Book Review: I Don't Care About Your Band

I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I've Dated
By Julie Klausner
Gotham Trade
Publication date: February 2, 2010
ISBN: 9781592405619

Today I bring you a very special GUEST book review from none other than...Samir! That's right, Samir is reviewing Ms. Klausner's newest book that discusses the many guys she's dated. I swear he's not gay - he just likes salacious gossip and comedians. I will say one thing - after hearing him laugh so much while reading, I'm excited to read the book next! 

When the film Garden State came out, I went with a girl to go and see it at the local indie cinema. After the screening, we bumped into an old friend of mine in the lobby, and when it came to making introductions, it dawned on me. I couldn’t remember the girl’s name. After that, she never called me back. Even today, I’m not entirely sure what her name is.

That’s my most outrageous dating anecdote, and it’s still only G-rated. What a snoozefest, right? This is why I get a vicarious thrill from reading other people’s tales of courtship gone awry, and in that category, Julie Klausner’s new book I Don’t Care About Your Band is a real peach. Klausner is a comedian from New York City who has appeared on and written for VH1’s Best Week Ever, as well as the New York Times, Salon.com and McSweeneys. She chronicles her various encounters with the unfairer sex, starting in elementary school and progressing as far as a disastrous date with a dude who, for some reason, didn’t think Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was irredeemable crap. [ed. note: I liked that movie!] Each dalliance (tryst?) is recounted in surprising detail, but with the passing of enough time, she’s able to look back and laugh at each incident, which was clearly its own catastrophe.

I’m serious. Some of the winners that are not-so-fondly remembered include the NYU student whose dorm room had bedbugs; the guy who was both a giant and also ugly; the guy that wanted a threesome with her… and another guy; and the guy who was trying to thrust hardcore pornography firmly into the mainstream. I could go on. My favourite is the guy that played the Holocaust documentary Paper Clips when trying to set the mood. There’s an extensive section about dating musicians, and the unique set of problems that this will bring. As I did a few years ago, Klausner also dated someone that loved the Chicago indie/jazz band The Sea and Cake, and as I did a few years ago, she had to pretend to enjoy their dreadful freeform racket.

This isn’t just a parade of horribles, though. Klausner is able to look back and explain her attraction to all these characters at those particular times. She’s able to analyse herself, her emotions and her hormones, very well. She acknowledges her own complicity in each of these relationships – it’s more than just “Get a load of these losers!” and that gives it a little more depth. And it’s obviously great fun to read. Klausner has a great voice, using funny little phrases like “paging Dr. I Don’t Think So”, and referring to grad school for illustration as “a genius idea if you want to make money and also it is Opposite Day.”
This book probably isn’t for everybody, but if you like laughing and won’t blush at pretty detailed recounts of various sexual acts, then you should certainly give it a look.

Read an excerpt at The AWL

Book Review: Whirligig

Whirligig
By Paul Fleischman
Laurel Leaf (Random House)
Publication date: November 9, 1999
ISBN: 9780440228356

Every September 21, Pinwheels for Peace spreads the word of, well, peace by asking people around the world to plant a simple pinwheel. It's a neat idea, really, one that I did with my students back when I was teaching. I asked them each to create their own paper pinwheels during class. The next day we went downstairs and planted those pinwheels for the entire school to see. I expected some to mock the idea, think it stupid and immature (which, yes, some did), but I didn't expect them to like the assignment. They marveled at how bending a piece of paper could make it spin. They loved when the wind hit the pinwheels, starting a chain reaction. It was cute, and it reminded me that they weren't that different from me afterall.

Whirligig is not about Pinwheels for Peace, but it's not that different. Self-absorbed and self-conscious Brent is used to being the new kid at school. He's used to making sure that he's listening to the right music and wearing the right clothes. He thinks more about fitting in with everyone else in high school more than anything else, and not many people can blame him for that. He goes to a party one night, hoping only to see his crush there. What ensues in a mess of events, leading to his embarrassment. So with a few drinks under his belt, he leaves. He drives off and decides life isn't worth living anymore. But when he tries to take his own life, he accidentally takes someone else's.

What comes from that is an adventure he never saw himself taking. From feeling the deep agony of killing someone, to the fear-yet desire-of repercussions, he changes. He knows he'll never be the same. That is, until the victim's mother asks him to do one thing. Her daughter brought joy, so she wants Brent to do the same. He's to travel to the four corners of the country, and build and plant whirligigs for others' amusement. And so, Brent travels to Washington, California, Florida and Maine, completely unaware of who he might be helping. Or how he's helping himself survive.

