Self Help for the Rest of Us: "The Nerdist Way"

First, an apology for the long absence. I don't want to be all "life's been crazy!" but, well, life's been crazy. I'm now writing reviews for Chicago Theater Beat as well as blogging for RedEye and I just started a new full-time job. Also I'm taking the NaNoWriMo plunge again (maybeimamazed02 on the NaNo site if you want to be writing buddies) because I'm just that much of a nerd. 


And speaking of nerds, I'm jumping back into the Unpro with a review of The Nerdist Way! This ain't your momma's self-help book, I tell you what. Read on:


I was never the biggest fan of Singled Out, mainly because of Jenny McCarthy's never-closing mouth. I always wondered how many flies she swallowed during her tenure on MTV's finest dating show. Meaning I didn't remember her co-host Chris Hardwick was until I heard he interviewed Joel McHale for his podcast, The Nerdist. As I love all things McHale, I tuned in and was hooked on Hardwick's geeky enthusiasm for movies, video games, the celebrities he was interviewing and...a lot of other things.

I recognized that obsessive need to know every detail about something you like. There's a name for us folks. That name is nerd. And in his very first book The Nerdist Way, Hardwick turns self-help on its awkwardly focused little head, outlining everything from healthier eating to positive-r thinking for everyone out there who got beat up in junior high for singing show tunes (me) or playing D&D (so many of the men in my life) or knowing just a bit more than everyone else.

Chris Hardwick's a study in reinvention. A bowling champion's offspring, a Catholic school alum (represent!) and the former roommate of Wil Wheaton, Hardwick fell into an MTV career in his early twenties. By his late twenties, however, Hardwick had hit bottom: he worked only sporadically, drank very heavily and became a borderline recluse. Since then he's turned things around. He cut back on the beer, started working out and lost a lot of weight. He's got a happening stand-up and writing career, and in 2008 launched the blog Nerdist.com, which has since grown into a podcast and television show (cohosted by cohorts Jonah Ray and Matt Mira), and now a pretty decent self-help book that doesn't ask you anything about parachutes.

When I heard on the Nerdist podcast (oh yeah, he's also interviewed Tom Lennon and Ben Garant - download it! Tom's hilarious and Ben gets all riled up like the good ole Southern boy he is) that Hardwick was penning a tome, I used my super blogger powers (aka Google) to request a review copy. I came, I saw, I read.

I like!

Though I'm a big advocate of self-help actions (e.g. therapy, physical activity, healthy eating), I'm not a fan of the books. (Yes, I read a poem from Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul in my valedictory speech. I was seventeen. I didn't know any better.) I felt differently about The Nerdist Way. Chris Hardwick reminds me of the dudes I was friends with in high school, like my artist classmate who gave me movie trivia books, my speech team and dance partner who shared my penchant for broad humor and double pirouettes and my Star Trek-obsessed buddy who taped South Park for me when I asked nicely. He's accessible. He's funny. He not only owns his nerdiness but has turned it into a career. He hit bottom - as we all do at certain points in our lives - and turned it around all by himself. And now he instructs readers on everything from decision-making to cleaning up credit scores to bench-pressing.

Regarding the latter, I could have done without the pages and pages of detailed workout tips. Then again, I have an established fitness routine already (burlesque, yoga, walking) and I realize those pages could be extremely useful to someone else. Just like people who didn't grow up Catholic might not recognize how hard it can be to enjoy when good things happen - rather than forever waiting for the other shoe to drop. I know this feeling. God, do I know it. I just didn't realize I wasn't alone in this thought process and I appreciated not only Hardwick's empathy but his tips on how to combat it.

Also, the chapters on creative productivity are excellent. As a full-time employee and part-time arteeste, I regularly beat my schedule into submission - but it's hard not to get tempted by cat videos and Reno 911 DVDs. Or that issue of Cosmo taunting me from the other side of the library. When I read Hardwick's tips on maximizing one's free time, I felt relieved I was doing something right - and I learned the difference between "good busy" and "bad busy."

Finally, Hardwick instructs readers how to use the "evil genius" method to achieve goals. I won't spoil it for you, but let's just say having a celebrity crush can be totally helpful. Hardwick's theory revolves around channeling sexual energy into motivation. Did you hear that? I AM VALIDATED, Y'ALL! Little did I know that my dorky fixations on Garant, McHale and various other high-profile gentlemen with snarky barbs and cute butts can actually serve a purpose! Hardwick's so getting a hug for that, should I ever meet him.

So yeah, I recommend The Nerdist Way. Jocks be damned. Like evil geniuses who stop at nothing to get what they want, nerds are doing it for themselves - in a nicer way, of course.

Back in Time: 'The Wilder Life'

There's an old picture of me, my cousin and my little sister with Laura Ingalls Wilder books. I think I was seven or eight at the time. I'd share it but a) my parents moved when I was in my mid-twenties, so most childhood stuff has been relegated to basement purgatory, and b) I had a perm until I was twelve. Enough said.

Though I'd like to forget my 80's hair, I can't shake the feeling I got from reading the Little House books - nor would I want to. I mean, come on: calico dresses! Sunbonnets! Fiddle music! Making button strings and snow candy and cornhusk dolls! I was never much for the TV show - sorry Michael Landon, Pa did not have feathered hair - but my uncle gave me the set of Laura books when I was six years old and I was, to quote Ben Folds, not the same after that.

I totally made a button string. I distinctly remember opening On the Banks of Plum Creek and asking my mom what a dugout was. I tried to recreate the feeling of being in a covered wagon one winter night when my extended family was crammed in our car. My dad did not enjoy being called "Pa"and was not receptive to playing the fiddle for my amusement.

In 2009, I met author Wendy McClure at an event. I'd read her account of Weight Watchers woes, I'm Not the New Me, and loved her snarky yet wistful tone. I always like meeting an artist who's not an asshole (not that many of them are, I'm just a pessimist at heart), and Wendy proved to be sweet and funny in person, just like in her writing. She mentioned she was writing a book about Laura Ingalls Wilder. "Oh my God, I loved those books!" I enthused to her later. "But why did Pa move everyone around so much? He was like a Manic Pixie Dream Dad!" Maybe Wendy was being polite, but she seemed to know just what I meant.

Turns out, there's a legion of us Laura fans. I didn't know at the time because most of my classmates thought reading was for weirdos, but I was far from alone in my Little House fandom. I wasn't the only perm-headed little girl who enjoyed the comforts of electricity and, you know, NOT having to deal with a grasshopper plague, but yearned for a calico sunbonnet and a general store where sugar was in a barrel, not in a bag. Technically, as the older sister with blonde hair, I was more of a Mary, but I identified with Laura's occasional naughtiness and propensity to say the wrong thing. Also, I really wanted a rag doll named Charlotte.

In The Wilder Life, McClure explores Laura fandom and takes it one step further, visiting old Wilder homesteads and new tourist attractions, taking in Little House pageants and the musical stage version starring Melissa Gilbert as Ma, churning her own butter and finding out what was in those airy-fairy cakes served at the home of (that bitch) Nellie Oleson. There's a mournful quality behind much of the book - at the time she was writing it, McClure had recently lost her mother and revisited the Little House series for comfort. It makes sense she'd reach back to a simpler time, both in her life and in Laura's.

However, as McClure reveals in the book, Laura's life wasn't always so simple. Both Laura and her daughter Rose weathered a lot of hardships as adults. Even as a child, Laura's existence wasn't all sugaring-off dances and Christmas-stocking oranges. There are chunks of time missing from the books that involve bad luck and child labor. Also, grasshopper plagues. Rightfully pissed-off Native Americans. Years when Christmas was really the only happy day.

Still, through her research and travels, McClure conveys Laura's real and imagined lives with fondness and hope, and explores a book series that had a real impact on little girls in 70's and 80's, and is still widely read today. Throughout most of my childhood, I felt like I didn't fit in. Instead of playing sports, I was more at home with my Little House books (okay, and my Sweet Valley Twins books, but that's another story). And even though I'm now a relatively well-adjusted thirtysomething, the fact that I was part of a larger group of misanthropic perm-heads and didn't even know it at the time? It means something to me.

Meh-Fest: 'The Power of Six'

This review was originally published on The Film Yap.

