Consumed

I have been feeling very self-righteous lately because I have managed NOT to blow all of my prize money on something dumb like a gigantic trampoline or a 500 gallon aquarium. And then to my own shock and amazement, I ordered an i-Pod. Why did I do this? Well, in my defense, there were many different factors involved. Jess and Scott had sent me a $40 gift card from Target as a house-warming gift. At first, I was going to be really responsible and buy like $40 worth of sponges or a toaster, but then I just couldn't decide, and plus, Target is really close to my house now if I need to get anything from there post-haste. Second, I've been thinking about how I might walk more if I had a better soundtrack than the sounds of buses and of helicopters flying above my house (as was the case this morning). So, if I have an i-Pod, then maybe I'll walk more or go to the gym more. Look, it's a possibility. Finally, someone recently mentioned that it's not that hard to put songs on it. I guess I thought it would be a task similar to adding extra RAM to your desktop computer, but apparently, you just hold the i-Pod up to the CD and it absorbs the music through osmosis. Perfect! Again in my defense, I bought one that's been previously purchased and so was $10 cheaper--add that to the $40 from J & S and the I got a 2 GB thing for under $100 including shipping and tax. 2 GB is roughly 500 songs. I only know like 30 songs total, so it should be no problem to cram them all on. How many songs did Billy Joel write anyway?


Okay, but I am feeling a little consumer crazy, because I also just ordered a new cell phone. Listen, I have never once taken advantage of the free phone every 2 years deal and just realized that I can get a new one for nothing and so I picked one out and it has a camera in it. All this new-fangled technology! I resisted the cell phone for years and years and years, and also the laptop and also the car (didn't have a car for like 10 years) and now I feel slightly guilty for owning all of these things and feeling unable to imagine what it would be like without them.



I still love taking the subway, however. Today, I sat next to an older woman with a shock of short white hair who was reading a paperback. I glanced over at the title: Morning, Noon, and Night by Sidney Sheldon. For those of you who don't know, Sidney Sheldon writes books that are only a little more elevated than the drugstore bodice rippers. The kind of book that you tried to read in the library as a 13 year old, looking for the good parts. The one line I could catch from the book she was reading was the last sentence of a chapter, something along the lines of (and it was written in italics): "Yes, he knew that one day, he would own her, come hell or high water..."

It's probably harder to write a romance/mystery/thriller than it would seem at first. I know I tried endlessly in junior high to write stories based on TV detective characters, mostly Remington Steele, and it wasn't easy. But it can't be too too hard to write a pulp romance. I believe there are gradations of these books. Some are very veiled and innocent--like, the pirate will give the aristocratic lady "hot, hungry looks" or she'll be able to feel "his rippled muscular chest beneath his pressed white shirt." And then others are much less subtle and will talk openly about rigid manhood. Someone should write a parody novel, if that hasn't already been done.