Mood:  cool

In-cep-tion: noun. beginning. 

I finally got with the program and saw Inception last weekend. At first, I had no intention of seeing it, but I feel for peer pressure after everyone was telling me just how amazing it was.

So, there is Dom (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) and Arthur (the hot Joseph Gordon-Levitt). Both are amazing thieves, Dom being the one that started it all, and then pulled Arthur and company aboard a world of corporate espionage by way of extraction—stealing secrets from someone's dream.

Together, and with the help of some weird looking metal briefcase machine, they've figured out how to construct and move through dreams to get what they want. They create layered dreams, full of mazes and people, and have even timed the proper "kick" when the sleeper jolts awake.

But the team is on their biggest mission ever: inception—to plant an idea in the dreamer's mind instead of taking it. For starters, they bring aboard a new team member, Ariadne (Ellen Page). They teach her the ropes of dream-building, which brings aboard plenty of opportunities for the movie's great batch of special effects. She learns about the rules of dreaming; that often, things don't make sense, the architecture doesn't fit together, and the people are strangers.

I was thankful for Page's character, as she caters to the audience by asking questions and getting an explanation of how extraction and inception works.

Everything is glitter and gold until Dom's past creeps up, ruining his efforts of inception. His past? His children and his wife, who I will say, is one creepy bitch. I don't want to ruin the movie with the details of the wife and kids, so I'll stop there.

In the film, Dom explains that everyone must have a totem, something only they carry and touch, that helps them know they are in their dream and not someone else's. Dom's totem is a spinning top. So, I've been wondering, what should my totem be? Maybe a weighted key from my keyboard (possibly the @ or the 3), or maybe a Monopoly piece (the hat), or maybe even a beer cap. Now that that's settled... 

My favorite part of the movie was the meat of the final chance at inception—the triple-layered dream which involved an amazing scene of Gordon-Levitt "swimming" through a hotel room and an elevator shaft. 

When I left the movie, I had a few freak out moments. I was convinced the elevator in the parking garage was going to end up in China, and I was really concerned the road was going to spilt, dropping me into the unknown.  

However, I did end up liking this movie—very mind boggling. If you haven't had a chance to check it out yet, do it before it's too late! 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Thursday, September 2, 2010 7:55 AM CDT

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Mood:  happy

Continuing on with my "Summer-O-Fiction," I read Nicholas Sparks' Nights in Rodanthe. Now, was this the most genius piece of work I've ever read? Nope. Most romantic? Not really. But did I read it in one evening while drinking a bottle of Spanish red? Abso-effing-lutely. 

Any piece of literature that allows me to drink and still remember all appropriate names and facts is an "A" in my...well, in my book.

Nights in Rodanthe takes place in...well, Rodanthe, North Carolina. Two people, Adrienne and Paul, who meet at a bed and breakfast in said coastal town.

Naturally, Adrienne is looking over the bed and breakfast for a friend. And of course, Paul is the only guest scheduled for the next few days. To add to this amazing coincidence, they are both recently divorced and both about to ride out a nasty hurricane. Together. In the bed and breakfast. With three bottles of Pinot Grigio on hand. And you know, a fireplace. 

The entire book takes place over many years, but the meat of the matter is the three nights at the bed and breakfast. Each chapter, Paul and Adrienne share more about their lives and children with each other, and they grow from being acquaintances to lovers in the short amount of time.

I didn't notice this when I read Sparks' The Last Song, but this story about Paul and Adrienne was sandwiched inside a bigger story about Adrienne's daughter, who recently lost her husband and was trying to raise her children on her own. So the Rodanthe story is being told to her daughter as the reader reads, if that makes any sense. There was aslo added facts about Paul's past and future, along with a mini-drama about one of his patients in Rodanthe who wanted a lawsuit.

While I appreciate the detail, I could have gone without it. Call me a hopeless romantic, but all I really cared about was the story of Paul and Adrienne. I don't really care about their daily drama with work, or the hobbies of their children.

Unfortunately, Sparks' spent 90 percent of the pages building up a great amount of sexual tension that was never really cured—leave it to a man to piss me off, even in literature. But I have to hand it to Sparks, he sure has found himself a niche. Like I was telling one of my coworkers, Sparks may be the laughing stock of his poker buddies, but he's the one laughing all the way to the bank. I am convinced he is to cheap romance thrills as Stephen King is to calculated horrors.  

