Remembering the Literature That Shaped Us

Earlier today, a friend was buying stocks online and I was taken aback because even though I'm more than old enough to engage in such adult-type activities, if I had enough money to buy stocks, I would likely spend the moolah on dresses or books or fancy dinners before I managed to get anywhere near a, umm, stockhouse? Broker? Trader? E-trade Online?

Anyhow, this reminded me of being a kid and wanting to buy stocks because I had read The Westing Game, in which a very smart and charmingly bratty Turtle Wexler (age7? 10?) knows more about stocks than anyone you'd ever find down at the NYSE. I remember wanting to learn to buy and trade stocks as soon as I had enough allowance, but alas, I never did. The same thing happened with Harriet the Spy, another favorite childhood book. Although I did manage to carry around a notebook for at least two weeks, noting interesting facts about neighbors and hiding in the Maryland woods, spying on one local man I deemed suspicious.

The point is, it's nice when a book inspires you as a child. And while Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time didn't make me want to time travel necessarily, it did open up my mind and stretch my imagination and I remember carrying around a weathered copy as an elementary school kid, enthusiastic to get to the end.

It happened, sadly then, on this day that I was thinking about these childhood favorites, that I read of L'Engle's death. As writers, we are often (or at least I have been) told that it is dangerous to have too much of ourselves in our work. I'm not sure I agree, and L'Engle certainly didn't. The phrase "dictation from her subconscious," I think, is quite an interesting way to look at things:

Her works — poetry, plays, autobiography and books on prayer — were deeply, quixotically personal. But it was in her vivid children’s characters that readers most clearly glimpsed her passionate search for the questions that mattered most. She sometimes spoke of her writing as if she were taking dictation from her subconscious.

“Of course I’m Meg,” Ms. L’Engle said about the beloved protagonist of “A Wrinkle in Time.”

Madeleine L'Engle, Children's Writer, Is Dead

Oh, the Irony of It All

On the heels of my entry about America Ferrera and Glamour slimming down her lovely figure for its latest cover, I came across the Magazine Death Pool via Gawker. The site has a Dead Magazine Museum, which I was happy to see features the long-lost publication I once worked for.

However, I also noted a magazine called Mode that folded in September 2001. Mode, as you probably know, is also the name of the fictional Vogue-esque magazine that America Ferrera works at on Ugly Betty. Ironically, though, the real Mode was a mag for plus-sized ladies; its cover advertised "Smile in Sizes 12, 14, 16..." I guess they weren't allowed to promote anything higher than a 16 on the cover (or anyone from the waist down), but the ellipses give you the gist of things.

So the fictional Mode on Ugly Betty would surely follow in Glamour's footsteps when confronted with a less-than-teensy actress and Photoshop her to death; the real Mode (pictured) would have featured the actual actress in all her glory, but it folded, so never mind. Maybe it folded because they needed a new fashion editor -- I mean, come on, look at this girl. Why is she wearing a nasty hat that looks like someone skinned a cow and plopped it on her head and such a dull bikini that doesn't look like it has much support and maybe was purchased on the buck-99 rack at Dress Barn? Ah, Mode, it's great that you loved all body types, but maybe your downfall was for the best. You could have taught thousands of women to dress like hookers; thanks to whoever put the kibosh on that.

If the Kids Cared Enough to, Like, Compete and Stuff

This is wonderful: overcoming hangovers, perfecting the judgmental stare, choosing ironic T-shirts, making sure your pants are tight enough. All events in the Hipster Olympics. Hilarious, and yet, somehow true.

Video via A Brooklyn Life

America Ferrera: Countdown to Anorexia

Not that she should stop eating, but she will. I started thinking about this after reading all the hullabaloo over her recent Glamour cover on Glossed Over and Jezebel. People are making such a big deal about the fact that the cover was obviously Photoshopped; they whittled America down to a skinny lady. Not super skinny, but smaller than she is in person. Enough to notice, let's say.

Anyhow, it would be nice to think that someone other than Kate Winslet had the balls to stand up to the Hollywood standard of what skinny is, but history teaches us otherwise. America Ferrera seems like a nice, wholesome girl from a good family, but yeah, I predict anorexia/bulimia any day now. It seems too tough to be in a Hollywood environment and hear everyone say, "Oh, that's great, you're so curvy," knowing that they really mean, "Man, that sucks, you're totally huge." She's not, of course, but you know, Hollywood is warped, etc.

This all made me think of that girl Sara Rue (whose name I couldn't remember at first) and she starred on that show, Less than Perfect, which you may or may not remember. She was totally adorable on the show and then I guess after she started to lose all this weight and now I think she looks like Tracey Gold from Growing Pains back in her Karen Carpenter phase. I present as evidence:



OK, maybe not Karen Carpenter; I mean, she obviously looks pretty here and not sick, but maybe it's just the idea that she looks more like all the other H-wood gals now, like she lost her spunk or something. I forget the name of that show that Selma Blair was on when she was first starting out, but the same thing happened to her. She was probably like 125 pounds or something, and people made fun of her and called her huge, and then she got super skinny, too. Nicole Richie, of course, also -- and now it's hard to remember a time when she looked normal (even now, knocked up). I give it six months before we start seeing split-screens of America Ferrera before-and-afters in US Weekly with the headline, "Has She Gone Too Far?"

To the Very Mean People (Person?) Who Stole My Bike Seat on Sunday

Quite frankly, I didn't even know my brand-new bike seat could come off so easily. So there, I learned something new, I guess. But, c'mon! Are you serious? Stealing someone's bike seat in Williamsburg in broad daylight? What if I'd come out of the restaurant earlier and stolen a peak down North 9th and seen you unscrewing my seat? Have you no decency!

And frankly, I expect this sort of thing to happen in Long Island City, but in tony Williamsburg, what with its new crop of trust-fund babies and their condo-buying parents?

So, a little research reveals that the hood and its environs (namely, Bushwick) haven't been doing too well with crime lately. The Brooklyn Paper reports that the 90th precinct had 18 robberies in one of the last weeks of August, which I'm sure doesn't include all the unreported things like a bike seat being taken. And my bike seat being stolen doesn't seem like such a big deal when you read about this poor little gal:

A 10-year-old girl had her bicycle stolen from her as she rode near the corner of Division Avenue and Roebling Street on Aug. 18. Cops are hunting for a 13-year-old boy on a girls’ bike.