I didn't see "I Am Number Four." I was vaguely intrigued by Dianna Agron as the love interest, as she is quite possibly one of the prettiest women on Earth. However, the movie looked like every other young-adult sci-fi wannabe out there.
 I also didn't read the New York Times-bestselling novel on which "I Am Number Four" was based. That said, I'm a sucker for young-adult fiction. When the Yap was sent a review copy of "The Power of Six," the sequel to "I Am Number Four," I decided to take a crack at it.

 The verdict? I wasn't exactly depressed, but I was far from impressed.

"The Power of Six" continues the story of John Smith, who is part of an alien race of nine young people sent to Earth when their home planet is overtaken by evil forces, living in hiding throughout the world with assigned adult guardians. When the first three were hunted and killed by the evil forces, John (Number Four) had to make some difficult decisions and eventually go on the run with the female Number Six and his best friend Sam, whose father was a human ally to the race and mysteriously disappeared.

The book has two parallel stories: John, Six and Sam's cross-country travels and combat training in the States, and Marina (aka Number Seven), undercover in a Spanish convent school and discovering her own unique abilities (called Legacies, which develop when the individual needs them most).

Though "The Power of Six" is a sequel, catching up on important plot points isn't an issue: Everything a new reader needs to know is scattered throughout the book. Action pops off nearly every page, and the relationships — Marina's struggle with her now-reluctant adult guardian; John's conflicting feelings for Six and for Sarah, the girl he left behind; John and Sam's mourning for their lost father figures — are never boring. Technically, Pittacus Lore (a pen name that figures into the book prominently) does everything right.

And yet, I was never completely drawn into this fictional world. Though I kept turning pages, I couldn't bring myself to care about the characters. Like standout series such as "The Hunger Games" and "Harry Potter," "The Power of Six" seeks to create a parallel universe with oddly named characteristics but grounded-in-reality issues. Unlike these other series, "The Power of Six" has drier prose and slower pacing, which contributes to a sense of distance from its characters and conflicts. Yes, it's cool that John can illuminate things with his hands and Marina can breathe underwater, but why should I root for them?

Clearly, the author wants "The Power of Six" to transition to the silver screen. The novel has a cinematic quality: long on action and dialogue, short on description. I don't know if "I Am Number Four" did well enough at the box office to warrant a sequel. I do know I wouldn't pay $12 to see it.

"The Power of Six" is now available in print and ebook.

Forever You and I: 'Chain Reaction'

If you've read this blog, well, ever, you know my reading propensities: I like angsty teenagers. I adore romance. I dig forbidden love. I read YA well after I was in the target age range and well before Rowling and Meyer made it acceptable for adults to publicly peruse, and I've never apologized for it.

You know what I also love? Free books!

So you can imagine my dorky squeal of happiness when I received a review copy of Chain Reaction by New York Times-bestselling author and fellow Chicagoan Simone Elkeles, whom I interviewed last year. (As I have all my packages sent to work to prevent theft, our mail dudes know to ignore me when I jump up and down.)

First, a disclaimer: I don't gush about something just because it's free. Hell, I don't read something just because it's free, as my TBR pile is too big to begin with.

That said, I loved the everloving crap out of Chain Reaction.

Chain Reaction is the third in a trilogy about the Fuentes brothers (as I've learned over the past year and a half, it's a common romance novel trope to follow a family, usually a set of siblings, over several books. I really like this, as it's fun to have characters in the same universe, and a good family dynamic makes for compelling reading). After Alex (Perfect Chemistry) and Carlos (Rules of Attraction), Luis is the youngest brother and quite possibly the most intelligent. He's been mostly kept away from the gang life that almost consumed his oldest brother, but he's still an adrenaline junkie and a girl magnet. When Luis is reluctantly relocated from Boulder back to the Chicago suburbs, he falls hard for straitlaced Nikki, whom clashed with at Alex's wedding a few years back. But when Luis' family is threatened by Alex's former gang, and Nikki holds back some secrets of her own, both their love and their lives are put in grave danger.

In other words, Chain Reaction has everything I like in a YA and in a romance. A believable family who don't always get along but who truly care for one another. An interesting hero and heroine, neither of whom are TSTL (Too Stupid to Live. Thank you, Smart Bitches Trashy Books). Complicated problems that can't be solved in one chapter, and intimate scenes that bring back the fumbling adrenaline of first love. (And I know I've said this many times before, but physical intimacy - especially between teenagers - is really, really hard to write. Try it sometime.)

Also, I hate to judge a book by its cover, but how hot is that cover? Seriously.

The one small thing that bothered me was some of the Fuentes brothers' dialogue. Apparently they don't pronounce their "ing"'s, so everythin' was spelled as such. I get that Elkeles was trying to be realistic with speaking patterns, but I found it rather annoyin'.

Overall, however, the author hit it out of the park with Chain Reaction, and with the Fuentes family trilogy as a whole. As Elkeles will tell you, she had to fight for the trilogy's first book, Perfect Chemistry, even switching agents in the process. It's inspiring to see what can come out of never giving up on a good story.

Chain Reaction is out in bookstores and ebook tomorrow.

I Learn a Lesson: Writing Movies for Fun and Profit

Apologies for the absence: last weekend I was dreaming up ideas for my brilliant (ha) fiction at a phenomenal Little Writers Retreat on the Prairie. Now I have returned to wrap up State Month (or technically, State Five Weeks) with a review of Thomas Lennon and Robert Ben Garant's latest opus! And no, it's not Taxi 2.

Some families bond by playing board games. Mine goes to movies. One May in 2009, my siblings and I were all visiting my parents. Not much in the theatres looked interesting, so we decided on Night at the Museum 2, even though we were way out of the demographic (my youngest sib was 19 at the time). It was cute: clearly for younger kids but still fairly enjoyable. I never pass up a chance to see Hank Azaria semi-shirtless.

Anyway, about three quarters into the movie, which took place at the Smithsonian, there was a cameo by Orville and Wilbur Wright. Ever the trivia dork (thank you, discovery of IMDb during a bout with insomnia sophomore year of college!), I elbowed my mom and whispered, "Those are the guys who wrote the movie." The "guys" were Thomas Lennon and Robert Ben Garant, scribes of both Night at the Museum movies, which did very well at the box office; Taxi, which did not; and Herbie Fully Loaded, which was a disaster of Titanic-epic proportions (and which I sort of want to watch while drunk).

Say what you want about these State and Reno 911! alums (Lt. Jim Dangle and Travis Junior, if you don't recognize them by their real names) and the quality of their work: they're out there, they're writing, and they're making a pretty nice living while still doing their own stuff and being funny. Recently, they co-authored Writing Movies for Fun and Profit, where they hold forth on everything from pitch meetings to stage directions to parking in L.A. to why In-N-Out burgers are the yummiest ever (they are).

Even if I weren't a State devotee interested in writing, I'd still have enjoyed the hell out of Writing Movies for Fun and Profit. When it comes to working the Hollywood system, Lennon and Garant know their shit. No two ways about it. Granted, they write like, well, screenwriters (there are a LOT of CAPITAL LETTERS and underlined phrases....and ellipses) and they talk about boobs a lot (sometimes I sighed and said out loud, "Good heavens, boys, I hope you are being satirical!").

But weirdly enough, in between laughing at their bossy-yet-silly collective voice and occasionally saying, "hm, that applies to all types of writing, thanks guys!," I learned some LIFE LESSONS (and how to use Caps Lock, apparently). So here they are, The Top 5 Life Lessons I Learned from Writing Movies for Fun and Profit (Besides the Fact That I Want to Do Naughty Things With Ben Garant, Which I Already Knew):

1. Jump In.
What I found most interesting about Writing Movies for Fun and Profit was its structure: Lennon and Garant tell the reader how to SELL a screenplay, THEN how to write one. Business first. To sell, you need to know the ins and outs. You need to live in Los Angeles and be on speaking terms with words like "arbitration." And most of all, you need to "ALWAYS BE WRITING."

