Say You're One Of Them

I know better than to read anything off of Oprah’s booklist. I really do. And yet… there was this nice innocent looking book on the shelf… it was in the As and I hadn’t read it yet… it was a collection of short stories… and that’s what did it. I’m a sucker for short story collections. I don’t know why. I mean, short stories aren’t any better than long stories. In fact, they’re usually a whole lot lamer because authors consider it a lost genre so they cram as much “artistry” into as few words as possible- generally we’re treated to at least 20 pages with no dialogue and a staggeringly obvious political statement at least once per collection- but I still like them. Maybe it’s because I have a really short attention span, which is just another way of saying that I’m too lazy to commit to reading an entire book in one sitting. Take now, for example: I am currently in the middle of reading eight, count ‘em, eight separate books and- hey, why not?- one magazine. I’ve got a book out on the bathroom counter for reading while I get ready in the morning, one by my bedside table for reading before I go to sleep, one in the car to read when I go buy myself an ice cream treat and have to eat it before I get home and it melts (and I have to entertain myself while I’m eating), one in my purse just in case I get “stuck” somewhere without a book (and yes, I realize that the car book and the purse book really could double up), one loaded onto my phone to read in case I ever get stuck somewhere without either my purse book or my car book, one loaded onto my iPod for listening/reading while I’m out hiking or walking or just cleaning the house, a nice little self-help book for reading about something that I need help with (which only gets me annoyed because I don’t find it helpful so I put it back down), and one that I’m reading along with a group of people from church (although they don’t know I’m reading along with them because that would invite conversation about said book, which would only reveal that I’m not keeping up with them because I’m too scatter-brained to do the required reading every day). So yeah, I guess you could say that the finer points of a novel might get lost on me considering I’m bouncing from finer point to finer point at any given time of the day.

It’s possible I digress.

So anyway, I fell a sucker to the short story and took this book home from the library despite Oprah’s endorsement. Sigh. I know better. Hated it. Hated it with the passion of a thousand boy dogs deprived of fire hydrants in their neighborhoods hated it. It was ridiculously awful.

I’m sure on many levels it was a good book… just not on any of mine. And so I find myself unable to withhold the negative thoughts that I so strongly hold in my heart about this depressingly horrific piece of literature.

Here we have a few short stories, all told from the eyes of children, all based in different countries in Africa. Okay, I get it. There are bad things happening in Africa, things that our spoiled and over-privileged little American minds can’t even begin to comprehend. The world would be a better place if we were all aware of these atrocities and set about finding a way to stop the madness. What a marvelous sentiment.

Here’s the thing though: I have a spoiled and over-privileged American mind. Now, I recognize that this is a flaw in me. I should be outgoing and generous and willing to give of myself every second of every day in order to benefit those in need. I should forego my ice cream treat with novel entertainment and travel to Nigeria to stop the child trafficking instead. But I don’t! Because I can’t! And not only that, because I don’t want to! That’s right! I! Don’t! Want! To!

I recognize the fact that I am naught but a miniature human being in the grand scheme of things. I personally am unable to do anything to affect the child trafficking in Nigeria in any way, shape, or form. I will not be taking on the drug lords that ravage the streets of Rwanda because, well, that would be dumb. Instead of trying to make huge waves in a world that is too big for me, I recognize the fact that I am limited in my capabilities and choose instead to put my best helps out into my own little circle of influence. You know, I support a missionary here, bag the pregnant lady’s groceries there, support a friend going through a hard time here, buy the hard-pressed-for-cash stranger’s meal there. I do what I can when I can.

Is that so wrong? Am I just completely lazy because I have no Worldwide Social Cause? I really don’t think it’s THAT bad… and if it is, the last time I want to be told about it is when I’m trying to relax and read a book! C’mon, people, even God rested on the seventh day! Shouldn’t I be able to take a few minutes to lose myself in something restful- a nice little story about mermaids or bunnies or teenagers going to prom- in order to refresh my mind for the next day’s hard work? What’s the big idea, sneaking stories about Hutus and Tutsis and genocide into my happy reading time?

Call me ignorant, call me lazy, call me oblivious, call me whatever the heck you want. Just don’t call me when I’m reading. That’s when I’m allowed to be ignorant, lazy, and oblivious. Welcome to the American dream.

I Feel Bad About My Neck

Okay, so a few posts ago I made a comment that authors should never read their own audio books. Now it's time for me to eat my words. Authors are allowed to read their own audio books if the author is also a stand-up comedian. (Do not confuse that with the idea that all stand-up comedians are allowed to write their own books. One of these things does not equal the other. Trust me.) But my point is, if the author has some pre-recognized performing ability, well, I can stand listening to that. And this book was funny! Nora Ephron is funny! Hallelujah! Something funny! Finally! Enjoyment of the written word!

Darn it. The spoken word.

Close enough.

Bottom line, Nora Ephron is pretty funny. I may not like her politics, but she tells funny stories. However, I feel that to share these funny stories would be sort of like giving the magician's secrets away- if you know going into the show how the lady is sawn in half, then you're pretty much bored the whole way through.

So I'm not going to spoil the secrets. I'll say that you're going to read a bunch of funny stories about everything from the Kennedys to Kelly bags and turtlenecks to terminal illness and you'll probably enjoy most of them. Well, the one about her love affair with Bill Clinton is a little less than amusing, but that's just because I was bored with the White House stuff by that time.

So, this has nothing to do with the book, but my dog has been barking behind me for the past five minutes and not only is the noise maddening, but his doggie bark-breath is filling up the room with an intolerable stench. Yeah, so I'm going to go see who was at the door and end this entry. But the book was pretty fun. I recommend. And for the first time, I think I can comfortably say it's probably better to listen to this one than to read it.

Dog, be QUIET!!! Oy.