A Spanish woman who described herself as the world's oldest blogger died recently at the age of 97. (Story: here.) According to Maria Amelia Lopez's side of the story, her grandson is stingy and built a blog as a birthday gift for her 95th birthday. Personally, I think the guy was just hedging his bets at that point. Buying granny anything costing more than $20 at her age is asking for trouble.
Apparently her blog was hosted by blogger/blogspot, as we are. It's as if our own grandma has died, except there's no uncomfortable wake or funeral we have to attend. So that's a plus. Her blog is a good read if you can read Spanish, or if you're just looking to get in touch with your Spanish side and have a little blogging siesta. She even puts a picture of herself up on her main page, showing her in a snazzy periwinkle blue scarf. I think that's the key to a successful blog: stylish photos of its writers wearing dashing scarves. (I'm working on getting Marcy and McCarthy to wear some scarves, just so you readers can feel like we're equally debonair in our neckwear.)
As an added bonus, she also often went on her webcam to give her views on issues of the day. From the looks of them, she did these videos late at night by the glow of a desk lamp, as if she has a secret she wants to tell you, or to show you how the Unabomber worked successfully for so long. (Side note: in these videos she wears a satin pink scarf. Again with the rakish neckwear.) I'll attach a video, though I haven't a clue what she's talking about. My Spanish skills are weaker than the coffee you get at McDonalds. But I'm wagering that since she was about 97 years old when she posted this that she wasn't dropping F-bombs or threatening Fitchburg State College. Just a wild hunch.
Ms. Lopez also met Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero once, who visited her at her home. Clearly, this was a power grab by the Prime Minister. We all know the elderly vote in higher numbers than college kids. An elderly grandma who has a grasp of the internet? That's dangerous to any politician. But, hey, we bloggers really know how to woo the powerful men in the world. I once met the president of FSC before. Pres. Antonucci even replied to a few of my emails. I'm not saying I have the cache of Ms. Lopez. All I'm saying is that I'm 70 years younger than her and I'm already meeting people in positions of power, so she's behind the curve a little here. Though I'll admit I can't hold a candle to her on my scarf-wearing abilities.
Still, there's something endearing about Maria Amelia Lopez. Getting in touch with so many people revitalized her. It made her happy to wake up every morning. Although, according to Ms. Lopez, running the blog "took 20 years off my life." Tell me about it, sister. The Toolbox will make a martyr of me by the time I'm 40.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Spelling out the differences...
1.) Awkward: adj.: Lacking dexterity or skill; lacking ease or grace
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
The National Spelling Bee concluded the other day. The dirty little secret of the typical English major is that none of us really know how to spell. (See: Spell-check Gone Rogue.) Sure, we read a lot, but none of us can spell a lick. If the word is polysyllabic, there's 75% chance any English major will throw a misbegotten vowel in there just to jazz up the word a little.
That's why English majors often look dumbfounded at the National Spelling Bee kids. All of these kid contestants say they want to become doctors, scientists, physicists--any profession that requires a complete lack of imagination along with a six figure income. Despite their mastery of spelling, none say, "Gee, Bob, I want to be a writer some day!"
Each kid always seems a little socially awkward up there as well. No matter how hot and bothered I might have gotten over some Sir Gawain and the Green Knight action, I can happily report that neither I, nor any other English major, has passed out from the moment like this kid.
Look at this kid go down! Joe Frazier hit the mat with more grace after Muhammad Ali cocked him. Down goes Fraz--AH! Down goes Fraz--AH!! And no fellow spelling bee friend even moves from their seat to help him. Those kids are cutthroat. They'd cut you in a dark alley for your lunch money with that kind of mindset. (I'll give the kid credit. He spells the word after getting back up. Apparently his fall jarred the letters loose in his head.)
I'm also happy to report that if any English major started sucking wind like this kid, one of our fellow chums would have come over and lend a hand after we took a dive.
2.) Mustache: noun: The hair growing on the human upper lip, especially when cultivated and groomed.