I hate driving, so I could never call L.A. my home, so I will probably never be a screenwriter. But I like the idea of jumping in. As I've gotten older, I've grown more cautious, and it's good to be reminded that sometimes risk-taking and throwing oneself into what others might call a shitty pipe dream could really pay off in the end. Or not. Which brings me to Life Lesson No. 2:


2. Sometimes Things Go to Crap. Deal With It.
One of Lennon and Garant's first films was Taxi. Remember Taxi? Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah in a cab having adventures? The total box-office bomb that Adam Carolla has dubbed "the worst movie of all time"? Yeah. They wrote that. They own that most of the writing in that film was, in fact, theirs. And then came Herbie, Fully Loaded. Lennon and Garant wrote this as a fun family movie, like the  ones they used to watch at the drive-in as children. It was greenlighted ON THE FIRST DRAFT, which almost never happens. And then...yeah.


And they dealt. They kept working. They own their failures every bit as much as their successes. While working on Taxi, they got to hang out at Luc Besson's estate in France, and Gisele Bundchen hugged them. They tell the reader, "Even the poop clouds that bring shit storms sometimes have a silver lining." Who the hell can't learn something from that quote?

3. Always Be Nice and Easy to Work With.
Apparently "the industry" is made up of the same seventy-five people who just rotate jobs. Today's intern can be tomorrow's vice president. So you better not be an ass to any of them. Now, Lennon is a native Midwesterner (from the suburbs of Chicago, in fact!) and Garant hails from the South (and has the adorable drawl to prove it), so it makes sense they'd be big on politeness and manners. But really, it's not just Hollywood: it's a teeny tiny world wherever you go. So be cool. Don't be a pushover, but establish a good reputation and maintain it. And people will remember.

Even if Billy Crystal is really mean and makes fun of your Southern accent (I learned that on the Internet. All Lennon and Garant say in their book is that Crystal's a dick).

4. Love What You Do.
Early in the book, Lennon and Garant outline one of the very basic tenets of writing for the studios: "ALWAYS BE WRITING . . . You should feel COMPELLED to write every day. Always. It's that simple. If you don't feel the desire to write every day--skip it. And let everyone else in the world get rich writing screenplays."

Again, I'm not an aspiring screenwriter. And you, my superawesome reader, might not want to write for a living. But I like this advice. Even if it's not your day job, if you have a passion and want to get ahead, you need to be disciplined. (Especially if your passion and your day job are not one and the same.) This advice is so important that these two even restate it in interviews promoting the book. Garant once said something like, "I'd write all the time even if I weren't getting paid. If you feel that way too, you know it's the right thing for you to be doing." I have no doubt horribly mangled that quote, but you get the sentiment, right?

5. Don't Be a Dick.
"Hey Unpro, you covered this in #3!" you might be saying right now. Maybe, but it bears repeating. "Don't be a dick" is also the life philosophy of the forever-cool Wil Wheaton. It seems so simple and clear, but it's astounding how many people in this world don't follow this rule. Whether you're negotiating with the studios to put your name in the credits of Starsky and Hutch or trying not to whap someone with your purse as you hurry to work, just don't. Be. A. Dick. Not only could this help your career, whatever that may be, it's good karma besides.

Oh, and Ben? Please call me if your impending marriage doesn't work out. You sexy Southern nerd, you.

A Little "Something Borrowed" About Love Triangles

I'll own it: I read a lot of YA and chick lit.  Regarding the former, I'll descend into Hipsterville and say I was devouring teen books way before Twilight blew up (just ask my ex, who thought it was really funny to follow me into that section at Borders).  And as for the latter, I'll be a bad feminist for a second and say that I think the cutesified term for women's fiction is, well, cute.  And unlike the early 2000's, chick lit (or women's fiction, if you're a good feminist) is less all about men and shoes and more about real women dealing with real issues.

Such as falling in love with the last person you're supposed to.

The love triangle is a tale as old as time and one frequently visited in YA, chick lit, and romance (another genre I adore).  The thing about the love triangle?  It is very, very hard to write.  Sure, the stakes are really high (something I constantly struggle with in my own fiction), but how do you NOT make everyone seem like assholes?  You've got the girl who's crossing a major boundary (person/point one), often at the expense of her friend who in lesser love-triangle stories is portrayed as a cartoonish meanie (person/point two), with a guy they may both be better off without (person/point three).

See what I mean?  The potential for a crappy story where the reader hates everyone and ends up throwing the book across the room (um, not that I've ever done this, Chicago Public Library, I swear) is huge.

Last year I reviewed Something Like Fate, a YA love-triangle story by the darling Susane Colasanti (whose new book, So Much Closer, just came out last week).  I won't rehash the whole review here, but this was a love triangle done right.  The friendship between the two girls was believable.  The boy was simply awesome, if a bit idealized (but hey, who didn't idealize a boy in high school?  If you're like me and grew up surrounded by asshole jocks, it was hard not to put the nice guys on a pedestal).  The sense of "this is so wrong yet so very right" was palpable.  Also?  I didn't want to smack anyone.

Later in the year, I read another YA love triangle, Elizabeth Scott's The Unwritten Rule, and had the very opposite reaction.  Now, Scott's books are hit or miss for me.  I tend to like every other one (Living Dead Girl; Love You Hate You Miss You; Something, Maybe?  Oh yes!  Bloom, Stealing Heaven?  Not so much.)  The Unwritten Rule fell into the unfortunate latter category.  I couldn't stand the protaga-dude and dudette.  I felt like he was a shallow jerk and she was a selfish bitch masquerading as a "good" girl.  I felt that neither of them gave the best friend enough respect or credit: yes, she could be mean, but she also had a pretty terrible home life.  Now, Sarah of Smart Bitches Trashy Books disagrees with me, but even for teenagers, these two were acting pretty horrible in the name of "love" (and I gave them about three months anyway).

Which brings me to a very recent chick-lit read: Emily Giffin's Something Borrowed.

I've seen this book on shelves for years but was never tempted to pick it up.  I think I was turned off by the cover (yes, I'm that shallow).  But Jezebel's been posting the shit out of the new movie version starring Kate Hudson, Ginnifer Goodwin, my husband John Krasinski, and some guy who played Erica Kane's aborted fetus on All My Children.  And I was sick at home one day with only my Nook for company, so I figured, why not?

I don't know if I'll see the movie, but I really, really enjoyed the book.

As a "good girl" who struggled to break out of that shell for a really long time, I could relate to Rachel, who spent her life trying to do the right thing (good college, law degree, career), only to end up sleeping with Dex, a fellow law school alum and the fiance of her childhood best friend Darcy.  Sure, Darcy's bitchiness comes off as cartoonish at times, but there's also so much of a history between the two women that I understood why Rachel still considered Darcy her best friend, and vice versa.  What I loved best about Something Borrowed was Rachel's palpable struggle with the whole situation.  She had, in fact, introduced Darcy to Dex when she herself didn't feel worthy of such a great guy.  She knew falling for him in the months before his wedding to Darcy was all kinds of ill-advised.  She had a believable mix of love, loyalty and loathing for her best friend.  This angst, combined with Giffin's breezy writing style, is why I'm currently rereading Something Borrowed.

(Plus, Rachel quotes Creedence Clearwater Revival, one of my favorite bands because I think I'm actually a 50-year-old man.)

Growing up, we're often inundated with "girl code"--you don't go near your friends' boys, even after they've broken it off.  As grown-ups, however, many of us realize that people often meet and fall in love under less than ideal circumstances.  A good love triangle book reminds its readers that what sounds so black and white when you're a kid morphs into shades of gray when you're a teen or an adult.  Either way, there will be tears and scars, but the lucky and genuine ones can emerge with relationships relatively intact.

A Love Letter to My Nook

Dear Nook,

I never thought we would get this far.

I swore I would always be a paper girl.  I love the smell of books, the feel of them in my hands, the pretty covers.  I love popping into a bookstore and flipping through several tomes before deciding which lucky one will be going home with me that evening.  For me, books are a quick, fairly cheap (especially when I have a coupon!) pick-me-up: better for me than ice cream, and way more lasting.  I can revisit them again and again.  And thanks to an awesome city library system, I can borrow almost anything I want for free!

Then two things happened.

One, my neighborhood Borders closed, as did most of the locations in Chicago.  I was devastated.  Sure, there are independent and used bookstores in my 'hood (one of the advantages to living here), but they don't have nearly as good a selection, plus one of the used bookstores is run by a real asshole who always yells at me to turn off my cell phone.  Even when my cell phone is tucked away in my purse.  Plus, no coupons.

