I read a review of one of Caroline Knapp’s books when I was ‘researching’ my post about her the other day, which was critical, as reviews can be, but this one is sticking to the roof of my head. The reviewer, I forget who but it was a big name magazine person, said she just didn’t think she was funny and then compared her to a writer that the reviewer thought was funny. It’s funny, I never thought of Caroline’s writing (I refuse to adhere to that silly OLD rule of subsequent referrals to a subject by last name only. bleh. Rules are so ruley.) as being funny.
I thought her writing insightful and witty but not funny. It didn’t seem to be even trying to be funny. Maybe her intent was to just share her uncontrived thoughts as she had them and in the language that they came in. Maybe it was not contrived in any way and she thought somewhere in that grey area between serious and funny. It worries me – will people think I am trying to be funny? Because I don’t necessarily think I am funny and I don’t actually try to be anything – I just free associate my way through life, safely buckled into the passenger seat – although I do often laugh aloud at my photoshop brilliance.
Seriously, my bat house is brilliant. I want to live in it. My bat house has ironic glass floors. And I was sorta serious in suggesting that everyone within 50 miles of me should get a bat house to save me from mosquitoes and malaria. We are all in this world together. Help ever, hurt never and all that. I feel defensive of criticism leveled at my friend Caroline because I am protective of all of my friends, even ones I don’t have and have never met. I am defensive of my whole pretend world. Maybe I am simply batshit crazy. My therapist is so non-committal about such things; I cannot get a straight answer on that. I tell her that I often feel like an italic, something I have been feeling for decades according to my friend Mr. Journal. She seemed to silently laugh although I could not tell because I phone in my issues in order to indulge my growing agoraphobia and because she does not have a comfy chaise to lay my issued spinal column on.
It hailed the other day. So I looked up hail. ” Hail forms in thunderstorms that have recurring updrafts and downdrafts of air, she said. Rain falls, gets caught in an updraft, then rises high enough in the atmosphere that it freezes. It falls again, picks up a coating of rain, rises again, freezes again, and so forth, growing in each cycle. [source] Yes, of course. And the universe is a vortex of attraction, and gravity is a reliable flirt. [self source]
THIS BLOG IS ACTUALLY WRITTEN BY A MYSTERIOUS 80-YEAR OLD MYSTERY MAN IN AN UNIDENTIFIED TOWN IN AN ANONYMOUS STATE WHO POSES AS A MO FOR KICKS.
Benigngirl 