is also abrupt and unexpected, but he is such a minor character that his absence doesn't greatly impact the reader or subsequent narration.  Also, at this moment in the Ministry of Magic skirmish, Dumbledore has arrived. So the reader (along with Harry) sighs with relief because they're all saved, right?  But this assumption, too, proves incorrect. 
5. Finally, Sirius's arrogance contributes to his demise.  Right before Bellatrix hits him square in the chest with an unnamed curse, he taunts her with some version of "Is that all you've got?"  If he'd have focused entirely on protecting himself, perhaps Sirius could have evaded the jet of light that ultimately killed him.  Instead, he made himself vulnerable to his cousin's final attack.

So there's my impassioned and analytical approach to Sirius's death in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  Maybe one day I'll revisit the series and come to terms with his passing, but for now, I mourn his loss.

Not Interested

As mentioned in my previous (and first ever) blog post, I'm an avid watcher of Bravo's Real Housewives. So naturally, I watched RHONJ last night and will be reflecting here about one minor detail from last night's viewing. 

While I could spend several days fleshing out my reponse to the season's second episode, I'll be devoting my entry instead to Caroline Manzo's signature, go-to interview response: Not interested! 

When I hear the phrase "not interested," the first thing that comes to mind is "telemarketer."  (It comes to me all of a sudden, like something you'd come up with during a Rorschach test when asked to find an image in the inkblots.)  When you're on the phone with a telemarketer, you don't have to invent an excuse as to why you don't want such-and-such product or service; you just say some combination of "sorry" and "not interested" and return the phone to its receiver.  And all is peace and quiet once again!

In a similar way, Caroline Manzo uses "not interested" to dismiss an idea without coming across as especially harsh.  In essence, her response means, I cannot be bothered with that at this time.  Or that's not something I'm chosing to actively pursue.  While the phrase comes across as firm, it doesn't necessarily convey a feeling of permanence.  In really getting down to it, I suppose I like the versatility that "not interested" offers to the conversationalist and/or wordsmith.  And because I admire Caroline's perspicacity, I've begun to use her phrase when my husband and I are asked whether or not (and when) we want to have children.

I'm sure most everyone will recognize the following line from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice: "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Here's an addendum to that assumption (written in my own words) that some individuals in the present day apparently believe to be true---It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a newly married couple whether in possession of a good fortune or not, must be in want of a houseful of kids.

I never dreamed upon getting married just how many times we'd get asked about starting a family!  And in some cases, we get asked on a regular basis by the same person(s), to which I'm tempted to reply, How about you just ask once, and if the status changes, we'll let you know?  But of all things we've answered with, I like "We're not interested" the best.  It usually solicits a nod from the asker (who is then unsure how to proceed), and I don't come across as "lacking" or "deficient" because I don't want to become a baby factory right away.

So, I'm thankful to Caroline for the passing along her signature phrase and for imparting other tidbits of wisdom to her viewers each week.

Real Housewives of Orange County

Upon reading Julie & Julia (the national bestseller and memoir by Julie Powell), I began considering the value of maintaining a blog and decided it to be within my capabilitiy--I hope.  While I doubt that my musings here will result in the fame and fortune that Julie's blog earned her, I do believe that "blogging" will be a fun writing exercise.  If only this type of exercise burned calories.

What prompted me to start this blog exactly is that I'm an avid watcher of Bravo's Real Housewives installments (nearly all of them, in fact), with the Orange County housewives being my favorite.  As you other fans will know, the current season is coming to a close, so I have only a limited amount of time to make my thoughts about the ladies and their antics known!  With that said, Bravo WILL NOT POST any of my comments to the housewives' blogs, to which I so dilligently devote myself every Monday morning.  I think that after taking the time to carefully phrase my thoughts about each show, my reflections should get to be published somewhere.  And so they will!  Here on my blog.

All of that to say that my blog will be an outlet for this rant and many others.

So about last night's RHOC episode...
Gretchen's comments about Vicki's absense from the fashion show were heartless and cruel.  How dare she pass off Vicki's admission to the hospital and subsequent procedure as ploys for attention!  And how dare Alexis put any stock in what Gretchen had to say!  Tamra might not be perfect, but at least she has a good enough heart to show some compassion toward her friend and fellow human being.

I could say more on the subject, but alas, I must return to work.

More to come...