Having it all...at the expense of everyone else?

UPDATE:  I started this blog post on 7/17.  Since then, there's been an awful shooting at a Colorado movie theater.  I'm aware that this entry seems more than a little petty in our current context.  But it reflects my recent thinking so I've decided to post it anyway.

Yes, yes, I'm aware that I'm behind on my blogging from the Grand Pacific Northwest Adventure.  All in due time.  In the meantime, I feel the need to pontificate about something.

A few weeks ago I, along with millions of other women, read an article titled "Why Women Still Can't Have it All". Published in the Atlantic Monthly, and penned by the first woman to hold the role of director of policy planning at the state department, I found it to be fascinating and very real.  It was a wandering, sometimes apologetic, yet fierce set of ideas, written by a thoughtful and smart woman.  Not surprisingly, it revealed that women of all ages are really struggling to know what's right as we strive to find our place in the world.  Mostly, though, I was struck by this paragraph, which summed up a long argument the author was making:

The discipline, organization, and sheer endurance it takes to succeed at top levels with young children at home is easily comparable to running 20 to 40 miles a week. But that’s rarely how employers see things, not only when making allowances, but when making promotions. Perhaps because people choose to have children? People also choose to run marathons. 

Underneath this statement is a healthy dose of conflict, pitting those with children against those without.  I realize that's a simplistic reading, and probably not the author's intention, but when you effectively say "Yeah, that's great that you did this great thing, but here's what I'm dealing with...", you're asking for a fight.  Maybe it's a good fight.  That's beside my point.  At which I promise I'll arrive soon.

Yesterday I read a considerably less well thought out article, about the same topic, in PR Daily, that prompted a bunch of comments.  The line in this article that stands out is this:

I don't have kids so I feel like I'm not completely qualified to tell you how to have it all.

After which, of course, the writer proceeded to tell us how to have it all.

The comments to this piece quickly devolved as you'd expect them to, into "I don't have kids and I feel like my needs aren't valued" and "You don't have kids so you have no idea how hard it is."

It struck me today that this "competition" for the busiest life is a waste of our considerably valuable time.

Why does everything always have to sink to a competition?  Whose life is more stressful, who's got more on their mind...why does it matter?  Do we really need to compete over who got less sleep last night? Why can't I we all just enjoy chatting about our weekends around the coffeepot, and then get back to work?  Why do we have to have a national debate about this?

It was while reading another PR Daily story today that I think I landed on the reason.  It's age-old, and it came after a commenter accused the writer of creating stories about conflict to drive readership. I confess, I had a face-palm moment.  Well, duh, of course. 

Conflict sells.  It's more interesting to talk about around the coffeepot. Let's face it, Harry Potter would be pretty boring if Harry wasn't fighting the big and bad.  Just think how boring the blogosphere would be if we didn't have anything to fight about, battle against or [insert war metaphor here].  I wouldn't even have had to write this blog post (gasp, how terrible!).

I agree 100% with Anne-Marie Slaughter that "(the Declaration of Independence) did not declare American independence in the name of life, liberty, and professional success", and that we have considerable work to do to make our workplaces healthier and more productive.  But I don't believe that pitting women against each other in a competition for who has the busiest and most worthy lives is a sound way to move things forward, no matter how many ads it sells or blog articles it spawns.  

So that's it.  Pontification over.  I guess it all comes down to "why can't we all just get along?" And why can't we have a world full of puppies, rainbows and unicorns, too?  :)

Naively yours,
Jodi

Heading west...

Free wifi at the Tulsa airport!  Thank you, airport.  While I don't expect to get wifi for free, I sincerely appreciate it when it's supplied.

So, for the 3rd year running, I'm taking a summer trip to parts unknown.  This tradition has evolved marvelously from a solo trip 2 years ago, to the Grand Colorado Adventure last summer.  This year, I have two legs of the trip; one with my brother, and one with the same friend who conquered Rocky Mountain National Park with me last summer.  We are Seattle, Portland and Vancouver BC bound.

As is usually the case in the day of my vacation commencement, I feel a tremendous relief that the vacation is finally, finally here.  It's been another busy year.  Let's just leave it at that. 

This years adventure to the Pacific Northwest hasn't really begun yet, so I figured it might be fun to reflect on some of the funnier or awesomer moments leading up to my sitting here in this clean, wifi-providing airpot.