Thanks to my dad who, after my request, bought me three Sparks' novels on his trip to the World's Longest Yard Sale, I've got two more lovely novels to eat (er, drink). So far, both of the books I've read, The Last Song and Nights in Rodanthe, have taken place in North Carolina. After checking out the remaining two books on my desk, I see these call North Carolina home, too. Do I smell a native?

According to his website, he was born in Omaha, Nebraska...moved to Minnesota...left for Los Angeles...got accepted to Notre Dame...transferred from Sacramento to (AHA!) North Carolina! 

While I suspected that, a few more things on Sparks' biography page are interesting. I'm assuming the darker side to all of his books come from the fact that his mother was killed in a horseback riding incident when she was 47. Later Sparks found out his younger sister has cancer.

Then, he wrote The Notebook. It sold for $1,000,000.

Like I said, laughing his ass off on the way to the bank. But yet, money can't buy happiness...Sparks found out his son was autistic the same same year his father died in a car crash.

 Of course, there is way more to his life, but I won't continue—don't want to be the Debbie Downer for once. While Nights in Rodanthe wasn't better than The Last Song, I still enjoyed it. It was romantic and poetic—each chapter ended with something along the lines of, a stormy night, in Rodanthe.

Sigh.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, September 1, 2010 7:37 AM CDT

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Mood:  amorous

Last Saturday night, I joined my friends to see Mississippi band, Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition. Before I was invited to come along, I had vaguely heard of Jimbo Mathus, but had never actually heard them. All I knew was that they performed bluesy-country music. Sounds good to me...

But their sound was great—more blues than country, with a whole lotta soul. It brought me back (to the old school, 'cause I'm an old fool)to about 8th grade, when I saw on of my favorite blues artists in concert—Jonny Lang.

Lang wasn't my first taste of blues—it was something I grew up hearing. But Lang was the first artist I liked on my own, without my parent's help. So my friend Ale and I, along with my mom, piled into an Indianapolis theatre to see our man. Once we got to our seats, I realized we had entered an entirely different world...and it was full of dudes in biking leathers.

It's no new concept that the music we like helps others put us into categories. I have always been thankful that I enjoy many different types of music, and I get to see all sorts of different people. So, there I realized that while I had been dancing in my room to "Lie To Me" (something I still do), there were burly men working on their bikes listening to the same thing.

On the flip side, there was Lang—a 17-year-old blues sensation (and he was looking damn good), which is incredibly young for any artist, but even younger in the blues' world. People seem to think only seasoned, older people know life well enough to sing the blues. But I think it's a genre open to all. And Jimbo Mathus definitely sings the blues. 

After a little scan through Google, I learned a little about Jimbo. He grew up in Mississippi, listening to blues and later started a little project: The Squirrel Nut Zippers. Ummm hello? Who remembers them? Me! And who would've thought the man on the stage at Chelsea's was the guy who put that act together (an act that sold more than a million copies). But it gets better.

Mathus has worked with Elvis Costello and Buddy Guy—he even played guitar on Guy's 2001 album, Sweet Tea, which was a number one blues album. He did work on Guy's Grammy-winning record, Blues Singer and has traveled on tour to perform with him.

Mathus describes his current project (Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition) as "Mississippi Music," with a sound of "inner-planetary honky-tonk."

Whatever the label, I thoroughly enjoyed the music, and the performance in general. A good time was had by all. Check out Jimbo Mathus on Facebook here.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 7:39 AM CDT

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Mood:  chillin'

Earlier this week, I finished reading Chelsea Handler's third book Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Since I loved her first two, My Horizontal Life and Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea?, I was pretty stoked to get my hands on number three. 