Two, I started planning my move.  Granted, I'm staying in the same neighborhood, but even a trek seven blocks east requires packing, which necessitates a purge.  And I realized: while I love my three full bookcases, they are very, very full.  I've loved discovering the romance genre, and I was about YA way before Twilight was even a sparkly germ in Stephenie Meyer's mind, but the thing about genre fiction?  IT PILES UP.  Like crazy.  Because YA and romance reads tend to be fairly fast (and I'm a fast reader anyway), I have a ton of them.  Sure, many are worth rereading and revisiting (for example, I always turn to Jennifer Crusie's Bet Me on a bad day), but some I haven't looked at since the first read.  Also?  Usually all of my holds from the library come in at once, which makes for a very heavy bag at the end of the day.

There's a Barnes & Noble near my office, where I like to write and have hot chocolate on lunch breaks.  And like the nerdy best friend in an 80's movie, you, Nook, were always hanging around, at your little kiosk, surrounded by attractive covers and accessories.  But I always ignored you.

Until one day, like the nerdy best friend in an 80's movie who gets a makeover, I stopped for a second look.

You were light and easy to use.  You use "e-ink" and not backlighting, so as not to hurt my eyes.  You could store a bajillion titles AND fit into my purse.  Many of these titles were cheaper than their paper brothers and sisters.  For a girl who panics if she finishes a book in transit and has nothing else to read, this was like discovering Nutella for the first time.  And best of all, you could store e-books from the library.

But I took my time.  I asked around about your reputation.  I did online research, I grilled my fellow bookworms.  I listened to my sister when she said, "you read so much, you're actually a great candidate for an e-reader!"  I'd never thought of it that way, but she was right.

I know there are risks.  For example, I don't essentially own any material stored in your lovely self--essentially, I'm "renting" it.  A zombie apocalypse could happen any day--or you could just massively upgrade--and I'd lose all of that.  But my paper books, they would remain.

I get it, though.  Falling in love always, always comes with risks.  And sometimes you have to just jump in.

So I bit the bullet, Nook.  I picked you out, along with two pretty covers.  I learned how to do a search, how to load library books on you, how to make "shelves" to sort my growing collection (my shelves are named Noodle Stories, Bitches Be Crazy, Teen Girl Squad, and Do Not Watch That No No Channel).  I'm still growing accustomed to all your little quirks.

And I don't think I'll ever fully outgrow the print format.  Some books I do want to own, to hold in my hands, to display on my bookcases.

But on the whole, Nook, I think you and are going to be very happy together.

Love,
Unpro

A Cynic's Defense of Romance Novels

I am not a romantic.

Even at sixteen, when a girl is supposed to be all starry-eyed and love-drunk, I was more of the cynic/realist of my relationships.  On our first date, my then-boyfriend and I went to a park with a gazebo.  "Stars are cool," he remarked.  "That was really corny!" I chirped.  He kissed me anyway.

I'm not sure why I'm this way.  My parents may argue a lot, but they've been happily wed for over thirty years, so it's not like I came of age among marital discord and strife.  Maybe it links to why I've cursed like a sailor since I was twelve: in a baggy shirt without eyeliner I look like a virginal milkmaid.  In a tight shirt with eyeliner, I look like a virginal milkmaid trying to be slutty.  What can I say?  I've always been about contrasts.

So it was the weirdest damn thing when last year, I found myself getting into romance novels.

Like the most hush-hush of sex acts, it started out innocently enough: my friend Bryn Donovan sent  me an advance copy of her novel An Experienced Mistress so I could review it for the blog.  After a stressful workday, I sat down at Borders--my punk rocker crush in plain sight--and perused the PDF.  At first, the Catholic schoolgirl in me blushed and giggled.

Then, the Catholic schoolgirl in me realized just what it was I was reading--a story of an interesting woman who had a lot of steamy, well-written sex--and got very, very turned on.

Shit!  I realized.  I think I like romance novels!

It didn't stop there.  Two days later I found myself, as I usually do, in Barnes & Noble on my lunch break.  Except this time I was visiting a different section.  I timidly poked my head into where it said "Romance"--with the side-eye I was giving to make sure no one I knew saw and judged me, I may as well have been buying crack.  Instead of a familiar face, however, I saw a tall, attractive woman, also in work clothes, perusing titles.  We smiled at each other conspiratorially.

I bought Lessons in French by Laura Kinsale.  You never forget your first time.

That was almost a year ago, and since then, thanks to Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, my local library, and a generous friend who gave me a whole tote bag full of her old paperbacks, I'm an official convert.

Let's address the arguments right away.  Yes, some romance novels are crap.  Terribly written tripe with rapey heroes, stupid heroines, and an HEA (Happily Ever After) I wouldn't believe in a million years.  You know what most romance novels are, though?  Well-written.  With flawed but funny heroes, smart and interesting heroines, and a HEA I see coming (because it's romance and you have to have the HEA) but can totally believe.  Let's just say that Jennifer Crusie, Laura Kinsale, Eloisa James, Lauren Dane, and the Godmother of them all, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, kick Dan Brown's vanilla-prosed, conspiracy-spouting ASS.

Because you know where else there's bad writing?  In memoir.  In sci-fi.  In crime, both true and fiction.  In New York Times-bestsellers.  If I have to read about yet another repressed housewife whiiiiining about her husband's affair, I may blow up a suburb my friends don't inhabit.  And yet none of these genres get the hate that romance does.

Do men like romance heroes exist in real life?  Some may argue no.  Some of my happily-married and -coupled friends may beg to differ.  But does it matter?  A big part of romance is escapism.  Fantasy.  But readers can still learn from this.  I'm not saying any of us should hold out for the perfect man, but we shouldn't settle, either.  And really, most romance heroes aren't perfect (really, I have no patience for the ones who are).  Just like the heroines, though, they learn.

Wanna know why I think romance gets a bad rap?  Fair warning: I'm about to step up on a feminist soapbox, but if you read me regularly that shouldn't be much of a shock.  Romance is a genre largely written by women, for women.  Never mind that it's basically keeping the publishing industry afloat: it's for GIRLS, ewwwwww!  Because women can't possibly know what they want, physically, emotionally, and sexually.  Because there's no way writing and editing a romance novel isn't damn difficult.  Because (and this is a literary argument as old as time), the female experience can't be universal.

*Unpro steps off soapbox*

Look, if romance ain't your bag, it's cool.  I'm not trying to make anyone read a romance, though I certainly won't stop you.  But don't make the mistake that Jezebel's Morning Gloria did a week ago, when she denigrated all romance as rape-promoting garbage, using one or two blogs as expert sources.  It's like anything else: don't trash it if you don't know what you're talking about.  (Thanks to Jezebel's Sadie Stein for her excellent rebuttal.)

I admit, I used to trash romance too.  Because it was easy.  Easier to giggle at Fabio (who's supposed to be pretty cool in real life) and lump a literary phenomenon into a National Enquirer-esque category of fluff.  Easier to judge a book by its (sometimes admittedly silly) cover.

A year later, it's Friday night and I'm heading to Borders, thinking "I could really use some Jennifer Crusie right now."

Without any shame whatsoever.

List-a-mania: Top 5 Things I'm Obsessed With This Week

Well Unpro-ites, if you're in certain parts of the country, it's been a hell of a week.  Personally, I'm so over this snowpocalypse and all the other corny names it's been given by Weather Channel reporters who have nothing better to do than sensationalize natural occurrences.

The one good thing about all this freezy precipitation?  It's given me an excuse to hunker down with some awesome TV, books and music.  Behold, the top 5 bits of pop culture goodness that have captivated my brain, heart, and some other parts of my anatomy of late:


1.  Community: "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons"
Each episode of this keeps-getting-better comedy bears the name of a fictional class that ties to the themes of the wacky study group's current adventure.  With that in mind, last Thursday's ep could easily have been called "How to Save a Life."  The basic plot is this: when Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) becomes afraid for his depressed pal "Fat" Neil (played with downtrodden dignity by Charley Koontz), Jeff organizes the study group in Neil's favorite role-playing fantasy game.  But what happens when wily old man Pierce (Chevy Chase) threatens to take over?