First, shopping.  Or, weather.  They combine in a strange way.  See, it's going to be 65-78 degrees on this trip.  Having lived in 100+ heat for the past month (I exaggerate, but you get the point), I find I've forgotten what one wears in temperatures like that.  Turns out jeans, layers and a fleece jacket for chilly mornings are a good bet.  But here's the issue; fleece jackets are scarce in Arkansas in the summer.  And here's a tip for retail clerks everywhere.  I know you're supposed to be chatty and supportive when you check me out, but I don't need you to comment on the comfort level of the underwear I'm buying.  Really, it's ok.  You can just take my credit card and call it done.

Second, logistics.  Good grief.  There are so many things to NOT forget on a trip like this, most importantly your passport.  But travel life will also suck without headphones, contact lens solution and the various cords needed to keep electronics functioning.  And don't even get me started on the incomprehensibility of the AT&T international roaming charges rules.  Seriously, AT&T...why do you have to suck so much?

Third, dog care.  As you've heard before, I'm blessed in my canine support system.  My friends The Kellamses willingly take my pooch for extended periods when I travel, and I just love knowing she's hanging out with her dog friends and humans who love her.  Strangely, however, she's spent more time with these friends of mine than I have, so it was really, really nice to finally be able to sit and have a beer with them last night when I dropped Sadie off.  My favorite moment had to be when we all had to troop inside to listen to an Avett Brothers song, and we all sat quietly, dogs included, listening to the song.  It's comforting to me, that ritual.  No matter what friend group I've been in, we've always been able to just sit and listen to a good song.  It's nice.  Simple, peaceful and nice.

So here I sit quietly in this lovely airport, feeling my neck muscles begin to loosen at the thought o turning off my work email, while my brother, alas, connects on three flights due to some screw up with the airlines.  Sorry, Pete!  Hopefully we will both arrive in Seattle in time to drop our stuff, grab some sushi, and go watch the Red Sox.  It might be raining.  I am completely excited by that (provided the game doesn't get rained out).

More to come.  Thanks for coming along on this journey.

In basketball, as in life...

Ok, for starters, let me fess up.

I hate "sports as life" metaphors.  Sports is not life.  For 99% of us, life doesn't consist of tens of thousands of people watching us play a game.   When we do our jobs, we don't have the best leaders and trainers there to help us fix something that's going wrong. And, most unfairly of all, if I do say so myself, we don't get highly lucrative endorsement contracts for being people who work in an office (or, if you're my awesome sister-in-law, on a ship), no matter how good we are at answering 200 emails a day and scheduling meetings.

However, I saw a moment last night that has me metaphoring about sports and life all over the place.  There were 54 seconds on the game clock, 5 on the shot clock.  The Celtics were up by one. Paul Pierce, who'd had a generally lousy game in this pivotal game 5 of the Miami-Boston series, saw Lebron James step back and basically say "Go ahead, Pierce.  You've shot like crap all game.  Take the 3.  I dare you."  Pierce leaned over, holding the ball on his hip, eyed James, and smoothly rose up and fired.  James defended (probably thinking "oh, crap, he might make this"), but the ball sailed through the net and stunned the Heat crowd and their annoying white shirts into silence.

Pierce trotted back on defense, having just hit a dagger of a shot that he probably shouldn't have taken.  It wasn't a high percentage shot.  If he'd missed, Miami could have grabbed a long rebound and fast-breaked to a layup and the outcome of the entire game might have been different.  The pundits would have bemoaned Pierce's need to be the hero, his bad shot selection.

But he made it.

The life lesson, for me, is about confidence.  Pierce had a terrible game.  He was probably pretty pissed at himself by this point.  You would think that he'd look for the pass.  But he was given a step, and took it.  And basically won the game.

Confidence.  Pierce, deep down, must have thought he could make that shot.  Even though he'd missed a bunch before.   He knew, subconsciously maybe, that his training would kick in, that he's a kick-ass player, and that it was his job to take and make shots like that.

How often to we sabotage ourselves at work by not taking that shot? We reflect on the crappy day we've had, or the boss who yelled at us, or the project that didn't work as planned, and we say "it's not my day." We pass to someone else.  We stay quiet in a conversation that needs our input, or we decide not to suggest what could be a brilliant idea.   We forget that we're good at this, that we know what we're doing, that just because something bad happened earlier, something good could happen now.  

But, the analysts say, the percentages aren't in our favor.  We might fall on our faces.  We might lose the game for our teammates.

