So, How You Comin’ On That Novel?

You may recall that back at the beginning of May, I announced that I was planning to write a novel in 30 days.

Well, since no one asked it’s the official halfway point, I figured I’d give a little update on how it’s been going.

So far, I’ve written approximately 22,500 words. That’s roughly 45% of the 50,000 word target, or, about 1,500 words per day.

Not bad, right? Except that it’s all total and complete garbage. 

Guys, I’m not kidding. The stench of rotten manuscript wafting from my minimized items right now is almost too much for me to handle. I call it “Eau de Broken Dreams and Misguided Aspirations”

The thing is full of plot holes, it’s totally unbelievable, and I currently have four different characters named Sergei. But that’s OK. The goal of this exercise is simply to get my words on paper- not to fuss with silly things like grammar, sentence structure and plotline.

….Right?

I won’t lie, it’s been pretty painful so far. I kind of want to kill myself/ throw my computer out the window/ eat 10 lbs of chocolate/ run away and never come back. But like a phoenix from the ash, out of my misery rise a few key lessons to be learned from all of this. Like…..  

 Writing Fiction Is Hard

Sometimes, I feel like the entire right side of my brain has been completely inactive for the past 10 years. Sure, I use it occasionally to write blog posts, but for the most part, it just sits there, dormant, letting its domineering evil stepbrothers logic and rational thought do all the work.

Writing a novel feels like grabbing the creative side of my brain with both hands, shaking it violently and waking it the hell up. As expected, for the first few days, ol’ righty remained slow, lethargic and low-functioning – sort of like me before I’ve had my coffee in the morning. 

But eventually it came around. Sort of. I’m still dealing with the giant hurdle of coming up with 50,000 words of original material in a ridiculously short period of time.  

Writing Fiction Is Fun!

(Did I convince you with that exclamation point? No? I didn’t really convince myself, either.)

Once you get past the fact that novel-writing is destroying much of your will to live, there are actually a few good things. Writing can be really fun when you’re not inhibited by pesky little parameters like “truth” and “accuracy”. Plus, it’s sort of cool to live vicariously through your characters. My main character is smart, sassy, and tells people off all the time- something I wish I could do more often.  

Plus, no matter how much it sucked, I still feel like this whenever I get my daily words in:

You’re Going to Run Out Of Ideas.. and That’s Where the Ninjas Come In

No matter how hard I tried, I still found it tough to come up with the recommended 1,667 words a day. I Googled some suggestions, and discovered something called a “Plot Ninja”.

A plot ninja is something you drop into the plot whenever you are at a loss for ideas. Traditionally, this has taken the form of actual ninjas who come crashing into the scene, disrupting things, but it can really be anything you want. My plot Ninja so far has been my main character going for drinks with her best friend. She’s pretty much an alcoholic at this point, but it’s also resulted in a few interesting scenes that never would have ended up in the plot otherwise.

When In Doubt.. Make it up

Another thing I didn’t anticipate was how much research was involved in novelling. Part of my story takes place in Russia, and the first few days, I spent hours Googling everything from typical Russian surnames to what year the Kremlin was built. Eventually, I decided to either leave what I didn’t know blank, or just make something up and go back and fix it later. Currently, the characters in my story consume only caviar, drink an excessive amount of vodka, and wear fur hats everywhere. That’s accurate, right?

Be Prepared To Hate Your Life

Not to be a Deborah K. Downer, but I have to admit that it’s extremely mentally and physically draining to write this much every day while working full-time, trying to do blog posts, keep up with my 52 book challenge and actually maintain a social life.

…………..Yes, I realize I did this all to myself, and yes I would like some cheese with that whine.

Only Dawson understands me

So to recap -  my first 15 days of Novelling: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I don’t know what comes after that.

Question of the Day: Have you ever written a novel?

…..Any tips to keep me from strangling myself with my computer cord?

P.S.  I nominated myself  was nominated for Funniest Blog in the 2013 Badass Blogging Awards! I would love you long time if you’d please take a second and go vote for me!

http://theindiechicks.com/badass-blog-awards-vote-for-your-favorite-bloggers/

 

10 Lessons From TV Moms

A wise woman once said, “It takes a village to raise a child”.

That, and “You can never have enough pantsuits”

…but we won’t hold that against her. 

