Friday, February 15, 2013

Book Report – Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn

*SPOILER ALERT* If you have not read Gone Girl but plan to, you might not want to read this post.

I wish I would have taken notes earlier in the story but I didn't plan on writing a book report and I didn’t know that I was going to love the book so much.

Amy, the wife, is introduced into the story by her journal entries, which I found a bit annoying in the beginning. I've never written in a journal as if I were scripting a novel, but both of the main characters, the husband and the wife, are writers, so the voice of her journal entries make sense for the character and paint a picture of who Amy is. Although the current day narration is being told by her husband, Nick, I find myself looking more and more forward to hearing from Amy’s backlogged journal entries.

Although their relationship changes as it matures, I love the way she describes the beginning of her relationship with her husband. She loves him and she loves her life with him as it is, but obstacles are thrown into their relationship, which affect them both. Amy finds herself compromising to make Nick happy and although Nick can see the effect these compromises are having on Amy, instead of letting her know how appreciative he is, which he is, he grows a hard shell of resentment around himself and becomes bitter towards her. The closeness Amy describes in her earlier journal entries, with them driving to states in which they have never had sex, and staying there only for the 30-40 minutes to takes for them to have sex, (I REALLY enjoyed the idea of doing this!!!) that closeness has withered into Nick taking his wife's love for granted, being cold and hard towards her and not recognizing how much she really needs him.

Why these two never just communicated with each other is beyond me. But being a long relationship person, I know firsthand how easy it is to not say how you really feel to spare causing a rift where there wasn’t one to begin with. (I’m actually the opposite where I cause the rift beyond the measure it needed to go because I over communicate my feelings) Edward is the opposite. The master of holding it all in and saying 'I’m fine' even when it’s not true... Men. I’m not good at reading between the lines and I don’t think I should have to be, but this isn’t about me, it’s about Amy.

So when Amy first disappears, my first thought is that she took off. But evidence surfaces that might suggest otherwise and when Nick describes how organized his wife is and how she would never leave the house in a state where the cat would escape, I take it back. (The door was left wide open and the cat was hanging out on the front steps.) I would never take off without Baibe, my furry baby. My next thought is that something very bad happened. I watch way too much Dateline and shows of the like, so I begin to suspect Nick. We know it’s always the husband. But when I check to see how many pages are left in the book I take that back too. Nick being the reason his wife is missing is way too easy. I don’t think Nick is responsible. So I go back to Amy taking off and I begin to think that she staged the whole thing herself. But then I find out about the blood. Evidence of Amy’s blood was found throughout the kitchen. And then Nick begins telling stupid fibs and as he continues to fib I begin to suspect him again.

After getting to know Amy more through her diary entries, and seeing how Nick withdraws more and more from his wife, I begin to think that he has a mistress; and I am right. I love a mistress and adultery in a story! Not in real life, but I live for this type of steamy, sexy shadiness in a story. I. AM. IN. THIS. BOOK.

Because Nick’s mistress seems enthralled with Amy instead of jealous of her, I don’t suspect that the mistress plays any part in Amy's disappearance.

In the back of my mind, I still think Nick is too easy, but all evidence is pointing to him. A tiny bit of me still thinks that Amy may have taken off and staged the whole thing herself, because as I get to know her husband more and more he comes across as a bigger and bigger dick each time I find more things out about him, so I could understand why she would want to leave him. But I can’t get past the blood. If she staged her own disappearance, how did she lose the blood? There was blood involved so I cross Amy off the list one more time.

I even begin to suspect Nick’s father who suffers from Alzheimer’s and seems to have a dark fascination with Amy.

But then… I get to part two of the book, which takes us back to Day One of Amy's disappearance, and come to find learn that there is Real Amy and ‘Diary Amy’. My first reaction to Real Amy is that she is a bad ass bitch and I love it! And although I love meeting Real Amy and finding out more and more about Real Amy, I come to realize that this bitch is completely off her rocker. 

I did not want this book to end!

~Louise C. 

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Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Subway Rides - Move Your Penis!

I could hear the hint of an argument on the other side of the train car I was in this morning. It was extremely packed, which is the reason I never got a glimpse of the people who were a part of the commotion.

On the subway, people have loud voices even when just having a regular conversation. I suspect this is a consequence of blasting iPods at full volume. No one can hear themselves speak anymore so they speak louder. But my eardrums aren't damaged, so it sounds like people are yelling when they are just talking. Which is why when I first heard the heightened voice of a woman I continued reading my book; until her voice got louder.


Somebody say penis? Now that got my attention. It gets me every time.

Too short to see through the crowd, I tried looking in the window to see if I could see anything in the reflection, but the crowd was also too thick there so I just listen as I pretend to read.

