Will Grayson, Will Grayson

The character flaw I can most readily admit to is that I am a book-aholic and YA fiction is my vice of choice. If I have a shitty day, I don't reach for a bottle. I don't search for drugs. I buy myself a vanilla vanilla cupcake and go spend some time is the most conveniently located bookstore. Libraries are okay, but really I would rather just buy a book because 1: then not everyone is touching (read sneezing on or in general contaminating my book) and 2: if I fall in love with it I can read it until the pages start falling out.

"How many times are you going to read Harry Potter 7?" was a familiar refrain during my time living with Mz. Blu. "Until it stops being good," I'd answer. But it never stops being good. I think reading a book once is like buying a CD you like and listening to it only once. Why? Sure you know what it's going to sound like, you know the ending, but that doesn't mean you won't get something new out of it. Though there is a certain pleasure in reading a book for the first time, not knowing where the story is going to go. It's like a first kiss, unexpected, uncharted territory.

Having finished the majority of my travel collection...meaning the 10 books I brought with me from my last trip to Powell's, I found myself back at the bookstore. I was looking for something by K.L. Going who wrote Fat Kid Rules the World (if you haven't read it, you should), but ended up stumbling across Will Grayson, Will Grayson by John Green (author of Looking for Alaska, An Abundance of Katherines, and Paper Towns-three geniusly crafted YA books) and David Levithan (co-author of equally brilliant Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist and Ely and Naomi's No Kiss List and also author of several books I haven't gotten to yet and will clearly be buying next week).

Set in two suburbs of Chicago, Naperville and Evanston, the book is written in alternating chapters, narrated by two characters both named Will Grayson. One Will is gay. One Will is straight. And both Wills have issues with love and life and the whole caboodle. Straight Will is best friends with the real show stopping character of the book, Tiny Cooper, the 300lb gay football player/ writer, director, star actor, and producer of his own GSA sponsored musical Tiny Dancer. Through a series of hilariously and harsh circumstances that I won't spoil, the two Will Graysons and Tiny Cooper converge in a kick ass story of love, heartbreak, friendship, and randomness. In short, this book rocked my world. Okay, more than that, this book reminded me of what books should be like.

As I am slogging my way through draft 8 of my own first novel and wondering 1: Am I ever going to find an agent and 2:Is the book ever going to be all the way done and 3: when it's done is the book ever going to be good??? Will Grayson, Will Grayson, in addition to just being a fabulous read reminded me that what makes a book great is one's ability to connect with it and to get something out of it. The characters are so relate-able and Tiny's musical should be a real musical. I would definitely pay money to see it on stage. But more than just being entertaining, it is those brief moments of truth hidden in the jokes that make the book worth reading. I never know how to review a book without giving away too much, so I will shut up now and just say thanks John and David. You inspire me! Just wish Jodi Reamer would fall in love with my book too...maybe next week.

Molestation or Homeland Security?

For those of you who missed the headline of USA Today, Today in the Sky, it reads: "Most OK with TSA full-body scanners", but what they don't say is that getting scanned is rapidly becoming the only alternative to getting molested. TSA chooses to use the term "pat-down", but let's call it what it is. If anyone is touching my private parts and they're not a licensed gynecologist or a very very lucky consensual partner, I think it's generally referred to as molestation, sexual assault, or the precursor to getting wheel kicked in the head.

So choose: get groped or allow the government to put you in an x-ray machine that is so detailed they can actually see your tampon. Hmm? Why is it that TSA just keeps coming up with more and more ways to strip of us of our civil liberties all the while preying on our fear of terrorism. I don't feel safer knowing I can't have a bottle of water on a plane. I am also not harboring any huge fears of getting stabbed by nail clippers or attacked by 4oz of cocoa butter. And I certainly don't feel safer knowing that now some neanderthal in a uniform will now be legally allowed to touch my genitals whenever I travel. And if you protest like John Tyner, a software engineer traveling through San Diego, you might be the one to get arrested and detained. Tyner was reported to have said: "If you touch my junk, I'm gonna have you arrested", shortly before his day went from not so great to shitty as he was denied access to his gate. I have to agree with Mr. Tyner.

Do I want to be able to travel safely? Yes, I am in no way an advocate for terrorism, but at what cost? I don't give a shit what Janet Napolitano says, I AM NOT BLOWING THIS OUT OF PROPORTION. This is very serious and very offensive. Ask yourself: How much are you willing to sacrifice to be held hostage by your fears? How many rights are you willing to relinquish to gain the illusion of safety? Because that's what it is, an illusion. You might go through the scan and the pat-down and still end up in a plane crash. Will your loved ones feel better to know you were groped before you died? If this is the next generation of security measure what comes after that? We're on a slippery slope America. We're living in scary times and I for one am saying NO. I'm not comfortable with it. I don't agree with it. Go back to the drawing board TSA and don't even think about touching "my junk".