Things were off to a great start—chapters one and two were absolutely hilarious and had me literally laughing out loud. In chapter one, The Feeling, Handler explains how she learned how to masturbate; when she was eight years old at a slumber party. How classy, right? Like any sick child (I suppose), she becomes obsessed:

"When my brothers would come home from college, they would always hang out in the second living room, but that didn't stop me. I would sandwich myself in between one end of the sofa and the ottoman, and all they could see was my head pop out so I could check to see if they were watching me and wipe my brow with a beach towel. I sometimes wondered if they had any idea what I was doing, but I had grown so accustomed to sexually assaulting myself whenever necessary that my self-awareness became clouded. It never occurred to me that when I got up from one of these positions, the other people in the room would wonder why I was drenched in sweat with my jeans wedged up to my nipples, my eyes crossed, and a severe case of cameltoe, and chapped lips. I didn't care. I had bigger fish to fry (13)."

In chapter two, When Life Hands You Lemons, Squeeze Them into Your Vodka, we learn of Handler's childhood obsession to get a Cabbage Patch Doll. However, her parents don't understand why she wants material items to fit in, so she must beg for one to get what she wants:

"My mother came into my room later to ask how much the dolls were, and when I told her, she told me that my father would not be happy. By this time in my life, I'd had enough of their shenanigans and bargain hunting, and I definitely felt like I had plenty of stored resentment to make a case for myself. I walked into the living room, where my father had parked himself with a corned beef on rye, and started my case.

'Here's the deal, guys. I can't go on like this. We can't go on like this. You two are a joke. I am nine years old, trying to make the best out of a situation that is unlike any of my peers'. I have five older brothers and sisters who seem to have fared better than me, mostly because you birthed them when the two of you had a clue as to how to raise a child. I am competing with people in this neighborhood who have access to swing sets, and in-ground pools I can only dream of, and cars that work the first time you try to start them. This isn't a god foundation for the rest of my life, because I will only end up feeling like I'm enough or of any worth. I will depend on my looks, which will turn me into a shallow, eating-disorder whore who will end up selling her body just so she can buy herself an eternity ring. Reading the Boston Globe  is not helping my cause. I need to read Sweet Valley High  and watch Family Ties and have sleepovers where we gets 'the feeling'. I don't even know what you guys do for a living, which brings me to my next topic: Does either of you have a job (30-31)?'"

However in the chapters following, we meet the recent Chelsea—the one who has money and fame, due to her previous best-selling books along with her comedy show on the E! network. Frankly, while I think Handler is funny, her stories about watching Sex and the City: the movie while eating hot pockets in her tech-ed out apartment just aren't as funny as the ones about her father's car dealership in the front yard. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed in this book. 

Of all of her books, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? rings in at number one on my list—I feel like Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang is just riding on the fumes of those before it.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Friday, August 27, 2010 11:20 AM CDT

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Mood:  incredulous

I recently finished reading The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell. While it is her sixth book, it is her first in the teen genre, as it is Carrie before Sex and the City. 

As I've mentioned before, the Carrie in Sex and the City (the television series) is much different than the Carrie from Sex and the City (the book). However, both characters don't reveal much of anything about her past...so The Carrie Diaries were a chance for us to see where she came from. 

Truthfully, I don't think I gained any real insight on Carrie, but it was still a good story—I definitely would have enjoyed it as a teen, too. Carrie is growing up as the oldest daughter of three, raised by her widowed father. Like most high school seniors, she struggles with fitting in, dating, and planning for the future.

While she wants to be a writer, her father wants her to be a scientist and study at Brown. Carrie makes an attempt to gain entry into a prestigious summer writing program, but fails on her first try. She makes an effort to get better at writing, by joining her school newspaper staff, which brings on an adventure.

She also begins dating the most popular boy in school, who packs quite the drama between Carrie's friends and even her family. The Carrie we have come to know and love can be seen in the way she acts toward the boys she likes—she isn't herself, and does whatever they want her to do (Hello, Mr. Big). Her fashion sense is the same, and her dream of living in New York City is bigger than ever.

 According to a review in People Magazine, there will be a second installment of The Carrie Diaries next summer. Is Bushnell the leading lady on marketing to women readers? I mean damn! 

The book was good and I would recommend it to any Sex and the City fan even though it isn't as revealing as we probably all wish it was. Since we don't know anything about Carrie's past from the start, Bushnell could've made it any past she wanted it to be. However, at the end of the book, there is a definite hook that only Sex and the City fans will understand.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, August 25, 2010 7:42 AM CDT

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Mood:  lucky

It's all about the Benjamins, right? At least in Candace Bushnell's One Fifth Avenue, the book I finally finished reading. In her fifth book (the 3rd out of six of her's I've read), I'd have to give this one the award for being my favorite, I know, I know Candace has been waiting for that title her entire life. B, you can thank me with a writing gig, I charge per word, and I'm cheap. 