I was immediately intrigued by this book due to the premise. There aren't many young adult novels where a character dies within the first few pages. There aren't many that deal with the repercussions of drunk driving. For that, I like the book. I like how it shows the seriousness of suicide, and how it's not only stupid, but how it could effect someone else as well. In that way, the book had a wonderful moral that created a very deep and painful impact.

Moral issues aside, I only thought the book was okay. Very well told, but not ground breaking. I never actually liked Brent, and I think that's my main problem. I never felt his pain, never felt sorry for him. Likewise, between each chapter is-creatively enough-a story about someone coming across the whirligigs. I liked that addition a lot, but each mini-story wasn't that great. Some were cute, such as the one in Maine, but some were completely inconsequential, like the one in Florida. I suppose that was the point - how one small thing CAN'T change everything - but that's what confused me. The book started by saying that one person's actions could change things for the worse - can't the theme continue showing that an action could change things for the better as well? I suppose in each case the person's situation WAS changed for the better a little bit, but nothing monumental enough.

I think the book was good, don't get me wrong, but I didn't htink it lived up to the hype I heard about it prior to reading. It did make me want to drive across the country, though, that's for sure. And build my own whirligig.

Whirligig was an excellent idea, executed well, but left me feeling a bit absent. Unlike the pinwheels - those redeemed each student in my eye. They let me see hope.

Escape

For the longest time I had this desire for escape. I still do, every now and then. I have that vision of me driving, missing the turn off the interstate on my way to work. Keep driving, don't look back. Start a new life somewhere else; live paycheck to paycheck. See the world. Focus on travel and experience, not money and sufficiencies. Escapism at its best.

But I never do. I can't. Strings hold me back, tying me in place.

The other day my grandmother was admitted to the hospital. We didn't think it was serious; we actually thought she was overreacting. After numerous tests, we were proven wrong. She's old, we know that, but we forget the fact sometimes. Her heart is faltering, as are other crucial organs. She's okay right now, she'll be out of the hospital next week, but still. It's serious. We know that now. It was a shock, really.

I went to visit her during my lunch break on Friday. Walking through the stark white hallways I feared the worst - beeping monitors, wires hooking her up to confusing machines. But I didn't get that. She was asleep, comfortable in her bed. I was shocked by how frail she looked, exposed almost. But there weren't scary machines around her; despite the situation, she looked comfortable. Fine. I left her a note, work called me back, and heard later on that she loved it, showed it to all the nurses. She's still a bit of a braggadocio, in a cute grandmother way. She's more concerned about missing mahjong than her health.

Driving back to work, I could have kept going - I could have passed the entrance to the building and drove to the ocean. But I didn't. I went back, opened my office door, turned back on my monitor and resumed working. I never escape, not because I can't, but because too many things keep me planted. People are holding me back. Life is holding me back. You never know what might happen when you're gone. I want to be here for everything. Everyone.

Book Review: You're a Genius All The Time: Belief and Technique for Modern Prose

You're a Genius All the Time: Belief and Technique for Modern Prose
By Jack Kerouac
Chronicle Books
Publication date: September 9, 2009
ISBN: 9780811870269

A bit ago I mentioned loving Kerouac's rules of writing. Well, the people at Chronicle heard my praise and finally published his rules, as well as his Essentials of Spontaneous Prose. (At least I like to think it's because of me that they did it.) Although both of Kerouac's writing articles can be found online, I'm quite happy that I have this collection. Plus, when has something being online stopped people from buying books in the past?

The small book is beautifully (and simply) bound. The beginning section (his Belief's and Techniques) is full of excellent and appropriate black and white photographs of Kerouac and his friends doing what they do best - living. The typography is great - fast, bold and lively, just like them. The second half of the book (his Essentials), is simpler, with a basic courier new typewriter font. It's more descriptive, and less spur of the moment. Essentially, it's perfect for what he's saying.

I can't say enough how much I like Kerouac's style. It's crazy and utterly confusing at times, but it's him and I appreciate that. The book is inspiring for any writer, and an essential for any beat fan.

As the introduction states, "Only a genius could reinvent the English sentence, make it long, looped, grammatically suspicious, and become a revered master of the writer's art." So many people have tried to imitate his writing, and yet so many have failed. Because there's only one Kerouac, and likewise, there's only one you. So go out and find your own style, be "submissive to everything, open, listening." And remember..."you're a genius all the time."

