Category: Uncategorized

With the publication of the creepily in-depth investigative journalism of The Smoking Gun, whose mug shot gallery remains one of the all-time greats in terms of internet pages, James Frey must be shaking in his sober boots about now.

And as I jump onto the blogosphere bandwagon for just a moment, keep in mind that I have read and enjoyed A Million Little Pieces. On the whole, I found the whole premise of The Smoking Gun’s article to be slightly surreal, but I guess when you reach the kind of Oprahfied success of Frey, you’re sort of inviting the detractors, especially if you written the best-selling nonfiction book of, like, all time, the Bible excluded of course.

But what I don’t understand is why people care so much, and I’m finding so many parallels with what’s going on right now in Canadian politics, where smear campaigns, name calling and corrupt finger-pointing seems to take away from the real issue at hand. Did Frey write a great book? Yes, he did. Did Frey take liberties with some of the events for the sake of the narrative? I’m sure he did. What does that man in terms of it being classified ‘nonfiction’? Well, not much considering there’s license with the classification anyway.

So what if he embellished here and there? So what if he made some of the events more intense than they were — it doesn’t make the book any less powerful to know that the author may have changed a few of the details. It’s an accepted fact that it’s hard to write a memoir. That it’s almost impossible to remember exactly what happened to an extent that your life will still make for good reading. In the end, Frey seems to be on the end of a long line of people wanting to attack him simply because of his success.

A Million Little Pieces is a really good book. It’s got a great message and its author seems genuine in his quest to be a better person, to live a good life, so what if memoir is more fiction than non, does it make it any less persuasive or any less of a read? I don’t think that it does.

Funny how Frey’s own advice will come back to haunt him. I’m guessing that the simple idea of “Holding on” might be coming in handy right about now.

Nick Hornby’s delicious novel is meant to be devoured in one sitting like a Toblerone bar. Out of the two books I’ve read so far this year, it’s definitely the best, but that’s not saying much as the comparison novel is The Da Vinci Code.

On New Year’s Eve, four people, as disparate as four people could honestly be, end up atop of Toppers’ House, and infamous high rise where Londoners go to kill themselves. As luck would have it, the four sort of talk each other down, which begins and odd and strangely unique friendship between them.

The sadness of each of their lives remains entirely empathetic; it doesn’t make the move into parody, but remains real and honest and good. The characters aren’t necessarily likeable, but I’ve learned from Hustle & Flow that you can even sympathize with a pimp, if he’s human enough.

All in all it’s a book I truly couldn’t put down. I read in one giant gulp, half awaiting the brain freeze I was sure was to follow. It never came. And I feel oddly satisfied, in a strange Sunday kind of way.

Now, I know I can’t compare my semi-charmed life to that of the main character in Hustle & Flow, but that movie has been in my head all night. Especially when DJay says, “I’m squeezing a dollar out of a dime when I ain’t even got a penny.”

It’s like a metaphor man, one that ain’t even all mixed up, but so pure that I could rest my head on it and dream big, because everyone has got to have a dream.

How ironic is it that I’m reading this article about newspapers surviving in their long forms online? Just when the author touts the success of Gutenberg and dead trees. Heh.

So, the very first book I’ve finished this year is North America’s most over-read, over-interpreted, overly successful novel. Soon to be a major motion picture, I have little more to say about it except that like 25 million other poor souls, I have finished it. But one thing I’ll say for sure, Dan Brown is a master of writing short chapters. And I think the casting agents did a super good job. I can totally see all of the actors cast in the roles as the characters in the book. Yawn. I’m very sleepy now. Maybe I’ll dream of the Holy Grail. Double yawn.

But I know I’ll be screaming, “It’s fiction!” at the top of my lungs the week the movie is released, just like Ron Howard.

Honestly. Is he actually writing these things down and believing that he’s speaking the truth? But when a national magazine spreads such anti-feminist and, frankly, anti-women propaganda you’ve got to wonder about the state of our union.

Of the sentences that make me the most angry: “Thus, every December 6, our own unmanned Dominion lowers its flags to half-mast and tries to saddle Canadian manhood in general with the blame for the Montreal massacre…”

Huh. In every single, thoughtful tribute to the Montreal massacre, one of which I encountered at a downtown Toronto hospital, people spoke out against the violence, which is increasingly dangerous and/or over-exposed in our culture. I doubt that most feminists would blame anyone other than Marc Lepine for the actual massacre, but perhaps the date has come to stand for a more general protest to support the fight to stop violence against women; sort of like how we remember the contribution by our Canadian soldiers by wearing a poppy, we don a ribbon on December 6 so we don’t forget.

And then: “If abortion is, as Kate O’Beirne calls it, feminism “holy grail,” there are more than a few countries that must wish they’d never stumbled upon it. In the seventies, the average Russian woman apparently exercised her “right to choose” no less than seven times. Today, abortions outnumber live births. As a result, Russia is at the start of a demographic death spiral unprecedented in a relatively advanced society not at war.”