Anyway, One Fifth Avenue is like a giant game of Clue—except Colonel Mustard is wearing Marc Jacobs, Professor Plum is a Pulitzer Prize winning author, and Miss Scarlet is a gold digging sex columnist.

The main character of this book is a building, the most prestigious apartment building in all of Manhattan, One Fifth Avenue. The people that live there know they've made it, the people that don't dream of a day when the real estate will lower from its $20 million price tag. Living inside the building are a majority of the cast of characters in this book; the others are merely trying to get in.  

Mindy Gooch: President of the Board at One Fifth Avenue; former magazine editor, current marriage blogger, annoying wife. 

Sam Gooch: Mindy's son, computer nerd, tennis player, trickster. 

James Gooch: Sam's father, Mindy's husband, struggling author, looking to cheat on his wife, wants to be appreciated. 

Schiffer Diamond: A-list actress, used to date Philip Oakland, friend of Billy Litchfield. 

Philip Oakland: Pulitzer Prize winning author, playwright, used to date Schiffer Diamond, enjoys sex with his employee Lola Fabrikant, possibly still in love with Schiffer. 

Enid Merle: The oldest person in One Fifth Avenue, gossip, Philip Oakland's aunt, hates Lola Fabrikant, thinks Schiffer and Philip should rekindle old flames. 

Billy Litchfield: Non-resident of One Fifth Avenue, decorator to the wealthy, poser, likes visiting the Hamptons for free, close friend to Schiffer and Louise Houghton, gets possession of rare diamond. 

Annalisa Rice: Wife to Paul Rice, recently wealthy, newest resident of One Fifth Avenue, gave up everything to move to the city with her husband. 

Paul Rice: Husband to Annalisa, recently wealthy, general douche, only interested in money, hates Mindy Gooch and her family, is obsessed with getting a parking spot and a rare fish tank. 

Louise Houghton: Deceased, leaves behind rare jewels, well-liked by all residents of One Fifth Avenue, possible murderer. 

Lola Fabrikant: Philip Oakland's assistant and lover, socialite, obsessed with marrying Philip, interested in becoming a reality television star. 

The book does an amazing job of interlacing these different personalities into an intricate web of lies amidst sex, cocktails, designer clothes, and multi-million dollar deals. The residents of One Fifth Avenue run into each other, cross paths, fall in love with each other, go behind backs, and even kill others.

Bushnell has nailed it this time—she moved away from her stereotypical "life of women in Manhattan" genre, but didn't jump into the unknown with this diverse cast. There is a character for everyone; I personally loved the writers of the bunch, Mindy Gooch and Philip Oakland. However, there is humor in Lola and Philip's relationship and great mystery surrounding Louise Houghton, Paul Rice, and Enid Merle.

This book is a must for the chick-lit readers out there!

The New York Times did a review on One Fifth Avenue, when it was released in 2008. Read it here.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:58 PM CDT

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Mood:  amorous

"We walk like models, we walk like models, in the lipstick jungle, the lipstick jungle..." or so sings my favorite New Orleans band, The Vettes. Last week, I finished reading Candace Bushnell's (author of Sex and the City) fourth book, Lipstick Jungle. 

I wondered if it would be eerily similar to Sex and the City, but it wasn't. Of course, it follows three successful women in New York, but that's where the similarities end.

We meet Nico O'Neilly, editor-in-chief of Bonfire magazine; Wendy Healy, president of Paradour Pictures; and Victory Ford, fashion designer.

The sections about O'Neilly had to be my favorite. I think I was secretly wishing I was her, an editor of a popular women's magazine. However, I loved her character, right along with the steamy affair she was having with a male underwear model.

Healy's character was sad—completely successful career, but a generally deadbeat husband who kept begging for a divorce. With kids involved, it was messy. And for Ford, she was the only single gal of the bunch, but dating one of the richest men in the city. Although, when it didn't work out, she wonders if she is cut out for any real relationship.

