Last week my phone lit up with a notification from my friend Glenn (HI GLENN), from whom I hadn’t heard from in a while. We used to practice early morning Mysore yoga together, many years ago, and he kindly followed along with my family’s adventures, specifically the time when my younger son was the drummer for a band called Ded Brik, whose practice session was cut short one day when the guitarist’s neighbours called the police for a noise complaint, at two o’clock in the afternoon. Ah, pandemic days. It’s great how we were all collectively insane. In any case, I hadn’t heard from Glenn in a long while, and so I quickly opened his message.
I cannot take ALL the credit for BC’s decision to adopt Daylight Saving Time year-round, but I have been publicly raging against that particular pointless machine for 17 years. I’ll take a little credit, although I will believe it when it happens. My fragile heart cannot handle being shattered again. I am still scarred from the Alberta referendum which ended NOT in favour of stopping the ridiculous practice of changing clocks twice a year, merely because people could not agree if Standard or Daylight Saving was superior. I am Team Pick A Time And Stick With It, For Fuck’s Sake, I Don’t Care. There are pros and cons on both sides, LET’S JUST STOP THE MADNESS. I for one will be happy when the sun doesn’t set at 3:56 pm in December, and YES, the flip side is that it won’t rise until 8:45 am but it’s Canada. We don’t get much daylight in December, accept it and MOVE ON.
Anyway, the news we will not be going through this spring-forward-fall-back construct and that parents throughout this province will no longer be emotionally destroyed twice a year was a bright spot in an otherwise terrifying, bleak, and spiral-into-despair dystopian news cycle.
I texted the above gif to my older son, who immediately responded with I’m a fake? How’d you like to be dead, which reminded me of one of my favourite things: the call and response of pop culture. I know that if I texted my friend Hannah (HI HANNAH) with only the words Maybe it’s the beer talking that she would immediately respond with You got a butt that won’t quit. My friend Suzanne (HI SUZANNE) and I share an affinity for 1990s Adam Sandler; I know that I could tell her that she is a nice piece of ace and she would know exactly what I mean.
After Hannah responded to my It WAS a good name, until that no-talent ass clown started winning Grammies with Why should I change my name? He’s the one that sucks, we talked about this phenomenon, how the call and response makes a person feel seen and known. Hannah said that it was all about pattern recognition and identifying your people, and that rewatching media is about comfort and predictability. I think she is exactly right; I never before or since felt such a strong feeling of connection with my sister-in-law’s boyfriend than when he once said genially IT’S ALL PIPES.
Hannah said I actually think the increasingly fragmented media landscape has contributed to loss of social cohesion and she’s right. Obviously, not everything that is happening these days can be attributed to a lack of a must-see TV night, but it doesn’t help that we are all over the place, all the time when it comes to pop culture.
I tried to join the modern world last week by watching A Love Story, which is the story of JFK Jr and Caroline Bessette. I will go to my grave saying that Carole Radziwill’s What Remains is the best celebrity memoir of all time, and I have been low-key obsessed with it since I first read it in 2006. I thought she would be a key character in A Love Story so I tuned in, only to be constantly enraged by the idiocy and entitlement that comes with being a Kennedy man. After a quick search, I learned that Carole Radziwill isn’t even a character in this show, as she is not deemed to be important enough to be in the story. She was Carolyn Bessette’s best friend, and married to JFK Jr’s cousin and best friend Anthony Radziwill, who IS in the show, which feels PRETTY IMPORTANT. I immediately abandoned ship, as I’m Team I’m Here For Carole And No One Else, and also, I don’t need to be constantly enraged by JFK Jr and his stupid hats.
Before you ask, I have not and I will not watch the Real Housewives franchise that features Carole Radziwill, not because I’m a snob – given the chance, I’d watch Family Feud until the cows come home – but because there are just too many seasons. It’s overwhelming. Also I really don’t want to watch women screaming at each other, which I assume is a large part of the “storyline,” if indeed there is a storyline on a reality television show.
