Typically, when I think of anything related to 12 x 12, the following comes to mind:
• A scrapbook page
• An album to hold a collection of scrapbook pages
• A Suduko puzzle (though I’ve never solved one because these things frustrate the hell out of me)
• Multiplication tables through “the twelves”
• The cover of a vintage 33rpm vinyl album
A dwelling does not come to mind—even though I’ve purchased overpriced real estate in Southern California.
In Room, 12 x 12 is a shed inhabited by five year-old Jack and his “ma”. Through Jack’s voice, we learn that he was born in Room, plays on Rug, sleeps in Wardrobe, eats at Table and has never been outside beyond the locked Door. We also learn that a mysterious “Old Nick” visits Jack and his ma almost nightly; mostly to repeatedly rape Ma while Jack hides in Wardrobe, but also to remove trash and bring sparse supplies of food and clothing. At a certain point, Jack’s young Ma determines that she’s had enough and is ready to risk everything in an attempt to escape and it is only then that she reveals how she and Jack arrived in Room in the first place and why they’ve lived there for so many horrific years.
Life outside Room is fascinating, terrifying, stimulating and ultimately exhausting for both Jack and his ma. The overwhelming adjustments they must make to survive result in their longing for change and the unique execution of their desires in ways that are both predictable and heartbreaking.
I’ll stop here. The less I share, the more the book retains its incredible power. Read it. Definitely.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
If I am Missing or Dead (Janine Latus)
I spent part of this morning shopping at Cost Plus World Market for an assembly-required bookshelf to aid in my office renovation and reorganization project. I was just about to check out when perky clerk, Shannon, asked me if I needed any of the “amazing” products from the Eat, Pray, Love (the book written by Elizabeth Gilbert) part of the store. I must have unconsciously expressed irritation or disgust at that point because Shannon then asked if I had read the book. I said that I had not. She was soon deflated and sighed, “Oh my God. You have to read it! It’s amazing!” I explained that I tried to read the book but could not get past the author’s whining and self-pity in the beginning so I put it down. I further explained that I could not respect a person who, admittedly and for a lifetime, failed to see the beauty within and around her and found it necessary to travel the world to do so. An aside: Apparently I am one of few people who feel that way as this book has been on the New York Times Best Seller list for over 155 weeks (according to the author’s website).
Shannon, ever the customer service professional, then asked if I planned to see the film. I said no so, of course, she wanted to know why. Aside from the fact that the film is based on a book with a premise I found completely annoying (didn’t she get that from the first part of the conversation?), I shared my recent disenchantment with Julia Roberts who, in a recent interview on the Oprah Winfrey Show, claimed that she was resigned to sewing her children’s clothing by hand because of the recession. REALLY JULIA??? As if we all believe that YOU are suffering financially. For those who are somehow unaware, Julia Roberts will play the lead role in the Eat, Pray, Love film (apparently because she’d prefer to buy clothes at Baby Gap than continue to sew them and royalties from this project will enable her to do so). And because I have now relegated Julia to the status of the couch-jumping, Scientologist, Tom Cruise, I have no immediate plans to see that movie. Or read the rest of the book. My conversation with Cost Plus World Market Shannon underscored those facts.
Throughout at least several of the past 155 weeks, I’ve reflected upon the fact that I am not nor ever will be part of the EPL phenomena. I’m sure it’s a fine book for some. But really, the book’s content is too introspective and ultimately uplifting for my taste considering my penchant for "Debbie Downer" books. None of which should come as a surprise if you’ve been following this blog or have known me personally for longer than three hours. And that, finally, brings me to If I am Missing or Dead.
What a brilliant title for such a devastating novel. The author writes about her own bleak childhood, the abuse her mother endured from her father, and how both resulted in a second generation of victimization as both Latus and her favorite sister, Amy, married abusers. Latus ultimately escapes the horror of her own relationship. Amy does not.
This memoir, in many ways, reminded me of Jeannette Walls’, The Glass Castle. It shares themes of spousal abuse, women with escape strategies, and tragedy mixed with successes. It’s another book that women everywhere should read either to reaffirm their own healthy relationships or to see themselves within the Latus family dynamic and take action.
This book will live on my new Cost Plus shelf—as soon as I finish assembling it.
Shannon, ever the customer service professional, then asked if I planned to see the film. I said no so, of course, she wanted to know why. Aside from the fact that the film is based on a book with a premise I found completely annoying (didn’t she get that from the first part of the conversation?), I shared my recent disenchantment with Julia Roberts who, in a recent interview on the Oprah Winfrey Show, claimed that she was resigned to sewing her children’s clothing by hand because of the recession. REALLY JULIA??? As if we all believe that YOU are suffering financially. For those who are somehow unaware, Julia Roberts will play the lead role in the Eat, Pray, Love film (apparently because she’d prefer to buy clothes at Baby Gap than continue to sew them and royalties from this project will enable her to do so). And because I have now relegated Julia to the status of the couch-jumping, Scientologist, Tom Cruise, I have no immediate plans to see that movie. Or read the rest of the book. My conversation with Cost Plus World Market Shannon underscored those facts.