When I looked on Amazon.com, I found some cool questions Bushnell answered:

"The characters in Lipstick Jungle were inspired by real-life women I know and admire in New York City. As with Sex and the City, I spent lots of time thinking about where women were today, and what I noticed was that there was a fascinating group of women in their forties who were leading non-traditional lives. They were highly successful and motivated, they often had children, and usually were the providers for their families, and yet, they didn't fit the old stereotype of the witchy businesswoman. Indeed, so many of these women were the girls next door, the girls who reminded me of my best friends when I was a kid and we used to fantasize about the great things we were going to do in life. Like the women in Sex and the City, the Lipstick Jungle women are charting new lives for themselves, redefining what it means to be a woman when you really are as powerful, or more powerful, than a man.

Check out Bushnell on her website here. 

You may recall Lipstick Jungle as a TV series on NBC, starring Brooke Shields as Wendy, Kim Raver as Nico, and Lindsay Price as Victory. Although I haven't seen any of the episodes, I'm pretty sure it wasn't as good as the book since it only survived two seasons.

However, I would still recommend this book to women everywhere—a great pick-me-up read!  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 11:27 AM CDT

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Mood:  happy

It was a summer I will never forget. I had just graduated from high school and had two months to spend with my friends before I left home for college, 14 hours south. 

In those months, I was working two jobs—one serving frozen custard and one as a car hop, hustling fried tenderloins. Conveniently, my jobs were across the street from one another so I could work a shift at one and walk twenty steps for my next shift.

My shifts at Grab 'N Go, the drive-up eatery, were entertaining. My boss was an entrepreneur who had amazing insight when it came to business. Most of the time, I just liked to hear him talk because he was so sure of himself and everything he said. What I liked even more was to hear him sing along to the country music station he made us all listen to. 

Before that summer I cringed at the twang of country music. But between my shifts and spending time with my summer-long boyfriend, I heard lots of country music.

I still remember (and listen to) the first country song I liked—These Days by Rascal Flatts.

"And the next thing you know, I'm reminiscing, dreaming old dreams, wishing old wishes, like you would be back again..."

My summer romance, Zach, was somewhat of a country boy. He lived twenty minutes from where I grew up, and I loved spending late nights in his parents' backyard with our friends. He played baseball, was going to a local college, and had a slight twang in his voice—it really doesn't get more Hoosier than that.

You know what they say, "In every girl's life there's a boy she can't forget and a summer where it all began." 

It was perfect. Well, aside from having to leave him at the end of the summer. Today, Zach is married to a very lucky lady—something I can't say about any of the other men of my past. While I haven't spoken to him in years, I always think of him when I hear a good country song.

Since I've moved south, I've listened to more country than ever. Over the weekend, I got to see one of my favorite country groups live. Enter Sugarland.

I saw them for the first time last summer when they opened for George Strait. Even for an opening act, I was blown away. The show I saw Saturday night goes in down in my book as one of the best concerts I've ever seen (joining Alicia Keys, John Mayer/Counting Crows, and Something Corporate). 

It seems country music fans have a love/hate relationship with Sugarland. Their sound isn't typical, their lyrics aren't gritty, and they aren't from Nashville. But I've never been one to take the opinions of others. While I love Sugarland's sound, what I love more are their lyrics. They sing about love, life, work, and dreams. With a girl singer, the songs are even more relatable and fun to sing along to, of course. In fact, singer Jennifer Nettles is the only female artist to have solo-written the ACM song of the year. 

Their stage presence is what makes the live performance. It's obvious they have worked hard to get where they are and they are loving every minute of it. Saturday night's stage was set up to reflect their tour name and upcoming album—The Incredible Machine. There were large light bulbs, tarnished keys, and silver gears decorating the stage around an old fashioned movie screen. 

The setlist included Wide Open, It Happens, Settlin, All I Want to do, Want to, Incredible Machine, Already Gone, Baby Girl, Everyday America, Stay, Stuck Like Glue, Find the Beat, Who Says You Can't Go Home, and Something More.

Nettles, known for her love of cover songs, also performed Beyonce's Single Ladies, Miley Cyrus' Party in the USA, and The Jackson 5's I Want You Back.