In honor of this maxim (the village, not the pantsuits), this Mother’s Day, I’ll be celebrating not only to my own mom, but also all of the amazing TV moms who helped raise me. Claire Huxtable, Elyse Keaton, Vivian Banks, Kitty Foreman-  where would I be without all of their sage advice, no-non sense attitudes and witty one-liners? (Well, maybe a little more well- read. But that’s beside the point.)

Here, with the help of a few GIFS, are 10 lessons I learned from TV moms: 

1.    Stand Up For Yourself

…. you show those b*tches who’s boss 

2. You only have one family, so you might as well make the most of it.

3. Not everything that’s good for you is fun

4. Don’t worry so much about your appearance

………..You can have a harelip, crunchy bangs, or look like Mama June and someone will still love you.

5. It’s Important To Always  Be a Lady

6. Every once in a while, you need to eat a piece of humble pie

……………….Unless of course you’re Tina Fey

7. Choose your friends wisely

…….because apparently, everyone is an asshole

8. Don’t ever forget where you came from

9. And When it comes to boys….

But if you really can’t help yourself…

And when you find that special someone… 

10. Don’t be afraid to let loose every once in a while:

… and when all else fails,

Sometimes, you need something a little stronger

Happy Mother’s Day!!

Question of the Day: Who Is Your Favourite TV Mom?

Liars, Drinkers And Eternal Optimists: Books I Read In April

Oh, hello.

I didn’t see you come in.

Intellectual Dachshund and I were just about to review some of the books I read in April. Won’t you stay and join us?

You will? Fantastic! Isn’t that right Intellectual Dachshund?

Reading nurtures the soul, and an enlightened friend brings it solace.

Aah my erudite little creature. So pithy! So delightful! Now, let’s get started, shall we?

Everything Is Perfect When You’re A Liar

by Kelly Oxford

Only two years ago, Kelly Oxford was an unknown, Canadian stay-at-home mom with a dream of becoming a writer. Now, she has a best-selling book, a  sold screenplay and a TV pilot. 

How did she do it? She be tweetin’ y’all.

Her hilarious tweets caught the attention of comedians and Hollywood celebs, and soon she amassed over 500,000 followers.  Can you say ca-ching in 140 characters or less?

Everything is Perfect When You’re a Liar  is Oxford’s collection of personal essays that cover everything from her awkward childhood, to her brief teenage modeling career, to being David Copperfield’s private guest in Las Vegas. 

Each story is engaging, well-written and hilarious. You never feel like she’s reaching for her jokes, or trying too hard. It’s almost like the funny just comes out of her naturally, an unintended side effect of her storytelling.

This is exactly the type of book I would like to write someday;  and for that I give it:

4/5 Intellectual Dachshunds

The Rum Diary

by Hunter S. Thompson

The Rum Diary tells the story of Paul Kemp, a 30-year-old journalist who moves to San Juan, Puerto Rico in the late 1950’s to work for an English language newspaper. When Paul is introduced to rest of the newspaper staff – a veritable motley crew of has-beens, misanthropes and never-weres-  he quickly gets swept into a world of hard-drinking, girlfriend-stealing, bar brawling, and of course, the occasional news story.

(You might also be familiar with the 2011 movie based on the book starring Johnny Depp)

If it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a plotline involved here, that’s because there isn’t. It’s really just some drunk-ass dudes wandering around a tropical paradise, eating hamburgers and causing disturbances. It’s awesome.

This book had me hooked from the very beginning. With it’s crisp prose and quoteable one-liners, I had a hard time putting it down. It reminded me of On the Road, but with more paragraphs, and punctuation.

Even though I’m not a wayward journalist with a drinking problem (officially), I found I could really identify with Paul and his feelings of aimlessness in Puerto Rico. I feel like that here in Toronto sometimes. I have no real roots here, no family, and sometimes I feel like I’m just wandering from place to place like some tiny, insignificant tumbleweed.

Anyhoo, since this is a book review and not a junior high journal entry, let’s get to the ratings shall we?

I give it: 4/5 Intellectual Dachshunds 

Favourite Line: “It gave me a strange feeling, and the rest of that night I didn’t say much, but merely sat there and drank, trying to decide if I was getting older and wiser, or just plain old.”