Throughout at least several of the past 155 weeks, I’ve reflected upon the fact that I am not nor ever will be part of the EPL phenomena. I’m sure it’s a fine book for some. But really, the book’s content is too introspective and ultimately uplifting for my taste considering my penchant for "Debbie Downer" books. None of which should come as a surprise if you’ve been following this blog or have known me personally for longer than three hours. And that, finally, brings me to If I am Missing or Dead.
What a brilliant title for such a devastating novel. The author writes about her own bleak childhood, the abuse her mother endured from her father, and how both resulted in a second generation of victimization as both Latus and her favorite sister, Amy, married abusers. Latus ultimately escapes the horror of her own relationship. Amy does not.
This memoir, in many ways, reminded me of Jeannette Walls’, The Glass Castle. It shares themes of spousal abuse, women with escape strategies, and tragedy mixed with successes. It’s another book that women everywhere should read either to reaffirm their own healthy relationships or to see themselves within the Latus family dynamic and take action.
This book will live on my new Cost Plus shelf—as soon as I finish assembling it.
Friday, July 9, 2010
We Need to Talk About Kevin (Lionel Shriver)
Some people just shouldn’t have children.
I say this after spending many years teaching kids who were, mostly, delightful. But of the two-hundred or so students I taught each year, every once in a while, a not-so-delightful kid appeared in my class. I’m not talking about the kid who brought a rat to my class in an attempt to derail my lesson plan. And I’m not talking about the kid who ate, with his hands, the cake I bought so my honors class could celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday. These boys (yep, both boys) were amateurs and acted out as a function of their immaturity. The not-so-delightful students I’m thinking of were ones I was certain, at the time, were future felons. Even at the tender age of fourteen, they exuded pure evil. Several names and associated offenses come to mind when I reminisce about that reality but I won’t list them here. And I hope their parents, the same people I pleaded with to pay careful attention to the behaviors I observed in class yet didn’t, appreciate that.
Kevin, the protagonist named in this book’s title, could have easily been one of the students I’m thinking about with one notable exception: his mother, Eva, was never in denial about the very different child he was nor the monster he was destined to become. She knew, as perhaps only a mother could, Kevin’s malicious, immoral and sociopathic psyche better than anyone. Even Eva’s beloved husband, Franklin,—seemingly estranged from her throughout the novel—rejected the idea that Kevin was socially unacceptable and exhibited gruesome behaviors despite the obvious.
Eva’s inherent ill feelings towards Kevin cause her to question, throughout the book, her decision to have children until Celia, her savior child and Kevin’s younger sister, is born; thus vindicating her role as a mother. Unfortunately, Kevin is a force greater than what Eva initially understands. His remorseless path of destruction is infinite and ultimately resonates in Eva’s relentless introspection about her decision to become a parent and how that decision resulted in the raising of an adolescent murderer.
Presented creatively in a series of letters to her husband, Eva tells a haunting story. In the end, those who have children will be left wondering if such horror could occur in their own families. Those who don’t (due to personal choice) may realize an affirmation regarding that decision.
I say this after spending many years teaching kids who were, mostly, delightful. But of the two-hundred or so students I taught each year, every once in a while, a not-so-delightful kid appeared in my class. I’m not talking about the kid who brought a rat to my class in an attempt to derail my lesson plan. And I’m not talking about the kid who ate, with his hands, the cake I bought so my honors class could celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday. These boys (yep, both boys) were amateurs and acted out as a function of their immaturity. The not-so-delightful students I’m thinking of were ones I was certain, at the time, were future felons. Even at the tender age of fourteen, they exuded pure evil. Several names and associated offenses come to mind when I reminisce about that reality but I won’t list them here. And I hope their parents, the same people I pleaded with to pay careful attention to the behaviors I observed in class yet didn’t, appreciate that.
Kevin, the protagonist named in this book’s title, could have easily been one of the students I’m thinking about with one notable exception: his mother, Eva, was never in denial about the very different child he was nor the monster he was destined to become. She knew, as perhaps only a mother could, Kevin’s malicious, immoral and sociopathic psyche better than anyone. Even Eva’s beloved husband, Franklin,—seemingly estranged from her throughout the novel—rejected the idea that Kevin was socially unacceptable and exhibited gruesome behaviors despite the obvious.
Eva’s inherent ill feelings towards Kevin cause her to question, throughout the book, her decision to have children until Celia, her savior child and Kevin’s younger sister, is born; thus vindicating her role as a mother. Unfortunately, Kevin is a force greater than what Eva initially understands. His remorseless path of destruction is infinite and ultimately resonates in Eva’s relentless introspection about her decision to become a parent and how that decision resulted in the raising of an adolescent murderer.