Another great mystery with the spelling bee is the sheer number of 12 and 13 year old boys sporting mustaches. I wasn't sporting that much facial hair at 21. Yet these kids look like they're just a few years away from doing a Just For Men commercial. I couldn't have even tried to grow a mustache at 13. The sparse hairs on my face that remotely qualified as peach fuzz needed seven coats of shoe polish to thicken and darken them to make out a shadow of facial hair.
I'm not suggesting there should be drug-testing in the spelling bee. I'm just saying some of them are juicing, and I don't mean a V-8. 'Roids, my friends. I'm saying the kids are on mental 'roids.
3.) Militant: adj.: Very active or aggressive in support of a cause.
These spelling geniuses also have another thing going for them that many English majors do not: militant families. English majors by and large come from much more independent minded families. We're the hippies of education. We revel in the free love of books and writing. The libraries are our communes. College is our Woodstock. Whether or not we choose to dabble in tie-dyed shirts is another matter, but we English majors rarely frown on it.
But these spelling bee kids come from the Fascism school of thought. Forget Mussolini making the trains run on time, these families demand perfect memorization of giant 10,000 page dictionaries. Your friends want to play with you? Stop your foolishness! These families demand the child memorize the binary etymological route of words in the cold encasement of the family office, far from sunlight or human interaction.
The only emotion many of these kids come across is when they see the word "love" in the dictionary. And even then it's a foreign premise to them.
4.) Defeated: noun: A bringing to naught, frustration.
The moment of truth for 99% of the contestants is when they finally spell a word wrong. It's a quick walk backstage to their parents, who are not waiting with open arms half the time. You usually only see this kind of cold rejection by family on an episode of Montel Williams.
Here, again, is where English majors differ. If you write a crappy essay or story or poem (or blog post!) as an English major, someone will tell you they like it and love you. There's always someone--anyone--to tell you you're special. English majors only learn this type of defeat and rejection when publishers and editors rip your latest manuscript apart. But until then? You're always loved.
And it's not just a word you see in a dictionary.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Give Me A Good Brit Mystery Any Day!
Seems like a fair amount of space has been delegated here to discussion of the romance novel. For those of you who are in that purgatory between Brit Lit and the lowly romance novel, I suggest a new addiction--Brit mystery novels. Invariably, they involve a chief inspector who is either a peer, a poet or both. His team consists of smart, driven and somewhat diverse investigators who invariably have a dysfunctional relationship with each other, their jobs, or even their neighbors.
If the chief inspector is a woman, she appears hard as nails on the outside but has a mushy vulnerable inside that depends on alcohol, coffee and cigarettes to get her through the day. Her team is comprised of all men who are hostile to her because she was promoted above them and is a woman.
Of course, both the male and female chief inspectors always get their man, woman, dog or child. If the story is about the male chief inspector and his team, it almost always is related to politics and often has a brush with Interpol or at least MI5 and even members of Parliament. If the protagonist is the female chief inspector, the story will contain a serial killer who invariably goes after our heroine. We always worry that her team won't take her back, but, in the end she is saved and the killer is caught or killed.
Since these are British mystery novels, most of the time, smutty sex is implied and not described in detail. Of course, we know it is going on and with whom, but the really juicy parts are left to our imagination in true Brit fashion. For the more intellectual reader, the dysfunctional relationships of the teams take up as much or more space than the plot. Sometimes the messiness is with each other, but in the male chief inspector's case, almost always involves someone of his class whom he met while fox hunting on a weekend getaway to a fellow peer's country estate. Of course, it is his sensitive side that his perspective love interest visualizes through his poetry. Their relationship is difficult primarily because of their jobs keep them apart and each has an innate inability to make or keep social commitments.
Our female chief inspector usually does not have a love interest. She makes no bones over the fact that she is married to her job. She is usually from a middle class background who has struggled to get where she is now. Her experiences with love are always disasterous and in modern mysteries, her love interests are either dead or have had it with her over-the-top work ethic. She is also unable to make or keep social commitments.
Best of all, if you don't want to take the time to read them yet you want to appear knowlegable, they are almost always represented on either Masterpiece Theatre or Mystery! shown ad nauseum on PBS. Of course, you have to make a Sunday night commitment for about eight weeks or if you have cable you can check them out later in the week on a multitude of PBS channels. If you are computer savvy, you can find them on youtube and hulu.com.
