The Show I'll Never Forget and The Girl Who Played With Fire

When I moved to Boston in 1996, I was thrilled with all the shows I could see-- musicians and bands that wouldn't come anywhere near Wichita regularly played in Boston and Providence.  I could see The Violent Femmes, or The Lemonheads, or the Mighty, Mighty, Bosstones!

Once we were old enough to drive, my friends and I would see any show that came through The Cotillion and would venture to Kansas City and Tulsa as well.

The Show I'll Never Forget edited by Sean Manning is collection of writers who recall, obviously, the show they'll never forget. Some are first concerts and some are just really iconic concerts (Woodstock).  Some read like braggarts (so, yeah, I saw Hendrix...) and some are extremely personal (a high school benefit concert for an ill student).  The shows run the gamut from Patti Smith to Nirvana, from Nina Simone to the Beastie Boys.  In some cases, I would be just as mesmorized to see the writer (Jennifer Egan, Chuck Klosterman) as the concert (The Stones, Miles Davis, James Brown!).  I was disappointed by only a few essays- by and large each writer evoked a time and place (watching a Red Sox game with The Pogues at Fenway).

Two shows came to mind for the Show I'll Never Forget.  For my 18th birthday my mom got me four tickets to see The Cranberries in Kansas City.  When I look at the pictures from that trip, I remember how excited myself and my three friends were and also think what a great mom I have. She drove us to KC and took us to an early dinner, then waited in the parking lot during the whole show while we were inside (well, outside).  I know concerts are about smoking pot, but we were good kids, and since it was my 18th birthday I did two things: I bought a legal pack of cigarettes and I registered to vote at the Rock the Vote tent (the voting stuck, the smoking didn't).

The second show I really remember was seeing Pavement in 1997.  I'd just finished my first year of college and my friend Caron and cousin Jenny came into Boston and we saw them at the Roxy.  We were SO EXCITED!!  I remember Jenny had to use a fake id to get in, because she wasn't 18 yet and I remember the opening band sucked (Shudder to Think) and I remember just being thrilled that they played everything I wanted to hear.  We could see them pretty close and I was just in love.

 

I read the 2nd book in Stieg Larsson's Millenium trilogy-- The Girl Who Played with Fire.  You're either going to read this book or you're not (or you already have) and it's no use giving details.  Needless to say it was captivating and I can't wait to read the third and final book.

 

netflix stars: 4/5 and 5/5

Alone In The Kitchen With An Eggplant: Confessions of Cooking for One and Dining Alone

Everyone has some experience eating alone. Perhaps you were a BU student and sat in the G.S.U. during a break in your afternoon classes and ate a BK chicken sandwich. Or perhaps you travel for business and order room service. Maybe you just moved to a new city and go out to eat regardless if you have friends yet who will join you.

In Alone in the Kitchen With an Eggplant, Jenni Ferrari-Adler compiles essays by such noted writers as M.F.K. Fischer, Amanda Hesser, Steve Almond, Ann Patchett and Laurie Colwin, about cooking and dining alone (or in one case, the desire to cook and dine alone!). Each essay provides a glimpse into a personal life and often, a recipe.

I picked up this book book because most evenings I eat alone so I wanted to find out how other people did it. Did they overcook like I tend to? Do they snack their way through a box of crackers and a bottle of wine? Did they forego any pretense of nutrition and instead devour a pint of ice cream?

Far from being a sad book on lonliness, nearly all the contributors looked upon their eating alone days as some of the best in their lives. Each essay made me smile and at least half had me laughing out loud.

What do I eat when I eat alone? I'm not a take-out kind of girl and prefer my own lunches to those of the hospital cafeteria where I work. So I cook on Sundays-- lots of quiches and gratins, soups, stews and things that can last a week or live awhile in the freezer. And the nice thing about eating alone IS that I can eat when and what I want. A few summers back I craved a BLT made with one of the juicy heirlooms I'd just picked up from the farmer's market. But rather than buy bread, I decided to make my own. Nearing midnight, my bread hot out of the oven, I made myself the best BLT I've ever had. And reading this book reminded me why, in part, that was. We are our own best company.

Netflix stars 5/5.

How To Be Alone

An Open Letter To Jonathan Franzen:

I'd like to start by thanking you. Your book The Corrections entertained me for a good couple days at my first post-college job. But perhaps the joy that was The Corrections bears re-reading, because I found your book of essays, How To Be Alone, in a word, annoying. In two words, annoying and obnoxious. The book consists of essays written from the early to mid-90s and finishes with one written on Inauguration Day, 2001. Many of the earlier essays are stuck in their time-- ruminations on the deterioration of society due to cordless phones and answering machines. I guess it's noble to write one's novel on an old typewriter...if you're 78. But Mr. Franzen, at the writing, you were in your early thirties! Isn't that a bit young to become a curmudgeon? Personally, if I had written an essay predicting that the Internet would fall the way of beta max and AOL email, I'd want to make sure it stayed hidden, presumably under lock and key in old gray file cabinets, and not compiled in a "Best Of" album. I felt embarrassed for you.

You lament that people don't read anymore and inform us that you gave away your old tv so that there would be no distractions from reading. While you might like to think you are a martyr for doing this, the reality is, Mr. Franzen, that many, many people read. And many, many people can just turn off the tv for a couple hours. I daresay that even Mr. Frey would be able to abstain from tv for an evening to read a forlorn and dusty book in the prison library.

But Mr. Franzen, it's not all gloom and doom. I sincerely enjoyed your expose on the deficiencies of the Chicago Postal Service (because who doesn't enjoy bitching about the mail?) and your last essay on Inauguration Day 2001 showed growth and insight. The essay about your father's brain was poignant and your interviews with prison inmates were thoughtful. But when you just offer your opinion on a given issue, you often straddle both sides, leaving me wondering which side you are really on.

I'm sure you'd be happy knowing the Marie Claire Book Club probably would not wade through your verbiage of "big" words (two words missing from your essays are "hubris" and "humility"). In fact, I couldn't finish the book. I decided to take the challenge you proposed and read...but life's too short to read condescending opinions set forth by spoiled artists.

Mr. Franzen, your book may be so lucky to fall into the same company as your beloved typewriter and even the answering machine-- at a garage sale in a box of $.10 books.

Sincerely,

Andrea

Netflix stars-- 2/5