Presented creatively in a series of letters to her husband, Eva tells a haunting story. In the end, those who have children will be left wondering if such horror could occur in their own families. Those who don’t (due to personal choice) may realize an affirmation regarding that decision.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sh*t My Dad Says (Justin Halpern)
Darling Brian (husband extraordinaire) finished physical therapy the other day and suggested that I return to school to become a licensed therapist. After wondering what the hell he was thinking, I reminded him, in the midst of my I-just-finished-a-doctorate-and-never-want-to-take-a-class-for-credit-again rant, that I have well over 200 credit hours on my transcripts. Then I actually counted my credit hours (a little OCD, I know) and figured out that I have 216 credits to my name; a fact which confirmed that I don’t intend to accrue more. But counting those 216 credits led to my contemplating the professors who taught them. And thinking about those professors (most of whom were/are employed at a PAC-10 university and made/make a living projecting perfectly politically correct personae) made me wonder how many of them walk the talk or, instead, are really just like Justin Halpern’s dad in Sh*t My Dad Says.
When we, the general public, meet Halpern’s dad, he is an already retired University of California, San Diego (UCSD) medical school professor; a well-published and highly respected academic. But he doesn’t fit the stereotype. Here are just a few of Dr. Halpern’s personal pearls of wisdom:
• “You thought it was hard? If kindergarten is busting your ass, I got some bad news for you about the rest of your life.”
• “Listen up, if someone is being nice to you, and you don’t know them, run away. No one is nice to you just to be nice to you, and if they are, well, they can go take their pleasant ass somewhere else.”
• “Cheating’s not easy. You probably think it is, but it ain’t. I bet you’d suck more at cheating than whatever it was you were trying to do legitimately.”
Basically, what Justin Halpern has done here is to track and Twitter and brilliantly wrap his dad’s utterances into a book of incredibly crass yet hilarious life lessons. Reading it made me wonder why I didn't think of doing something like this with my own family's adages? I digress.
Anyway, since Dr. Halpern and I made similar career choices, I wondered what he’d say to Darling Brian after hearing his suggestion that I return to school. I bet it would be something like this:
“You’re like a tornado of bullshit right now. We’ll talk again when your bullshit dies out over someone else’s house.”
And to me about starting my tenth year in higher education this fall:
“It’s just, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it. I mean, they gave you money to do this. YOU. Amazing.”
Thanks, Dr. Halpern. :)
When we, the general public, meet Halpern’s dad, he is an already retired University of California, San Diego (UCSD) medical school professor; a well-published and highly respected academic. But he doesn’t fit the stereotype. Here are just a few of Dr. Halpern’s personal pearls of wisdom:
• “You thought it was hard? If kindergarten is busting your ass, I got some bad news for you about the rest of your life.”
• “Listen up, if someone is being nice to you, and you don’t know them, run away. No one is nice to you just to be nice to you, and if they are, well, they can go take their pleasant ass somewhere else.”
• “Cheating’s not easy. You probably think it is, but it ain’t. I bet you’d suck more at cheating than whatever it was you were trying to do legitimately.”
Basically, what Justin Halpern has done here is to track and Twitter and brilliantly wrap his dad’s utterances into a book of incredibly crass yet hilarious life lessons. Reading it made me wonder why I didn't think of doing something like this with my own family's adages? I digress.
Anyway, since Dr. Halpern and I made similar career choices, I wondered what he’d say to Darling Brian after hearing his suggestion that I return to school. I bet it would be something like this:
“You’re like a tornado of bullshit right now. We’ll talk again when your bullshit dies out over someone else’s house.”
And to me about starting my tenth year in higher education this fall:
“It’s just, I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it. I mean, they gave you money to do this. YOU. Amazing.”
Thanks, Dr. Halpern. :)
Monday, June 7, 2010
My Fair Lazy (Jen Lancaster)
The more I read Jen Lancaster, the more I realize that she and I are really the same person occupying two different bodies, married to two different husbands, living in two different states. Impossible, you say? Just read a few of our similarities below:
1. We are writers. Well, Jen is the real writer. I am a former English teacher who occasionally teaches writing and I’m a blogger and that’s close enough.
2. Both of us reinvented ourselves after unfortunate ends to our respective stints in corporate America. Jen: see #1. Di: university professor.
3. Both of us prefer our new lives over our former corporate ones and our pets to most people.
4. Neither of us can decide which Chicago-area lifestyle is more fabulous: city or north shore suburbia and can make a case for each.
5. We can quote 25 year-old Tom Cruise movies, yet cannot articulate our reasons for liking or disliking fine art without being prompted. "Looks like it's University of Illinois!"
6. We worship Candace Bushnell.
7. Both of us appreciate the bizarre combination of dessert and bacon (Jen: doughnut, Di: chocolate bar).
8. Both of us are at our creative best while irritated.
9. We don’t suffer fools and may owe some apologies as a result.
10. We often engage in too-candid verbal expression which exacerbates #9.
11. We spend far too much energy on choosing the ensemble and not nearly enough on the event we attend while wearing the ensemble.
12. We are prudishly troubled by (our own and others’) nudity.
13. We find it nearly impossible to relax during a massage (see #12).
14. We hate traveling alone.
15. We are obsessed with the Twilight saga.
16. We are conservatives whose friends are, mostly, liberal (and how the hell did that happen?).
17. We buy shoes, photograph them, and post the photos on our websites (Jen: http://www.jennsylvania.com/ , Di: my Facebook page—Sorry, if you aren’t already my “friend”, you don’t get to see the shoes).