Book Review: Paper Towns

Paper Towns

By John Green

Dutton Books

Publication Date: October 6, 2008

ISBN: 9780525478188

Ever since he was a child, Q was enamored with Margo Roth Spiegelman. She wasn't just a person, she was a presence, someone who warranted being known by their full name. Now, on the cusp of graduating high school and fully aware he'll never be more than a neighbor to her, he's ready to move on and go to college. That is, until she shows up at his window one night dressed as a ninja, and climbs back into his life. After a night of adventure, whereupon she inflicts an incredibly amount of revenge on some fellow classmates, he's sure that the remaining days in school will be perfect. But when Q arrives to school the next day, Margo isn't there. Nor the day after. Although she's always been an enigma, one prone to disappearing randomly only to encounter an incredibly adventure, he's unsure this time. Soon, Q sees clues left for him by her, clues that lead him on his own adventure and towards a mystery he'd never expected. Yet, as he gets closer to her, he starts to see less of the girl he thought he knew.

John Green is a power house in YA literature, so I was immediately tempted to pick up one of his novels. This one, which, like his previous two, has received many accolades, is set in Orlando, so clearly I was drawn to it. There was something incredibly neat about seeing streets I drive down every day immortalized in print. That said, the book was fantastic.

Part mystery, part coming-of-age tale, Paper Towns takes the reader throughout the streets of Central Florida and beyond on one big adventure leading to an overwhelmingly honest metaphor. It's about what we imagine others to be, and what happens when we find out who they really are. It's about love and loss - but, really, it's about realizations.

Q (Quentin) is an excellent protagonist, written terrifically honest. Single minded, as many teenagers are, he sets on this quest to find Margo with his two best friends Ben and Radar along for the ride. Each character is wonderfully portrayed and their ongoing antics are perfect and often hilarious. They act and sounds like teenagers - Ben with his ongoing quest to get a prom date and Radar with his love of the Omnictionary (a Wikipedia-like site). And Margo is a mystery, an alluring one, and it's obvious why Q wants to find her.

The book pieces together every part of high school you remember (life-changing road trips), and every part of high school you'd like to forget (embarrassing nicknames). And it's all neatly wrapped around one elegant Walt Whitman poem. Every time I wanted more, more was given. Green's writing has small tidbits and off-side mentions that add another layer to the writing. An absolute excellent read that wasn't just deep, but also fun.

Sound interesting? Fun? It truly is.

John Green's site

See Green talk about the book on Penguin's site

John Green's ning site

A John Green fan driving around Orlando for those who want to visualize where the book takes place. (I kind of want to do this now for one of the other chapters.)

Home

After graduating high school, the one thing I wanted to do was get out of Orlando. Throughout college I was convinced that I wouldn't go back. It wasn't that I hated the city, it's a fine enough area, but it wasn't exciting. There was no inspiration. In all honesty, I wanted to move back up to New York.

But, years later, here I am in the one city I swore never to settle in. And you know what? It's not horrible. I've learned to appreciate it as an adult; I don't live in the same cookie-cutter neighborhood where people wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed. I've found adventure here; art, life, and excitement. With Samir , it's even better and more solidly...home.

And every now and then I find a bit of Central Florida that's different from the rest. A part that's built on community, that has history and buildings that aren't re-built every ten years. European influences, flowerpots under windows. It's these places that make me happy to still be here.

Photo Help!

Since money is extremely tight right now (my job is great, but we're still only at four days a week), Samir and I are finding ways freelance our talents. I'm diligently trying to find writing opportunities, but since the local newspaper here is practically dying (sadly), there isn't much hope. So, in hopes that someone thinks I'm an okay photographer, I've decided to open up my own etsy shop. That's right. I'm trying to sell my photographs.

Here's where you all come in. Can you check out my shop and let me know what you think? Honest criticism it greatly appreciated, especially from those who have their own shops or are better photographers than me. Any help is certainly appreciated.

Link!

Thanks so much!

Bookshelves

This past week Samir and I did the unthinkable. After three months of living with one another, we finally combined bookshelves. Weeding out the doubles, we alphabatized everything neatly on our three cases, pausing to fit in all of Harry Potter, and him shaking his head at all of the Stephenie Meyer. Some duplicates we split in half, putting one on the shelf and the other in a "donate to the library" box, whereas others we stared at, a million memories flickering through our eyes, and without words put both copies on the shelf. They were the same book, of course, but different in so many ways. Different rushed notes scribbled in the margins, different covers from across the world, different periods of our lives. I think, in total, there were three books too close to let go a copy of: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Little Prince and High Fidelity. They each, in one way or another, mean something to us, something that doesn't need words or pictures to convey.

Capture the Flag

The branches scratched my skin as I hoisted myself up the wall. Legs dangling, I pushed my palms down hard onto the bricks and felt my muscles working, breathing. My knees scratched against the surface as they swung on top of the wall. Before a whimper could exit my mouth, I bit down on my lips. Silent. No noise.

The wind was stiff and my mouth was dry from all the running. I crouched in place, ignoring the red dribble trickling down my leg. The sidewalk ahead was vaguely lit by a lamppost and the famous blue button was just down the block, but I didn't register any of that. I was too busy listening.

