Excellence, Entourage and My Big Mouth
Posted on January 24, 2008
Filed Under suburban joys, snark, bat-ass crazy, Anxiety, cheer, apology, awards, book group |
Slouchy is paying it forward today. While her blog has been rated excellent by fans everywhere, she has been kind enough to sweep a few of us along in the eddy of her success. She has waved her magic writing wand and doled out some ‘excellents’ of her own. I am blushing and giddy with gratitude.
If she is our Vincent Chase, our A-list blog star who has found love and admiration in the fast track of the blogging biz, then we are her Entourage. And if we are her Entourage, then I must be Jeremy Piven’s character, the abrasive, aggressive, tone-deaf individual named Ari who is constantly mucking things up and begging forgiveness. (I’ve issued two apologies already this week. I’m must be an asshole.)
And I’m totally feeling the part this morning after attending a book group meeting last night and offending absolutely everyone there. If I could only learn to keep my mouth shut. It was my debut with the group, the core characters having spent the last eight years talking about a variety of things like parenting and marriage and dogs and the occasional book. I had planned to keep a low profile. Smile a lot. Laugh out loud at their jokes and, whatever happened, never admit that I absolutely hated this month’s book, thought it was poorly written drivel that should have never seen the printing press.
We all know how my last stint as a book group member went and I was resolute about one thing, I was not going to be kicked out of another women’s lit assembly. I was going to play along. I was going to be nice.
But then there was two glasses of wine and the conversation veered dangerously towards the topic of cell phones and television watching and video game playing for grade schoolers. One of the seasoned Mom’s, the veteran, (she has a sixteen year old for god’s sake), told us about the time she just let the kids watch and watch t.v. and play and play video games, just let it all go for 8 weeks. By the end of the two month period, her children were sick to death of the Nickolodeon and didn’t care for the Play Station anymore. She sees this as a victory, the old inundation strategy having worked its charms. And I felt it welling up. The comment I just couldn’t control crept past the self-censor and busted out into the room. “Well that’s just a cop out, ” I said, totally possessed by the demon of dissent. “I mean pleasssseee, who’s the parent in your house? If and when your kids discover crack are you going to go out and buy them a two month supply and hope they’re well over it by the end of the eight week crack orgy? Oops, did I say that aloud. Please pass the petit-fours, I need to fill my mouth with something other than smug self righteousness.”
After hours of eating pastries and cheese crackers and whatever else I could shove rapidly into my mouth to prevent my issuing some other sarcastic condemnation of parenting skills, finally, the topic of the book was addressed. The woman to my left turned to me and said, “So, what did you think of The Next Thing on My List?” After swallowing hard and spraying cake crumbs across the couch, I whispered, “I thought it was real crap. Haven’t read a book that bad in years. I mean, there were actual typos. Did an editor even bother to read through the mess before hitting the publish button?” I was sure that I was confiding in someone who would agree with my dismissal of the book. I was so certain that this intelligent and practical person would confide her own disappointment and then we’d move on to safer topics, like aquarium fish.
But, of the ten women sitting around a coffee table on a Wednesday night, I had to issue my condemnation to the one person who had suggested the book, who had read it before and presented it to the group as an excellent read. She said, “Oh, I thought it was a sweet book. I thought you’d all like it so much.” She looked like she might cry. She’s been having a tough few weeks. Her mother is ill, her job is a bitch, she has been bullied into making the costumes again for the school play. I so wanted to make her feel better, to suck back my disparaging remarks. I grabbed her arm and said, “Oh my God, I had no idea you chose the book this month. I’m sorry. I was just being honest. And what do I know? I’ve been writing my own crappy book for months now and though I’d like to think I’m some authority on literary value I’m actually just a hack who has no business criticizing any book of the published variety. And please pass the petit-fours.”
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