Here's the thing - the Celtics generally want Pierce to take that shot (though they would probably have preferred him to drive, attempt a layup, and get fouled, but I digress).  They know it's his job.  Just like it's ours to speak up, contribute, take a risk.  No, we won't get a top 10 highlight the next day, even if we hit the metaphorical office shot.  Yes, if we miss, we might get yelled at.  But if we hit it, we could jog back to our offices like this, with a small smile on our faces, and a few more seconds to be in the lead.

The world according to Jodi, Entry #1

This is wisdom you can't get anywhere else.  Enjoy.

***
Social media isn't really about "what's on your mind."  It's really about "what's on your mind that you want everyone else to know".  I've said it before, but I'll bet if we all said what was "on our mind" the world would have more wars, more divorces and exponentially more unemployment.

***
Yesterday I dumped an entire glass of milk all over the kitchen floor.  I didn't cry.  But I did swear.  I think that's a legit violation of the cliche.

***
I was talking with a friend the other day about social media "food-braggers" (my term, just now made up).  You know who you are.  You're the ones who post photos of things like "almond eggplant reduction served with freshly plucked duck, with a side of sauteed leeks and braised gold leaf" or other such delicacies.  Your posts generally inspire two reactions.  The first: making yourself more likely to be stalked by hungry "friends" - and second, making cooking morons like me feel inadequate.  I'm sure you don't mean to.  Just remember, though, when I post that I had Cheerios and a glass of Pinot for dinner, that one's for you. 

***
Is it wrong that I got extreme joy out of putting together my new outdoor umbrella table, especially after reading all those reviews that said it was hard to put together?  I'm convinced those "some assembly required" furniture pieces exist just to make sloths like me think we could actually do work with our hands if the world ended and we had to build a hut out of the debris of humanity.   Provided we have exactly 13 bolts, washers, and that handy little l-shaped wrench that comes with them.

***
The Goodyear blimp has been flying around since the Walmart Shareholder's meeting this past weekend.  None of us can figure out why it's still here, but I can tell you this; it's an advertising failure.  I have no desire to buy Goodyear products after seeing the blimp buzz around with scrolling marketing messages marring my blue sky.  It was cool once.  10 times later, not so much.

***
One of the great pleasures of my life came last night when I watched a post-game interview with LeBron James, after the Celtics narrowly didn't lose a playoff game.  King LeBron lounged, arms behind his head in a sulky, defiant pose and declared flatly "I don't foul out.  I know how to play this game.  I don't foul out."  Um, but you did, Sir James.  Sorry about that.  I'm sure it won't happen again because those refs will be fired, but it was a beautiful thing while it lasted. 

***
Today I had to give my name to someone over the phone.  For most, this is no big deal, but for me, it requires bit of patter I've perfected over the years.  It's a necessity when you have an, ahem, unusual name like mine.  Here's how it goes:

Them:  Could you give me your first name?
Me: Jodi.  J. O. D. I. not Y.

Them: Last name?
Me:  Beznoska (quickly going on before they panic) That's B as in Boston, E, Z as in zebra, N as in Nancy, O, S as in Sally, K, A.

Them: Thank you Ms. Ben-znos-ski.
Me: Gezundheit.

Usually, that's how it ends.  Today, though, the lady stumped me.

Them/her:  And your middle initial?
Me:  Um...G.  As is in...George.  I mean, not that my middle name is George ...it's... something else...
Them/her: Got it, ma'am.  Thank you.

***
Happy Monday, y'all.  

Quick, before I forget...ok, I forgot.

Eeek.  I'm so far behind.  This entry was started two weeks ago.  Here it is, completed, and then we'll move on to current events.

***
Jeez.

I started this blog to track my travels, and it's been a whole week since I returned from NYC with nary a word written.  For shame.  Of course, I have been busy.  You know, building stick sculptures, shaking the rust off my acting skilz, working.  Always working.  Trying to shoehorn some sleep and exercise in there, mostly unsuccessfully.

But it's the start of a three day weekend, and I left my computer at work.  So though I might start shaking from withdrawal soon, I figured now was the time to get a-crackin before I forget everything about the trip. But lest I bore you with too much blabbity blah, here's my trip, in as few words as possible.

Saturday 5/12:  Work on stick sculpture, shop, pack, clean, pack, deposit dog at friends' house, to bed around midnight.

Rondo!  This made me think
of my mom, obsessed
Celtics fan that she is.