These novels are best read with the Oxford English Dictionary handy. For that reason, they are good reading to prep for the GREs. Also, if read in a public place like a park, the quad, or even a quiet bar, they are intellectual babe/guy magnets. You actually look like you are intelligent and know something. Soon, you'll be dressed impeccably with a studied slight inattention to detail and you'll have a quote from the classics or your own poetry ready for every occasion. Or, you may be a secret alcoholic and a chain smoker whose personal life as well as bedroom, apartment or dorm room bears a striking resemblance to something on the edge of condemnation from the British version of the Board of Health.
English geeks like us are beset with the same but different desires and insecurities that the rest of the world faces. We want to succeed in life, love and at least one other fetish that we share with no one. We are obsessed with some aspect of English, often an obscure one, therefore making jobs in the real world elusive. Most of all, like everyone else we want to look cool, especially to the object of our affections.
My advice? Hit Barnes &Noble and buy several Brit mysteries, something from the classics and an Oxford English Dictionary, preferably a bit beat up since you want to demonstrate that you are worth your salt intellectually. Get the wardrobe right. Clothing that is somewhere between age appropriate and Dickensian will do. Find your spot so that the light hits you properly and you are at least within peripheral eyesight of the inividual you want to notice you. Open your books randomly and begin to read the mystery. Cross referencing with the dictionary, Bartlett's Quotations and Homer or Shakespeare is good. If you are noticed by a non-intellectual type, become a bit pedagogical in your conversation. True, it will scare the person away, but these people always talk. Rest assured, your stellar reputation will soon make it around campus and you will attract the right sorts of people that you want to be a part of your circle.
You are on your way to becoming a part of an elite group all by reading British mysteries. Adam Dagliesh and Harriet Vane are your friends. you don't have to be embarassed such as you would if you were caught with say...a romance novel. Perhaps you won't be reading smutty sex, but by reading Brit mysteries, you will go far in establishing a proper reputation and perhaps catch a bit of romance as well.
Oh, and this is just an aside...they really are excellent beach reading.
If the chief inspector is a woman, she appears hard as nails on the outside but has a mushy vulnerable inside that depends on alcohol, coffee and cigarettes to get her through the day. Her team is comprised of all men who are hostile to her because she was promoted above them and is a woman.
Of course, both the male and female chief inspectors always get their man, woman, dog or child. If the story is about the male chief inspector and his team, it almost always is related to politics and often has a brush with Interpol or at least MI5 and even members of Parliament. If the protagonist is the female chief inspector, the story will contain a serial killer who invariably goes after our heroine. We always worry that her team won't take her back, but, in the end she is saved and the killer is caught or killed.
Since these are British mystery novels, most of the time, smutty sex is implied and not described in detail. Of course, we know it is going on and with whom, but the really juicy parts are left to our imagination in true Brit fashion. For the more intellectual reader, the dysfunctional relationships of the teams take up as much or more space than the plot. Sometimes the messiness is with each other, but in the male chief inspector's case, almost always involves someone of his class whom he met while fox hunting on a weekend getaway to a fellow peer's country estate. Of course, it is his sensitive side that his perspective love interest visualizes through his poetry. Their relationship is difficult primarily because of their jobs keep them apart and each has an innate inability to make or keep social commitments.
Our female chief inspector usually does not have a love interest. She makes no bones over the fact that she is married to her job. She is usually from a middle class background who has struggled to get where she is now. Her experiences with love are always disasterous and in modern mysteries, her love interests are either dead or have had it with her over-the-top work ethic. She is also unable to make or keep social commitments.
Best of all, if you don't want to take the time to read them yet you want to appear knowlegable, they are almost always represented on either Masterpiece Theatre or Mystery! shown ad nauseum on PBS. Of course, you have to make a Sunday night commitment for about eight weeks or if you have cable you can check them out later in the week on a multitude of PBS channels. If you are computer savvy, you can find them on youtube and hulu.com.