Initially I was suspicious of this episode: I've never played D&D in my life, and I was afraid this would be another "Abed's Uncontrollable Christmas" and sacrifice genuine laughs for the sake of being clever.  But that scamp Dan Harmon, once again, made me a believer.  From the Cate Blanchett in Lord of the Rings narration, to the too-good-for-TV musical score, to a hilarious mute imaginary sex scene, to the insightful look at complex group dynamics and insecurity between friends, "Advanced Dungeons and Dragons" was a winner.  It's vintage Community: where you're laughing so hard and smirking so much, then at the very last minute, realize your heart is smiling and hurting at the same time.



2.  Poser: My Life in Twenty-three Yoga Poses (Claire Dederer)

I adore yoga and have practiced for almost three years now, but I still don't go a bundle on yoga books.  I'm not talking about the instructional stuff, which was very helpful when I was starting out.  I'm talking about the Eat, Pray, Love type crap where everyone's all hippy-dippy and faux-spiritual and say things like "journey" and "energy."  It's that type of talk that scared me away from yoga for so long.

But Poser is different.  I was intrigued by the title and blurb at Barnes & Noble, and in a rare moment for me, bought the hardcover at full price.  (In my defense, one does funny things when a blizzard is a-comin'.)  Claire Dederer, a Seattle freelance writer who began practicing yoga after the birth of her first child, isn't a long-haired tight-bodied 20-year-old telling you how to live your life.  She's imperfect.  She's funny.  She loves some poses and is skeptical of others.  And almost unintentionally, over ten years of practicing yoga she DOES indeed learn to live better.

I loved Dederer's sharp, witty voice and her descriptions of various teachers and studios in Seattle and in Boulder, CO.  More importantly, her journey (yup, I use that word now) reflected my own.  After years of skepticism, I started yoga as a way of regaining flexibility I'd lost, and in the wake of a huge tragedy just outside my city, to understand why the world was the way it was.  And it worked: not only did I feel healthier, I started to realize a recovering Catholic could find spirituality in movement.  Whether it's through dance, yoga, or just walking around Chicago, I discovered that being put squarely in one's own body is a religious experience in itself.

3.  Nicki Minaj
About a month ago, Bob persuaded me to download Kanye West's "Monster" because Bob had become obsessed with it.  I did as I was told and got hooked, in particular on the verse rapped by a sassy Sri Lankan chick named Nicki Minaj.  Normally I'm not so into hip hop, but sometimes when I'm angry at the world or I just want to get my groove on, there's nothing like sharp words and strong beats.  Also, because it's not my favorite genre, I rarely find a female rapper I can get into.

Minaj rocks my socks: very tough and very feminine at the same time.  Plus, she loves pink and y'all know I'm all over that shit.  I'm loving her single "Blazin'" (featuring Kanye), and am also getting into her new album Pink Friday.  But I keep going back to "Monster."  Because, really, when you're pissed there's nothing like mouthing the words, "First things first, I'll eat your brains/then I'mma start rockin' gold teeth and fangs."  Aw yeah.



4.  Smut, Vol. 1 (Edited by Nerve.com)

In the past year, thanks to my author friend Bryn Donovan, I've discovered romance novels are just damn good.  As is erotica, romance's kinkier cousin.   I'm way more turned on by well-chosen dirty words than dirty pictures (no matter how gorgeous the latter are, the Catholic schoolgirl in me still wants to giggle and go "ewwww").

I picked up Smut, Vol. 1 off the clearance rack at Borders, and damn if it wasn't the best $1.99 I've ever spent.  Written by authors such as Steve Almond, Jay McInerney and Alice Sebold, these stories of all kinds of love and sex are both intelligent reads and totally, completely hot.  Let me put it to you this way: I have no desire to procreate.  Ever.  And yet Paula Bomer's "Fucking His Wife, Four Months Pregnant With Their Third Child" made me want to get married and knocked up.  It's that fantastic.  (Really glad my mom doesn't read this blog.  Watch this be the week she does.)

5.  RuPaul's Drag Race

You guys, words cannot express how much I adore RuPaul's Drag Race.  It is, quite simply, the best reality show EVER.  Ever.  Forever and ever, amen.  Nothing is more hilarious, touching and glittery than watching a handful of drag queens compete for a cash prize, free makeup for life, and a chance to headline a tour.  And in the midst of it all is Miss Thang herself, RuPaul, alternately jumping around like a bald pogo stick in men's suits, and fabulously decked out in glam gowns enhanced by magical boob cutlets.  In between silly challenges like dragging up Barbie dolls and turning thrift-store finds into tinsel-rific holiday outfits, there are the queens themselves: men who love dresses, makeup and performing, who often didn't feel they fit into the world until they put on some heels and threw a hearty "fuck you" at anyone who didn't accept them for who they were.  No manufactured drama here: the guys/girls bring their own and then some.  As RuPaul says: "Gentlemen, start your engines, and may the best WOMAN win!"


RuPaul's Drag Race runs Monday nights on the Logo network, and for free on Logo's website.  Also, if you like recaps, you should read mine every week at TVgasm.com (hey, I'm all about the shameless self promotion).



What are YOU obsessed with right now?  Any recommendations?  Leave a comment!

This Used to Be My Playground: Elegy for a Borders

I'm a bad, bad hipster.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the local.  I live in a neighborhood that yes, is more gentrified than it was ten years ago, but still boasts a bevy of indie coffee bars, clothing stores, restaurants, brunch-y type places, you name it.  It's one of the reasons I pay more rent than I should--I love being surrounded by the ingenuity of my fellow (wo)man.

But today, I cry for a corporate behemoth on Chicago's Mag Mile.

You see, last weekend Borders on Michigan Avenue closed its doors forever. 

And I, the alterna-girl, am heartbroken.

I have a special affinity for Borders, for many reasons.  I love, love, love to read and those SOB's have everything.  I get killer coupons in my email and I don't even have to print them out: just show them on my smartphone and we're copasetic.  Their Seattle's Best coffee kicks ass and their spinach omelet sandwiches are like delicious, eggy crack.

More importantly, however, Borders is my mothership, my point of return at the various stages of my life.

After I lost my virginity and the lucky man had to go to work, I went to Borders, plopped in an armchair, and contemplated how I felt: at once forever changed and exactly the same.  In law school, I went to the local Borders so often the staff knew my name (and I even taught some of them at the university).  When I was a temp in downtown Chicago, I'd head to the State Street location on my lunch break and just browse around, smelling that irreplaceable new-book aroma.  (I've never been an eating-at-your-desk type because I can just feel my ass getting wider with every bite.)

That same year, I even worked at my neighborhood Borders over the Christmas season, dealing with preppy college students, cranky oldsters, and indie rockers--and that was just the staff.  I remember riding the elevator with some of my coworkers after closing late one night.  Someone cracked a snarky joke and I knew that this was my crowd, my neighborhood, where I fit in best.  I knew right then I'd made the right decision to move back to Chicago.

(Not to mention I had a really gorgeous coworker.  Yes, he could be a real douche, but he was also 6'5" and would shelve the books little 5'4" me couldn't reach.  In return, I would work on the bottom shelves for him, as it hurt his knees to squat.  Plus, we would rock paper scissors for who got to work the register.  It's the little things.)

And the Michigan Avenue Borders, well, it was a gateway to all of the above.

I first moved to the city as a college freshman, wide-eyed and innocent as the cows in the farm town from whence I came.  I couldn't believe my luck when I happened upon the Borders--three floors devoted to books!  Imagine that.  My college's downtown campus was just down the street, and for four years I took advantage of the free shuttle service.  Sometimes I'd take homework, but more often I'd grab a stack of books and read to my naive little heart's content.

This past year, I experienced a serious bout of sadness and stress.  I got in the habit of taking long walks to clear my head, and more often than not I'd find myself at the same Borders, choosing some titles and feeling more content for just a little while.  It was on one of these nights a couple months ago, that I heard a cafe employee break the bad news: soon, the store would be no more.

I'm not a huge fan of downtown, especially on weekends.  I've also had a friend work at this Borders, and she's had to deal with more annoying asshole tourists than anyone should have to see in a lifetime.  I can never understand how so many people think Chicago is the Mag Mile and that's it.  It's so much more.