18. We both wear Crocs (Jen: all colors, Di: ASU Maroon and Gold with Sparky on the side) despite our inherent taste for couture.
19. We both rely on “asides” to convey even more personal commentary than is possible in one side of a normal person’s conversation.*
20. Both of us are married to saints (Jen: Fletch, Di: Brian) whose military training and service adequately prepared them for the patience required to endure our neuroses and adore us despite all of them.
*Fabulous!
Convinced yet? I report. You decide.
1. We are writers. Well, Jen is the real writer. I am a former English teacher who occasionally teaches writing and I’m a blogger and that’s close enough.
2. Both of us reinvented ourselves after unfortunate ends to our respective stints in corporate America. Jen: see #1. Di: university professor.
3. Both of us prefer our new lives over our former corporate ones and our pets to most people.
4. Neither of us can decide which Chicago-area lifestyle is more fabulous: city or north shore suburbia and can make a case for each.
5. We can quote 25 year-old Tom Cruise movies, yet cannot articulate our reasons for liking or disliking fine art without being prompted. "Looks like it's University of Illinois!"
6. We worship Candace Bushnell.
7. Both of us appreciate the bizarre combination of dessert and bacon (Jen: doughnut, Di: chocolate bar).
8. Both of us are at our creative best while irritated.
9. We don’t suffer fools and may owe some apologies as a result.
10. We often engage in too-candid verbal expression which exacerbates #9.
11. We spend far too much energy on choosing the ensemble and not nearly enough on the event we attend while wearing the ensemble.
12. We are prudishly troubled by (our own and others’) nudity.
13. We find it nearly impossible to relax during a massage (see #12).
14. We hate traveling alone.
15. We are obsessed with the Twilight saga.
16. We are conservatives whose friends are, mostly, liberal (and how the hell did that happen?).
17. We buy shoes, photograph them, and post the photos on our websites (Jen: http://www.jennsylvania.com/ , Di: my Facebook page—Sorry, if you aren’t already my “friend”, you don’t get to see the shoes).
18. We both wear Crocs (Jen: all colors, Di: ASU Maroon and Gold with Sparky on the side) despite our inherent taste for couture.
19. We both rely on “asides” to convey even more personal commentary than is possible in one side of a normal person’s conversation.*
20. Both of us are married to saints (Jen: Fletch, Di: Brian) whose military training and service adequately prepared them for the patience required to endure our neuroses and adore us despite all of them.
*Fabulous!
Convinced yet? I report. You decide.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
House Rules (Jodi Picoult)
It’s important to mention here just how I learned about the fabulous Jodi. (BTW…I will refer to Jodi by her first name throughout this piece because a) I’ve met her b) she signed my copy of The Tenth Circle c) she used to teach 8th grade English, just like me, so I feel a cosmic connection to her.) Eight years or so ago, one of my friends announced that she was moving to Lancaster, PA. I couldn’t believe it. A fashionista who loved all things Scottsdale could NOT be moving to Amish country. But she did. Not long after my pal’s move, I ran across Plain Truth, the first Jodi book I ever read, in Borders. Coincidentally, that book is about the Amish. My planets were definitely aligned. I read that and every one of Jodi’s other books and like all of her other devotees waited, breathlessly, for the newest ones. I continue to wait that way for her books each year.
I just finished the new Jodi book, House Rules. What can I tell you? Was it one of my favorites? No. Was it one of her best (according to my humble but correct opinion)? No. Did I have to wait for a Kindle version? Yes (though this is not Jodi’s fault…read about that situation here: http://www.jodipicoult.com/ ) Did I love every word anyway? Absolutely.
Jacob Hunt, the House Rules protagonist, lives with Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of Autism. His diagnosis falls on the very high functioning end of the Autism spectrum so he can do some pretty incredible things: reconstruct and solve both fictitious and real crimes , memorize and recite—word for word—specific criminal cases and the laws and legal strategies used during trials, and communicate articulately (when he feels like doing so). The downside to his Asperger’s is, to say the least, is that Jacob cannot decipher most social cues, interpret nonverbal communication, hold a regular conversation, exhibit empathy, make eye contact, or control many of his actions. While these are hallmarks of Jacob’s disability, such traits are also exhibited by remorseless murderers. These similarities become problematic when Jacob is accused of brutally killing his special needs aide, Jess.
In House Rules, Jodi does her usual stellar job of introducing readers to the dreadful and concerning topics of the prevalence of Autism and challenges faced by the disabled, the shattered family unit, and the sometimes dysfunctional American legal system; a system that is definitely unprepared to serve the needs of the disabled. The “Ah-ha” moment in this one, though, is more blatant than shocking and some of the characters and subplots seemed to cameo for a flash and then disappear forever. Regardless, the book illustrated, perfectly, the difficulties faced by Asperger’s patients and their families and gave me a renewed appreciation for the people I know who currently endure the condition and challenging situation.
The biggest problem with Jodi’s books is that we wait for them to be published, devour them when they finally hit the bookstores and then must wait again. And that waiting, my friends, is exactly what I am doing now. Only 11 months, or so, to go.