These novels are best read with the Oxford English Dictionary handy. For that reason, they are good reading to prep for the GREs. Also, if read in a public place like a park, the quad, or even a quiet bar, they are intellectual babe/guy magnets. You actually look like you are intelligent and know something. Soon, you'll be dressed impeccably with a studied slight inattention to detail and you'll have a quote from the classics or your own poetry ready for every occasion. Or, you may be a secret alcoholic and a chain smoker whose personal life as well as bedroom, apartment or dorm room bears a striking resemblance to something on the edge of condemnation from the British version of the Board of Health.
English geeks like us are beset with the same but different desires and insecurities that the rest of the world faces. We want to succeed in life, love and at least one other fetish that we share with no one. We are obsessed with some aspect of English, often an obscure one, therefore making jobs in the real world elusive. Most of all, like everyone else we want to look cool, especially to the object of our affections.
My advice? Hit Barnes &Noble and buy several Brit mysteries, something from the classics and an Oxford English Dictionary, preferably a bit beat up since you want to demonstrate that you are worth your salt intellectually. Get the wardrobe right. Clothing that is somewhere between age appropriate and Dickensian will do. Find your spot so that the light hits you properly and you are at least within peripheral eyesight of the inividual you want to notice you. Open your books randomly and begin to read the mystery. Cross referencing with the dictionary, Bartlett's Quotations and Homer or Shakespeare is good. If you are noticed by a non-intellectual type, become a bit pedagogical in your conversation. True, it will scare the person away, but these people always talk. Rest assured, your stellar reputation will soon make it around campus and you will attract the right sorts of people that you want to be a part of your circle.
You are on your way to becoming a part of an elite group all by reading British mysteries. Adam Dagliesh and Harriet Vane are your friends. you don't have to be embarassed such as you would if you were caught with say...a romance novel. Perhaps you won't be reading smutty sex, but by reading Brit mysteries, you will go far in establishing a proper reputation and perhaps catch a bit of romance as well.
Oh, and this is just an aside...they really are excellent beach reading.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Less pomp, more circumstance.
Congratulations, boys and girls of the class of 2009! Through your hard work (or laziness), dedication (or indifference), and financial perseverance (or parents' money and care packages) you've made it through college.
Let's break down the obvious next few steps in your life during and immediately following this momentous occasion:
1.) Caps and gowns can only be worn once. Like a wedding dress, a prom dress, or your birthday suit (hey, oh!), you'll never get a chance to wear the same one again. Make sure you get your $50 worth out of that outfit. Turn the gown into a summer skirt or a light shawl. Men can turn their gowns into a saucy pair of pantaloons. Mortarboard seem useless? Its flat surface will work as a great alternative to a serving tray at a restaurant when you work to make ends meet.
2.) Odds are you come from on of two types of friends and family circles. One type of circle will give you large quantities of cash for graduating, as if you're a Colombian drug smuggler with a penchant for cheap gold jewelry and pinkie rings. Don't dissuade these people from lavishing you with these gifts. In fact, encourage them to keep the gravy train flowing. Cry poor mouth. Are you mom and dad's only child? Make sure to subtly remind them you could die at any moment from swine flu or from an accident in your poorly assembled American made car. Odds are your parents fear two things: your untimely demise, or that you'll embarrass them in life with your shoddy work ethic and party lifestyle. Guarantee them that large sums of cash will assure neither of those will happen.
The other friends and family circle is the type that will show up to your graduation and then bail before they're forced to give you anything. Don't expect money. Don't expect a gift. Don't even expect a $2.99 card with a "Follow your dreams!" message. The only thing to expect is a night out for some fast food by yourself followed by quietly hoping you're adopted.
3.) If you enjoy stereotypes (and I know you do!), there's a good chance you'll take a vacation somewhere. Slinging on a backpack and going to Europe is always a popular choice. If foreign linguistics scare you, the Englands and Irelands of the world await you with almost-coherent English spoken.
If you like your exotic European locales, but only enjoy ones you can associate with cheap American restaurants, then Italy is for you! According to Pizza Hut commercials, even Italians love cheap American versions of Italian food these days.
