My Opinion

Book #19 will remain nameless. Because I am about to blast it. And, well, the Internet is a small place. And even smaller because of a little thing I like to call Google. And the last thing I want is for some author to Google their name and end up on my blog reading about how I think their book might just be the worst thing ever written. Or even just the worst thing. Ever.

#19 was actually a book on tape. And, if the story line about an unemployed New York girl trying to decide if she wants to marry her long time boyfriend wasn’t awful enough all on it’s own, the reader made it a million times worse. Seriously. A million. If I ever meet this reader, I’m going to punch her in the face. Undoubtedly.  And she will deserve it, simply because her voice is that annoying.

(Sidenote: I deserved how terrible this book was. I bought it for $3.99 at Books a Million. If a book on tape has made it down to $3.99, something is seriously wrong with it.)

And now on to Book #20: The Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Wolfe

This is an excellent novel. Apparently, it originally ran in 27 installments in Rolling Stone starting in 1984. Kind of Charles Dicken-ish style.  It gives an incredible picture of New York City in 1980’s—really unlike anything else I’ve ever read or seen. And it deals with racism in a fascinating way.  I loved it.*

Who will like this: If you live in New York, you should read this. It gives a great glimpse of recent history in the city. It’s also just an enjoyable read.

Who won’t like this: The book deals with some touchy racial subjects. It made me think a lot about the way I think. If introspection isn’t your thing, that might be bothersome.

Where to read it: Ideally in New York. It paints such a vivid picture of the city that you want to be there when you’re reading. But actually poolside in North Carolina worked out alright for me.

My favorite quote: “Sherman made the terrible discovery that men make about their fathers sooner or later that the man before him was not an aging father but a boy, a boy much like himself, a boy who grew up and had a child of his own and, as best he could, out of a sense of duty and, perhaps love, adopted a role called ‘Being a Father’ so that his child would have something mythical and infinitely important: a Protector, who would keep a lid on all the chaotic and catastrophic possibilities of life.”

To know before you read: In 1990, this book was made into a movie with Tom Hanks, Melanie Griffith, and Bruce Willis.  Sounds good, right?  Apparently it’s absolutely terrible. So, stick to reading.

Overall: Makes me want to read more Wolfe.

*There is a dachshund in the first chapter. Obviously this may have played into my opinion on the novel to some degree.

I have spent the last hour and a half calling just about every insurance company you’ve ever seen an ad for in search of home insurance.  I’ve also answered about 8 billion questions in the process of trying to get quotes from all of these places. (Note: I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, I don’t care if my “liability insurance” is $300,000 or $500,000.  I mean, knock on wood, but what are the chances that someone is going to do $500,000 worth of damages to themselves that they can sue me for on my property?  This all just feels like playing with monopoly money. Except the actual payment. That doesn’t feel like fake money at all.)

Anyway, so every place I call asks if I have any pets. And I say yes. And then they say “what kind?” And I say a dog. And then they say “what kind of dog?” And then I say “a miniature dachshund.” And then the funny stuff starts.

Seriously. Every single place I’ve called I’ve had some guy on the phone: A.J., Scott, Brandon, Tom, and James so far. And every single place they have proceeded to make a joke about the dog. A.J. was my favorite because the second I said I have a miniature dachshund, without missing a beat he said “I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t insure people who own vicious animals. Miniature dachshunds are the most vicious breed. I apologize that we can’t insure you. Have a nice day.”  Even though he was from Allstate and their quote definitely hasn’t been the lowest, I was a little tempted to sign on with them right then just for the comedy points they’d just gotten.

I love my family. Seriously. My parents and my brother are easily my favorite people in the world. (Notice I said people. It’s convenient that Rosie falls under the canine category so I don’t have to choose.)

