#unreadbythebed

So, unread by the bed is actually half-read on the dresser. Still, you can't mess with a Twitter hashtag. It's bad luck.

Here are a few special bits from Melissa Bank's newest book, "The Wonder Spot." She's also the author of "The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing." Bank has a gift for profiling characters so closely that in a few years, you might look back and remember them as friends. This is Cynthia, the protagonist's older brother's girlfiend...

"She was tall with very long arms and a big, red-lipsticked mouth. She was a clothing designer and had one of those personalities that drapes itself all over you at first. She hugged me when we'd met for example, and talk-talk-talked through dinner, not that I minded. She had a pretty voice and in it you could hear the song of the South at the end of a sentence."

And here's Bank's description of the protagonist Sophie's first job in book publishing where she meets Adam in the windowless "Bat Cave" on the 14th floor "though it came right after 12."

"I shared the Cave with three girls and one Boy Wonder, Adam, whom I adored. He was the kind of man who might've fished Zelda Fitzgerald out of the fountain at the Plaza, draped his cashmere coat around her shoulders, never asked for it back, and never told anyone the story."

Exquisite!

follow

Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child if you’re able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table
Come and touch the things you cannot feel

And close your fingertips, and fly where I can’t hold you
Let the sun rain fall and let the dewy clouds enfold you
And maybe you can sing to me, the words I just told you
If all the things you feel, aint what they seem
Then don’t mind me cause I aint nothing but a dream...

lyrics by Jerry Merrick

"And the best thing you've ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously."



Thanks Bubba.

advice

"Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly."

I've been reading a lot of women's magazines lately, specifically Glamour, and in between comparing myself with the models and stars, I've actually gleaned a lot of very simple sounding but worthwhile advice. It isn't just about moisturizing masks, though I am going to try out the Greek yogurt facial.

On friendship: "If you miss her, call her."

On men: "You should never be in a relationship with someone who doesn't make you completely happy."- Michelle Obama

On finding your passion: "Aren't we all secretly aware that there are things we'd like to try--and might actually be able to do--if we weren't embarrassed to be seen trying."- Kelly Corrigan

On socializing: "You're the most interesting person in the room."- Susan Fales Hill

involuntary quiet time

I've written about quiet time before. Here , here and here. But my visit to the radiologist was a different kind of quiet time.

I'm getting an MRI in the hope that my first opinion doctor, a physical therapist and all-american soccer player with dimples, is more correct than my second opinion doctor, the one who while firing questions barely answered my own, and spoke only to condescend to me in terms I didn't know. Dimples thinks I have a herniated disk which needs only a shot or a week's worth of pills. Dr. Superior says I've torn my hamstring and tough cookies. Surgery will only make it worse. Dr. Superior has more letters after his name.

Once in my blue gown minus my book, laptop, corpse of a cell phone (it passed on 2 days ago, still waiting on my delivery) or any other supportive friend substitute, I am strapped to a table and my feet are taped together. I lie on one strange medical mat while another is placed over me. I am also given a blanket, which I don't want but assume is necessary.

I ask the technician whether or not the one tiny bobby pin in my hair matters. It does. A flash of my head being slammed against the man-made grave of wonders the moment the machine turns on flits by and exits stage left. The technician puts earphones on my head, the kind Blossom might wear, and tells me to expect some noise. The background "music" which is coming from the room and not the headphones sounds like either the swish and thump of a heartbeat with a vaguely techno accent or the soundtrack to a bad seventies porn movie.

My tray starts to move diagonally and in a few seconds I am fully submerged in my cocoon. This isn't scary. I survived being put into a locker when I was nine. I wanted to try it but I didn't think anyone would close the door. I also survived being dragged around the house in a sleeping bag not knowing where I would end up. Another naive childhood game. Are you sensing a pattern? Anyway, there is no door to shut and no blindfold or blanket to cover my face. My eyes are open.

I refuse to freak out about how close my face is to the ceiling and then the little light just above my forehead. There is a sticker that reads caution "do not look into beam when (medical equipment term I don't know) is open." Do not think of a pink elephant. Do not look at the beam. I look at the beam. Sigh. I close my eyes.

For twenty minutes it sounds like I am inside a video game being shot at by tiny robots with giant guns. It doesn't hurt, but I feel the noise pressing down on me. I really do. I feel the noise. In between attacks I hear the swish and thump of the porn star's heart. Swish and thump. Swish and thump, but after a few minutes I am calm.

distraction

I picked up a book today, maybe the fifth book I've gotten from the library in two weeks. Ahh yes the library, or as my friend Angela calls it "that magical place where they give you free books."
I was already reading one book, "Brooklyn" lent to me by my book club queen. (She prefers queen to president.) But now suddenly I have five more.

Anyway, this fifth books is called "Distraction: The Erosion of Attention and the Coming Dark Age," and it's written by Maggie Jackson. If you knew me, you'd understand the irony. Not only am I flipping between five books, I'm also pinballing between between three email accounts, two Twitter accounts, one Facebook account, two word docs, and often a phone that lets you text message even while you are speaking with someone else. "How do you know [whether] you have ADD or a severe case of modern life?" writes Jackson quoting Dr. Edward Hallowell. Wouldn't you like to know?

Jackson explores attention and its impact on our everyday communication tasks, our ability to create knowledge, to think deeply, and even to deepen our relationships with others. Jackson is speaking tomorrow night at the New York Public Library.

cary tennis

"And with the humility came the frightening feeling that I just cannot write. Not today. I just cannot do it. I sit at the desk and nothing comes. I see the desk and fear it; I hunch over, I want to flee!"

Salon's advice columnist Cary Tennis cannot do his job. He's unable to open a letter, afraid to share his thoughts,and it's what he's paid to do. An advice columnist in crisis, struck dumb by his "old way" of pushing solutions on people. How refreshing! I'm glad for the confession. I understand what it's like to feel outside of your supposed comfort zone. And I feel forgiven. Thank you, Cary.