Candide

by Voltaire 

What the whaaaaat? BreezyK reading Voltaire? Don’t worry-  there is a reasonable explanation for all of this. Back in the fall when I took my Humor writing course, the instructor recommended this book as being one of the best humor pieces ever written. I finally got around to reading it a couple of weeks ago, and I’m glad I did.

The book centers around Candide, an enthusiastic young man brought up in the home of a wealthy Baron. Candide was taught by his tutor Pangloss to believe that no matter what happens ‘all is for the best’. Things, however, take a turn for the worse when the Baron throws Candide out after discovering his love for the Baron’s daughter, Cundegonde. Candide then sets out on a series of misadventures all across Europe, Asia and South America, experiencing one unfortunate series of events after another: earthquakes, syphilis, robberies, knaves, you name it – all the while testing Candide’s eternal optimism.

I found this book refreshing and hilarious – it satirizes everything from love, to money, to religion. It’s also a complete seminar in pithiness. Despite the fact that each chapter is about 3 pages long, so much happens in each one of them. This is a great read if you get bored easily and like short books (it’s only about 90 pages, which actually makes it a novella, but who’s counting). Then, when you’re done, you can feel superior to other people by saying you’ve read Voltaire. Win Win!

I give it (you guessed it) 4/5 Intellectual Dachshunds:

 

Question of the Day: What book or movie do you quote constantly?

For me, it’s Zoolander. I’m hoping to change that.

Dreams Really Do Come True

So remember that time I saw Jason Priestley at a play and vowed to make him mine?

Well kids, I’m here to tell you that if you stalk work hard enough, dreams really do come true!

That’s right ladies- read ‘em and weep: Brandon Walsh and I are officially an item.  (Just kidding. I don’t think his wife would like that very much. But our heads are touching in this pic, which basically means we’re besties now.)

The pic above was taken at the wrap party for the play Race by David Mamet, in which Jason starred as a morally conflicted criminal lawyer.

My friend Jane and I went to see it a couple of weeks ago, and afterwards received an e-mail inviting us to schmooze with Jason and the cast at the wrap party. Obviously we couldn’t let the opportunity to hang with 90210′s resident moral compass pass us by,

so we got dolled up and went.

There were only about 75 people in attendance, so stalking opportunity = prime.  Jason was hanging with the DJ and taking some photos with fans, so we made our way up to talk to him.

I will admit, I had a total fangirl moment was unable to form words for the first few seconds,

But eventually I pulled it together and eeked out “I loved your play!” (lie, it was terrible) “you made a very convincing lawyer!” (another lie, he didn’t), and then we chatted for a few minutes – mostly about Nova Scotia, where I’m from, and he films his TV show Call me Fitz. He said he loves it and has been thinking of buying a home there (!!!!).  Note to self: move back to Nova Scotia.

Things were just getting good when his handler came over and asked “if I could I please hurry it up because they needed to move along.”

Ummm.. RUDE. Could she not see we clearly had a connection?

Anyway, we shared a wistful embrace (if you’re wondering, he smelled like expensive cologne and nostalgia) and then Jane and I left and headed to another bar. We were debriefing about our brush with celebrity when lo and behold, Jason and his assistant walk into the VERY SAME BAR!

On the inside I was like:

But on the outside, I’m just like:

We asked them if they were stalking us (because, you know, we touched heads, so we can joke like that now) and they laughed, and then drank with us for the rest of the night. (And by “with us” I mean at the table next to us, and we didn’t speak another word- but close enough for me!)

Anyway, I see this all as a very positive development in our relationship. Am I disappointed things didn’t progress more? Sure. But it’s Brandon Walsh, I’ve learned he likes to take things slow.

Don’t worry Brandon Jason- I’ve got time.

Question of the Day: Were you a 90210 fan? What celeb from your youth would you want to meet?

So I’m Writing a Novel.

This month, I’m going to write a novel.

50,000 words. 30 days. Let’s do this.

Why? Because I’m a masochist. A really bored masochist.

Other reasons include:

• I’m perpetually dissatisfied.
• Gretchen Rubin did it in The Happiness Project.
• I have no experience writing fiction whatsoever, and I figure this is a good place to start.
• I like a challenge.
• I get to brag about it and feel superior to other people.
• Because it’s really original and no one has ever done it before.
• Because my goal of reading 52 books in one year doesn’t keep me in my house alone enough already. (I want to make really, extra sure I die alone.)