Since Settlin' remains to be my single girl anthem, I was literally jumping for joy when they performed this song. The song is fun on its own, but Nettles is such a great act to see—she's dancing all over the place, laughing, waving to fans, and joking with band members. I'm fairly certain her and I will be great friends in another life.

"With some good red wine and my brand new shoes, gonna dance a blue streak around my living room. Take a chance on love and try how it feels, with my heart wide open yeah you know I will find what it means to be the girl who changed her mind and changed the world." -Settlin' 

Want To is a recent favorite of mine, so I was equally delighted to hear this one. It was a single years ago, but since I'm still dabbling into this country music scene I'm enjoying the oldies just as much.

"I got your ring around my neck and a couple of nights I don't regret. You've got a dream of a degree and a shirt that smells like me. Yeah we both got dreams we could chase alone or we could make our own." -Want To

The performance of Baby Girl was a special treat as they played it acoustic. I was also very impressed with the couple of new songs we heard from The Incredible Machine album, including its title track. Nettles appeared on stage wearing a white hoop skirt, tattered and decorated with an American Flag.

"Heart that beats, an incredible machine, made of blood and love and hope and lust and steam."-Incredible Machine

Sugarland continued their tradition of giving away an autographed guitar to someone in the audience—yes, the pictures are ones I took with my phone. That's how close we were (thank you Steph and Erika)! 

Of course, the icing on the cake was being able to see the show with three great ladies—who graciously put up with my singing and screaming. Thanks girls! It was a much-needed night of fun (and binge drinking). 

I leave you with my favorite quote from Nettles all night, before she sang Something More:

"You know people tell us all the time how lucky we are that we get to travel and play our songs for people...you know what I tell 'em? ...YOU DAMN RIGHT!" 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Monday, August 9, 2010 7:39 AM CDT

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Mood:  bright

In the May 30th issue of The New York Times, I came across an article about a man in publishing—Bill Clegg. The article, "Tale of a Life, Unabridged,"; is the story of a "literary meltdown," involving Clegg at the forefront as a recovering crack user and possible sex addict. 

Clegg had turned his meltdown, including a four day crack, sex, and vodka binge at the Gavensport Hotel, into a memoir which also serves as his first book.

"In early 2005, after a fitful spasm of vodka, a crack dealer named Happy and an emptied bottle of sleeping pills, his life imploded," the article reads. "The literary agency dissolved. Rival agents swooped in and snatched his writers. And the boyfriend of eight years was gone and, with him, the Fifth Avenue party pad."

I knew I had to read this book—unfortunately, I had to wait a month for it to be release. Amazingly, my mom bought it for me for my birthday and I couldn't wait to get my grubby paws on it.

I have read, and thoroughly enjoyed reading books about rehab and drug addiction (A Million Little Pieces, My Friend Leonard, Prozac Nation, Girl Interrupted, Wasted), but I have never read a book about the actual act of doing drugs.

Clegg's book put me right in the center of the action—on the couch with him in paragraphs such as these:

"Mark finds no gold. He puts down the scraper, the bits of glass, and his movements come to a halt. He collapses back into the couch, where I can practically see the strings that held him aloft now glide down around him. The bag is empty and it's six a.m. We've been at it for six days and five nights and all the other stems are destroyed (6)...I don't know yet that I will keep this going—here and in other places like it—for over a month. That I will lose almost forty pounds, so that, at thirty-four, I will weigh less than I did in the eighth grade (7)." 

The chapters move back and forth through Clegg's life; his rough childhood, the current relationship with his boyfriend Noah, his new career in publishing, and his secret life as an addict.

One of the more riveting parts in the book is Clegg's attempted efforts at meeting Noah overseas to see his premiere at the Berlin Film Festival. On his first try, Clegg gets in a cab knowing he won't make the flight. He goes to the airport anyway, his pockets full of crack, and simply books a new flight—happy to spend the night in a nearby hotel. On his cab ride from the airport to the hotel, he shows the driver his rocks, wants to know if he parties? He does. Clegg and a line of cab drivers will spend the next few days bingeing on drugs and sex, with no care in the world.

When Clegg eventually makes it to the airport, it is the beginning of a month-long episode of extreme paranoia involving men in suits, chasing him and a fear of being arrested.