I just finished the new Jodi book, House Rules. What can I tell you? Was it one of my favorites? No. Was it one of her best (according to my humble but correct opinion)? No. Did I have to wait for a Kindle version? Yes (though this is not Jodi’s fault…read about that situation here: http://www.jodipicoult.com/ ) Did I love every word anyway? Absolutely.
Jacob Hunt, the House Rules protagonist, lives with Asperger’s Syndrome, a form of Autism. His diagnosis falls on the very high functioning end of the Autism spectrum so he can do some pretty incredible things: reconstruct and solve both fictitious and real crimes , memorize and recite—word for word—specific criminal cases and the laws and legal strategies used during trials, and communicate articulately (when he feels like doing so). The downside to his Asperger’s is, to say the least, is that Jacob cannot decipher most social cues, interpret nonverbal communication, hold a regular conversation, exhibit empathy, make eye contact, or control many of his actions. While these are hallmarks of Jacob’s disability, such traits are also exhibited by remorseless murderers. These similarities become problematic when Jacob is accused of brutally killing his special needs aide, Jess.
In House Rules, Jodi does her usual stellar job of introducing readers to the dreadful and concerning topics of the prevalence of Autism and challenges faced by the disabled, the shattered family unit, and the sometimes dysfunctional American legal system; a system that is definitely unprepared to serve the needs of the disabled. The “Ah-ha” moment in this one, though, is more blatant than shocking and some of the characters and subplots seemed to cameo for a flash and then disappear forever. Regardless, the book illustrated, perfectly, the difficulties faced by Asperger’s patients and their families and gave me a renewed appreciation for the people I know who currently endure the condition and challenging situation.
The biggest problem with Jodi’s books is that we wait for them to be published, devour them when they finally hit the bookstores and then must wait again. And that waiting, my friends, is exactly what I am doing now. Only 11 months, or so, to go.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY (Jay Asher)
My doctoral student’s hired statistician killed himself last week. She met with him on a particular Friday to discuss histograms, standard deviations and the like and she never heard from him again. He was found dead in his home a week after that meeting.
After hearing of such a devastating incident, those of us who remain on the planet ask all of the usual questions: Was he depressed? Did anyone know he planned to do this? What was he thinking? Did we see the signs? Of course, there are no real answers. We speculate and then presume the one big thing (lost love, lost job, lost fortune) that could have resulted in such a tragedy.
Sometimes, though, there is no one “big” thing. TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY reveals that, sometimes, a series of little things—seemingly insignificant things—could result in a person ending his or her own life. And that is Hannah Baker’s story.
Hannah is already dead by the time the novel opens. However, prior to her suicide, she deliberately and systematically narrated thirteen audio tapes that reveal the thirteen incidents and people who tormented her to the point of self destruction. She packed the numbered tapes (and an accompanying map) into a box and shipped the package to the person responsible for Reason #1 with instructions to a) listen to all thirteen tapes, b) visit the place on the map that accompanies his narrative, and c) then pack everything up and ship the tapes and the map to the person responsible for Reason #2, etc. You can listen to the tapes here: http://www.thirteenreasonswhy.com/tapes.php .
Selfish narcissists, empathetic humanitarians and everyone in between should read TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY. Hannah’s chilling legacy reminds us that our words and actions definitely matter and that it is possible to be held psychologically accountable for the same.
Unfortunately for his friends and family (or perhaps fortunately), the statistician didn’t leave a note or a YouTube video or a series of audio tapes to explain the reasons for his own suicide. His loved ones will never know the probably complicated reason (or R3ASONS) for his untimely death and will probably speculate about it for the rest of their own lives. Very simply, though, he has become and will remain a statistic. And isn’t that ironic.
After hearing of such a devastating incident, those of us who remain on the planet ask all of the usual questions: Was he depressed? Did anyone know he planned to do this? What was he thinking? Did we see the signs? Of course, there are no real answers. We speculate and then presume the one big thing (lost love, lost job, lost fortune) that could have resulted in such a tragedy.
Sometimes, though, there is no one “big” thing. TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY reveals that, sometimes, a series of little things—seemingly insignificant things—could result in a person ending his or her own life. And that is Hannah Baker’s story.
Hannah is already dead by the time the novel opens. However, prior to her suicide, she deliberately and systematically narrated thirteen audio tapes that reveal the thirteen incidents and people who tormented her to the point of self destruction. She packed the numbered tapes (and an accompanying map) into a box and shipped the package to the person responsible for Reason #1 with instructions to a) listen to all thirteen tapes, b) visit the place on the map that accompanies his narrative, and c) then pack everything up and ship the tapes and the map to the person responsible for Reason #2, etc. You can listen to the tapes here: http://www.thirteenreasonswhy.com/tapes.php .
Selfish narcissists, empathetic humanitarians and everyone in between should read TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY. Hannah’s chilling legacy reminds us that our words and actions definitely matter and that it is possible to be held psychologically accountable for the same.