I recognize that National Novel Writing Month (or “NaNoWriMo” as the cool kids call it) is still 6 months away, but as I always say, rules were made to be broken!

…..Actually, I never say this. I really just want all the spotlight without having to share it with any of you b*tches.

Did I mention I’m also really bored?

I would tell you what my novel is going to be about, but it’s totally progressive and original and I don’t want anyone to steal my idea. Just kidding, I actually have no idea what it’s going to be about, except that it will be loosely based on my own life. And there might be a Russian spy element involved.

Not like this. Well, maybe like this.

At the suggestion of my hetero-life model Gretchen Rubin, I picked up the book “No Plot, No Problem” by Chris Baty: an ultimate “low-stress, high -velocity guide to writing a novel in 30 days”.

The book starts by providing a number of tips and tricks to help you prepare for the launch of your novel; from time-saving techniques, to research and outlines, to how to set up the perfect workspace.

Since I believe goals are best achieved when they involve no structure or planning whatsoever, I chose to do none of these things. Well, except for the part where I’m supposed to tell everyone I’m writing a novel so they will hold me accountable.

Hey everyone! I’m writing a novel! Hold me accountable, k? No, really. I expect all of you to shame me and ask me “how’s that novel coming along ?” on a regular basis.

Kind of like this:

Actually, exactly like that. And then I will rate you on your Stewie impression.

The other piece of advice I took from the book was to develop my Two “Magna Cartas”.

The first Magna Carta is a list of all the things that, to you, make a good novel. This can be anything from overall themes, to character traits, to magical unicorns. The aim of this list is to show what you “know” and appreciate as a reader, and to act as a guide for what to include in your own novel.

Here is the list I came up with:

• Humor
• Romance

I’m a girl, what can I say

• Serendipitous encounters
• Short, digestible chapters
• Quote-worthy prose
• Plot twists (doesn’t need to be M. Night Shyamalan or anything, but I like being surprised)
• Vulnerable characters
• Urban settings
• Music and/or other pop culture references
• Animals (I’ve never read a book about pandas, but I think that might be pretty cool)

Magna Carta II is just the opposite- a list of things that bore or depress you in a novel. These should be avoided in your story at all costs.

My list:

• Death
• Vampires/Unicorns/other forms of magical creatures

I blame this

• Stream of consciousness writing
• Misanthropic characters
• Overuse of a thesaurus
• Unhappy endings
• Long chapters

So basically, I should write an uplifting romantic comedy about pandas with multiple plot twists, easy words and short chapters.

Sounds like a bestseller to me!

Wish me luck!

Question of the Day: What, to you, makes a good novel?

Dude, Where’s My Karma?

This past weekend, I attended my first hot yoga class.

Trust me- it was way less sexy than it sounds.

Despite the fact that Yoga is so hot right now, I’ve never really gotten into it. When it comes to exercise, I’m a complete cradle-to-grave treadmill enthusiast. (And by “enthusiast”, I mean I hate it marginally less than every other form of physical activity). I like running because it’s intense, high impact, and I can zone out for 30 minutes without having to listen to an annoying instructor.

Except her, who I would clearly make an exception for.

Lately, however, my patience with the dreadmill has been waning. The whole Watching The Food Network on closed caption and trying not to look at the anorexic b*tch to my right, lest she give me a complex  routine was starting to get old- real fast. I needed to make a change before I turned the treadmill emergency cord into a weapon of self-harm.

Also, if the paragraph above didn’t adequately convey this, I could use a little more zen in my life.

So I asked a friend of mine who is a regular Yogi if I could attend a class with her. She was all for it, and suggested a Saturday morning hot hatha yoga class for beginners.

Hatha what now?

“Hot Hatha Yoga is a challenging series of hot yoga postures and breathing exercises conducted in a heated room to systematically warm, stretch and strengthen the major muscle groups……All internal organs and glands are stimulated, balancing the body’s natural chemical and hormonal levels.”

Kinda sounded like new age mumbo jumbo to me, but I agreed to give it a go.

I woke up Saturday morning immediately regretting my decision. I had been out late the night before, overindulging in way too much prosecco, mini cupcakes, and cheese. Oh God the cheese.

The last thing I wanted to do was contort my body into pretzel-like positions in front of total strangers.  But I had to blog about it committed to my friend, so I peeled my ass out of bed and got ready.

