So, as a blogger, I have a few things going against me. First, my name isn’t Jennifer. Then, I don’t understand the whole “blogging exploits kids” concept and I’m not offended by the term “mommy blogger”.
But one way that I am a blogger is that I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind, engage all cliches and write a book. I told Husbandrinka this news and he said “ok”, which isn’t the enthusiastic support for my artistic endeavors that I’d hoped for, but not everyone can be a Jon to to my Dooce. So we were driving to Niagara Falls for part of the kids’ spring break, and it’s about five and a half hours (the drive, not the kids’ vacation) and I decide to tell him my book ideas. And because I’m a friendly and considerate person, I preface it with a “want to hear about my book idea?” and even though everyone knows that the only acceptable answer to that is “yes, please!” he says, “do I have a choice?” which really sets the tone for the rest of the drive. Because, and you’ll recall that I’m not a licensed motorist, but I’m guessing that it’s hard to drive while being strangled. “Yes, you have a choice,” I tell him. “You can choose not to hear about my book plans, but let me just warn you right now, the “I’d like to thank my loving husband for his unwavering support” part of the Acknowledgment page isn’t exactly writing itself.”
“Go ahead,” he is resigned. And possibly looking for cliffs to drive off of.
“Well, first, what do you think that a book needs?”
“A plot.”
“Well, yes, but like how many words?”
“Is this a children’s book?”
“What? No, it’s not for children. It’s autobiographical.”
“Your biography?”
“No, of the auto industry. Of course my biography. I mean, it won’t be too heavy on historical facts,” I reassure him because I’m worried that he’s still a bit incredulous about my asking him the night before if the KGB had been the secret police in the former Soviet Union. “I can’t believe that I have to tell you what the KGB did,” he sounded exasperated. “Well, obviously, I know what the KGB did,” I backpedalled. “I was just wondering if there was another Secret Police in the USSR.” “No, the KGB pretty much had that monopoly,” Husbandrinka told me. I’m sorry, are normal people supposed to know that? I personally think his assuming that just because I’m Russian I should know this shit is a little bit racist. I mean, he’s Italian-American, and I don’t accuse him of being in the mafia, do I? (And only partly because I don’t want to get dismembered and Meadowlanded).
“Wonderful idea. I’m sure that the world has been wondering about you.”
So, the good news is that the bar is set incredibly low. The bad news is that I think we’ll need subterranean exploration to reach the bar. Mmm…bar…
One year ago ...
- I'm Older! - 2012