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Posts Tagged ‘Netflix’

For a while today I was on shaky ground. For some reason I couldn’t get the image of Snooki out of my head, and mind you, I’ve never even seen an episode of Jersey Shore. I’ve seen enough clips on news & entertainment shows to know that it’s not for me.

Invade TV if you want, fine, there’s not much left to ruin anyway. 500 channels and still I have to resort to Netflix. But venture into the realm of, dare I say, literature, and that bothers me.

It’s not so much that anyone with a pen (and a platform) shouldn’t have a voice, but this chick, who claims to have read only two books in her lifetime, seems to be making a mockery of it (as well as a few bucks).

Perhaps it didn’t help that the words of Michael Cunningham were roaming around in my head all morning, standing in sharp contrast to those “penned” by Ms. JS.

Mr. Cunningham writes: “He can feel something, roiling at the edges of the world. Some skittery attentiveness, a dark gold nimbus studded with living lights like fish in the deep black ocean; a hybrid of galaxy and sultans’ treasure and chaotic, inscrutable deity.”

Snooki writes: “He had an okay body. Not fat at all. And naturally toned abs. She could pour a shot of tequila down his belly and slurp it out of his navel without getting splashed in the face.”

Mr. Cunningham writes: “The bedroom is full of the gray semilight particular to New York, an effusion, seemingly sourceless; a steady shadowless illumination that might just as well be emanating up from the streets as falling down from the sky.

Snooki writes: “Yum. Johnny Hulk tasted like fresh gorilla.”


Can’t you just see the fires burning in the distance after that last one? I know I did. Until I remembered that this is nothing new. Celebrities (and I use the term loosely) have always wandered into the realm of the book.

I don’t mind James Franco tossing his short stories (Palo Alto) into the ring; at least he had the good sense and respect for the discipline to study the craft. But what about the others? Pamela Anderson (The Star), Adrienne Barbeau (Vampyres of Hollywood), Courtney Thorne-Smith (Outside In), and that other (un)reality star, Lauren Conrad (LA Candy)? Lest we forget to add Willie Nelson to the list (A Tale of Luck), but he only co-wrote that treasure. And what about Blair Underwood’s foray into authorship, with a cover stating he “Presents” (From Cape Town with Love), whatever that means?

Perhaps those other actor-authors didn’t bother me so much at the time because there were still a few bookstores around where one could find great writing and like-minded people. But seeing photos of all that beehive and cleavage in one of the few remaining book bazaars, was, well, bizarre.

I mean no offense. To each his own. I can live in a world where the majority of people find “Hot Tub Time Machine” and “A Shore Thing” entertaining, but I know I can’t survive in a world where that’s all there is.

 

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