I knew I was in trouble the second I walked into the room. Not only was it approximately 40 degrees celsius in there, it was also filled with hard-bodied, lululemon clad 20-somethings. I shot my friend a look that said “I THOUGHT YOU SAID BEGINNERS, B*TCH??” before finding a spot to lay down my mat.

While we waited for the class to start, I gave myself a little pep talk. You are a runner. You exercise on the reg. You got this.

If Adam Levine can do this, so can you.

I tried to take my mind off the stifling heat by focusing on the indie slow jams drifting over the speakers and imagining I was on a relaxing tropical vacation. With 25 other ripped, beautiful strangers.  Wait, wasn’t this a reality show?

Before I had a chance to consider it, the class started. Almost immediately, I began to sweat. And I’m not talking  a little bit of “healthy glow” – I’m talking a full on, tomato-face, soaked clothing, worst fever you’ve ever had type situation.

It was less “Maria Sharapova at Wimbledon”:

More “Whitney Houston meets that Pilot from Airplane”: 

Since I could literally reach out and touch the people to my north, south, east and west, I started feeling really self-conscious about my sweat situation. I was sure the hot Australian guy to my left (note: I have no reason to believe he was Australian, other than his tanned skin and tighter than regulation t-shirt) could definitely smell the booze and Gouda fumes wafting off me like a nuclear cloud.

I tried to forget about it and focus on my poses. Which was no small feat, because as I quickly discovered, Yoga is HARD, yo. Not even 5 minutes in my calves were barking, my arms aching, the inside of my tank top becoming my own personal version of Niagra Falls.

No matter how hard I tried to keep up with the rest of the class, I was always at least a half-step behind. I’d descend into downward-dog a second too late, and end up fielding flying arms and legs like a real-life game of Mortal Combat.

…..Oh and there’s also the fact that I have no balance whatsoever. I have known this about myself since I was 10, and careened into a tree during my first skiing lesson. Apparently I thought Yoga would be different? I thought wrong.

I spent 80% of the poses feeling like Lucille 2 during a particularly bad bout of Vertigo.

I blame it on an undiagnosed inner ear problem.

Mercifully, the last 10 minutes of the class involved laying on the mat doing some light relaxation and breathing exercises. Minimal chance of embarrassing and/or hurting myself –> This, I could do.

When it was over, I felt exhausted, but also exhilarated. I was proud of myself for stepping out of my comfort zone. Plus, sweating that much is sort of an intoxicating feeling. Like some ancient form of blood-letting, where all of the demons, toxins and mini cupcakes are cleansed from your body forever. Sweat-letting. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Question of the Day: Are you a Yogi? Ever Tried Hot Yoga?

Throwback Thursday: Who Wants To Know?

Well, it’s Thursday- and you know what that means: time to check in on some of our favourite has-beens celebrities from days gone by!

In my last edition of Throwback Thursday, I solicited recommendations for more celebrities to exploit follow up on, and man, you guys did NOT disappoint. You came up with some real, certified, D-List gems- and that’s saying something, considering I thought most of them were on Celebrity Rehab or Couples Therapy already.

  Anyway, your wish is my command Google search! For each of these artists I’ve answered the age-old question “Where are they now?” - so grab some popcorn and watch as the train wrecks unfold!

Jimmy Ray

If you were alive in 1997 and still had functioning ear drums after being subjected to “My Heart Will Go On” eleventy billion times, then you are undoubtedly familiar with this song:

With these amazing lyrics, cheekbones for days, and hair that defied all natural laws of gravity, it seemed  Jimmy Ray was destined for superstardom.

  Alas- it was not meant to be. Apparently Jimmy suffered some “creative differences” with his label, and after producing a few more ill-fated singles, they dropped his ass. The English rockabilly crooner was left  to join the ranks of such other one-hit wonders as Chumbawamba and Lou Bega (Mambo No. 5 anyone?).

So what’s a boy with nothing but a dream, some perfectly cuffed jeans and a glamorous novelty belt buckle to do? 

Well I’ll tell you what he’s NOT doing: sitting at home, clutching his solid gold single and crying into his brylcreem. 

(Well, maybe a little)

Instead, Jimmy marched his signature pout and devil-may-care attitude down the street to someone who actually gave a damn. Now he’s a member of the Airplayers, a song production team producing pop acts mainly in the UK and Europe. (He also has a LinkedIn profile, so you know he’s serious.)