This past weekend at home was a prime example why.  Everett flew home for the weekend because he’s leaving to go work in Ghana for a few weeks. (Yeah, as in Africa. Yeah, as in I’m insanely jealous. And yeah, he’s also stopping in Dubai for a day on his way there. Yeah, I know, makes you want to punch him, huh?  Me too.)  Anyway, so it was a nice little time with the four of us. And Rosie. And their golden retriever Isaac and dachshund, Abby.  Here are some highlights from the weekend:

Friday night: It’s my mom’s birthday. We go out to a nice dinner where apparently I tell a story that is deemed boring 0.3 seconds into it. I am made fun of the rest of the weekend for my poor story telling abilities. My family doesn’t let things die. Ever. My mom orders extra ice cream with her cake. She refuses to eat her cake until it arrives. Then she takes two bites with the ice cream and says she’s finished. We all make fun of her for this for the rest of the weekend. See above for reason why.

We return home and my dad goes to bed. My mom takes a call from her brother wishing her happy birthday while my brother and I turn on Borat on TV. My mom returns to the room and sits down in her chair just in time to see the scene where Borat’s fat, naked friend is getting off to Pamela Anderson’s photo. Then a naked Borat jumps on him.  My mom immediately begins screaming about gay porn and how disgusted she is with us as she turns the channel as quickly as possible to a tivo’d Law & Order.  (Sidenote: I had been suprised when Borat actually came on as I thought Law & Order was the only thing able to play on my parents’ TV.) For the rest of the weekend, we hear about how we watch filthy porn.

Saturday: I spend an hour playing with Rosie. My mom, a notorious Rosie-hater, accuses me of acting like I haven’t seen the dog in a week. Then, I take Rosie outside for swim lessons.  Swim lessons for dachshunds are prohibited in the pool.  A few hours later I am yelled at—a lot—for said lessons when they’re discovered.

My mom runs over Isaac. Incidentally, my dad ran over Isaac last week. Luckily, neither of them actually hurts him.  Basically, he’s totally deaf so he falls asleep in their parking places and then they park their cars on top of him.  This would be terrifying except it’s so ridiculous. What’s really ridiculous is that they keep accusing him of being so old and deaf and blind that he lets himself be run over, but it’s worth noting that they’re running over an animal who is about 100 pounds.  He’s not a small dog. It’s hard to say who’s old and blind here.

We have lunch. The following topics come up: Anal sex. Yeah, I think that about covers it.

My parents take naps up at the house and I head down to the hammock near the pool for a nap. I’m promptly interupted by Everett who has brought a blender to make hummus down to the pool to blend it so that he doesn’t wake up our parents. He can’t get any of the plugs to work, but in the process he stirs up a wasp nest and I have to jump off the hammock and run across the yard. A little while later, I start to drift off. And then Everett arrives again. This time with Wasp spray. Which he is brandishing in two hands like pistols.  I scream at him to stop. He ignores me. Stirs up the wasps again. And again, I have to run.

Finally, the least relaxing “nap time” of all time is over. We hang out poolside and then go in to watch the movie Australia. Somehow, my family manages to turn it into a comedy.  I swear, my family could take just about anything and make it comedic. Give us a tragedy—we consider it a challenge.

We eat dinner. It’s the best dinner I’ve had in like 8 months. I eat enough for six men. Rosie barks at me throughout dinner for scraps. My mom threatens to kill her.

We finish the movie and get a good laugh out of those crazy Australians.

Sunday: As we arrive at early church a man goes running past us in the parking lot. Some people are chasing behind him.  It’s all rather suspicious.  My dad asks my brother and I if we think we could identify him if we had to.  I say “Of course, he was a long-haired Asian man.” Everett says “He wasn’t Asian!  He looked like Doc from back to the future! He was wearing clothes from the ’80s.”  My dad, who was standing right next to us, says he didn’t see him.  Luckily, we didn’t have to be witnesses because we would have been terrible.

As we walk into church Everett asks me if I’d ever date a guy who wore tapered jeans. I look at him like he’s an idiot and say “No, would you date a girl who wore a scrunchie?” Then he said, “No, I mean like those jeans hipster guys wear.” And I say “Oh yeah, probably.” And then Everett begins yelling up to our parents as we’re trying to sit in church “Sarah would date a hipster! Sarah would date a hipster!”

Yeah, we’re 8.

And that’s pretty much it. Just another weekend with the fam. There’s more. But, sometimes it’s best these things stay off the internet. Plus, seriously this is the longest entry of all time. And, well, chances are you stopped caring what my family did this weekend somewhere around the third paragraph.

