Wisdom for those lacking common sense

Moving Forward: Taking the Lead in Your Life
Dave Pelzer

Warning: I apologize in advance for the anger that appears in this post.


You know what? I’m going to write a self-help book. I’m not going to give away all my tips right now because that would just be silly, but I think my self-help book will go a little something like this:

Wanna be a millionaire? Well you’re gonna have to work. And save some money. Put away 20 bucks a week. Can’t do that? Try 10. Do what you gotta do.

Unlucky in love? Can’t meet the right person? Well stop your bitchin! Like being married is a real honeymoon. You know what they say: The grass is always greener.

Want to lose weight? Try not eating so much. Stay away from shit foods. If it’s fried, it’s probably gonna make you fat. Try drinking some friggin water and get the fuck off the computer while you're at it. Walk a little bit, even.

Unable to let go of the past? Well, Christ, loser, just let it go! No, seriously. Just let it go. I don't care if your daddy raped you while you were still a fetus. LET IT GO.

Actually, that last one isn't mine. It's the advice of my old friend, Cloud Hand, whom I didn't mind so much when I read his first book two years ago. Unfortunately, he had to keep going.

I'm speaking of Dave Pelzer, whose seventh book (all of which, ironically enough, are based on Pelzer's horrific past) Moving Forward advocates just that -- letting shit go and moving forward. While we're on the subject, shouldn't he have...I dunno, MOVED ON from his childhood, um, YEARS AGO? According to him, it should be easy, but I guess when you're making a lot of money off your past, it's okay. I guess his advice only applies to others.

And what advice!

Here's a few gems Pelzer provides in Moving Forward:

I say if there is something you can do, do it! If you've got something to state, state it.

If what you're doing is not working for you, well then, be adult enough to face the facts and commit to accomplishing something different.

Start accepting yourself for who you are and what you're about, including how you live your life.

Work hard, be kind, and help others along the path of life. Be happy, and be happy now! Damn it!

Alrighty then!

As you can see, his advice is pretty much common sense. If you want to pay for common sense, fine -- by all means. But if you want to pay for someone else's common sense, may I ask that you pay ME for mine? Because if you liked the three pearls of wisdom offered at the beginning of this post, there's more where that came from!

In a nutshell: I accept all forms of payment, even credit cards. Seriously. I'm going shopping today and I'll need to replenish the funds before my husband finds out.

Bibliolatry Scale: 0 out of 6 stars

Where art thou, o my innocence?

Philosophy in the Boudoir
Marquis de Sade

I have a confession: I have judged a book by its cover.

But first let me say this: I am not a prude. I don’t object to porn – that is, when it’s labeled as such. I may not seek it out, but I’m not morally opposed to it. But when it’s passed off as “philosophy” – then that’s another story.

To be fair, Philosophy in the Boudoir was philosophic. But the philosophy was buried ugh too many sandwich jokes are coming ugh too many coming jokes are


SYSTEM OVERLOAD


Aherm. Let me start at the beginning. I liked the cover. I thought it was philosophy. Plus, "boudoir" is such an underrated word. So I bought the book. And, like any good reader of philosophy, I started with the introduction. But when the introduction gives away the ending, a scene of “brutal” and “truly sadistic rape,” I did what any good American would do – I skipped right to the end.

What met my poor beleaguered eyes was not so much philosophy as it was a glorification of every example of depraved behavior possible: incest, adultery, even murder. Look, I'm cool with many of the "depravities" praised by Sade: I love teh gays, so I don’t see sodomy as a problem. If you want to commit adultery be my guest, I don’t give a shit. S&M's not my bag, but whatever, baby. Neither do I care if you wanna fuck your brother, although that's just gross as far as I'm concerned. Go for it. But rape? Gang rape? Of your mother? For real?

I know how you feel, kid

You’re probably sitting there saying, “It’s the Marquis de Sade, you donkey. What did you expect?” But I saw ads for this book in several very respectable publications and the cover was just so quaint and I really didn’t think it would involve [don’t read if you’re squeamish] helping to gang rape your mother and then stitching her up to prevent any children from coming out among other things that I’m trying REALLY hard to forget and I think I might just throw out this book but I do have an aversion to throwing out books even though I did throw out that copy of the Necronomicon I was dumb enough to buy but that was for superstitious reasons and it gave me the willies just like Philosophy in the Boudoir so keeping that in mind maybe it would be okay to throw it out WHEW.

To prevent another system overload, let me at least attempt a brief overview: Philosophy in the Boudoir is a “play” written in seven “dialogues.” It begins when Madame de Saint-Ange receives notice that a young virgin, Eugenie, will soon be arriving to receive an “education” in the form of sexual awakening. Along with her brother and their friend, Dolmance, Saint-Ange will educate Eugenie in the ways of the world. Along the way, Sade drops in some of his "philosophy," namely that anything natural (and not surprisingly, Sade considers everything natural) is good.

Furthermore, Sade really doesn’t have a problem with any "sin"; he glorifies it all, even crimes like theft and murder. Regarding murder, he writes, "In short, murder is a horror, though a horror that is often necessary, never criminal, and indeed essential...the sole offense that a man can commit...is suicide."

Ah, so he does, at least, have one scruple.

Did I mention how charming the cover is? The artist is Tomer Hanuka. Yay for Tomer. Boo for Sade.

In a nutshell: My eyes! My eyes! Where art thou, o my innocence?

Bibliolatry Scale: 0 out of 6 stars

White Apples, by Jonathan Carroll

White Apples
Jonathan Carroll

A character I often fondly remember is Ellsworth Toohey from Ayn Rand's Fountainhead. As a literary critic, he delighted in championing utter shit and passing it off as literature, knowing the dumb public would eat it up like the sheep they are. The public can't tell a turd from a diamond, isn't that so? Apparently, according to those who've championed Carroll's latest literary bowel movement, White Apples.

Now, I don't know who Pat Conroy is (I have since been informed that he wrote The Prince of Tides...alllllllrighty then), nor do I know who writes book reviews for The Washington Post, but I have a sneaking suspicion they are Ellsworth in disguise. Pat Conroy had the balls to compare Jonathan Carroll to Dostoevski. DOSTOEVSKI? The man who gave us Raskolnikov? Prince Myshkin? I know--he also compared him to Calvino. I am so amazed that I have nothing funny to write about this. After sitting here endlessly thinking of a humorous analogy, I can only feel dismay that a work of such poor quality has received such glowing reviews. Maybe Conroy wants to know if anyone will call his bluff. Apparently not, as this book has received 3.5 stars on Amazon.com and an almost perfect score on Barnesandnoble.com.

Well played, Mr. Conroy. Well played, indeed.

The Washington Post, double-dog dared by Pat Conroy to take the joke still further, wrote that we should -- and I quote directly here -- "fete him." Fete him??

Damn they have balls.

Anyway, a word or two about the book. Vincent Ettrich has died and come back to life. Why did he come back? He soon finds out he was brought back by his pregnant girlfriend, because their offspring will save the world and it needs Vincent's help to do it. Along the way, they encounter crazy creatures like the spirits of dead animals and the "Eef," which is -- and I am not making this up -- A BEING CREATED OUT OF THEIR ORGASM.

Simply put, this was the lamest book I ever read. In fact, his is the lamest author picture I've ever seen. I would hope he's about to cover his face in shame, but I somehow doubt he feels at all bad about writing White Apples.

In a nutshell: Utter garbage disguised to look like a book. Don't be a sucker.

Bibliolatry Scale: 0 out of 6 stars