I can’t find a recent pic, but for the love of God, I hope he hasn’t lost all his hair. 

Color Me Badd

 … I mean, they really need no introduction. The early 90′s R&B group from Oklahoma sold over 12 million albums in the U.S. with such hits as “I Wanna Sex You Up” and “All 4 love” – all while rocking  jewel-toned pantsuits.  

A moment of silence for that trend, please.

Anyway, after schooling us all in the arts of synchronized dance routines and color blocking:

Color Me Badd broke up in 2000, and the four members went their separate ways.

• Sam Watters became a record producer and married American Idol alum Tamyra Grey

• Mark Calderon became a Christian recording artist
• Kevin Thorton was ordained as a Minister,  and
• Bryan Abrams was up on domestic violence charges.

Really living up to that second “D”, buddy

Although the R&B Angels sing no more, their legacy still lives on by inspiring such parody videos as Lonely Island’s “D*ck In A Box”.

… and at the end of the day, that’s what every band wants, isn’t it?

5ive

If you were a teenage girl in the late 90′s, then don’t even pretend you didn’t lose your sh*t every time “When The Lights Go Out” came on at your high school dance:

You know you rocked your kerchief top and cargo pants on the dance floor so hard at least one of your butterfly clips flew out and wedged itself in some unsuspecting kid’s braces.

It wasn’t your fault. These dudes were certified lady killers: “Slam Dunk Da Funk”, “Got the Feelin”, “If Ya Gettin Down” – need I go on??

Sadly, 5ive’s time in the spotlight was short-lived. The Brit boy band, which was created by the same producers as The Spice Girls (and included a member named “Abz Love”), split up in 2001 after- you guessed it- “creative differences”. The boys’ post-breakup history is pretty much par for the course: failed solo careers, stints at music production, domestic abuse allegations, oh- and of course a reality show.

That’s right. Earlier this year, 5ive teamed up with fellow has-beens 911, Atomic Kitten, B*Witched, Honeyz and Liberty X, for the British documentary series The Big Reunion, which followed the bands as they prepared for a reunion concert.

This is 5ive now. Not bad, amiright??

I have obviously been scouring the internet for footage of this train wreck but haven’t been able to find it. UK readers- help a sista out. Where can I watch this television gold? 

Question of the Day:  What other has-beens have you wondered about? 

When Did Vowels Stop Being Cool?

As I was perusing my iTunes the other day, I noticed a bit of a disturbing trend.

…No, I am not referring to my extensive collection of Phil Collins albums. There is nothing weird nor disturbing about loving an 80′s singer/songwriter with the voice of an angel.

What I’m actually talking about is the alarming number of bands who are dropping vowels from their names like one of Clooney’s girlfriends post awards season.

Don’t worry Stacy. I’m sure he’ll change for you.

Seriously:

MGMT

CVRCHES

HRVRD

MSTRKRFT

Even Madonna has started going by “MDNA” recently.

At first I assumed that vowels were just another casualty in the endless pursuit of the ultimate ironic band name (“Dale Earnhardt Jr.Jr.” and “Com Truise” anyone?);but after a little research, I discovered this trend was actually part of a wider phenomenon known as “disemvowelling”.

“Disemvowelling” (besides just being a really great pun) is the art of rewriting a piece of alphabetic text with all of the vowel letters removed. According to Wikipedia, It was first developed in 2002 as a way to limit unwanted comments on internet sites. The technique would strip the vowels from offensive comments, rendering them harder to read and sending a message about appropriate conduct. Disemvowelling later went on to become a common feature of SMS text language.

Disemvowelling has been experiencing a bit of a heyday as of late with the resurgence of minimalist branding- a form of advertising where designers strip away all the fluff and keep the only important things.

Sorry for making you all crave nutella.

If you live in an urban centre, I’m sure you’ve seen a lot of this lately. I feel like every time I turn around there’s a new restaurant in Toronto called “MRKT” something or other which
seats about 5 people and is furnished with exposed lightbulbs and metal stools.

But it’s not just the bougie places- even the low brow brands are getting involved:

I have mixed feelings about all of this. On the one hand, I find it sort of gimmicky and annoying. It makes your band/restaurant/product something I never want to say out loud for fear of messing it up- like all that fancy sh*t on restaurant menus.

