We're all about women supporting woman on this site. In fact, that's one of the reasons we started it almost three years ago. But that being said, we love a few good men too! Especially funny ones who write hilarious books that have the word "doucheface" in them. (Going to have to use that in a sentence this week...)
Here's the dealio on Father-Mucker: A day in the life of a dad on the brink: Josh Lansky—second-rate screenwriter, fledgling freelancer, and stay-at-home dad of two preschoolers—has held everything together while his wife is away on business . . . until this morning’s playdate, when he finds out through the mommy grapevine that she might be having an affair. What Josh needs is a break. He’s not going to get one.
Sound fab? It is! And we have FIVE copies to give away! Just leave a comment here and you'll be entered to win. We'll choose the winners on Sunday November 13th after 3pm PST.
CHICK LIT IS NOT DEAD PRESENTS... 7 SECONDS IN HEAVEN WITH GREG OLEAR
The only time I ever played Seven Minutes In Heaven, back in seventh grade, the game would have been more accurately called Seven Minutes Of Excruciatingly Awkward Silence In A Closet Redolent With Mothballs, With A Girl With Peanut Butter In Her Retainer
It should really be called Eight Minutes in Heaven, though, because “Stairway to Heaven” is exactly eight minutes long, and that’s what should be playing while the two lucky contestants are barricaded in the closet. Best junior high make-out song of all time. Because if you don’t want to make out, you can always rock out.
I was much better at Spin the Bottle. I first played the game in seventh grade, in my friend’s basement, not long after the Seven Minutes in Heaven fiasco, and it was during that game that I had my first grown-up (read: French) kiss. Two weeks later, I played the game again, behind some bushes on the way home from school—just me and two girls, a ratio I found to my liking (things did not escalate, alas, but I did catch a really nasty bout of flu from one of them, thus learning an early lesson about the need to protect oneself from Ds of the ST variety).
I went to see The Bridges of Madison County. In the theater. At a matinee. By myself. At the end, I sobbed so loudly and uncontrollably that I had to walk out.
For me, the Stendhal Effect is a common occurrence; a lot of things move me to tears. If I listen to “Cats in the Cradle,” for example, I will cry every single time. That’s no exaggeration: Every. Single. Time. Other songs that make me cry include: “Taxi,” “Highway Patrolman,” “Texas Rangers,” “Love Is Like a Bottle of Gin,” and, if I’m in the proper mood, “Tomorrow,” from Annie.
Don’t get me started on Guess How Much I Love You. I’ve never managed to read this to the kids without choking up.
A writer friend of mine, the great Ben Loory, recommended I teach a short story by Tobias Wolff called “Bullet to the Brain.” I’ve read it five times. I cried five times. I told my class—an undergraduate creative writing workshop—about this; they didn’t believe me. So I had one of my students read the last page aloud. She did, as robotically as possible. Which stolid performance did not stop me from weeping, right there in class. They is, they is, they is.
Thanks Greg! xo, L&L