Unfortunately for his friends and family (or perhaps fortunately), the statistician didn’t leave a note or a YouTube video or a series of audio tapes to explain the reasons for his own suicide. His loved ones will never know the probably complicated reason (or R3ASONS) for his untimely death and will probably speculate about it for the rest of their own lives. Very simply, though, he has become and will remain a statistic. And isn’t that ironic.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Shoptimism: Why the American Consumer Will Keep on Buying No Matter What (Lee Eisenberg)
Those of us who consider shopping cardio don’t need an entire book to tell us why we’ll “keep on buying no matter what”. An iPhone app or an automatically updated GPS leading us to the best sales at all of our favorite shops and someone to carry our bags to the car seems more useful. But since Lee Eisenberg took the time to write a book about one of my most beloved topics, I thought it was only fair to take the time to read it. I’m glad I did.
First of all, Eisenberg lives only steps away from the Magnificent Mile so when he identified this shopping Mecca as the locale for his initial research, he had me at hello. More important than geography, perhaps, was his explication of the psychology of shopping (really the focus of this book) and why we buy what we buy when we buy it. Who knew that shopping was such a science?
About halfway through this book, I reminisced about my more memorable March purchases:
• Sketchers Shape-Ups flip flops (functional and fashionable)
• Asics 2140 running shoes (even though I don’t run)
• Calvin Klein capri yoga pants (yes, I do yoga)
• Adrienne Vittadini spring outfit (professional, trendy and cute!)
• Tahari t-shirt (even trendier and cuter!)
• Burgundy Dior eyeglass frames that are adorned with giant silver “Ds” on each side (for Dior, I imagine, but conveniently also for Diana!)
And then I wondered what motivated me to buy these things. Eisenberg says it could be because:
1. Retailers have industrial-strength tools to monitor and adjust the zillion variables that influence my decision making (maybe)
2. I am impulsive and compulsive when it comes to shopping (not really)
3. I am a prisoner of desire (definitely not)
4. I am seeking instant membership in a community consisting of people who impress me as hip, rich and/or sophisticated (I am already hip and sophisticated…working on rich!)
5. I want to express myself (probably)
6. I find shopping fun and diverting—an escape from reality (definitely)
Analyzing my shopping habits proved more exhausting than the shopping itself. Throughout the process, I questioned my own motivation for buying what I buy and whether the “sell side” of retail had really infiltrated my psyche and manipulated me into my March (and years of previous) purchases. After several hundred pages of doing so only one question remains: Is Macy’s having a sale this weekend?
First of all, Eisenberg lives only steps away from the Magnificent Mile so when he identified this shopping Mecca as the locale for his initial research, he had me at hello. More important than geography, perhaps, was his explication of the psychology of shopping (really the focus of this book) and why we buy what we buy when we buy it. Who knew that shopping was such a science?
About halfway through this book, I reminisced about my more memorable March purchases:
• Sketchers Shape-Ups flip flops (functional and fashionable)
• Asics 2140 running shoes (even though I don’t run)
• Calvin Klein capri yoga pants (yes, I do yoga)
• Adrienne Vittadini spring outfit (professional, trendy and cute!)
• Tahari t-shirt (even trendier and cuter!)
• Burgundy Dior eyeglass frames that are adorned with giant silver “Ds” on each side (for Dior, I imagine, but conveniently also for Diana!)
And then I wondered what motivated me to buy these things. Eisenberg says it could be because:
1. Retailers have industrial-strength tools to monitor and adjust the zillion variables that influence my decision making (maybe)
2. I am impulsive and compulsive when it comes to shopping (not really)
3. I am a prisoner of desire (definitely not)
4. I am seeking instant membership in a community consisting of people who impress me as hip, rich and/or sophisticated (I am already hip and sophisticated…working on rich!)
5. I want to express myself (probably)
6. I find shopping fun and diverting—an escape from reality (definitely)
Analyzing my shopping habits proved more exhausting than the shopping itself. Throughout the process, I questioned my own motivation for buying what I buy and whether the “sell side” of retail had really infiltrated my psyche and manipulated me into my March (and years of previous) purchases. After several hundred pages of doing so only one question remains: Is Macy’s having a sale this weekend?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wintergirls (Laurie Halse Anderson)
Once upon a time on a PAC-10 campus not far from here, an arrogant English professor named Dr. Donelson required his students (myself included) to read and write about what seemed like hundreds (but was probably only fifty or sixty) of young adult (YA) novels in one semester. Donelson read every YA book ever published, or so it seemed, and therefore proselytized that good English teachers needed to do the same. Maybe because we were afraid of his wrath, maybe because we were looking for As in his class, or maybe because we really loved those books as much as Donelson did, we read. And we read, and read, and read.
Many years and many credit hours later, Dr. Donelson retired. Still, though, I continue to read YA books--now for entertainment rather than for grades—and sometimes find that I like “kid books” better than those written for us adults. Wintergirls is one of those books.
Wintergirls is a book about two anorexics: one is dead, one is not. The dead one, Cassie, haunts the one still living, Lia, (who is also Cassie’s former BFF) and, in a bizarre attempt at rekindling the friendship, attempts to lure Lia into the afterworld. Cassie’s spirit appears unexpectedly and at inopportune times. She taunts Lia and encourages her to dangerously restrict calories and fluids which Lia does despite the fact that she was previously hospitalized and is being monitored for the same throughout the story.
