Loved it. Duh.
That really could be my complete analysis of this engaging and lovely-as-fuck little book. No, “little book” sounds condescending. And I won’t (errr, I’ll try not to) taint this post with any sort of hidden envy that is seething through my bones after reading such an extraordinary first book by this woman. (I say “first” book because honestly, if there aren’t more to come in the future, then she’s harming us all. Yes, harming.)
Observations While Reading
- Apparently, I laugh out loud while reading now. New.
- If I ever meet this woman, I will forcibly make her talk to me about what specific lyrics from Joni Mitchell’s Blue album she loved and why. And I will then discuss mine because that album is magic.
- She mentioned the movie A Fish Called Wanda somewhere (in a very non-important way), and I made a note to watch it because I feel like people were constantly talking about that movie at some point in my life and I’d never seen it. Anyway, just watched it last night. No idea how Kevin Kline won that Oscar. Suck-fest.
- Her chapter about specific, odd things that make her cry? God. I loved reading that almost too much. I want to make a whole book devoted to those things. Infact, that might be an idea.
Here are a few of my favorite parts:
I don’t think it should be socially acceptable for people to say they’re “bad with names.” No one is bad with names. That is not a real thing. Not knowing people’s names isn’t a neurological condition; it’s a choice. You choose not to make learning people’s names a priority. It’s like saying, “Hey, a disclaimer about me: I’m rude.” For heaven’s sake, if you don’t know someone’s name, just pretend you do. Do that thing everyone does, where you vaguely say, “Nice to see you!” and make weak eye contact.
Without knowing me at all, Gail nicknamed me Minz. I respond very well to people being overly familiar with me a little too soon. It shows effort and kindness. I try to do this all the time. It makes me feel part of a big, familial, Olive Garden-y community.
A note about me: I do not think stress is a legitimate topic of conversation, in public anyway. No one ever wants to hear how stressed out anyone else is, because most of the time everyone is stressed out. Going on and on in detail about how stressed out I am isn’t conversation. It’ll never lead anywhere. No one is going to say, “Wow, Mindy, you really have it especially bad. I have heard some stories of stress, but this just takes the cake.”
Why didn’t you talk about whether women are funny or not?
I just felt that by commenting on that in any real way, it would be tacit approval of it as a legitimate debate, which it isn’t. It would be the same as addressing the issue of “Should dogs and cats be able to care for our children? They’re in the house anyway.” I try not to make it a habit to seriously discuss nonsensical hot-button issues.
That last one is my very favorite. Anyway, such a great book. Please read it. I never read (well, rarely) and I read this in a day and just loved it. You can buy it here.
(Ugh, I wish I didn’t tell you I never read. Fuck, that was stupid. I’m actually trying to make more time for it. It’s just hard sometimes ‘cause of, like, the internet fucking up my time.)