Part of me also sees it as yet another erosion of the English language. Is it really necessary to sacrifice spelling and grammar at the expense of making an impact? .

Plus, all of this has the potential of putting Vanna out of a job, and quite frankly, I think we should all be a little more concerned about that.

I was all set to write an entire post hating-on this, until I discussed it with a musician friend of mine who suggested that this trend makes sense, given that the English language itself is inherently limiting. There are a finite number of words, and ways you can say them. Creative types understand this innately, and try to supplement what can’t be said through music, art and other mediums. Creating new words or ideas by dropping vowels, adding numbers, or spelling things uniquely is just another way to stretch the boundaries of language to do something meaningful.

It’s a good theory in principle- but at the same time, I have a hard time believing that’s what N’SYNC had in mind:

Who knows though. They were the voice of a generation.

Question of the Day: Disemvowelling: Yay or Nay?

Love Lessons From My Childhood Pen Pal

I got a letter in the mail the other day. It was a bit of an unexpected thrill, considering my mailbox is usually filled with nothing but Domino’s pizza flyers. (Which, don’t get me wrong, I still appreciate.) 

While reading it, I was reminded of a time in my life when letters weren’t quite so infrequent.

………. Cue the flashback (you knew it was coming)

The year was 1995: I was 9 years old, bookish, and heavy into Blossom Hats and The Babysitter’s Club. I was teetering on the verge of what would soon become my five-year “awkward phase”, but didn’t know it yet. Life was good.

It was also the year I made my first Pen Pal.

*Not me or my dog.

I acquired my Pen Pal through somewhat unusual circumstances. My father, the son of Croatian immigrants, liked to keep ties with his Eastern European heritage. This manifested itself mostly in three ways: cooking obscene amounts of cabbage, hoarding things, and subscribing to a Croatian newsletter called  Zajedničar. 

Zajedničar, as I recall it, was a bizarre publication filled with ads for life insurance, way too many consonants, and people in weird costumes playing Tamburitzas.

 I never paid much attention to it until one day, my dad showed me an ad offering a PenPal service connecting Croatian children across North America.  

Now this was something I could get down with. The opportunity to correspond with a real live girl in another country? Sign me up!

I immediately submitted my information to the magazine, and a few weeks later, received my first letter.  It was from a girl named Jessica in Erie, Pennsylvania. She was 10 years old, and loved Barbies, gymnastics and stickers- in that order.  She even sent me her school photo, in which she was wearing one of those Western bolo shirts that were popular at the time.

This was the best I could do on Google images. She actually looked nothing like this.

Her long, sandy blond hair was tied into a side braid with a fluffy white scrunchie on the end, and she accessorized with dangly troll earrings, gummy bracelets and a toothpaste-commercial smile.

To me, she was impossibly cool.

I immediately began crafting my response. Besides just telling her my entire life story, I also spent hours researching her hobbies and interests in order to prove what a thoughtful and conscientious Pen Pal I could be. I even had my dad pull out the atlas to show me where Erie was on the map. 

I was certain she would be impressed by such informational gems as:

“Did you know your town is named after a lake??!”; and 

“I heard toothpaste is great for removing sticker residue!“ 

We corresponded for the next few months, sending letters as well as other totems of our respective 90’s childhoods: stickers, colorful erasers, POGS, temporary tattoos.We never spoke a single word about Croatia, but that was OK. 

Eventually, things kind of fizzled out. Ok, I’m lying. Jessica just straight-up stopped writing to me. I don’t really know what happened. I mean, maybe I was a little overzealous in my pursuits- spending hours drafting elaborate letters, consulting atlases and whatnot. And maybe I should’ve seen this one coming when my 10-page anthologies met with only a few measly paragraphs in response. “Maybe she’s busy practicing her tumbling,” my mother would say. But deep down, I knew the score. 

While being blown-off so coldly hurt at the time, in a way I’m thankful, because it probably prevented me from becoming a full-on stage 5 clinger in future romantic relationships.  

Now I’m just incredibly closed-off and distant. I think it’s working out pretty well for me.

So thank you, Jessica, for teaching me that there is such a thing as coming on way too strong. I  hope you finally found that Sailor Moon sticker sheet you were looking for, and that somewhere, out there, you and your side braid are tumbling off into the sunset.