The woman’s voice get’s louder and louder as she repeats over and over again, "Move your penis away from my daughter's face! Move your penis away from my daughter's face! My husband told you and now I’m telling you!! Move your penis…"

I hear the man with the offending penis trying to defend himself, but his voice is too muffled for me to make out any words, and the protective mother becomes louder and more hysterical each time she repeats the sentence.

I don’t know who touches whom, but I hear a scuffle as the woman says, “Punch me! I dare you and I’ll press that button and the cops will come and they’ll know you’re a pedophile.”

The button she is threatening to press is the button for the Emergency Brake, and if you are a real New Yorker, you NEVER EVER want this button to be pressed. I am not alone in my thinking as everyone in the train car gets riled up.

“Chiiilllll! Chill-chill-chill! Don’t press the button! Don’t press the button!”

When the button for the Emergency Brake is pressed, it does exactly what it says. It removes control from the person driving the train and forces the train to brake. All of us will be stuck wherever the train brakes for God knows how long.

When we reach 86th Street, the train doors open and the woman is still yelling about penis and threatening to press the button. Clearly she doesn't understand the real reason for the button. She seems to think that no matter where she when she presses the button, the cops will immediately materialize. Even if we are stuck in the tunnel.

A woman sitting close to me yells, “Get off the train! Solve your problems off the train! We all have to go to work!” This is another real New Yorker speaking. She doesn't care about the penis or the child; she just wants to get where she is going.

No one gets off the train at 86th Street and the commotion begins to die down as we move towards 59th Street. Even still, the woman with the loud voice has one more statement to make.

“I gotta take my kids to school. They don’t need your penis in their face.”

I know the situation isn't funny at all if the guy was really being a perv, but with the word ‘penis’ being thrown around in the tone that it was, I found myself biting the inside of my cheeks to maintain a straight face. Seriously, how old am I?

~Louise C.

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Friday, February 1, 2013

Tattoo Resolution

I wrote this blog while it was still January and meant to share as my resolution for 2013, but I’m a slacker so it never got posted in the month of Jan. The second month is still beginning of the year, so my post counts, right?

I don’t usually do resolutions because I feel like improvement should be an everyday goal, not just something you begin because the numbers on the calendar have changed the next day into a new year. This year though, I’m committing myself to a resolution that’s been a long time coming.

You see this picture right here?

That tattoo on me? I need it to be redone STAT!

The background story:

Being the closeted rebellious-badass that I am, I have always admired tattoos. Whenever I came across a cool design, I always thought about getting a tattoo but I could never nail down what I would get if I ever actually pulled the tattoo trigger. And because I didn't put as much thought into my choice as I should have, I made the stupidest, STUPIDEST decision ever! I tattooed the name of the one I loved at the time ON. MY. FUCKING. BODY.

I am ashamed of myself as I should be.

When I die, I CANNOT be buried with this person's name on me. I still feel very “cool” about the fact that I have a tattoo, I just need a different one. Because of where I got the tattoo, my saving graces are: (1) that my tattoo is usually covered by my hair, and (2) that my tattoo is not in English. But I know; I know what lies beneath my wispy tresses in the Amharic language. It haunts me every time I decide to sport an updo and bare the back of my neck. And I deserve to be haunted. Part of me thinks I should keep the tattoo as a punishment for my stupid-ass young and in love choice. But I can’t. I just can’t keep this name on my body any longer. It never deserved to be there in the first place.

I think about what I will tell my children when they ask about the weird drawings on mommy's neck. I don’t want my kids to have tattoos, but now I can never be an example to them. When I was in my twenties, children and being an example to them is not something I was thinking about. I was only thinking about being cool.

I have tried numerous times to meet with artists in hopes of finally getting this shit corrected, but things always fall through and in all these years nothing has ever gotten done. But no more, NO MAS!!

I wish I’d never gotten a tattoo…. Actually that’s not an honest statement. While I was writing that sentence, there was a ringing rebellion in me saying, ‘Louise, now you and I both know that if you didn't get tattooed then, it would have happened eventually.’ Truuue. Truuue. For example, last year, while walking through a mall, I decided to go ahead and get the piercing I’d been thinking about getting for a while. And I really can’t promise myself that this would be the last random hole I will puncture into my body.

I've thought about getting the tattoo removed, but because I have that random rebellion in me, I can’t promise myself that I will never be tattooed again.

If my only option is to get one of those outrageously large, colorful floral cover-ups, that simply will not do. They are hideous to me! Hopefully, my tattoo can be covered up without hideousness happening. I certainly do not want a mural on the back of my neck.

I do have a few ideas for tattoos that would speak of me, who I am and what I love and I hope to find an artist who will exceed my expectations by capturing the image I see, with perfection.

To correcting stupid decisions in 2013!

~Louise C.

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