Forgive me, friends, for I have sinned.
I did not actually read Go the F**k to Sleep. I listened to it on Audible. And you should, too. Especially if you have children.
My bestie, Michele, told me about this book yesterday when I told her that I had just returned from the "Everything Must Go" sale at my local Borders and was mourning the loss of print media (which is somewhat ironic because of my Kindle dependency, but distressing nonetheless). Michele said that one of her fellow teachers found this book at a Chicago-area Borders (also closing) and purchased it as part of a baby shower gift. Until I heard Samuel L. Jackson reading it aloud, I thought it would be some kind of Life of Pi for tots type of thing. So wrong. So incredibly wrong.
In somewhat related news, two of my friends are currently expecting. Nothing says "Welcome to the world" like a darling Calvin Klein onesie and a copy of Go the F**k to Sleep. So guess what, ladies? :)
Here is the link to the read-aloud. Enjoy! And turn down your volume. Trust me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeKxIaG_f_c&has_verified=1
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
If You Were Here (Jen Lancaster)
Dear Jen,
If You Were Here, I'd cheerfully reminisce with you about the evening we spent together at Barnes and Noble. I, along with 300 or so of your devoted fans, listened to you read an excerpt from this long-awaited piece of fiction and then waited in an impossibly long line inside the sultry San Diego bookstore (why was it so hot in there?) so we could briefly chat and pose for a photo while you signed my book. I've looked forward to meeting you, Soul Sista', for over two years. Well worth the wait.
If You Were Here, I'd enthusiastically share North Shore Chicago survival tactics with you so that you could navigate the Northbrook Whole Foods without getting arrested. My husband, Brian, was born and raised in the Land of All Things John Hughes, attended "Shermer High School" and could teach PhD-level courses in dealing with the often pushy and condescending residents of that area. By association, I can now do the same.
If You Were Here, I'd shamefully admit to you that I read only two (well, three) books this spring as I anticipated the arrival of yours this summer. And I haven't read another since.
If You Were Here, I'd proudly boast that I caught your every John Hughes reference while reading the book (I think). What a privilege to have experienced his films before Judd Nelson permanently rocked the drug dealer look and before Emilio Estevez's Charlie Sheen lost his mind. Winning!
If You Were Here, I'd candidly tell you (because I think that Soul Sistas should be able to be candid) that, despite my unending adoration for you, this book was rather sub-par. In fact, if you hadn't signed my copy, I might be tempted to sell it to my favorite independent bookseller, Changing Hands, in an effort to recoup at least a portion of the money I spent on it. And this makes me incredibly sad.
If You Were Here, I'd selfishly suggest that you write another memoir. I miss your sassy recollections and long for the next installation of what could be your own reality show. Fiction is not your forte. It's not mine, either, so no judgment. I'm just being honest here (see previous paragraph regarding candor). And, at this point in the conversation, you'd gently (or not so gently) remind me that your next book is, indeed, a memoir. Good news for both of us!
If You Were Here, I'd sincerely thank you for the obvious hard work you did to get this book published, regardless of my personal opinion.
If You Were Here, I'd now expertly roll the credits while "(Don't You) Forget About Me" played in the background.
See you next year.
With Sista-ly Love,
Diana
If You Were Here, I'd cheerfully reminisce with you about the evening we spent together at Barnes and Noble. I, along with 300 or so of your devoted fans, listened to you read an excerpt from this long-awaited piece of fiction and then waited in an impossibly long line inside the sultry San Diego bookstore (why was it so hot in there?) so we could briefly chat and pose for a photo while you signed my book. I've looked forward to meeting you, Soul Sista', for over two years. Well worth the wait.
If You Were Here, I'd enthusiastically share North Shore Chicago survival tactics with you so that you could navigate the Northbrook Whole Foods without getting arrested. My husband, Brian, was born and raised in the Land of All Things John Hughes, attended "Shermer High School" and could teach PhD-level courses in dealing with the often pushy and condescending residents of that area. By association, I can now do the same.
If You Were Here, I'd shamefully admit to you that I read only two (well, three) books this spring as I anticipated the arrival of yours this summer. And I haven't read another since.
If You Were Here, I'd proudly boast that I caught your every John Hughes reference while reading the book (I think). What a privilege to have experienced his films before Judd Nelson permanently rocked the drug dealer look and before Emilio Estevez's Charlie Sheen lost his mind. Winning!
If You Were Here, I'd candidly tell you (because I think that Soul Sistas should be able to be candid) that, despite my unending adoration for you, this book was rather sub-par. In fact, if you hadn't signed my copy, I might be tempted to sell it to my favorite independent bookseller, Changing Hands, in an effort to recoup at least a portion of the money I spent on it. And this makes me incredibly sad.
If You Were Here, I'd selfishly suggest that you write another memoir. I miss your sassy recollections and long for the next installation of what could be your own reality show. Fiction is not your forte. It's not mine, either, so no judgment. I'm just being honest here (see previous paragraph regarding candor). And, at this point in the conversation, you'd gently (or not so gently) remind me that your next book is, indeed, a memoir. Good news for both of us!
If You Were Here, I'd sincerely thank you for the obvious hard work you did to get this book published, regardless of my personal opinion.
If You Were Here, I'd now expertly roll the credits while "(Don't You) Forget About Me" played in the background.
See you next year.
With Sista-ly Love,
Diana
