Sure I’m in the midst of planning a wedding (going to get Derwood a ring and a suit tonight), church up the street says we can use their parking lot, booked algae wrap for morning of wedding (that is to wrap me in algae not to wrap up my algae).
Yes, I just finished working on a huge event for Dress for Success and it was a great success (I think about a $300k night) and I am most definitely a Greater Giving software EXPERT now. Yeah, expert… I said it.
Indeed I do have more duties at my job and I do those diligently, pretty much.
All of that is true but it doesn’t mean that I’m no longer a great intellect.
I still am.
I can read.
I’m just having trouble getting into a book right now.
I don’t know what my problem is. I read Cold Sassy Tree and that was a fine book, good story, entertaining. I then started reading All the Kings Men and fumbled and stopped. I couldn’t get into The Art of Fielding or Mink River. I tried reading a book about the Mitford sisters but again, it just didn’t take off for me.
A few days ago I picked up Three Junes by Julia Glass. It won the National Book Award, you have to figure it’s gotta be good. And it’s fine. Last night I was reading it, doing that thing where you flip through the pages to see how soon the chapter ends so you can turn the light out, and Derwood is next to me chuckling through Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. I’ve only read Bryson’s Neither Here, Nor There but I loved it! Why did I give that book to Derwood? I should have kept it for me and then I would be cheerily plowing through a book instead of trying to figure out how soon I can stop reading.
It hit me last night, “Wait a minute! This is a National Book Award Winner! I hate National Book Award Books!” Gah! I forgot!
This morning I Googled the list of National Book Award Winners and realized I have read winners Cold Mountain (this is prescribed when Ambien or a sledgehammer to the back of the head doesn’t work for insomnia), The Shipping News (SERIOUSLY, what the hell was the big deal about this book???), Charming Billy (how is it possible for a book about an Irish drunk to be this boring?). I couldn’t read more than two pages of All the Pretty Horses (I think that’s how it goes with Cormac McCarthy, you either love him or bend forks into your eyes like on the cover of that Scorpions album that I owned on cassette but had to turn the cover inside out because it scared me.) Dale Loves Sophie to Death, good enough, I remember not detesting this book.
You know who has won two National Book Awards? William Faulkner! Holy hell balls there’s the problem, if Faulkner can win two of these damn things I must hate National Book Award Books.
Who is selecting these books?
Ohhhh, you’re on the jury?
Now you hate me and my blog? I’ll never work in this bidness again?
GOOD! It’s worth it to not have to read another National Book Award Book EVER again!