Orange County Noir

I never recommend anything, mostly because most things suck, but this one is too good to pass up. Thanks NPR and www.akashicbooks.com! Quote: "Orange County Noir takes you for a hardboiled tour behind the Orange Curtain." When the NPR journalist voiced incredulence that dark things could be lurking in sunny Laguna Beach, one of the writers quickly reminded her of "Blue Velvet." Easy enough to figure out!

Horse Girls (Not to be confused with horse faces)

There were girls in high school that liked horses. Collected horse pictures (instead of Duran Duran photos) or even rode horses. I hated them. My friends and I (real winners: chain-smoking, Asti Spumante guzzling when we should be doing our homework, boy crazy) called them "horse girls." I thought about them last night when I read The Highly Sensitive Person. I read it, finally, because my incredibly smart and sensitive friend R. thought I might fall into that category. I'm disappointed, though. The book would have been a revelation if I were 23. But I've changed. I still react strongly to sights, sounds and caffeine and need tons of alone time. But I've also grown to be less exhausted from a mere conversation. I've become moderately social. I fit in. But I also have a completely sadistic streak that isn't sensitive at all and that wants to torture the modern equivalent of horse girls. Cause, the thing is, I know some. And they could use a good torturing.

The Hungry Caterpillar

Oh, I almost forgot the reason I was writing about my dad in the first place! (This is your brain on drugs.) I emailed him a list of award-winning children's books to buy for me in Germany, among them The Very Hungry Caterpillar (or Die Kleine Raupe Nimmersatt). He said he didn't find this classic award-winning book in the least bit interesting. In fact, he thought it was pedagogic in the most primitive form. But it's won awards, I said. And people love it! Well, just because people love it doesn't mean it's any good, he said. Just as easy as that.

I'm Not OK, You're OK

After decades of wanting to read this damn book I finally hold it in my hands and it is totally disappointing. The whole thing sums up as: I live on the premise that I'm Not OK, You're OK. Which is better than I'm Not OK, You're Not OK or I'm not, what the fuck. I am basically a child. I knew that already. I wanna send an email to XYZ saying: "I know that you don't like me and I know that you know that I know. And I don't like you either. But I didn't start this whole thing. I liked you OK, but then you JUDGED me, so then I JUDGED you, so now we are NOT OK." I asked A. and J. and S. if I should send this email or quietly fade into the sunset. The sunset, they said.

Remembrances of Things Past

Every generation deplores the past, saying things ain’t what they used to me, and it’s always true, for everyone. Thrift stores aren’t what they used to be either, but I’m rediscovering a taste for the hunt. And I don’t think it’s the economy, an action born of necessity, but rediscovering a lost part of me. A rare book. A cool vintage candle holder. Random tchotchkes that can be turned into found object art à la Rauschenberg. Today I got “I’m Ok, You’re Ok” and “Big Mama Makes the World” (no, not yours truly) for Milan and some cool jeans for $5. I want things that have been around, that have wrinkles of time.

Dianetics

Sometimes I go to a thrift store or some place and wait for a book to literally fall into my hands. On Friday it was: Self-Analysis by L. Ron Hubbard. Surprisingly, I scored immensely high on the emotional tone scale. Looks like I don't need a whole lot of clearing or auditing or whatever. The only real issue is my high suggestibility and the ease with which I can be hypnotized. But otherwise, pretty good. It's a fascinating read. In the beginning was the word, and that word was survival. The goal of life: Survival. And theta merely means life force. I was told it referred to aliens. Hm....

Image above: Hubbard audits a tomato.

Award-winning Books

Milan has only two award-winning books. The rest are random gifts and tomes I picked up at the thrift store down the street from Dr S.' office. They are 29 cents each. Does he have a realistic shot at future brilliance if all he reads was published by random houses I have never heard of? And will I go to hell if I don't use 7th Generation dish soap?