Sunday 5/13:  Up at 4:30am.  Flight to LGA, connecting in O'Hare.  Another silent flight; no conversation with seatmate.  Arrival at LGA, have the same thought I always have "This airport is a sh!#hole.  Come on NY.  Do better."  Cab into the city, hunt down lunch at Chopp'd, which is far less tasty when you care about the calories. See an "aerial tango" performance that wasn't worth the price of the ticket (which was $0 for me).  Visit with a friend, then back to midtown to see The Avengers.  Nearly witness to a riot as the movie broke down about an hour in.  Very bad behavior, NY movie-goers.  What gives?  The AMC is not Yankee stadium, y'know.

Good grief, they are just too cute.

Monday, 5/14:  Marketing meetings.  Met two of the adorable little boys who play Billy in Billy Elliot.  Sushi for lunch (mmmm....).  More meetings.  A reception at Bond 45, where I saw Audra McDonald and Norm Lewis in person.  Then, Newsies.  I wanted it to be amazing.  It wasn't.  But oh, those fabulous boys singing and dancing.  They, at least, were entertaining. Then, Indian food.  Yum.  

Performers from Once rocking out.

Tuesday 5/15:  Up early to get into the breakfast session.  Denied entry to said session, relegated to eating breakfast on the floor of the hotel.  No bueno.  But that did mean we scored good seats in the theater that would be our main conference location. Greeted by Kelli O'Hara and Estelle Parsons, then had some conference business/sessions, then a creative conversation with Evita folks (no Ricky Martin).  A keynote followed that was not very noteworthy, then a session, then lunch at the Copacabana.  Post-lunch, another creative convo with Stockard Channing and Stacy Keach of Other Desert Cities.  I wonder who else in the room could claim they worked on a movie with Stacy Keach?  More sessions.  Party at the Hard Rock Cafe with the Once cast.  Awesome.  Then Nice Work if You Can Get It with the luminous Kelly O'Hara and the embarrassing Matthew Broderick.   He was really, really not good.  What a shame.  Final party at John's Pizzeria, one of my favorite spots, hosted by the Book of Mormon. 

Our lunchtime entertainment.

Wednesday 5/16:  Skipped the breakfast session.   After a visit from James Cordon (British guy, funny), went right into more conference stuff, followed by creative convo with Porgy & Bess cast.  They are all beautiful.  Ooh, I'd forgotten that Sondheim threw a fit about the changes to the show.  Can't wait to see for myself if it's good!  More conference discussion about secondary ticketing, lunch at the Edison with entertainment from Jesus Christ Superstar and Jersey Boys.  Then off to see Porgy & Bess.  Glorious, emotional, heart-breaking.  Had to go back into the theater to buy a magnet and got yelled at by an old lady "You're going the wrong way!"  My response:  "Yes, I know!"   Another party then off to see Peter and the Starcatcher, which.  was.  awesome.  I think it will merit it's own blog post when I get my annotated script in the mail.  Post-show party courtesy of Disney, in some random event space behind the Dave's BBQ on 42nd street.  Got to meet some of the Starcatcher actors (including the quietly awesome Rick Holmes) and stood next to Christian Borle for my celebrity fix. 

I wasn't supposed to take this picture.
Guess the blurriness is my punishment.
But, that's Christian & Kevin up there.

Thursday, 5/17:  We were greeted by Alicia Keys first, then later, Christian Borle and Kevin Del Aguila, then spent the morning talking about dynamic pricing, being interrupted by a star-studded creative convo with Candice Bergen, James Earl Jones, Angela Lansbury, John Larroquette, Jefferson Mays, Eric McCormack, Michael McKean, and Michael Wilson of The Best Man.  Lunch at the Edison again with our neighbors from Celebrity Attractions, then more sessions, then....GASP!

A creative conversation with Philip Seymour Hoffman and Mike Nichols (Death of a Salesman) is already awesome.  Then add that MERYL STREEP!!! was our surprise moderator and you have finally, finally gotten this jaded gal to get the celebrity-induced shivers.  I was 30 feet from Meryl.  It was awesome, and they actually were very interesting to listen to - they take their work seriously.

Jill is doing an excellent
Broderick imitation.

Then we wrapped up the conference, headed off to another party (at Providence) and then our final show, which was Evita for me.  See, here's the thing about Evita.  Evita should be a stunning singer, dancer and actor.  If she's not...well...that's a problem.  But the music was pretty, the set was nice.  Final party hosted by Nice Work if You Can Get It (Broderick was there, but glassy-eyed).  Then back to the hotel.

