1) I finally finished “Infinite Jest”. What should I read next?
2) What movie should I watch that you think I haven’t seen?
3) What is the miracle cure I could use to ensure I am healthy in time to go to the Redskins/Broncos game on Sunday?
4) What two teams do you think are going to go to the Super Bowl this year?
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1) What is your favorite novel of all time? (fiction)
2) What is your favorite non-fiction book?
3) Name a book you just quit reading in the middle, something you just could not get through.*
4) Is there an author that you have read everything that he or she has written?**
5) What book made you laugh so hard you embarrassed yourself?
We haven’t done one of these in a while, but I have one very important question and some other questions of no importance whatsoever.
1. How much does your tooth fairy pay for a tooth?*
2. If I admit to my kids that there is no tooth fairy does that automatically give up Santa Claus and the rest of those guys?
3. Do your kids read your blog? **
4. What are you reading?***
5. Are you as disgusted by Brett Favre and Michael Vick as I am?
It starts like this:
My first therapist’s name was Neil Diamond, but he didn’t wear sequins, didn’t bring me flowers, and most certainly did not turn on my heartlight…
I read a lot and not many books have me laughing out loud during the freaking prologue.*
The book is called Rage Against the Meshugenah: Why it Takes Balls to Go Nuts and it was written by one of my favorite writers, Danny Evans.
Yes, THAT Danny Evans. Dad Gone Mad, people. Another one of us bloggers has gone legit.
And Danny makes us look good.
The truth is that I have been a huge fan of his for a couple of years now and I would probably say nice things about his book even if it sucked, but I don’t have to.
I was a little concerned that a book about clinical depression would be a real downer. There are certain topics that hit close to home and “Rage” hit on a couple of these for me. For example, besides just being sports fans and bloggers Danny and I have something else in common, we both lost any faith we had (and by faith I mean a belief system, like me in the corner, me in the spotlight kind of faith) after a miscarriage.
We also have this in common:
I don’t like waking up. I like being awake, obviously, because that is when all the good sports are on TV. But the actual transition from sleep to alertness kind of bums me out.
See? I didn’t have to worry about anything written by Danny being a drag, even if it was a memoir about depression.
There was one thing I should have been concerned about. I should have been worried about reading “Rage Against the Meshugenah” in public. You see, I read the end of the book on the train home from New York. Not to ruin the book for you, but the part where his daughter is born made me cry. Not just a few tears, but the kind of crying where your nose runs and all the people on the train look at you funny and your husband is embarrassed because it probably looks like he did something to make you cry like that.
I assure you (and my fellow train passengers) that it was not Gabe, but Mr. Evans that was making me cry like that and then four minutes later making me laugh just as hard as I had previously cried so that I looked like either an asshole or like I was having the worlds worst mood swings ever.
I am not going to tell you what made me laugh like that because I want you to read the book. I want you to buy the book. I ended up with two copies** of it and I am considering buying another one just because I feel like I should be doing more to contribute to Danny success.
He certainly deserves it.
Rage Against the Meshugenah
I’ve been listening to books on CD in my car for a couple of years now. I try not to listen to anything overly violent or sexual if the kids are in the car, but other than that I figured it was fairly safe.
I mean – my children never listen to me, why would they pay any attention to an audio recording of “A Light in August”?
We just got back from a road trip that was 10 hours in each direction.
And Ian told me that one of his sister’s baby dolls just had a near death experience.
I guess they were paying attention when I was listening to “Spook” by Mary Roach.
Oops.