Most disturbing to Lia is the fact that Cassie called her—thirty-three times—on the night she died. But because the girls hadn’t spoken in the months that preceded the tragedy, Lia did not answer the calls (we girls tend to hold grudges), consequently feels responsible for Cassie’s death (who wouldn’t?), and strongly considers joining Cassie in the spirit world (bad idea).
Wintergirls is a well-choreographed dance of opposites: living and dead, comfort and insecurity, friends and enemies, sanity and insanity. Even the words on the pages dance with each other as Lia’s true thoughts and feelings are often written, crossed out and then replaced by whatever she “should” be thinking. This self-editing, something most of us do unconsciously, is artfully illustrated (literally) throughout the book and reminds readers that while all feelings are authentic and valid, expression must be monitored at times.
If themes surrounding adolescent anorexia, afterlife, relationships, and complexities of modern life interest you, read Wintergirls. But maybe eat a sandwich beforehand.
Many years and many credit hours later, Dr. Donelson retired. Still, though, I continue to read YA books--now for entertainment rather than for grades—and sometimes find that I like “kid books” better than those written for us adults. Wintergirls is one of those books.
Wintergirls is a book about two anorexics: one is dead, one is not. The dead one, Cassie, haunts the one still living, Lia, (who is also Cassie’s former BFF) and, in a bizarre attempt at rekindling the friendship, attempts to lure Lia into the afterworld. Cassie’s spirit appears unexpectedly and at inopportune times. She taunts Lia and encourages her to dangerously restrict calories and fluids which Lia does despite the fact that she was previously hospitalized and is being monitored for the same throughout the story.
Most disturbing to Lia is the fact that Cassie called her—thirty-three times—on the night she died. But because the girls hadn’t spoken in the months that preceded the tragedy, Lia did not answer the calls (we girls tend to hold grudges), consequently feels responsible for Cassie’s death (who wouldn’t?), and strongly considers joining Cassie in the spirit world (bad idea).
Wintergirls is a well-choreographed dance of opposites: living and dead, comfort and insecurity, friends and enemies, sanity and insanity. Even the words on the pages dance with each other as Lia’s true thoughts and feelings are often written, crossed out and then replaced by whatever she “should” be thinking. This self-editing, something most of us do unconsciously, is artfully illustrated (literally) throughout the book and reminds readers that while all feelings are authentic and valid, expression must be monitored at times.
If themes surrounding adolescent anorexia, afterlife, relationships, and complexities of modern life interest you, read Wintergirls. But maybe eat a sandwich beforehand.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Generation Me: Why Today's Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled--and More Miserable Than Ever Before (Jean Twenge, Ph.D.)
Do you believe that self-esteem is more important than personal achievement? Do you believe that anything is possible regardless of one’s talent level or work ethic? Were you born after 1970? If you’ve answered “yes” to all three questions (or at least the last one), then it’s time to self-reflect.
Within Generation Me, Dr. Twenge, a San Diego State University professor, presents compelling data that identifies you folks born in 1971 and beyond as indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Her commentary isn’t at all complimentary. But before you get really pissed off and refuse to read her book and before those who are older and wiser (ha) hail her a genius, understand this, too: Twenge blames your parents and your teachers (that would be us!) for making you indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Intrigued?
Generation Me isn’t a pedantic opinion. It’s a compilation of longitudinal data collected through statistics, polls, personality test results, and more that presents a somewhat sad commentary on modern life in America. The book reads sort of like a tweaked dissertation—which it might be--so get ready to trudge through a mass of statistics and their somewhat redundant implications. Regardless, it tells an important story that really can give readers an epiphany or two about the obvious shift in American culture and why some things are now the way they are (especially relative to education issues like inflated grades, social promotion, non-participative parents, and the like) instead of the way those of us born prior to 1971 remember them.
I rarely read nonfiction. However, since reading this for our 2008 faculty book discussion, Generation Me has become my absolute favorite piece of recent nonfiction. I refer to it countless times in the classes I teach. But each time I do, I wonder which twenty-something or thirty-something student I’ll irritate. To date, no one has been offended nor has anyone filed related grievances so maybe things aren’t as grim as Generation Me would have us think. Let's hope.
Within Generation Me, Dr. Twenge, a San Diego State University professor, presents compelling data that identifies you folks born in 1971 and beyond as indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Her commentary isn’t at all complimentary. But before you get really pissed off and refuse to read her book and before those who are older and wiser (ha) hail her a genius, understand this, too: Twenge blames your parents and your teachers (that would be us!) for making you indulgent, spoiled, impatient, and unprepared for the realities of adult life in the 21st Century. Intrigued?
