I live in a bit of a cultural vacuum. This is my own doing, and my choice, although my motivations are not totally clear. I don’t always want to know every last thing that is happening, to see the latest movie and be all awash in the buzz of Hollywood. Sometimes I go there. But often, I just…don’t want to join. I don’t think I’m Superior, I have no moral stance. I just don’t want to know what everyone else knows, and be influenced by it. I find it is increasingly hard to find your own drumbeat, and I want to hang on to mine. I haven’t seen Titanic, this is how extreme I can get.
It’s not just movies, its cultural phenom of all types. I learn much later than anyone else what the latest style is, latest high heels, latest whatever. But through the trickle-down effect, some things filter in.
“So…have you heard about these books called “50 shades of Grey?” someone asked me. I had heard or read something about them, yes, but she filled me in. Hhhmmmmmm, I thought. This might be worth checking into. After all, some woman in England managed to get the entire world (maybe not entire) to read soft core porn openly, i.e. on an airplane or the bus?
What was the secret? Was it actually good?
I got the books on loan from a friend who gave a shrug about them, and admitted she couldn’t make it past the first. I am struggling, although I have to say, I have laughed out loud a few times. But these books give me hope. If these are bestsellers, I can do it too! I might have to write smut, but hey, whatever gets your freak on, right?
Another friend told me her Dad was hoping to read them, for the same reason I was: pure interest in whatever everyone else was reading.
(Confidential to David: These books are crap! The main character refers to her “Inner Goddess” every three sentences, instead of writing about what is actually in her head, if anything! Her Inner Goddess is satisfied, her Inner Goddess is celebratory; Her Inner Goddess is….shut up already and write about how this woman feels! Also, she bites her lip every second paragraph. Anyone who actually did this, as a nervous tic or as an erotic gesture, would have bitten half her face off after the first three chapters.)
Yet another friend said she wouldn’t read them, based on the cover. She always judges books by their cover. That’s how I pick wine, so I get that.
So, my dip into the cultural mainstream has left me nonplussed. I am starting my first wank novel, immediately. It won’t be based on any of my experiences, as most of them happened during the grunge era, where people thought bathing was optional.
He threw his flannel shirt on the floor, pulling off his rank John Deere cap. She laid herself provocatively on the lumpy futon, shoving some underwear under the sheets, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He pulled her tights off slowly, and threw them in the corner, where they stayed standing from lack of a wash…
See? Reality does not sell well. I’m starting afresh now. I think I’ll call the book
My Outer Goddess: Tales From the Vaginal Walls.
For a good, serious guffaw and/or coffee spitting out, see Gilbert Godfried do his take on 50 shades here: (click link)