Just want to wear a bikini/Speedo on a beach? Deals to Mexico can be had for a steal these days.
4.) If you're a do-gooder with a traveling jones, then the next step in life might possibly be visiting some third world nation, where a Sally Struther's lookalike awaits you to help feed the children. It can be a Travel Channel experience blended with a Mother Teresa vibe that is second to none. Since you've just graduated college, you've already established you're not afraid of commitment for at least a few years, and most of these do-gooder programs demand one to two years of your time. Did you just have an ugly break-up with your boyfriend/girlfriend? Is the prospect of living at home with your parents not enticing? This might be the route in life to take!
5.) If you're someone who is too poor to travel, or just a xenophobic with a fear of flying, then it's time to jump right into that job hunt! Congratulations on graduating into the worst economy since your grandparents were swaddled in diapers.
There are a few words everyone throw around these days, so it's best if you know what to say. "Networking" is a popular word and is all the rage. Facebook, job fairs, random weddings, hob-knobbing with the homeless people in parks are all forms of networking. Getting a coffee at Starbucks? Ask the barista for their number and if they know any job contacts. When you have conversations with nosy adults with steady jobs who ask you about your job hunt, tell them you're networking passionately and are really making connections. This can be a total lie, but it makes it sound like you're trying if you say it in an upbeat voice.
6.) Got a job interview lined up? Dress the part. Those pantaloons you made out of your graduation gown? Not a good choice. That "Colege" t-shirt you wear to look ironic? Not going to be a winner. Possible employers want to make sure your soul is already dying and don't want to see any imagination alive in you. Business attire straight off the Macy's clearance rack will work nicely, and shows the assimilation is underway within you! When in doubt, always go for the cotton/poly blends. Though rayon works in a jiffy.
7.) Miss those days of college when your biggest concern was trying to get to your 9:30am American Lit class only 10 minutes late? Try to relive those days while battling traffic on the way to your new job. Try to keep your lateness to 10 to 15 minutes, tops. If your new boss asks why you're late, tell him there was an accident or construction crews working. Or combine the two and say there was an accident with construction crews. Don't let your imagination run wild though. Remember, employers don't like that.
8.) And when all else fails and you wonder if this whole college thing was worth it, realize that with your shiny new degree you can always go around and tell people you're educated. Not smart necessarily, but at least educated. After all, where else did you learn to make those pantaloons?
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Writers are anyone with a keyboard or a pad of paper nearby.
Someone recently asked me, "How do writers write?"
I didn't know what they were looking for, so I said, "With desperation."
Surprisingly, that wasn't what they were looking for.
But a Google search for just that very question isn't very helpful either. The search term "how do writers write" had a first return to some website called famouswhy.com. The author of the piece, Cristina Nuta, lights a firecracker under the question and gives a gripping in-depth analysis of how writers actually write. Her view (including her own typos):
"They prefer to be alone and enjoy silence. They may also work in a dark room, where the sun can hardly penetrate. Moreover, some writers have a mess in the rooms they work in, because they are surrounded my several materials, books, essays, sheets of papers and so on. But this environment does not bother them, instead it gives them inspiration. On the other hand, there are writers who prefer a light room, painted also in bright colours. They also need to have a large balcony and feel nature is taking part in their creation of an extraordinary work of art."
((zzZZzZzz))
I'm sorry. Dozed off there for a second.
Cristina more or less just said all writers are either befuddled hermits living in man-made caves overflowing with their trash, or they're blossoming hippies who smell of patchouli that live in neon yellow rooms while humming mantras to Mother Earth.
I don't know what Cristina classifies as a "writer" though. I'm sitting here at a computer screen at 2am (hooray, insomnia!) in a room with a lamp lit while the television hums away in the corner, all the while nothing is terribly out of place or messy. Oh, and the walls are painted a very toned down color. I'd call it "Cookie Crumb" (so says the Behr paint website), which is in the terrible middle ground between "cave" and "neon yellow."