I did, however, recently watch a movie that I cannot stop thinking about, and that is The Best You Can starring Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgewick. First of all, how is Kevin Bacon still so hot? He might even be hotter than he ever was, or my tastes have just skewed older. I was on the plane from Vancouver to Hong Kong, and the premise intrigued me, but the headphones provided with the system did not work. I watched it silently, with closed captioning, and then on the next leg of the flight – mere hours later – I watched it again, this time with working headphones. It’s only available for purchase right now, or I would be watching it every single day. Alas. To fill the void, I have been watching Vladimir with my husband, which is also excellent – sexy but not porny, so I don’t feel weird if one of my sons is at home – and features John Slattery, who you may remember from Mad Men.
I cannot speak for all women, but what I wanted was to stop changing clocks and now – hopefully, please, let this happen – I am going to get it.
Weekly Reading
I had another DNF this week, it was So Old So Young. I abandoned it at 53 pages, and those 53 pages were a draggy slog for me, with SO many characters, none of which I cared about. My resolution to DNF more is resolution-ing! But maybe I should have done that more this week.
Wild Hope. Would you like some uplifting poetry? Of course you would! This is the collection for you. I have been reading a poem a day (or thereabouts) before my morning yoga practice, and they have been so uplifting and inspiring. The theme is – obviously, from the title – how to find hope in the world when things seem broken. THIS RESONATES. It’s a really beautiful collection about finding happiness and hope within ourselves and with our relationships with people and the natural world.
The Latecomer. Wow, wow, WOW. This book! I loved every word of this dense, nuanced, character-driven novel about a family with triplets who – despite their mother’s desperate best efforts – cannot wait to leave home, and each other. As the triplets prepare to leave for college, their mother has what seems like a Landslide moment and promptly adds another baby to the family. But things are not what they seem – secrets abound, and things are unravelling. Every character in this book is layered and rich and interesting. There was a plot twist I did not see coming, and the ending was eminently satisfying. I loved this so much.
Finding Grace. I…do not know what to say. I really don’t know how to review this book without spoilers, but I’m going to try. There is a wildly unexpected occurrence in the first chapter that sets everything in motion, namely a very weird series of coincidences which lead to a very weird relationship. I would go so far as to say a creepy and inappropriate relationship. And the ending was weirdly unexpected and tied everything up in a weirdly neat bow. So. I guess this book is about grief and also about a marriage that sounds kind of shitty, and about how keeping secrets can be toxic and how people aren’t always what they seem? I guess? Other than the children, the characters are across the board pretty unlikeable, and the story itself goes in a lot of directions.
The Stationery Shop. It’s not you, it’s me. I know – I KNOW – that historical fiction rarely works for me, and this didn’t. I was optimistic that I would enjoy this, after listening to The Rest Is History’s fascinating series on the 1953 ousting of the Iranian Prime Minister and the subsequent Revolution of 1979, which is the backdrop for this love story. I should have known better. It did not work for me; these sorts of books are just too contrived and stilted for my taste.
My husband asked me if I have become more critical in my reading, from my own writing experience, and I would say that I have become more analytical. My mind, like our society, has become polarized: on the one hand, being transported by a book like The Latecomers fills me with awe and admiration. It’s really hard to write a book, and to write a book like The Latecomers is an incredible feat indeed. On the other hand, I find it kind of disheartening when I read a book that has a lot of buzz and love, and it leaves me cold. Well, there’s something for everyone, I suppose, and tastes differ. On a literary note, the lovely Jacqui (HI JACQUI) mentioned a zero-cost way to support me, should you be so inclined, which is to request a copy of Inhale Exhale at your local library. That would be a huge help – there are literally millions of books coming out every year, and mine is but a tiny drop in the ocean. I’d love it to be as accessible as possible. Thank you, friends, for reading along. Have a beautiful week! xo