Right, so the problems with Russia have nothing to do with a severely oppressed country battling economic and sociological problems. Nothing to do with the lack of food or medicine or access to basic life needs—oh no, it’s because Russian women are having too many abortions. Anyone ask the question as to why other methods of birth control aren’t available, or even assume they just might not be considering the termination rate is so high. No, no, Mr. Steyn, you’re so right, it’s the fault of feminists, that’s what it is. Ridiculous.

And what’s probably the most offense line in the entire, abysmal article: “That’s a Gloria Steinem line, of course. These days Gloria is — what? 83? 112? — and still looks fabulously hot, but, like The Feminism of Doria Gray, it’s her ideology that’s gotten all wrinkled and saggy.”

Wonderful. So he’s actually stooped to the level of criticizing a woman based on both her age and appearance, while at the same time claiming that feminism has conquered all of the problems women need to overcome in the Western world. So glad he’s obviously gotten the point, ahem, and I’m even happier that he decided to write this pap down, my goodness what if men were denied their right to free speech by us abortion-supporting, well educated, happily feminist women? No, that’s right, there are no more battles to fight on that front, none at all, especially considering men like this have obviously challenged themselves to think, act and, well, be feminists. Not.

Oh, you are so right Mark Steyn, “C’mon, gals! Anyone can beat up post-feminist neutered Western males. Why not pick on a target worth the effort?” Why not indeed, sir, why not indeed. Oh, and just because I can: “Shut up Mark Steyn. Shut the hell up while you’re still on a pulpit worth sprouting from.” And that’s 100% Ragdoll.

Oh and just for the record, I heart the Macleans web site; it’s one of my favourites, and my heart broke just a bit when I found this article there. What was Ken Whyte thinking? Can anyone tell me?

Edited to add: I know Steyn in his own misogynist way, was trying to call attention to the struggles of women outside the Western world, and in no way does my criticism of him downplay and/or disagree that women all around the world are in terrible positions because of various different socio, economical and political or even religious reasons, my point here is to simply state that he went about making that argument all wrong.

So, here’s the list of things to do this week:

1. Vote for my RRHB’s band on MuchMoreMusic.com.

2. Vote again.

3. Finish North America’s most over-read book, The Da Vinci Code. I’m honestly not trying to pre-judge the damn book, but I kind of resent having to read it..but I kind of have to read it for work.

4. Try not to throw up. This one is crucial because ever since the non-wedding, I’ve been an almost-barf machine.

5. Watch Scrubs. Thank goodness it’s back on the air. The world needs more Zach Braff.

Keep in mind that just a mere 365 days ago, I went back to work after sick leave only to be laid off due to “restructuring.” So today when someone said to me, “Ragdoll, the boss wants to see you,” my stomach dropped to my knees. The last thing I needed was to get fired again!

Of course, I wasn’t getting fired from my almost-new job—she just wanted to let me know that we got cost of living increases, which is always nice. But my panic attack led me to another New Year’s Revolution: try to look at things more positively.

I decided that there’s little I can actually do to control the health situation. I need to give in to the fact that the disease is sort of having its way with me right now and as soon as it’s back into remission, I can concentrate on being super-duper-ooper healthy. For now, surviving is the best I can do.

But thinking positively? Well, that’s something I can start right away. And it comes in small doses, so it shouldn’t be all that hard to keep for the next 365 days.

In the past, I celebrated the coming of the new year by getting really drunk and dancing the night away, hopefully ending up in bed with some fellow I only half knew. Ah, the ever-present memory; the stench of my youth. Now that I’m such an old lady, the last thought on my mind was finding some excuse to go out last night. Instead, my RRHB and I stayed home and watched a marathon session of The Lord of the Rings—all three extended editions. The. Entire. Trilogy. In a row. We started at 8 PM last night and finished at 5 PM today (after sleeping in until 10 AM, of course). That’s a perfect New Year’s Eve to me now. How old am I? Sheesh, and just think it was only last year when then RRBF was playing with The Weakerthans opening up for The Tragically Hip at Copp’s in the Hammer. Even now, that seems like a distant memory.

Last year, I had one revolution: to find a new job. Funny how it ended up finding me as today’s the anniversary of the day I got fired by the Boss From Hell. And to think my bionic hip has carried me through a solid 365 days of walking on both legs with no cane and with no pain.

So much happens in a year that you forget what you hoped to accomplish. I guess my only goal for this upcoming year is to be healthy, to be able to live like a regular girl again. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of myself. If it’s a revolution instead of a resolution, there just might be a chance I’ll stick to it and will myself into good health by eating right and at least attempting to exercise.

“Tomorrow’s another day,” she says as she finishes off the last of the Christmas baked goods…

So, I’ve discovered that drinking far too much champagne in celebration of your nuptials ends with a serious bout of barfing (3.5 hours just wasn’t enough for my body—it was in it for the long haul).

After 48 hours of feeling like the dog’s breakfast, I’m finally starting to feel better. Hey, at least I got to watch 4 movies and when do you get to just sit around and watch 4 movies?

At least I had a good time and isn’t that what your non-wedding is supposed to be, serious fun?