Maybe I'm not a writer then. I need to work on stereotypes to fulfill what the much-insightful Cristina says I should be. I'm sure she also thinks I need to smoke two packs a day, drink a fifth of scotch, and refuse to bathe until head lice is my closest friend. That, or I need to invest in Birkenstocks and have a vase of daisies at my side while I move to some nature reserve where my only high is the smell of wild animals outside my door.
Though Cristina does tell us this nugget of typo-ridden wisdom: "A very important thing while writing is the moment of the day to write and food: for some writers the brain only works until lunchtime and food is vital to keep them going."
Pssh. Amateur writers. Let's see them write something at 2am.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Book Review: The Road, by Cormac McCarthy
This will be the first of random book reviews that'll be nothing like a New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.
First up: Cormac McCarthy's The Road.
Review:
Really? Really now? I just read 280 pages for that? People walking in an ashtray of life? Thanks for the ambiguity. I loved how you left everything wide open and couldn't make a hard decision in the book, Cormac. My grandmother would've called you indecisive and then slapped you off the back of the head. Seriously, next time try to make up your mind and decide on something. No character names...no development...no plot details...no explanations. No problem, I guess. Since you didn't decide on anything, Cormac, you didn't have to worry about writing much of a story.
Here's the entire story in amazing, pin-point detail: A father and son walk in a world of ashes. Pop is pissy. Son is sweet. Pop gets a cough and dies. Son goes off with another man and keeps walking. The end.
With all the ashes in the story the book was as much an anti-smoking advertisement than a book. Joe Camel is probably more disappointed than I am. The Marlboro Man is probably weeping an emphasematic cry of sadness, too. And so am I, and I don't even smoke.
Friday, May 1, 2009
But is Fabio posing on the cover?
Beth Gannon has a problem. It seems she likes writing smutty romance novels in her spare time. Sadly, that's not her problem.
The problem is that Beth is a principal in the Lawrence, MA, school system, and she thought it'd be a good idea to bring her self-published novel to school with her and ask fellow teachers to buy the book. Now, according to whoever you believe, this is where the story gets murky.
A math teacher named Peggy Lynch apparently balked at buying the book. Peggy says that because she refused to buy the "smut" she was assigned after school detention duty. Apparently detention duty is the equivalent of the 7th level of hell, and Peggy feels like she was being singled out. The principal, Beth Gannon, says that's not the case. (Read all about it...here.)
Of course, the problem doesn't end there. No. The book apparently has graphic sex scenes, drug and alcohol use, and suicide. In other words, it's like a Jodi Picoult book, minus the fanatical book club following. And since this is a school, parents are up in arms that their beloved children are reading light porn while eating PB&J at lunch. Likewise, teachers are offended at the vulgarity on display in the book and their being forced to read it, especially math teacher Peggy Lynch. As a result, poor Beth is on paid administrative leave, and is probably going to lose her job.
Listen folks, let your friend Paddy help you all out and be the voice of reason here. Beth's only crime is a lack of imagination. She hasn't written anything that a Harlequin novel hasn't rehashed a couple hundred times at this point. She should be punished for apparently channeling Jodi Picoult's shoddy writing skills and forcing more over-the-top ridiculousness on the reading public. And do you know what the real crime is? Beth Gannon was charging $13.95 for each paerback book. $13.95! For paperback! What in the world is it coming with? A 24k gold leaf cover and winning lotto numbers?
As for the math teacher...we all know math teachers don't read books. That's why they work with numbers. It's scientific fact.
But despite all that, Beth Gannon's crime is definitely not having a book with sex, drugs, and rock & roll in a school, and any parent flustered over this needs to stop watching too many episodes of "To Catch a Predator" on Dateline. Trust me folks, little Bobby and little Suzie at school aren't kicking back at recess reading about bare-chested lotharios with flowing hair getting it on with buxom women. Kids will barely read a comic book these days, never mind an overpriced book their principal wrote. When I was in grade school my principal would've needed to pay me $13.95 and given me a back rub to get me to read anything she published.
