Don't tell the kids, but I quit J.K. Rowling today. I know, I know. What kind of librarian am I? In my defense, though, it wasn't Harry Potter I walked away from. No, it was all these petty, annoying people in quaint Pagford, England. My God, how I longed for a wand or a magic spell!
Almost 250 pages into "Casual Vacancy" and I still hadn't found a one of them I'd like to eat dinner with. Well, there was one--an impoverished, mouthy teenaged girl--but I could tell that hers was a doomed life. And so, I walked, but not until I read the last chapter, at Mark's bidding. Suffice it to say that I was right about the girl.
Maybe it's because it's called free time, but I find that I'm almost never willing to spend it with annoying people. Or foul people. Even though I can be both, and sometimes at the same time. It's no surprise, then, that my judgment hasn't always been sterling. In fact, there are times when I try really hard to like someone or something, because I know so many other people love that person or thing--but, ultimately, I just can't do it.
Take Woody Allen, for instance. I went through a long phase, in the mid 80s, of telling myself that I loved his films. During those years, I giggled and harrumphed and chortled my snooty, pseudo-intellectual, urban-chic way through a dozen VHS tapes of his droll, New York stories. Invariably, I ended up laughing louder than I should have, given my dark secret of finding most of them really just annoying. Nowadays, when I see a mousy little man with thick, black glasses, I impulsively want to rip them off his face and tell him to get over himself.
I'm a slow learner, though, considering that here I am, 30 years later, still trying to talk myself into popular things. Right now, for instance, I really want to like "Veep." I mean, I have always thought Julia Louis-Dreyfus was funny, so you can imagine how excited I was to discover that "Veep" is now on Netflix!
Mark and I settled down on the couch the other night to dive into this series, already giggling before the intro had even finished. Three thousand "f" words later, (it's a 30-minute show!), I found myself wondering if the script writers really wrote down all those "f" bombs or if they were just the result of lazy improvisation. Either way, I'm having trouble talking myself into another "Veep" marathon.
Other people and things I want to like more than I do? Maybe you should sit down.
•Tomatoes. I'm from the Ronald Reagan camp when it comes to tomatoes, preferring mine in squeeze-bottle form, although I keep planting--and eating--them.
•Edamame. The first clue that people are trying too hard to like them? They've given them a new name. My God, people. They are SOYBEANS. As in TVP! And, while it's true I've got a bag of them in the freezer right now, it's also true that the bag is three years old. And sealed.
•Apple Watches. I haven't worn a watch since my parents brought me back one from Ireland in the early 70s. And I can't read the type in a phonebook, so I don't know why I'd want a computer the size of a postage stamp. Truth is, I still struggle with my cell phone.
•The "Hangover" Movies. See "Veep." All those bromances, really, leave me wishing our house had a shower, because they're so filthy. Again, I'm wondering (and worrying) about the screenwriters. . . .
•And the list goes on: sushi (texture issues), the last season of "Glee" (annoying teens living in a $4,000 New York apartment) martinis (gag!), Bob Dylan (really?), Hillary Clinton (still trying), yoga (should try it again, I know), the writing structure of "Sarah's Key" (mix it up, girl!), liposuction (might be changing my mind on this one). . .
Really, I'm not a hater. And I'm no Pollyanna, either. Like everyone else, I just like what I like. And occasionally I try to pretend I like other things, so that I can fit in a little more. But, mostly, I just call "uncle" when it gets to be too much.
"Uncle."
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