I'm Giddy as a Baby On a Swing*

Okay, maybe not that giddy, but I can't say I'm not thrilled about all the sunshine we've had lately. Yes, it poured icy rain over The Boy's soccer game Sunday, but it's been chilly and sunny--my personal favorite combination--for days.

I happen to live across the street from one of the greatest city parks in all the land, so I've been taking some lovely walks, trying to cure my Nature Deficit Disorder. (Maybe there's no such thing, but the phrase has stuck in my head since I first heard about it on NPR.) Being out on the trails makes me happy. As does the fact that I can take a picture with the camera on my cell phone, e-mail it to myself, and then add it to a blog post. I don't mind saying that it might as well be magic, for all I know how it works, but I really appreciate it.

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Note--The following includes mostly girly stuff:

I just read Jennifer Weiner's newest book, Certain Girls. I've liked Jennifer Weiner since I read her first book, Good in Bed; she's one of those writers for whom I actually spring for the hardback, because I like to give her my money. I'm glad I bought this one, because I still like her, but . . . I didn't love the book like I'd hoped. Certain Girls is a sequel to Good In Bed, picking up about ten years later. I don't know if my tastes have changed since reading it, or if Weiner has changed as a writer, but I just didn't feel this one the way I did most of her others. Generally her books suck me right in, and I read them in a matter of hours. I got this one Sunday morning, and didn't finish it until last night.

The book had its good moments, for sure, but I ended up feeling kind of manipulated. I don't know. This was almost like a Sue Miller or Meg Wolitzer, but . . . not quite. Maybe Weiner was trying to go for something a little more "higher brow women's fiction" but her editor wanted to stick with pure chick lit? Either way, it almost didn't work. Still, I like Weiner and I hope she keeps writing--I'd miss her if she gave it up.

In other girly news, I've been thinking about Romance. Not because I have a man-friend or anything, but, maybe because it's spring. Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that I have issues with Grand Romantic Gestures (TM). For example, do you know the scene in Better Off Dead when Lane takes Monique to the empty restaurant and feeds her a TV dinner? I think that’s totally sweet, and would have loved it. Lane ruins the whole thing for me, though, when he pulls out his saxophone and plays a solo. Monique sits there smiling, presumably thrilled. I would have sat there smiling, all right, but I would have been mortified. And I would have had a very hard time not laughing—out of nervousness if nothing else.

How is that romantic? What is the correct/desired behavior in that situation? Are you supposed to eat? Sit there staring? Are you genuinely supposed to be swept away by the music, staring at your smooth-blowing beloved, frozen in time?

I just don’t get it. Although I’m okay with (to continue citing John Cusack roles) Lloyd Dobler’s In Your Eyes stunt, because if you were moved to feel romantic toward him, you could go outside and lock eyes, and he would just put down the boom box so you could jump into his arms. Not so with that stupid sax, though.

Look at him over there. Sigh. Even all these years later (I think he's aging beautifully; the saggy, craggy face works well for him), I'd leave my husband for him. Oh, wait! I don't have a husband! And he doesn't have a wife! If he'd just hang out in the greater Pittburgh area once in a while, I know we'd be brilliant together.

Important issues covered here, right? Sigh. I'd better go get some lunch.

*It Might As Well Be Spring--Oscar Hammerstein