But I'll always be grateful to this Borders.  In some ways, it's watched me grow up, from a college-age pixie to an ambitious temp-by-day to a semi-serious adult still figuring my shit out.  I'll miss the pretty view of the Old Water Tower, the smell of chocolate from the Hershey store, the sounds of hustle and bustle mixed with quiet contemplation.

Downtown will remain, of course, but it'll never be the same to me.

RIP.

New Year, New Unpro: Reso-ma-lutions

Happy New Year, Unpro-ites!

Normally, I'm not a big fan of New Year's resolutions.  Mainly because for two weeks, the dance and yoga studios will be chock-full with rude heavy breathers who take no heed of people who, you know, actually work out regularly.  (Note: by "heavy breather," I'm not judging people who are overweight and out of shape.  I'm just saying if you really DO want to get healthy, pace yourself and pay attention to the etiquette and habits of people who attend class in months other than January.  You might learn something!)

That said, this is an interesting new start.  I'm 30 now.  I'll be looking for a new apartment in a couple of months.  I want to make some other changes and advances as well, while still retaining my own life, which is fabulous and I adore it.

So without further ado, here are my New Year's Resolutions, pop culture and otherwise:

1.  Go to the movies.  All the time.  Even if it's a busy period at work and I don't want to get my ass off the couch.  I always feel better when I go to the movies.  Case in point: the week between Christmas and New Year's was a film-o-palooza for me.  And it was awesome.

2.  Write about said movies!

3.   When someone says I absolutely need to watch/read some fantastic new Oscar-bait movie/super-intense TV series/New York Times bestseller, consider watching/reading it rather than saying in my head, "if this many people are telling me to do it, I don't wanna."

4.  Get some kind of paid writing gig.  Not that I don't love getting "paid" in free DVD's and books, but I've been told I'm not too bad at this writing thing, so I might as well seek a little compensation.

5.  Keep a Moleskine and pen by my bed so when I wake up from some really cool/weird dream that would be a good idea for a story, I don't forget it in my insane apply contacts/get dressed/lift cat off of stuff pre-work apartment race.

6.  Get in touch with Dan Savage, whether it's a message for the Savage Love podcast or a fan-girly email.  Because I love him.

7.  Sign up for another burlesque class.  It's fun as hell, combats stress and makes me happy.  Come to think of it, just dance as much as freaking possible.

8.  Be open-minded when it comes to music, movies, TV shows, books, anything culture-y.  Specific tastes are fun, but discovering cool new stuff is even better.

9.  Work on creative writing.  A LOT.  This includes:
a) Getting my current draft of my 2009 NaNo all shipshape and perfect, so I can start sending it out to agents again,
b) Working on my 2010 NaNo, which may never ever sell but was still a story I loved telling and want to work on more,
c) Think of tons of new ideas and pick the best one for NaNo 2011.
d) Take classes: one-offs and hopefully longer-term if I can afford it.
e) This summer, apply for another writing residency.

10.  And finally: try to post here more.  I LOVE all of my readers and am so grateful you listen to me natter on every week, and I want to give you more of what you want.

What are YOUR New Year's resolutions, pop culture and non?

Nightstand Watch: What Unpro's Reading

*blows virtual dust off blog*

*slams head against desk for subjecting readers to such a bad joke*

In short, y'all, I'm sorry for the lack of posting lately.  Life has been, well, happening.  I also haven't been reading and commenting on my fave blogs as much (Sadako and Nikki, I still love you!).  Hopefully I'm well on the way to getting my groove back, and bloggy absence will be no more.

Anyway, I HAVE had a little time to read lately--in fact, I've made it a point to at least skim a few pages daily.  My library books have been piling up, to the point where I've started putting them on my floor rather than my nightstand, to avoid them toppling onto my cat.   And speaking of nightstands, one of my favorite features on Entertainment Weekly's Popwatch blog is "Nightstand Watch," where the blogger, then the commenters, share what they're currently reading.  This week, I come to you with a little Nightstand Watch of my own.  Here are four books I've read recently, and the one I'm currently reading, in no particular order:

1.  Good Enough to Eat (Stacey Ballis)
I met fellow Chicagoan Stacey Ballis on the same night I met Jen Lancaster, at a reading/signing for Stacey's book The Spinster Sisters.  I've really enjoyed all four of Ms. Ballis' previous novels: her female characters are empowered by their imperfections, extremely intelligent, and have a great sense of fun.  Plus, her love for the Windy City shines through in every word, and there's just something about authors and auteurs who get Chicago locations exactly right, as opposed to just throwing in "Sears Tower" and "Marshall Fields" (or, ahem, "Willis Tower" and "Macy's," BOO) every other sentence.

With this in mind, I really wanted to like her latest, Good Enough to Eat.  I even bought it as opposed to borrowing, because I like to support my fave writers who aren't New York Times-bestsellers (yet).  And the concept had so much potential: an overweight lawyer goes to cooking school, opens her own organic food business, loses half her body weight, and THEN loses her husband to a woman twice her new size.  I love anything to do with food (which is why I'm still watching Top Chef Just Desserts even though I HATE Seth and his whiny mommy fixation), and exploring a woman's complex relationship with it sounded even better.  And yet . . . I was disappointed.  The writing felt a little lazy, the characters were cliches (hi, sassy yet supportive gay friend!  howyadoin, wise African American soul food chef!  what's happenin', flaky Manic Pixie Dream Girl with pink hair?), and I thought the straight men (MPDG's boyfriend in particular) got away with so much shit without consequence.  While I did enjoy the narrator's voice, the food descriptions, and the cool low-fat and full-fat recipes, most of Good Enough to Eat left me hungry.  Try Ms. Ballis' first four books, particularly Inappropriate Men and The Spinster Sisters, before you pick up this one.


2.  A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love and Faith in Stages (Kristin Chenoweth)
So I used to haaaaaate Kristin Chenoweth.  To the point where when her name was mentioned, I'd go to the bathroom and fake vomiting sounds, attempt to asphyxiate myself with a pink pillow, or just yell, "ARRRGH I WANNA KICK PUPPIES."  I mean, she's just so tiny!  And adorable!  And squeaky!  And uber-Christian!

And genuinely talented and (if her book is to be believed) hardworking.

Goddammit.

Therefore, recommending Chenoweth's autobiography is the bloggy equivalent of me eating crow.  Big, fat, juicy, feathery crow.  What can I say?  She's totally got the wrong voice for the lead female in the Promises, Promises revival, but pulls it off anyway.  She won me over on Glee by singing a seductive cover of Bruce Springsteen's "Fire" with hottie patottie Matthew Morrison while twirling around a skating rink.  Most of all, the lady seems to be a genuine Christian, in that she's actually nice to people.  The fact that she regrets her 700 Club appearance and spoke up loudly on Sean Hayes' behalf (he plays a straight dude in Promises, Promises), well, I kinda dig that a lot.  So sing on, Ms. Chenoweth.  I've put out my white flag, then replaced it with a pink glittery one that would make Glinda proud.

3.  Hard and Fast (Erin McCarthy)
Yup, I'm still into romance novels.  After the most stressful of days, there's nothing quite like some sexy escapism in 350 pages or less.  Just like I thought I'd never be in to romance novels, I REALLY thought I'd never be into romance novels featuring race car drivers.  I mean, I poke fun at my dad's NASCAR-viewing habit on a daily basis, and Talladega Nights on TBS never fails to crack me up ("I am a NASCAR wife, Ricky!  I do not work!").  But thanks to the ladies at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books, I was introduced to Erin McCarthy's series where Sundays are king, cars are life and sex is really, really hot.  Also, the good ole boys who drive find themselves attracted to women who are talented, smart and have really great dialogue.  In Hard and Fast, dyslexic driver Ty falls for grad student Imogen and Shakespearean sparks fly.  Yes, there is Shakespeare and race car driving in the same book.  And it totally works.  Who knew?

