Gossip of the Starlings

Monday, June 15, 2009

I've spent a ridiculous amount of time lately trying to organize my to-read stacks, and I'm still not finished. I'm trying to sort them out into "Books that I can read for the blog" and "Books that are either too short or too long to read for the blog" (okay so that's not a very catchy title, but I'm working on it). Maybe I should call them "Books for the blog" and "Why the hell did I buy this book" - or "Blog books" and "Books even I have too much shame to admit I read." I don't know, I'll figure it out for sure later while I'm finishing with the sorting.

I also noticed while sorting that the part of my brain that does the shopping is under the impression that I'm living a totally different kind of life than what I'm really living - a life where I actually grow my own herbs while learning how to deal with my anger (how on earth did that even get in there and why does my inner shopper think I'm so angry?) There were moments where I felt like I had gone into some one's house after they died and been assigned the task of sorting through their stuff. I sorted it as if I had no part whatsoever in actually buying those books, I would pull out a book and think Well would you look at that, I guess whoever lives here had quite the interest in raising children who aren't addicted to TV. (Seriously, I don't even have kids.) So I spent a lot of time today wondering why I bought certain books - and even more time trying to remember why I chose today's book.

Today's book, "When Catherine Morrow is admitted to the Esther Percy School for Girls, it's on the condition that she reforms her ways. But that's before the beautiful and charismatic Skye Butterfield, daughter of the infamous Senator Butterfield, chooses Catherine for her best friend. Skye is in love with danger and the thrill of taking risks, breaking rules, and crossing boundaries, no matter the stakes. The problem is, the stakes keep getting higher, and Catherine can neither resist Skye nor stop her from taking down everyone around her."

Today's book was pretty good for the first forty pages and I then I found myself rapidly losing interesting from that point on. Normally I enjoy a good tale of teenage life just as much as I enjoy watching an episode of a teen show (which is to say, quite a bit - and I don't care who knows it) - but this one wasn't fun and fluffy and mindless. It was dark and filled with people I didn't like. I just don't find it entertaining to spend the day reading about a bunch of spoiled rich kids who spend all their time doing drugs and being irresponsible. I'm too boring and Midwestern for that. I spend the first half of the book thinking Where are those kids' parents and why aren't they confiscating car keys - and the second half of the book thinking I don't even care what happens to these people, I just want them to go away.

There was one brief mention of one of my favorite TV shows Little House on the Prairie - so that helped entertain me through a couple of boring chapters because I was busy thinking about what my favorite episodes are so that I can watch them the next time I "take a trip to the prairie." That's how I always refer to watching Little House, and when I watch Dallas I'm "taking a trip to Southfork ranch" or sometimes I "take a trip to Miami" (who wants to guess which show that is?) - it's this totally dorky thing that for some reason people indulge me in. That settles it, I'm definitely going to have to take a trip to the prairie very soon.

And now it's time for me take a trip back up to the to-read stacks to finish organizing them. That was a Mom-segue if ever I saw one. For those of you who didn't grow up in the same house with me: my Mom used to do what we called "Mom-seques" in response to practically everything we would say. I would say, "I'm really tired" and she would respond, "Well tired yourself right over here and clean up your mess." Or my sister would say, "I need to relax on the couch," to which Mom would reply, "Before you do that why don't you relax yourself upstairs and make your bed." We tried and tried to explain to her that what she was saying made no sense whatsoever, but it never stopped her. And you know I don't like to brag, but I've gotta say, my seques make a lot more sense than hers ever did.