Teachers, of course, are saying the issue is that they felt threatened--that they HAD to buy the book. Except, oddly enough, no teacher is complaining about buying the book so much as they're complaining about the raunchy tone of the book. Come on now, we all know if this book was called "The Care Bears Dance on Rainbows" then no teacher would have complained about it. The issue here doesn't seem so much to be about buying a book (how come these same teachers don't complain about buying Girl Scout cookies?), so much as they're uncomfortable about the book's topic.
And what if the kiddos did stumble on Beth's book, as entirely unlikely as it would be? (Are kids going to be crawling through the air ducts at the school so they can shimmy into the teacher's lounge and get a glance at the eye candy on the cover?) What's the worry? If parents do their job and actually raise their children correctly, then the kids will know between a poorly written book and reality. And are we to assume none of these parents have second rate Nora Roberts books on their nightstands their kids could catch a glimpse of?
In the end, Beth Gannon will probably lose her job as a principal. But let me tell you, she's going to make a fortune writing smutty romance books. Jackie Collins can't live forever.
The problem is that Beth is a principal in the Lawrence, MA, school system, and she thought it'd be a good idea to bring her self-published novel to school with her and ask fellow teachers to buy the book. Now, according to whoever you believe, this is where the story gets murky.
A math teacher named Peggy Lynch apparently balked at buying the book. Peggy says that because she refused to buy the "smut" she was assigned after school detention duty. Apparently detention duty is the equivalent of the 7th level of hell, and Peggy feels like she was being singled out. The principal, Beth Gannon, says that's not the case. (Read all about it...here.)
Of course, the problem doesn't end there. No. The book apparently has graphic sex scenes, drug and alcohol use, and suicide. In other words, it's like a Jodi Picoult book, minus the fanatical book club following. And since this is a school, parents are up in arms that their beloved children are reading light porn while eating PB&J at lunch. Likewise, teachers are offended at the vulgarity on display in the book and their being forced to read it, especially math teacher Peggy Lynch. As a result, poor Beth is on paid administrative leave, and is probably going to lose her job.
Listen folks, let your friend Paddy help you all out and be the voice of reason here. Beth's only crime is a lack of imagination. She hasn't written anything that a Harlequin novel hasn't rehashed a couple hundred times at this point. She should be punished for apparently channeling Jodi Picoult's shoddy writing skills and forcing more over-the-top ridiculousness on the reading public. And do you know what the real crime is? Beth Gannon was charging $13.95 for each paerback book. $13.95! For paperback! What in the world is it coming with? A 24k gold leaf cover and winning lotto numbers?
As for the math teacher...we all know math teachers don't read books. That's why they work with numbers. It's scientific fact.
But despite all that, Beth Gannon's crime is definitely not having a book with sex, drugs, and rock & roll in a school, and any parent flustered over this needs to stop watching too many episodes of "To Catch a Predator" on Dateline. Trust me folks, little Bobby and little Suzie at school aren't kicking back at recess reading about bare-chested lotharios with flowing hair getting it on with buxom women. Kids will barely read a comic book these days, never mind an overpriced book their principal wrote. When I was in grade school my principal would've needed to pay me $13.95 and given me a back rub to get me to read anything she published.
Teachers, of course, are saying the issue is that they felt threatened--that they HAD to buy the book. Except, oddly enough, no teacher is complaining about buying the book so much as they're complaining about the raunchy tone of the book. Come on now, we all know if this book was called "The Care Bears Dance on Rainbows" then no teacher would have complained about it. The issue here doesn't seem so much to be about buying a book (how come these same teachers don't complain about buying Girl Scout cookies?), so much as they're uncomfortable about the book's topic.
And what if the kiddos did stumble on Beth's book, as entirely unlikely as it would be? (Are kids going to be crawling through the air ducts at the school so they can shimmy into the teacher's lounge and get a glance at the eye candy on the cover?) What's the worry? If parents do their job and actually raise their children correctly, then the kids will know between a poorly written book and reality. And are we to assume none of these parents have second rate Nora Roberts books on their nightstands their kids could catch a glimpse of?
In the end, Beth Gannon will probably lose her job as a principal. But let me tell you, she's going to make a fortune writing smutty romance books. Jackie Collins can't live forever.
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