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Pillow Talk, take 3 (or what happens when Bob and I watch TV at bedtime)
2010 at 7am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
When Bob and I started living in sin several years ago (and yes, I *still* wish I’d gotten to send out those change of address cards with “Livin’ in Sin” printed on the front), the only major battle we had was about whether or not to put a TV in the bedroom. I, preferring to enjoy my bedroom for reading and, ahem, other reasons, was diametrically opposed. He, contending that the television could easily be turned off whenever we pleased and that it would be nice to be able to watch TV when we observed our Sunday ritual of staying in bed until at least noon, won the day with persistence and use of the phrase “Woman, I give you just about everything else you want. Give me this one thing.”
Loathe as I am to admit it, I have come to enjoy having a television in the bedroom. Most nights, Bob unwinds by watching Family Guy while I read, tuning out the ridiculousness and popping back in to laugh at the funny stuff that I hate to admit makes me giggle. But what are you gonna do? It’s funny precisely because it’s just so very wrong. When Family Guy isn’t holding Bob’s attention, he channel surfs.
And that’s where the fun comes in.
A good channel surfing night usually ends with us watching crazy women trying to sell jewelry on QVC. We snark on the jewelry. We snark on the commentators. We go into hysterics listening to the people who call in to gush about how THAT SILVER-PLATED BRACELET IS SO ELEGANT AND AT $19.99 IT’S A TOTAL STEAL AND IT CHANGED MY LIFE AND I’VE JUST GOTTEN SO MANY COMPLIMENTS ON IT.
I cannot tell you how many hours we have spent in the past nine years watching QVC together. It is way more fun than it should be.
Also, there’s late-night televangelism. Talk about great material for snarking.
(Remind me to tell you later about the time I called one of the televangelists and ordered up a shiny green “prayer cloth” for my stuffed moose Mahoney.)
Anyway, we’re doing the bedtime TV thing a couple nights ago, and Bob lands on G4‘s coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo. Which is exactly what you think it is. And then a porn star starts telling the interviewer about how she used to be Amish and now she does porn.
Me: Amish to porn star? That’s a pretty major switch.
Bob: She was Amish in the City!
(That was a reality show featuring Amish kids, well, in the big city. It was awful. And wonderful. And I’m pretty sure that’s where The Office got the model for the character of Dwight’s brother Mose.)
Me: She really went wild on Rumspringa!
Bob: I’ll go wild on her Rumspringa…
(cue the collective *groan*)
Me: I wonder if there are any former porn stars who are now Amish. Like, does it go both ways?
(Blessedly, Bob leaves the potential joke about going both ways alone.)
Me: Can you just join up with the Amish? It might be kind of nice.
Bob: Well, I’d imagine they recruit.
Me: Really? I mean, I haven’t heard of Amish evangelism. Doesn’t seem like the kind of community you could walk into and sign up.
Bob: But, you know, there are always more of them….so they must come from somewhere.
Me: Okay, maybe. But if you could just join up, then how come no one’s gone undercover and written a “life with the Amish” exposé? There’s gotta be material there.
Bob: An exposé? What would it say? “Today we raised a barn.” Oooh, good stuff.
Me: Oh, come on. You know anytime there’s a close-knit group like that, they’re keeping each other’s secrets, hiding the proverbial skeletons in the closet.
Bob: “Dear Diary, don’t tell anyone, but Josiah hoards peaches!” Yeah, major Amish scandal.
At this point, we dissolve into various riffs on stereotypical Amish names, embarrassing food-based names for the children we’re not going to have (though Chimichanga does have a nice ring to it, and think of the nickname possibilities!), and devious plans for how I could infiltrate an Amish community, somehow turn off my potty mouth, and write a tell-all book.
Just imagine what they’d think of #pantyworthy!
Very special thanks to my great sport of a husband for giving me permission to reprint the phrase “I’ll go wild on her Rumspringa.” That was a classic.
A Flock of Readers for THE SPARROW: Wrap-Up Posts
2010 at 7am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Today marks the end of the readalong of Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow that I’m co-hosting with Florinda and Heather J.
As the wrapper-upper of the event, I’m here to ask you to post your reviews, discussions, thoughts, rants, and philosophical musings within the next few days. Just come back and link to your final discussion in the comments of this post, and I”ll update as we go along.