4.  The Kid (Dan Savage)
Despite idly reading his explicitly frank advice column for years, and enjoying the hell out of The Commitment, his book on relationships, I consider myself a recent Dan Savage convert.  The dude is a dirty, fetish-y god, and I would totally stalk him in Seattle if he were into vaginas.  Don't believe me?  Check out his inspirational It Gets Better project on YouTube, or subscribe to his fantastic Savage Love podcast, where he doles out wisdom on everything from boobs to bondage with the vocal acumen of Wolfman Jack.  Or read The Kid, his 1999 memoir about adopting a child with his boyfriend Terry.  I have no desire whatsoever for spawn, but I was alternately cracking up and choking up the whole time.  Dan, on the .00001% chance you're reading this, I heart you from the depths of my Catholic-girl soul, and can't wait to hear you speak at the Chicago Humanities Festival next month.  Can I have a hug?

5.  Last Night at Chateau Marmont (Lauren Weisberger)
I've always thought Lauren Weisberger got a bad rap.  Granted, she's probably laughing all the way to the bank, after her first book The Devil Wears Prada was adapted into a fairly successful and pretty funny movie, but critics seem to haaaate her.  Look, not everything can be War and Peace.  And you know what?  Her characters may come off shallow and entitled at times, but the woman worked for Anna fucking Wintour, for God's sake.  She probably STILL has scars and eating issues!  When it comes to protagonists, however, I think nutritionist Brooke of Last Night at Chateau Marmont is my favorite.  Brooke is sweet, hardworking, and believably struggling to adjust to the fact that her husband, whose musical dreams she has financially and emotionally supported for years, is now an overnight sensation.  Brooke doesn't feel entitled to anything, just respect and equal support from her rock-star spouse.  This is a fun, fast read (I'm almost at the end and I just started yesterday), probably not worth the hardcover price, but definitely worth a good ol' fashioned borrow.

Because I STILL feel guilty about not posting lately, here's a fun video for thy pains:



What are YOU reading right now?  Any recommendations/stay-the-hell-away-from-this-book(s)? On a sorta-related thought, anyone doing NaNoWriMo this year?  Anyone out there?  Leave a comment!

Riot Grrrls: Katniss Everdeen and Lisbeth Salander

Disclaimer: the following post may contain spoilers of Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games trilogy (The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay) and Stieg Larsson's Millenium trilogy (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest).  You have been warned.

Every girl needs a heroine.

I don't want to be all "kids these days with the hippin' and the hoppin' and the bippin' and the boppin'" (though I've found myself increasingly so since I hit 30 last month), but when Miley Cyrus is twanging away like a southern-fried chipmunk, Heidi Montag's making sex tapes with a Playmate, and Lindsay Lohan's just . . . gone, I do worry a bit for today's young women and who's setting an example.

My generation had, among other pop culture staples, A League of Their Own, a female-driven sports movie that was empowering in its portrayal of women who were brave and powerful at a time when anything beyond marriage and babies was scandalous.  (It's also the movie that made eleven-year-old me a feminist, true story.)  When Whip It was released last year, I hoped its "be your own hero" message would ring in the ears of every teenage girl nationwide.  If the paltry box office figures are any indication, it didn't.

Also, I worry that kids don't read anymore.  (Granted, I remember my parents and grandparents saying the same thing,  and I was a bookworm from the word go, so maybe that concern will persist till the apocalypse.)  That's why I can't totally hate on the Twilight books.  They may be crappily written with a protag who resembles a wrung-out washcloth, but anything that gets young people excited about reading is a good thing.  One can hope they move on to better stuff, but at the same time, if they keep reading drivel, that's okay too.  Better reading than making sexy YouTube videos of themselves for their MySpace pages, ya know?  (God, I'm crotchety.)

However, two recent book series featuring young women who take charge despite less-than-stellar pasts are making waves in the publishing, and now the film, industry.  And though I find both of them imperfect and not always likable, I'm still glad they're out there.

Katniss Everdeen is the narrator and main character of the Hunger Games trilogy, the last of which, Mockingjay, was released last week.  Sixteen-year-old Katniss has come of age in a society like ours yet not, growing up poor and relying on her hunting skills to feed her mother and younger sister.  Each year, two young people from each of the society's twelve districts are randomly chosen to participate in the Hunger Games, a televised survival competition from which only one victor can emerge alive.  When Katniss' sister is chosen from their district, Katniss steps in for her--and as the books progress, finds herself in the Games twice and as the reluctant leader of a rebellion.

Lisbeth Salander of the Millenium trilogy is a little older than Katniss, in her early twenties, and shares protagonist duties with fallen journalist Mikael Blomkvist.  Like Katniss, Lisbeth's youth had many challenges; only in Lisbeth's case they involved abuse, rape and an unnecessary stay in a mental institution.  Just like Katniss with her bow and arrow, Lisbeth has an unusual but useful gift: she can hack into any technology system.  Throughout three books, Lisbeth and Blomkvist work together and apart to solve mysteries that affect their past and present, and eventually lead back to the Swedish justice system and its horrible treatment of women.

Both these young women are the anti-Bella Swan: brave, intelligent, and most of all active.  They do have love interests--for Katniss, it's her childhood friend Gale and fellow Hunger Games participant Peeta; for Lisbeth, it's artist Monique and at one point, Blomkvist himself--but romance and sex isn't the focus of their stories.  Not that there's anything wrong with love stories, but pop culture often projects that young women aren't capable of much else.

Not much is made about how gorgeous and/or thin they are, either.  When Katniss is made over by an entourage in preparation for the Games and later the rebellion propaganda, she sees it as weird and unusual, not as every girl's dream to look pretty.  Lisbeth is described as having small, doll-like features, but she dresses however the hell she wants, which often involves black leather.  And when Katniss is described as thin, it's because she's malnourished, not because it's desirable.  Both Katniss and Lisbeth are physically strong, with muscles.  Katniss is quick with weapons and strategic thinking.  Lisbeth rides a motorcycle and has a shitload of computer stuff.  Not exactly Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, and I love that.

I must admit, however: I never quite warmed to Katniss the way I did to Lisbeth.  Part of it was Collins' writing.  In the Hunger Games trilogy, for which Katniss is the first-person narrator, we get a lot of "then this happened," "then this happened," without really going into how Katniss felt about things, or why she performs a certain action.  It's hard to constantly be in someone's head if she's coming off like a machine, with human moments that are very few and far between.  I don't have to agree with the protagonist or like them 100% of the time, but I do need to feel compelled.  Katniss came off so cold at times that this could be a challenge.

Not that Larsson's prose, even in translation, wasn't without its issues.  (I hate to speak ill of the dead, but: dude, do NOT wrap up your A plot before you wrap up your B, C, D, and E plots.  Also, I don't need the exact brand names of what every character ate, wore or typed on.  It's a novel, not an Apple catalogue.)  However, third person narration was probably the best thing he could have done for Lisbeth.  It keeps her at a distance from the reader--we're in her head, but not completely.  Though it's never confirmed, it's speculated that Lisbeth has Asperger's syndrome, which also explains her erratic way of communication.  Even more motivation for her sometimes extreme actions is provided as Larsson reveals Lisbeth's horrifying past, which hasn't completely dissipated.  I didn't always like Lisbeth, but I felt that I understood her.

A sensation in its native Sweden way before the translation hit shelves Stateside, all three Millenium books have been made into films, which are gradually being released by Music Box Films (yay, Chicago!).  The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is now on DVD, and I can't recommend it highly enough (and it's okay if you haven't read the book.  I hadn't when I first saw it, and was able to put everything together).  The movie is intense but rewarding, and the piece de resistance is Noomi Rapace's nuanced, brutal interpretation of Lisbeth.  I wish Rooney Mara luck in the upcoming American remake.  She's got some big Doc Martens to fill.

As for The Hunger Games, production for the first book's film adaptation will commence next year.  I hope, hope, hope Hollywood does not screw this up and gives us a complex, interesting Katniss.  A while back my friend Nikki suggested Sarah Hyland (best known as oldest daughter Haley on Modern Family) for Katniss, which I fully support--I think she's got the chops.  I myself kept picturing Ellen Page, but she's too old now, darn it.

In some ways, the copious action of The Hunger Games may make it a better movie than book.  Either way, however, I'm glad Katniss exists in print.  Lisbeth too.  Forget chasing boys and flashing their panties--these ladies aren't afraid to kick some ass in the name of family, friends and all that is right.

Girl power!