Friday 5/18:  Sleep in, pack, wander the city, head back to the airport, fly home, pick up dog, collapse into bed.



Basic reflections on the week: 

I need the inspiration that simply seeing work and talking about it brings.  

NYC was dirtier and more crowded than usual, it seemed.  I think it had to do with our hotel location - I like being north of Times Square rather than south. 

Another League Conference under my belt.  It was kick-ass.  I'm a lucky, lucky gal.  

Glen Campbell, kindness and other musings...

It's anyone's guess where this blog post will go.  My head and heart are feeling a little mixed up these days.  Annoying female emotions have ridden dangerously close to the surface from time to time the past few weeks (And guys, don't you dare say in that smug tone "it must be that time of the month", because it's not.  And gals, no, I'm not pregnant.), to the point where I broke down in front of my parents this past weekend over something that really wasn't worth the effort. 

I don't really know why.  Actually, that's not true, I know exactly why.  It's the reason I didn't pursue a career in international studies (my major in undergrad); politics.

Politics has always tied me in knots.  Other than boys and job interviews, nothing else can keep me on edge or awake at night quite like it.  Trust me, I wish I could rid myself of this; it's annoying and pretty inconvenient.  But I can't seem to turn off the part of me that frets about how I can love and respect people so much, and we can disagree so dramatically on certain issues.  Or that there are so many people on both sides of the aisle who actively and aggressively dislike those on "the other side." It makes my stomach hurt a little, which is foolish.  But there it is.

Perhaps that's why an email turned me into a blubbering kid again in front of my shocked parents (who responded as only parents can, with steadfast support, love and housecleaning.  My fridge and windows have never been so clean).  Or why, while listening to Glen Campbell sing to a packed house tonight, I found myself getting teary-eyed.

This, dear friends, is really silly.  I'm not a Glen Campbell fan.  Oh, I'm not anti-Glen Campbell, I just didn't listen to him growing up.  I know Rhinestone Cowboy, and I know he's a legend, which was all I needed to determine that I wasn't going to miss a chance to see him, but I wouldn't call myself a fan.    

Mr. Campbell, an Arkansas native son who is suffering from Alzheimer's disease, walked onto the stage to a swell of applause and an audience that rose to it's feet immediately.  It was an older crowd; other than a handful of kids, I was one of the younger audience members.  But unlike most older crowds, it was a lively one, whooping, cheering, jumping to standing ovations at least 3 times.

Usually, when I don't know the music I'm hearing, I'm bored.  Tonight, though, I was carried off on a wave of something special; I loved every song I heard.  Mr. Campbell was animated, sang well and pretty much rocked his guitar solos (in my humble opinion), and though he lost his way from time to time (his daughter had to remind him what key he was playing in once or twice), there was a lot of love on that stage, and in the audience.

The fact that we all age was front and center tonight.  I know that's at the heart of the emotions I felt, as I reflected on the great visit I just had with my parents. I took them into the Ozark woods and made them hike some steep hills, only realizing about halfway up that maybe we should have taken an easier path.  Luckily, they are in pretty good shape and took to the hills with gusto, but it was still a sobering thought. Mr. Campbell is the victim of a disease that touches a lot of people today, some of whom I know personally, and it was both heart-wrenching and heart-warming to see his family and the audience embrace and support him.  From reading reviews, I gather this was a good night for him; some haven't been so good.  It's a brave and wonderful thing he and his family are doing.

Earlier today I listened to a blogger talk about how she makes a concerted effort not to blog anything mean.  She tries to think of kindness in everything she writes.  Mr. Campbell mentioned this at one point before singing about it, and then he dropped this quote on us (paraphrased):

"I'm continually amazed at how, when I come out on stage, you all give such wonderful support to me and my family."

And I guess that's it.  What makes me sad and happy at the same time.  Sad because there's a lot of unkindness out there, and no one political party or group holds the exclusive rights to it.  Happy because there's also a lot of love.  Naively, idealistically, I hope the latter wins out. It certainly did tonight.

The hidden message in the bookshelf

If you're like me (ie, more than a little weird and introspective), you've probably spent some time thinking about the books on your bookshelves.  Actually, if you've ever pondered buying a coffee table book just because you think it will look impressive on your coffee table, we're more kindred of spirit than you'd probably be comfortable with. However, I think it's safe to say that my introspection (or obsession, for the more judgmental among you) with my books goes a little deeper. For example, I used to keep a copy of Victor Hugo's Les Miserables (Unabridged) hanging around, just so I could answer pompously "why yes, I have" when asked if I'd read it.  