If you’re looking for something to get your writing going, Heather posted excellent discussion questions a few weeks ago, and they would provide a good starting place. But it’s up to you—-follow your usual review style, pull your favorite quotes, right a big ol’ spoilerific discussion, whatever makes you happy. If you’ve also read MDR’s follow-up Children of God, I’d personally love to hear about your reaction to it as well.
I’ll post my response later today or tomorrow (it’s one of those weeks where life is interfering with my blogging plans) and look forward to reading your wrap-ups.
Thanks for joining us in this readalong of The Sparrow!
Book Review: Flawless by Scott Andrew Selby and Greg Campbell
2010 at 7am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Published February 2010 by Union Square Press (a Sterling imprint)
Anyone who was serious about trading in diamonds did business in Antwerp—and, by extension, so too did anyone who was serious about stealing them.
It was with the latter in mind that Leonardo Notarbartolo, Italian jeweler, thief, and member of the illustrious School of Turin, leased an office in Antwerp’s Diamond Center in fall 2000. More than two years later, in February 2003, after extensive research and careful planning, Notarbartolo and his cohorts (some of whom remain unknown) carried off the biggest diamond heist in history when they broke into the Diamond Center’s vault and made off with an estimated $108 million in diamonds and other valuable items.
In Flawless: Inside the Largest Diamond Heist in History, authors Scott Andrew Selby and Greg Campbell use their unprecedented access to case documents to piece together the School of Turin’s preparation, planning, and execution of the heist. They give readers an in-depth history of the thieves’ backgrounds and experiences, a careful look at the Diamond Center and Antwerp’s diamond culture, and a solid understanding of exactly how complex the job was. And they do it all in a fluid, engaging, and often entertaining narrative style that marks Flawless as an example of the very best kind of narrative nonfiction.
I’m hesitant to discuss the details of this book for two reasons: first, because it is fascinating, and you should read it for yourself; and second, because much of the fun of it is reading about the obstacles Notarbartolo and his fellow thieves encountered and being amazed at how elegantly simple their solutions were. As Selby and Campbell put it, the School of Turin “had taken the crime of theft and turned it into an academic pursuit. They were masters of their craft” because “at the heart of every successful heist was a near-religious devotion to research.”
Whereas many true crime books become just as much (if not more) about the author’s research process as about the actual crime, with Flawless, Selby and Campbell keep themselves almost completely out of the narrative, allowing readers to be sucked into the story—which reads like the book version of The Italian Job but with more intellect and less melodrama—and swept away by the thieves’ compelling, surprising, and creative work. I was so impressed by their research and ingenuity that I found myself pulling for them on more than a few occasions!
Because there was enough information available to make the writing of this book possible, it should come as no surprise that Notarbartolo got caught. But what does come as a surprise is how he was caught (and what a salami sandwich had to do with it), how much of the story can be pieced together despite his refusal to give away any of the details, and how close he and the School of Turin came to pulling it off.
I thoroughly enjoyed Flawless and think its fun, accessible, informative narrative style will make it appealing to readers of all types. As a fine example of the ways in which nonfiction can be fun, readable, and just as entertaining as fiction, Scott Andrew Selby and Greg Campbell’s Flawless gets an enthusiastic 4.5 out of 5.
Hey, FTC: I received a copy of this book from the publisher.
I am an IndieBound affiliate and will receive a commission if you purchase Flawless through one of my links.
The Sunday Salon 3.28.10: A Brief History of #Pantyworthy
2010 at 12pm Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
Blame it all on John Irving.
Last September, I packed up to head to DC for a weekend of booknerdery at the National Book Festival, the highlights of which were to be seeing John Irving (one of my all-time favorite authors) and having dinner with several other bloggers I’d never met before. As I scurried out the door, Bob kissed me goodbye, told me to have a good time, and then said those fateful words,
“Just try not to throw your panties at John Irving, okay?”
(Ah, he knows me so well.)
The Book Festival was awesome (and gave birth to the phenomenon known as #iheartthespark), and I kept my panties firmly in place, but I happened to mention Bob’s little warning to Trish during dinner, and the idea stuck. Pretty soon, I was sitting around on Twitter talking about throwing my panties at other authors whose books had a certain je ne sais quoi.