Saluting the Dream Catchers

Shoshana likes to take photos. It's been a part time obsession of hers for a million years. Every time I go visit her, it's like photo shoot central. So finally this year she decided to do something about it. She enrolled in photography class. During our last visit she spent hours searching for good light and taking pictures of everything and anything, even me. Guess what, she's actually pretty awesome at it...so awesome in fact that she just got to show two of her photos in an art walk in DC. So while those aren't up on facebook yet, here are some that were. I salute you Shoshana for having the guts and the drive to follow your passion! Your awesomeness is an inspiration to us all.

The Prodigal Daughter

It's another sunny 70 degree day in Des Moines and I have Internet! I'm hanging out in the back room while the physical therapist works my grandma. My little room is filled with angels. Grandma collects them. They are the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see before I go to bed. It's been a long time since I've thought of angels and church and the bible. I used to love to read the bible, especially the old testament where all the juicy, telenovela stuff goes down. David stories are my favorite. The boy who beat the Giant, the man who became a warrior and the king who disgraced himself for love.

But if there is one biblical story that I identify with the most it's the tale of the Prodigal Son. That's me. Prodigal. Wasteful. The kid who ran off an squandered her inheritance at juke joints and tapas bars (and a leather tannery), then came back broke and bashful to beg for a job at the stables. Except instead of getting table scraps he's greeted with a banquet and embraced into the fold. Today I am reminded how lucky I am...how blessed I've been to do the things I've done and to be able to come home after it all to a family that loves and supports me, even if they think I'm kind of crazy. It's a good day.

November in Des Moines

It is a beautiful day in Des Moines, Iowa, proof that global warming is no bullshit. It should be snowy and nasty or at least dark and rainy right? The sky is blue, the grass is still green and though the trees have mostly lost their leaves, not even they seem overly stark against the backdrop of warm and sunny. But I am in a piss poor mood. It's November again. It always sneaks up on me. I never see it coming and then here it is and I am thinking about Robin and wondering when I will wake up and just get over it. Do you ever really get over it when your best friend dies? Do you ever stop wondering what she would be like now? Where she would live? Would she be married and have kids? Would she have ever made it to Australia? I don't stop wondering and all these years later I still feel that lump in my throat.

I ran yesterday and my whole body is telling me in no uncertain expletives that you can't just eat your way across several continents thinking that long walks and the occasional night of dancing counts as exercise. I am sore and bored and I want to go home, which is dumb because I don't have a home anymore. It's like wanting to go to Atlantis. You can want to go all you want, but it's not there.

Grandma is fine, kind of. Sometimes she seems good. She toasts her own bagels and is up and dressed before I can even start to think about getting up. But at other times she is just exhausted and can barely make it from one room to the next. The problem is the exhaustion is completely unpredictable. It's a bit scary, like the body she has lived in for the last 80 something years suddenly has it's own agenda and can break down at will. It makes me want to move, just to remember not to take it for granted that I can predictably get up and walk or dance or even run, as ill advised as it may be. I can't imagine waking up and suddenly not being able to do the everyday things I always do, but I guess now I don't have to imagine it. I'm seeing it and it is some kind of terrifying. What's it gonna be like when that happens to me? Will that happen to my parents? I'm an only child. Who the hell is going to help me out? I need to marry wealthy. I think that would help. Yeah, that's the solution. I'll get to work on that soon.

Grandma and I spent the weekend with my aunt running errands and getting me adjusted. Both of them took me out driving and I felt a bit like I was in Driver's Ed again. "The speed limit is 60 here. Take a right. No, not there, at the light...no the next light." I have now discovered the Dahls, the HiVee, the brand new Trader Joes, the Barnes and Nobles, the Borders (which is where I am now until my wifi situation gets sorted out) and even the Dress Barn. Now I just need to unpack my suitcase and figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life. In the meantime I am drowning myself in books in between watching Dr. Phil and cooking up nutritious and delicious dinners. Last night was ginger pork chops with granny smith apples and red onions, a side of garlic mashed yams, and french cut green beans. This evening it's rosemary chicken with carrots and potatoes, a nice green salad, and some sweet red grapes. If only life were like dinner, I could just reach into the fridge and whip up something elegant.