While many of the sections in this book shocked me, a single paragraph had my jaw hanging wide open as a read:

"He arrives around one. I'd smoked down what I had left from the bag at Rosie's an hour ago, and my stem is now less than two inches long, caked with burnt, unsmokable residue. When I called hours earlier I asked for $2,000 worth. More than I've ever ordered. I can only give him $1,500 in cash—what was left of my limit when I went to the ATM before midnight and a new grand after. I ask him, this one time, to sport me the difference. He pauses, briefly, and starts counting out the bags and new stems...

Looking at the forty bags of crack on my bedspread, the most I have ever seen in one place, makes me feel safer than I have felt all day. The bags look fuller, more jammed packed than usual, and the abundance, the dancing light outside the window, and the awareness that I will never leave this room sends a high throughout my system before I even light up. I lie down on the bed and drop the bags on my chest and face, one by one, and then all at once. It feels like an arrival. The end of a journey. Not just the panicked one of days and nights and weeks after relapsing, but the long one, the whole useless struggle (197-198)."

It is obvious I loved this book—it was very different from any of the other substance-related memoirs I've read. But still intriguing. I'm so glad Clegg decided to share his story.  

Today, Clegg is back in publishing as a literary agent for William Morris Endeavor Entertainment. Some of his previous writers such as Heather Clay, Salvatore Scibona and Nick Flynn followed him to the new agency, praising him for his ability to handle their work.

He has already signed for a second book deal, rumored to be about his days post-rehab. At 39 years old, Clegg is now five years sober.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, August 4, 2010 9:13 PM CDT

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Mood:  cheeky

Last night, I did something I haven't done in a long time—I read. In complete silence. For hours. 

I was on pins and needles trying to finish Audrey Niffenegger's first book, The Time Traveler's Wife. So far, I haven't read much this summer, and frankly I blame that on drinking too much, and not having my usual amount of alone time. So, I was happy to come home to a quiet apartment, leave the television off, and curl up with about 300 pages of good writing.

I did finish it, and I really, really liked it. However, I have no clue how to explain this book. In a nutshell, it's about a girl, Clare, who is in love with a man who travels through time. They try to have a friendship, then later a relationship and a marriage, all while he travels back and forth through different periods of his life.

At the end of the book, there is a reading group guide that might help me explain myself a little further. Here is the last question of the guide, question 16:

How does the author use time travel as a metaphor: for love, for loss and absence, for fate, for aging, for death? To what extent are Clare and Henry a "normal" couple?

Technically, we are all "time traveler's," it's just that we are traveling forward through time, living our lives in the order of the sun, seconds, minutes and hours, as they fall. Henry, on the other hand, has lived his entire life once, and moves back and forth through it again, jumping back through time or into the future with no warning or notice.

Time travel as a metaphor for love is an interesting concept. It's like when people say, "maybe it was just bad timing." There is something to be said about timing and the effect it has on love. In order for things to work, both people in the relationship have to be at the right moment in their life. So as each person is traveling through time, they must cross each other's paths at exactly the right moment, or the relationship may fail.

This idea goes hand in hand with using time as a metaphor for fate. To blame a relationship's failures on bad timing is to ignore fate. If we rely on fate to get us to our match ultimately, then it wasn't bad timing, it was fate leading us to The One.  

Henry and Clare's relationship didn't work until they officially met in the present, in 1990. Before that, Clare was too young, or Henry was too old. Once Henry reaches the present, their relationship seems to grow, they fall in love and time seems to stop.

Now, as for time travel as a metaphor for loss, absence, death, and aging? This is a little less clear to me, but it comes in the form of Henry and Clare and their attempts at starting a family. While they argue about their miscarriages and how there is a chance Clare could die—Henry has seen her give birth, live, and seen his daughter as a young lady. So he knew somewhere that Clare wouldn't die. Same as the scene when Clare is 16, driving down the road with her eyes closed, she says she knows she doesn't die, so why not? Both of them, mess with fate and often don't seem to trust it. 

BLAM! Look who's the English major...I can still analyze text. Go me.

Seriously, I enjoyed this book. It made me think. I love the characters and their struggles—it wasn't so polished and clean like most fiction novels are. I haven't seen the movie yet, but I will—even if I already know it won't be as good as the book.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:44 PM CDT

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