Question of the Day: Did You Have A Pen Pal Growing Up?

March Reading Recap: In Like A Lion, Out Like A Hedgehog

They say March comes in like a lion, out like a lamb, and I guess that was sort of true when it came to my literary pursuits. Things started out strong with The Last Girlfriend on Earth and The Happiness Project (reviews here and here), petered off with a couple of duds in the middle, and then ended with a hedgehog.

Have no idea what the hell I am talking about? Read on to find out!

“The Love Song of Johnny Valentine” by Teddy Wayne

11-year-old pop star Johnny Valentine seems to have it all: a successful music career, the admiration of tweens worldwide, a killer hairdo. But is fame really all it’s cracked up to be?

The Love Song of Johnny Valentine attempts to answer this very question by following Johnny and his motley entourage on tour across America, tackling such hard-hitting issues as broken homes, body image and child exploitation along the way.

Think Never Say Never, but with more words.

While The Love Song makes some good arguments about our celebrity obsessed culture and paints an excellent picture of a complicated mother/child relationship, I had a really hard time believing Johnny as narrator. I mean, I get that he was precocious and mature for his age or whatever, but I still don’t know many 11 year olds who contemplate “the meaning of it all” the way he did.

I also wish there had been more of a storyline, rather than just a running narrative of Johnny’s tour. There was a bit thrown in there about his attempts to find his deadbeat dad, but it sort of seemed like an afterthought to give the book some semblance of a plot.

This book received a lot of great reviews (including in The New York Times) so maybe I’m missing something- but it definitely was not my favourite. I felt like it was trying too hard to be meaningful and profound, but the execution just fell short.

I give it: 2/5 Intellectual Dachshunds

So Damn Lucky by Deborah Coonts

Lucky O’Toole has a lot on her plate: not only is she the head of customer relations at a Las Vegas hotel, she’s also trying to save a failing relationship with a rock star while at the same time fielding romantic pursuits from a sexy fraud investigator and a 5-star French Chef. The last thing she needs is to be pulled into a murder investigation. But that’s exactly what happens after a hotel magician disappears right under her nose! So Damn Lucky follows Lucky and her improbable cast of sidekicks as they chase leads all over Las Vegas- all the while being pulled deeper into the world of magic, secret societies, and of course- romance.

Let me start by saying, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I bought this book. I wandered into Chapters looking for something to read on the plane to Las Vegas, and the lonely looking middle-aged sales lady recommended this book. I guess that should have been my first clue. Or, you know, the fact that the main character’s name was LUCKY FREAKING O’TOOLE.

Anyway, this book was complete garbage. I had to bribe myself with snacks just to get through the final chapters. Too many characters, flawed plotlines, unrealistic dialogue, I could go on, but I won’t torture you with more.

I give it: 1/5 Intellectual Dachshunds:

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery

Renée Michel seems, by all accounts, your ordinary concierge. Fat, cranky and ostensibly ordinary, the residents of her bougie Paris apartment building have no idea she harbours a secret passion for literature, classical music and Japanese culture.

And then there’s Paloma, the 12-year-old child genius who lives upstairs from Renee. Paloma is convinced that life isn’t worth living and has decided to commit suicide and set her family’s apartment on fire on her 13th birthday. Until then she will keep a journal of “profound thoughts” documenting the last days of her life.

Thrown into the mix is a wealthy, cultured Japanese man who has recently moved into the building and takes a special interest in our unassuming concierge. The Elegance of the Hedgehog tells the story of each of these characters, and what happens when their worlds collide.

I had heard some polarizing accounts of this book from my friends; some loved it, others felt it was too pretentious and philosophical. I fell somewhere in the middle. I enjoyed reading it (so much that I read the entire thing in one sitting) and it made me reflect on a lot of issues- class, culture, hypocrisy, etc. Plus, call me a sucker, but I also found it pretty romantic.

At the same time, sometimes the philosophical/existential prose was a bit much for me. I mean, an entire chapter devoted to rain? Phenomenology?

To borrow a line from another review I read: “if this novel were a piece of furniture, it would be an ikea bestseller: popular, but not likely to be passed down the generations”. And that’s why I give it:

3/5 Intellectual Daschunds

Question of the Day: Have you read any of these books? What have you read lately?