Generation Me isn’t a pedantic opinion. It’s a compilation of longitudinal data collected through statistics, polls, personality test results, and more that presents a somewhat sad commentary on modern life in America. The book reads sort of like a tweaked dissertation—which it might be--so get ready to trudge through a mass of statistics and their somewhat redundant implications. Regardless, it tells an important story that really can give readers an epiphany or two about the obvious shift in American culture and why some things are now the way they are (especially relative to education issues like inflated grades, social promotion, non-participative parents, and the like) instead of the way those of us born prior to 1971 remember them.
I rarely read nonfiction. However, since reading this for our 2008 faculty book discussion, Generation Me has become my absolute favorite piece of recent nonfiction. I refer to it countless times in the classes I teach. But each time I do, I wonder which twenty-something or thirty-something student I’ll irritate. To date, no one has been offended nor has anyone filed related grievances so maybe things aren’t as grim as Generation Me would have us think. Let's hope.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.)
I hate to start this with a total downer but I had to read something while waiting for the new ones from Jodi (Picoult) and Jen (Lancaster). Both authors are favorites of mine and will release new books this spring. Actually, Jodi just released her new one, House Rules, this week. Yea! So exciting! Still waiting for Jen’s My Fair Lazy…
Anyway, I ran across Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.) while in Costco one Saturday. Brian (husband extraordinaire) abandoned me in the book aisle so he could shop for wine. I didn’t buy the book that day. I wrote the title on the back of my Costco list and Kindled it later so I could have it for an upcoming PHX/SAN trip. Confession: Since Brian gave me the Kindle for my last birthday, I rarely read print books anymore. Another confession: While my Kindle is currently my FAVORITE tech device, I miss the feel and the smell of books. To get that “fix”, I visit Barnes and Noble on a semi-regular basis. One final confession: I needed a glass or two of that wine after reading Still Alice.
Back to the book…I finished it four days ago and its realistic portrayal of an academic’s (Alice Howland) descent into early-onset Alzheimer’s still haunts me. Alice Howland is a Harvard linguistics professor (how’s that for irony?) who becomes symptomatic during the prime of her life and in the midst of the career she loves. Alice’s horrifying symptoms, described by Alice herself, and her handling of her situation begs a few questions.
First, what do we do when our “services” (anywhere…at work, at home, in a relationship) are no longer needed? Alice must resign her position shortly after her diagnosis and the situation devastates her almost as much as the disease itself. What would we/will we do when personal circumstances result in unwanted change?
Second, who are we beyond our positions at our jobs? Alice was a Harvard professor. Who is she after her resignation? Who are we when we’re no longer working? What happens to our identities then?
Third, what is the condition of our relationships? Alice doesn’t truly know or understand one of her own children long before her disease manifests itself. And she doesn’t notice the distance that begins to separate her from her husband (also a professor). Should our relationships be reexamined, changed, or strengthened in the near future?
Thankfully, my family has not been plagued by this often hereditary disease so I don’t perseverate on the possibility of contracting it the way I sometimes do when I “WebMD” the symptoms of something I’m experiencing only to find a long list of related terminal illnesses. But this book scares the hell out of me, anyway, and it forces me to consider the difficult concepts of personal identity, self-worth, and relationship dynamics.
Still Alice is definitely worth reading. Brace yourself.
Anyway, I ran across Still Alice (Lisa Genova, Ph.D.) while in Costco one Saturday. Brian (husband extraordinaire) abandoned me in the book aisle so he could shop for wine. I didn’t buy the book that day. I wrote the title on the back of my Costco list and Kindled it later so I could have it for an upcoming PHX/SAN trip. Confession: Since Brian gave me the Kindle for my last birthday, I rarely read print books anymore. Another confession: While my Kindle is currently my FAVORITE tech device, I miss the feel and the smell of books. To get that “fix”, I visit Barnes and Noble on a semi-regular basis. One final confession: I needed a glass or two of that wine after reading Still Alice.
Back to the book…I finished it four days ago and its realistic portrayal of an academic’s (Alice Howland) descent into early-onset Alzheimer’s still haunts me. Alice Howland is a Harvard linguistics professor (how’s that for irony?) who becomes symptomatic during the prime of her life and in the midst of the career she loves. Alice’s horrifying symptoms, described by Alice herself, and her handling of her situation begs a few questions.
First, what do we do when our “services” (anywhere…at work, at home, in a relationship) are no longer needed? Alice must resign her position shortly after her diagnosis and the situation devastates her almost as much as the disease itself. What would we/will we do when personal circumstances result in unwanted change?
Second, who are we beyond our positions at our jobs? Alice was a Harvard professor. Who is she after her resignation? Who are we when we’re no longer working? What happens to our identities then?
Third, what is the condition of our relationships? Alice doesn’t truly know or understand one of her own children long before her disease manifests itself. And she doesn’t notice the distance that begins to separate her from her husband (also a professor). Should our relationships be reexamined, changed, or strengthened in the near future?
Thankfully, my family has not been plagued by this often hereditary disease so I don’t perseverate on the possibility of contracting it the way I sometimes do when I “WebMD” the symptoms of something I’m experiencing only to find a long list of related terminal illnesses. But this book scares the hell out of me, anyway, and it forces me to consider the difficult concepts of personal identity, self-worth, and relationship dynamics.
Still Alice is definitely worth reading. Brace yourself.
