Thursday, February 24, 2011

Who Wrote This Drivel I mean Great Book?

Category: Reviews

Well, here it is.  Get yourself a drink, sit down, turn on your reading lamp, and prepare to be entertained. 

Ok ok, let me set the stage.  The deal is this.  You have to guess which famous author I am referring to, alluding to, whatever.  If you get it right, you can’t make me stop because I will have no way of knowing that you guessed it.  You can just skip to the end, of course (so could we all, but that would be cheating.  Sad fact about this:  there is no answer at the end, sorry).  Anyway, just check this out. 

I have just been reading a (blank, you have to guess the author) novel, and whenever that happens, I always end up having a tendancy to over-journalize everything, including how big my latest booger was (that should be a dead giveaway right there), and what I thought about it (ahem).  What I put into my sandwich yesterday at noon , why it was necessary, difficult, but not impossible, to slice the onion into tiny pieces, and what I muttered to myself while I looked into the fridge and found that the only tomato had gone all mushy, like an ominous shrunken head, but what could an ominous-looking tomato really MEAN, anyway?  Sometimes a tomato is just a tomato, RIGHT?  Hint:  NO. 

Do you know who it is yet?  I have no way of knowing whether you know or not, so I’ll just carry on.  The landlord will not fix my air-conditioning system, and believe me, it really pisses me off.  I really do have actual issues with my fridge; he won’t fix that either.  The guy doesn’t even speak English and I don’t like to argue with people, I’m a nice person.  There’s nothing that I can do about my FRIDGE with the shrunken headed TOMATO in it, because the landlord will not help me with it or show any interest at all.  Anyway, I don’t have a real tomato in my fridge, that’s just fiction.  That’s just part of the story. 

I would not expect this to ring any bells because I am cutting to the chase much sooner than the author in question, whose name you are supposed to be guessing, would have.  Except possibly, this author, to whom I am referring, might have inserted something at the beginning to catch your attention, which I haven’t, admittedly.  OK, so ...

She woke up screaming.  A giant tomato (or potato maybe?) head or something was leering at her with horrible leaking eyes!  Boooh!  EEK.  She leapt out of bed and ran to her laptop.  When she tried to turn it on, it made annoying beeping noises.  The screen turned on and off.  Cursing and weeping, she unplugged it and hoped that battery would last long enough for…. 

Now that we have gotten that over with, can we please continue?  Thanks. 

That day, it was a Tuesday at around 3 PM but it might have been 2 PM, she had a helluva time deciding whether to wear her pink dress or her blue outfit, which consisted of a polka-dotted tank top and very tight jeans.  She thought that the jeans might make her look too fat, but she felt that at least, even if they did, people who saw her wearing them would get the impression that she was at least trying… trying to… well…  Oh God, she thought.  I don’t want to think about (um) Steve anymore.  She bit her lip.  Then she wondered whether to buy another can of creamed corn or not, but she couldn’t decide, so she decided to wait until she got back to the store to make up her mind. 

Even then, there was something ominous about the tomato (for example) but there was no time for that because she had to brush her teeth with the special new toothpaste she had acquired from the corner store the day before, where old Mr. Matthews had said (as he always did), “Brush em or hush em!”, how incredibly scene-setting!  The guy had a grizzled beard and the floor boards of the old store were worn and creaky.  There were several different dusty jars of worms in the corner.  Presumably each worm was different, too.  An old woman shuffled around in the background and peered dustily around the corner at her, our protagonist, you know,  when she bought the toothpaste, but nothing had happened until she asked if they had any mayonnaise.  At this point, there had been a loud thud and a (dusty) jar of mayonnaise had rolled down the aisle towards her.  Old Mr. Matthews had picked up the jar as it hit his grubby old boot and proffered it to her.  “Spread it dead,” he said with an unlikely chuckle.  (An unlikely chuckle?  Yep.) 

Now at this point one would like to think that some of this might have something to do with the plot.  Hell no.  We’re just building suspense here.  I suppose the tomato might have some vague tangential symbolic connection with what happens later, but, well, what do you think?  Dunno. 

We don’t even know where this girl with the tight jeans comes from, or what she is doing with an over-ripe tomato in her fridge, do we?  Do we know who Steve is?  No, we don’t.  But we want to know, don’t we? 

Sure we do.  Anyone who goes to the corner store for the second time in two days, and meets someone who says, “Spread it dead” with an unlikely chuckle just after a dusty jar of mayonnaise has leapt off the shelf and rolled towards him… WELL.  I want to know.  I want to know what happened to Steve.  Who the hell is Steve?  Or… (ominous noises) WAS Steve?  What is the protagonist going to try to make with the creamed corn???  What on earth has she been doing with the creamed corn? Why does anyone want two cans of creamed corn in two days?

I have had a can of creamed corn for over six months and I haven’t been able to think of a single thing to do with it, much less eat it.  I tell you no lie. 

The whole thing is so incredibly intriguing that even I, who am writing this, wish that somebody else had written it so that I could pay $20 for it before I get on an airplane and doze off reading it.  Do you know who it is yet? 



Posted by julianyway on 02/24 at 06:43 PM | Permalink
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