I thought about making some comment on the Sanford thing, but the joke kind of writes itself. My brother, however, wrote me a lovely email about it. And, because he has threatened to “steal my following” if I don’t blog about it, consider his email below, my blog:

I mean seriously this guy is awesome. He’s got his staff acting like they are covering up the Kennedy assassination, while his best answer until admitting to an affair is that he was driving along the coast. His wife is setting him up almost as bad as his lieutenant governor. “Oh no massa press I haves no idea where my husband is, why don’t you look into it for me?” I seriously love this guy.

“Yeah I just went for a nice little 2 mile drive in a country 7 hours away, by the way, I’m a freakin moron. Oh, also I like hiking, but really that was just something I said before I put my fingers in my ears and walked out the door saying lalalalalala while my staff asked what the f*ck my problem was and where was I going. I should also take this opportunity to tell the press that I wasn’t in Argentina with a mistress I was in San Diego killing the white tiger in the Zoo, check the security tapes and the tiger’s cage, I’m sorry I lied about the hiking thing, and then lied about the drive thing, and then lied about the affair thing, I’m so ashamed because what I really was doing was raping baby seals in the pacific, wait what?”

This guy is my new favorite person—just under the steroid crazed maniac on Operation Repo who looks like a turtle when he takes his glasses off. Sorry Obama this is America, you’re at least number 4 or 5. If you want to make it to the top of my list you better start punchin Brian Williams while you dunk on him and scream I PROTECT THIS HOUSE!! on your way back down.

Seriously, if you don’t blog about this guy I will start my own blog and make it my blog’s goal to steal your following.

Yesterday I went to look at houses in Charlotte with my realtor. Then I went home, went online, found a rental home in central America, emailed the link to my friend, and said we should move there. Immediately.

I don’t listen to rap music very often anymore. This signifies to me that I might be getting old. So, I keep downloading hip hop/ pop in an effort to keep up. But honestly, Soulja Boy gives me a headache and Lady Gaga makes me want to punch someone.

Yesterday, in the grocery line, I didn’t recognize the girl on the cover of Ok! Magazine. I thought maybe she was from that Twilight series the kids are watching today. Suddenly I had a flashback of a year or so ago when my dad called me to ask who “this Lindsay Lohan character” was. I bought the magazine in an effort to learn about Twilight.

Every time I see a pair of shorts I think, “I’m too old to wear shorts” and tiny little part of me wishes they came in longer versions.

Every morning, in the first moments after I wake up, I debate showing up for work or throwing Rosie in the car and driving to Mexico. So far, work has won every time. This is subject to change depending on how dangerous Mexico continues to be regarding swine flu and kidnapping.

In the middle of editing an article about adoption last week, I decided that I was missing my life calling to work in an African orphanage. I’ve since decided I might have been wrong about that.

My apologies for my lack of blogging of late:

I’m sorry.

My excuses for my lack of blogging of late:

1) I adhere to a strict “If it isn’t funny… or at least some form of entertainment… don’t post it” policy. Life over the past week hasn’t been particularly funny.

2) I had about 4.2 hours of sleep last week. In the game of sleeping versus blogging, sleeping always wins.

3) My house-to-buy search has turned into the emotional equivalent of the physical act of having anesthesia-free open heart surgery while someone shoves a flaming torch into your eye. In other words, it sucks. A lot. (Note: This has absolutely nothing to do with my realtor, who is awesome. It does however have to do with my parents, who, while also awesome, have life views about 180 degrees different from mine. As it turns out, said life views come into play a lot in the house hunting business.) Because house stuff has taken up most of my free time, it would be hard to write about other than to simply have an entire blog that was a recording of me moaning.

4) Social media has been overwhelming me a little lately. Two blogs, two facebook accounts, and two twitters are too many personas to manage some days.

5) Boots’ death reminded me of several things. One was the brevity of life. Especially for dogs. Rosie and I spent some extra time together last week. And, not unlike sleeping, in Rosie versus blogging, Rosie always wins.

My promises for future blogging:

I’ll be back to my regularly scheduled, obsessive blogging soon. Maybe even tomorrow.