I love books.  Or I guess, to be fair, I love to read.  I like books.  If I truly LOVED books, I wouldn't have a Kindle.  But that's a blog entry for another time.

But what I do love about books is how they look.  They're aesthetically pleasing, or most of them are.  All those colors and typefaces on the spines, lined up so neatly one next to the other, but often, at least in my bookcase, different sizes and heights.  They are a bitch to haul around when you're moving, and once you've gotten a Kindle, there's that whole moral dilemma about which books to buy in digital form and which to buy in real book form, but they add character and dimension to a room.  And, they offer a little insight into the psyche of their owner, if you care to look.

The bookshelf across from me, right now, for example, has a clear method to it's madness.  On the top shelf?  Books I have read that make me look intellectually curious. Stuff like Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat, investment books, the much-maligned Three Cups of Tea.  What probably distinguishes these books is the lack of memory I have for most of them.  So much for intellectual curiosity.

Next shelf, speaking of bragging about intellectualism, my diplomas from Colby and UW Madison.  And a few yearbooks, and a couple of anthologies, my graduate thesis and a research report I helped create.  Sensing a trend?  Yes, I really want you to think I'm smart.

Moving on, we have the "I want you to think I'm a theater person" shelf, featuring probably about 50 scripts or books of plays, scrupulously arranged by order of the author.  Also a couple of musical scores thrown in there.  This shelf makes me a little gloomy, because I was in many of those plays and sang most of those scores a long time ago.  Now though, I say things like "I used to be an actor/singer."  How depressing.  Let's move on.

The next shelf reveals my somewhat embarrassing love for youth fiction.  This is where the Harry Potter, Twilight and the House of Night series live, along with a few dog-eared copies of books I actually read when I was a youth, like Shel Silverstein and Island of the Blue Dolphins.  The Hunger Games Book 1 lives here (books 2 and 3 are on the Kindle as is an entire series of really fun books about "bird-kids" by thriller writer James Patterson).

Below this is my sci-fi/fantasy shelf.  Robert Jordan, Tolkien, books about dragons...yep, I admit it.  I'm a geek.   I've also read all of the Game of Thrones and Outlander books, but these are on my Kindle, too.  I'd display them if I could. Proudly.

And hiding on the bottom is the first of many shelves of my extensive romance novel collection.  These spill over into the other bookcase, and I'm sure it expresses some lack of self-confidence that I hide these books on the bottom shelf.  After all, it's not very intellectual to admit that you love Nora Roberts or Sandra Brown, but I do. THIS is where having a Kindle is a bonus; it's super easy to buy trashy novels on the Kindle, and no one needs to see them but you. 

In my other bookcase I have what I call "random fiction"; the various John Grisham, Jodi Picoult, Tom Clancy and assorted "literatures" like A Prayer for Owen Meany or Lonesome Dove (you know, those books that your smart friends tell you you'll be sure to LOVE).   I've yet to find the deeper meaning hidden on these shelves.

The shelves I'm obsessing about these days, however, are the ones full of books I haven't read.  There are dozens of them.  I'm trying to convince myself not to buy any more books until I've read them, but yeesh.  That's going to be tough.  Because, to be honest, I'm not sure I actually want to read a full tome of nature poetry given to me by a colleague, or the rantings of a conservative author that my dad happened to leave in the guest room.  Honestly, I just bought that Malcolm Gladwell book because it made me feel trendy, and I have no desire to read a highly-recommended "moving" story about immigration that will just make me depressed and guilt-stricken.  I'm currently reading The Inside of a Dog, which is at least practical to my life, and I have been trying for three years to finish Seth Godin's The Purple Cow, which I have an entry in, for Pete's sake!  Clearly, I'm not as intellectual as my other bookshelves would have you believe.

Even with all these great books just dying to be read, I just downloaded the 2nd of Stephen King's Dark Tower books onto my Kindle.  I think this means I'm not destined to be a great thinker or thought leader, because for all the reading I've done, I can't proclaim to be expert in much but the structure of an epic fantasy (here's a hint; if you've written few than 5000 pages, you're not allowed in the club). 

Ah well.  Life's too short to read books you're not enjoying, I say.  Dark Tower, here I come!  Purple Cow, you'll just have to wait until I'm feeling more virtuous and in touch with my willpower.