A branch cracked. Twigs broken underneath a foot. My head jerked up; I was alert, aware. I scanned my surroundings, looking for the slightest bit of movement and there he was behind a tree. Stealthy, like always, he jumped away before I my legs thought to move. He knew I was there and I could either wait for him to find me, or I could run.

The flag hung across the street on the second story of the business building. I chose to run.

-----

Every other Saturday night we met up. To others we must have looked like a cult, a group of hoodlums, all wearing black, but really we were college students reclaiming our youths. The same blue and red flags were used every time - large and bright against our dark clothes and the dimly lit campus. We designated areas early on and knew the boundaries - nothing was out of bounds, but what was the point of running to the theatre building when we were playing on the east side of campus? Two buildings were bases, two buildings held the jails and the flags. We divided the teams, chose defense and offense. We had rules.

There was Chris, solid as a statue when he hid in public view, who never feared jumping from buildings. John, who ran faster than anyone else. Me, the girl who didn't mind climbing ropes or the sides of buildings. And Joe, who wasn't crazy in the way that made you scared, but in the way that made you want to follow him and his insane scheme all the way to the end, just to see what happened. It started as a game, but sometimes became serious, scary. Some were into it more than others and some were taunted by outside observers. But the outside world didn't always register. Not when faced with a flag.

-----

I jumped from the wall and ducked behind the tree, ignoring the white lines dug into my arms. I heard him turn; it was now or never. I snuck around the tree to an opening, trying to make myself as small as possible. And then I heard the noise.

Quite at first, whispers and nudging. Then it got louder.

"Hey. Hey you, why are you hiding?"

"Yeah, why aren't you over here with us?"

"Who're you with?"

"You don't need to hide from us."

"We just want to have some fun."

My body tensed up and I quickly looked behind me. Down the hill, not far, were two guys standing by a car. I closed my eyes. When playing the game in grade school it ended with high-fives and tears. We didn't understand fear other than the boogie man; we didn't know there were worse things than losing. Naively, I still wanted to live like that. But I couldn't anymore. Much like the flag, invisible to my eyes at the moment, waiting for me, I had two choices - I could wait for them to get me, or I could run.

I didn't do either. I didn't have faith in others, in those that lurked in the night, but I did have faith in my friends. I stepped into sight.

He was good - very good, and was almost at me the moment I showed myself, but he stopped running when he saw my face, ashy, wide-eyed and scared.

"What's wrong?" He asked, slowing down.

"Them," I said, nodding behind me, still hearing their taunts. His eyes squinted, turned down and angry. His lips pressed together hard. But he wasn't a fighter.

I felt my past fade and a new light burst inside. I was different.

Putting his hand on the small of my back, he led me away. The noise disappeared. I felt safe.

Book Review: Stitches

Stitches: A Memoir
By David Small
W. W. Norton & Company

Publication Date: September 8, 2009
ISBN: 9780393068573

I read so much buzz about Stitches earlier this year that I had to check it out. Nominated for a National Book Award and one of the best books of September 2009 on Amazon, it had to be good, right?

The buzz was right. It WAS good.

A graphic novel, Stitches illustrates David Small's life, from six through 30. With an incredibly active imagination (and a penchant for blondes who travel through Wonderland), Small lives in Detroit and has an average life listening to his mother silently fume in anger, waiting for his father at the hospital - where the father works, and being slightly bullied by his older and musically talented brother. He deals with this intense and destructive family life as he constantly scribbles and draws in notebooks. That is, until he's 14 and goes through a rather traumatizing event. Told through images illustrated by Small, this memoir is blunt, staggering and incredibly powerful.

The graphic novel/memoir genre has come alive recently, and this book adds to the list of ones to be remembered. Sometimes funny, yet always honest, the memoir shows what it was like growing up in 50s, in a time when high-power x-ray scans told everything and the mentally ill were thought to be sane. When secrets were kept from children and being an artist was a faraway dream. The images, black and white drawings, were lifelike and honest. Small has an incredible talent at showing emotion through one changed pencil stroke, one raise of an eyebrow. They were dark, yet with bouts of light to create hope. Strong, vivid and incredibly intense. And the story was something Burton could have came up with; what makes it that much more amazing is that it's true.

I really enjoyed Stitches, and not just as a graphic novel, but as a book - one that should proudly be displayed among other notable memoirs. In all honesty, it's more truthful and more gripping than many.

This summer Small is speaking at the ALA's annual conference. As a recent member of the association, I'm furiously saving up to make it out to D.C. to attend!

Videos of the graphic novel on Vimeo

Interview with David Small