Oh, and just because, here's some Emmy amazingness from last night, featuring my top 2 celeb crushes:

Say Hello to Your Friends: Baby-Sitters Club: The Summer Before

Here's how an email exchange between me and a children's book publicist went down:

Me: I'd like to request an advance review copy of Mockingjay (book three in the super-awesome Hunger Games trilogy, which you must read IMMEDIATELY if not sooner).

Children's book publicist: We're not doing that for Mockingjay, but I'll make sure you get a review copy on the release date.  In the meantime, would you like a copy of the Baby-Sitters Club prequel?

Me (in the email): Sure, that would be great!  I think my readers would love a review.

Me (on the inside): YES YES YES YES YESSSSSSSSSS!

Mind you, this happened after the release date of The Summer Before, buuuuut it was particularly fortuitous because I'd almost bought the hardcover when the book was first released, but didn't!  Now I get a free Baby-Sitters Club book?  The ten-year-old in me says WIN WIN!  (Okay, so does the 29-year-old in me.)

Without further ado, I bring y'all the conclusion of Awesome Authors (Two) Month(s): a review of The Summer Before!

So the title's pretty self-explanatory: this book chronicles the summer before the beginning of The Baby-Sitters Club, through the eyes of its four founding members.  So there isn't any of Jessi kicking ass as a pint-size New Jersey ballerina, Dawn sanctimoniously saving whales in California, or Abby being told she was funny by someone I'd like to hunt down.  There is a bit of pre-Spaz Girl Mallory, though.

Each of the girls (who are twelve at this point, having not yet reached the perpetual age of thirteen) has their own separate storyline.  Kristy's, Mary Anne's and Claudia's intersect--hard-core fans will remember that Stacey moved from the Big Apple (Ann M. Martin TOTALLY used that outdated touristy phrase on her Facebook page the other day) to Stoneybrook, and didn't meet the girls until school started.  Basically, the book ends with the first scene of Kristy's Great Idea, where Kristy has an outburst in class, writes an essay on decorum, and eats pizza while her mom frantically tries to track down a baby-sitter.

Not that I have the opening chapter of KGI memorized or anything.

The storylines go like so:

Kristy: writes to her dad and doesn't hear back, so is feeling a little bummed about that.  Also feels like she and Claudia are growing apart, and is resenting her mom's new boyfriend Watson big-time.

Mary Anne: is offered her first real sitting job for the Pikes (a joint deal with Kristy, consistent with the "two sitters for more than five kids" rule), but her dad is ambiguous about letting her do it.  The seeds of her breaking free of her strict pop with a Laura Ingalls fetish are being sown.

Claudia: falls in "luv" (to use Stacey-speak) for the first time, with a boy that (gasp!) Janine has a thing for.  And of course, for every preteen luv there is a preteen hartbrake (to use hypothetical Claudia spelling).

Stacey (who by the way has diabetes, did you know she has diabetes, DIABETES DIABETES DIABETES): helps her mom and dad prepare for the Stoneybrook move while fending off the nasty vibes of her former bestie Laine (who in this book is more Regina George bully than Blair Waldorf lovable beyotch).  Why is Laine so mean, you ask?  It starts with a "d" and ends with an "iabetes."

From what I've heard and read online, The Summer Before hasn't been that well-received by those who grew up reading Baby-Sitters Club.  The consensus is that a sequel would have been preferable, and I can understand that.  I'd love to see if Jessi stuck with the ballet--even those who are super-hard-core have a snowball's chance in hell of really making it, if Mallory kept up with the writing, and if Kristy bought a U-Haul already.  I don't give a shit about Abby.  She's annoying.

As prequels go, I was pretty much divided on this one.  Kristy and Stacey's storylines felt like retreads of what we read in the series.  Kristy has daddy issues and Stacey has DIABETES, nothing new to report.  I was reminded how much I liked Kristy before she became a bossy-boots parody of herself (how many turtlenecks can one junior-high girl OWN?), so there's that.

However, I really enjoyed Claudia and Mary Anne's portions.  First-crush stories never go out of style, and the way kids' minds work, it's believable that Claudia's former boytoy was never mentioned in the series. And with Mary Anne, fighting for something as straightforward and simple as a summer baby-sitting gig, I was reminded how damn powerless twelve years old can feel.  For Mary Anne in this book, baby-sitting is more than a chance to earn a little money and spend time with younger kids she likes.  It's a marker of independence, at an age where those are remarkably few and far between.

When Ann M. Martin puts her mind to it and doesn't get lazy, she's really adept at writing from a kid's perspective.  It sometimes bothers me when people wax poetic about childhood: sure, there were no bills to pay or jobs to worry about, but you were also forced to do things "because I said so," endure classroom taunting, and live in a world dominated for better and for worse by those taller than you.  Martin's better writing not only brings back the nostalgia of childhood, but the negativity as well.  For this reason, portions of The Summer Before work on a much deeper level than revisiting the characters we loved as kids.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

NOTE: no Armchair Casting Director for this one.  I don't really know a lot of tween superstars, besides the ever-baffling Justin Bieber (dude, even if I were in the target demographic, I'd still think he looked like a 9-year-old.  There's no way in hell that guy's 16).

NOTE PART TWO: If you entered the Forbidden Love Giveaway, please email me ASAP with your address (maybeimamazed02ATyahooDOTcom).  Everyone who entered gets a prize, but I have to know where to send it!  Click here for a list of the top three winners. 

Did you read The Summer Before?  Do you think Ann M. Martin should have let the past be the past and not bothered with a prequel?  Leave a comment!

And here's a fun video.  Y?  Because I like you!

Forbidden Love Giveaway WINNERS!

Well, color me impressed, y'all!

The responses I got for the 'pro's Forbidden Love Giveaway--via both comments and emails--were fan-flippin'-tastic.  Maybe it's spring fever, or maybe you're all just that cool.  My money's on all of the above.

Sooooo . . . IT'S WINNER TIME!  As you recall, I have three super-cool YA books to give away: Something Like Fate by Susane Colasanti, and Perfect Chemistry and Rules of Attraction, both by Simone Elkeles.  To enter, you had to contact me with your favorite pop culture example of forbidden love and why it was your favorite.  My top three favorites win!

*drumroll please*

The "Get Out of My Head" Award goes to . . . Nikki!

Nikki's choice is one of my very favorite songs ever, "O Valencia!" by the Decemberists.  (If you haven't heard these guys live, you MUST.)  Not only does "O Valencia!" passionately chronicle a tragic tryst a la Romeo & Juliet/West Side Story, it happens to be the exact song going through my head when I first read Perfect Chemistry.  Nikki, might you be psychic?



The "Most Inter-species" Award goes to . . . Roxanne!


Because we celebrate all kinds of love here on the 'pro, Roxanne's fave, Disney's The Fox and the Hound, really touched my heart.  Of the titular best pals who grow up and realize they're supposed to hate each other, Roxanne says it best: "Two different worlds, two different roles to fill - and, dare I say it? Two different species!"





And finally, the "Most Sci-Fi" Award goes to . . . Tara!


I have to admit, I don't watch Battlestar Galactica, but my fanboy roomie backed me up on Tara's choice of Kara/Starbuck and Lee/Apollo from the new TV version.  I was compelled by her description of the couple: She was engaged to his younger brother when they met and immediately felt the spark (and uh almost acted on it). Then she got him killed because she loved him too much and the world ended and they were reunited. But Lee was her boss and they were both emotional wrecks and so scared of how much they loved and needed each other. And sadly it ended very tragically, but they were EPIC.  Goosebumps, yo!



(Yes, it's the one Katy Perry song I like. Shut up.)

Congratulations to Nikki, Roxanne and Tara!  Email me ASAP with your full name and address at maybeimamazed02ATyahooDOTcom, so you can get your prize with a quickness!  

To all who entered: I didn't get any answers I didn't love.  IF your name was not among the winners, BUT you'd like to get a neato prize anyway, email your name and address to me at maybeimamazed02ATyahooDOTcom.

Until tomorrow, I'll leave you with one of my favy-avy-avy forbidden love scenes.  Romeo.  Juliet. A costume party.  A fishtank.  DiCaprio, Danes and Des'ree.  And you know what?  Even when I'm not sixteen and sloppy in love with my first boyfriend, this movie's still pretty damn good!



Stay tuned for tomorrow's entry: it's old/new school-YA-rific!

Image courtesy of poundingheartbeat.com.