Thomas Trofimuk came up. Michael Chabon was mentioned repeatedly. Other bloggers and readers jumped in. The conversation grew, and it became clear that this was not a gender specific concept. Female authors deserved to have panties thrown at them as well. At some point, either Margie or Sue (but I don’t remember which) suggested making #pantyworthy a new, special category in how we talk about books. And a sensation was born.
Now here’s the rationale for it: no matter how individual criteria may vary, passionate readers think of authors as the rock stars of our world. We carry their words in our hearts. We fall in love with their characters and their use of language. We dream about meeting them in person, doing the stereotypical “Oh my god, I LOVE your work” gushing, and discovering that they are even more amazing than we’d always thought.
And when their writing reaches us at the deepest, most intimate level and gives us those moments of feeling “infinite” (to borrow from The Perks of Being a Wallflower), or when we find ourselves savoring every word, clutching a book close to our chests, telling everyone we know about the beautiful work of art that is the amazing book we just read (and think that EVERYONE should read), we just might decide that, if given the opportunity, we’d throw our panties (or boxers) at the author.
What makes a book pantyworthy is different for every reader (and often varies from book to book). It’s difficult to define and cannot really be captured. But I know it’s coming when, after just a few pages, I find myself thinking about how if reading were like dating, I’d be planning a way to sneak away from the table, slip out of my knickers, pass them to my date under the table, and invite him to meet for a quickie.
(Okay, maybe I’ve never actually done this—so Dad, you have nothing to worry about—but you get the idea, right?)
As in life, sometimes the pantyworthy feelings are fleeting (the reader’s version of lust), and sometimes they develop into long-lasting relationships in which the passion might occasionally wane but can be quickly rekindled by the perfect turn of phrase (a soft touch, a gentle laugh…). And, of course, it doesn’t hurt if the author is not only incredibly talented but is also the type of person one can imagine throwing one’s panties at in real life (*cough* Joshua Ferris) or who would seem unfazed by such an occurrence. (I mean, does anyone think John Irving would actually be surprised to find panties being flung at him? Or that it hasn’t happened before?)
But that’s just me.
Tell me: what does pantyworthy mean to you? Who’s on your list?
(and please also tell me if you think I’ve missed any important details about this concept—my brain isn’t used to working on Sundays)
Weekend Cooking: Maple Orange Barbecue Sauce
2010 at 8am Posted by Rebecca Schinsky
This is my first post for Weekend Cooking hosted by Beth Fish Reads.
Spring came to Virginia last week (though it seems to have disappeared again, leaving us with a high of 52 today), and our neighborhood was filled with the delicious aroma of grills being fired up and the sounds of children celebrating the return of warm weather and all its attendant freedoms.
Bob and I tend to grill year-round (let’s face it, Virginia is rarely cold enough to prevent it, and the grill is a mere ten feet from the back door), but we’re excited to transition from winter favorites to summer favorites, and in our house, that means maple orange barbecue sauce.
(I’m pretty sure I adapted this recipe from Rachael Ray back when I was in college and “grilling” meant that Bob opened all the windows in his apartment and put our propane camping grill on the kitchen table…but that’s a story for another day.)
I originally made maple orange barbecue sauce to go with homemade pecan-crusted chicken tenders, but since it was delicious, I’ve tried it with several other dishes, and pork chops have become the household favorite.
So:
Maple Orange Barbecue Sauce
- 1 cup (ish) of your favorite store-bought BBQ sauce (or your homemade, if you’re not as lazy as I am)
- About 1 Tbsp. of maple syrup
- Orange Juice to taste (a little dab will do ya)
Having grown up in Kansas City (which makes me a bit of a barbecue snob), I’d be remiss not to tell you that I think this recipe is best with KC Masterpiece Original BBQ Sauce
I haven’t noticed major differences between different brands of maple syrup, but I can’t stress enough how important it is that you use REAL maple syrup. Aunt Jemima might cut it for pancakes, but she is not the right addition to this recipe, folks.
Grab whatever OJ you have in the fridge, or slice an orange and squeeze the juice straight into your sauce.
Mix it up, and you’re good to go.
And if you’re feeling frisky, add in just a little brown sugar.
Maple orange barbecue sauce is great as a pre-grilling marinade and also works well for mid-grill basting or as a dipping sauce. Enjoy!
