Oooh, look at me, with the reading of the nonfiction!

This book was recommended to me by a colleague who practically got an erection every time he talked about the book. So I went in with high hopes, which were dashed within the first chapter when the repetitive repetition and (in my humble opinion) poor writing made me wail and moan and yank clumps of hair from my head. (I realize that nonfiction is more about presenting information and ideas and less about writing style, but I feel strongly that no matter the genre, a writer should not be lazy about writing well. Lecture over.) About 80 pages in, I asked a friend of mine who has read the book if it gets better - dear god please say it gets better. He promised that the second half is much better, although he was drunk at the time so I wasn't terribly convinced.

Turns out he was right, sorta. The more I read, the less I was annoyed by the writing style. I am chalking that up to me becoming desensitized to the horror and not to the possibility that Thomas L. Friedman's writing skills improved. (I feel like such a bitch saying that because he is a Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times writer and so who the hell am I to criticize his writing style? But, I call it like I see it.)

The content was intriguing, though. Friedman is arguing that the world is (on its way to becoming) flat, by which he means that we are becoming so connected that companies and individuals are competing and collaborating globally. He explains how recent technological innovations and relatively recent political events have set the stage for the ultimate flattening of the world, and how this flattening affects business and politics and life as we know it. I've heard this book described as "about outsourcing" but that is actually just a small part of Friedman's larger discussion of globalization.

While doing research and interviews for the book, Friedman's favorite question to ask people was "Where were you when you discovered the world was flat?" For me it was about a year ago when I started blogging. Friedman doesn't touch much on the cultural effects of a flat world, but I find this side of things just as interesting as the economics he explores. Only in a flattening world is it possible to be part of a community in which geography not only isn't an obstacle but isn't even relevant. I think the opportunity to meet and befriend people from all over the world is a significant benefit of a flat world, and one that surely has positive ripples itself. In the book, Meg Whitman, CEO of eBay, discusses in an interview how eBay is a community just as much as it is a service to exchange goods. She claims that every person craves positive feedback and needs validation from others. And that reminds me of the blogworld, too, and especially of Susie's recent post about blogging at its best.

One of my favorite things about the book was the insider's look Friedman gave of many companies. UPS was my favorite, for obvious reasons. UPS does WAY more than deliver packages, people. Who knew?! And also, did you know that they get 7-12 million tracking requests each day?! Clearly I'm not the only tracking whore out there - it seems to be a worldwide addiction.

The book was a worthwhile read and one that stretched my brain to consider things I don't often think about (and which I'm hella glad it's not my job to think about). Having said that, I must admit that when Rob asked me last evening if the next book I am reading is fiction, I replied with a "Yes!" and a happy sigh.

Guess who is the #6 MSN search result for John Stamos? NILBO. Yeah, the man who hates John Stamos, the man who embraces every possible opportunity to sacrilegiously mock His Heinieness. Number 6!!! (And he doesn't even mention John Stamos in his motherfucking post! What the fuckity fuck fuck is going on?!)

You can just imagine how completely pleased Nilbo was to share this news with me. Dude is the king of giddy gloating, I can tell you that. But seriously, how am I supposed to believe that there is still good in the world when seriously fucked up shit like this happens?! I mean, if this isn't a bitch slap from the universe then I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS.

My supervisor invited Rob and I to take a ballroom dancing class with her and her husband. I jumped at the chance because I've always thought ballroom dancing would be a blast. I'd suggested lessons to Rob before but his reaction was always to scrunch up his nose like he'd just test-whiffed the half carton of milk at the back of the fridge and found it to be sour...nay, curdling. But this time he reluctantly agreed. I'm not sure why, but I think it has something to do with the fact that he likes my boss better than me. (She buys him Twizzlers - how can I compete with that?!) But whatever - we get to go dancing! (I insist on saying dance with an ah sound. As in, "Shall we dahnce, my dahling?" It's the only way to get the full effect of the formality and fancy-pantsity that is ballroom dahncing. And also because it annoys Rob.)

Our first class was last evening. The first thing the instructor dude (think cutest old man ever, complete with suspenders) did was separate the men from the women. As Rob was banished with the other boys to the far side of the room, he cast a desperate, helpless look over his shoulder. It was the look five-year-olds give their moms as they get on the school bus for the first time, except remove the innocence and add a healthy dose of You are going to pay for this, bitch.

Ol' Suspenders showed the men their foxtrot steps and then showed us our foxtrot steps and then told us to join our partners and practice together. There was a flurry as the women headed over to snatch up their men and it felt just like that moment in 6th grade gym class when we were learning square dancing and the teacher said to "Partner up" and there was a mad dash to stand next to the cutest boy and then once he was grabbed up there was another mad dash to the next cutest boy etc. etc. I'll admit it was a relief, last night, to know that I just so happened to have prior claim to the cutest boy in the room. (Although I totally think I caught Rob appraising the other women, like maybe he thought he could trade up or something.)

I have to say, and this isn't just my overbearing self-confidence talking, that we were pretty damn good. Ol' Suspenders gave us approving nods or thumbs up every time we passed him. Rob is one of those people who has an ear for music, who can hear a song and then sit down at the piano or pull out his guitar and like, play the song he just heard. And so I knew he'd be good at this ballroom dancing thing because hearing and staying with a beat is like breathing to him - it comes completely natural. With me, not so much. With me, if staying on beat = breathing, then I would have drowned on that dance floor without Rob.

Let me tell you that as the one not leading, it is rather disconcerting to navigate a dance floor backwards, especially when that dance floor is full of awkwardly swaying amateurs. Given my trust issues (which stem from 4th grade when I leaned back into Doreen as part of a cheerleading move only to fall hard onto the ground because she didn't catch me), it would have been completely like me to have danced the entire evening with my head turned around backwards on my neck. However, Rob is the one person I trust even more than myself and so I was fine to let him lead. (My boss, who is an even bigger control freak than me if you can even imagine that, struggled with not being in charge the entire evening. She kept insisting that her husband let her lead. And he succumbed until Ol' Suspenders caught them and told her sternly that the man needs to lead. Which, if you ask me, is sorta sexist. I mean, why can't the woman lead? Shit ain't right.)

Rob did well - I think we only bumped into another couple once and I'm sure it was their fault and not ours, although Rob muttered an apology anyway, something about "still learning how to steer this thing." (This thing being, of course, me.) One time I did swivel my head around and Rob accused me of not trusting him and so then I had to explain that in fact I was just checking out my ass in the mirror wall.

The only real problem of the evening was the motherfucking toe cramp I got half an hour into the class. I have a propensity to get toe cramps at The Worst Possible Times. Like while driving. Like during sex. Like when I'm pole-climbing up a hill on cross country skis. Last night we were foxtrotting away when suddenly one of my toes seized up. "FUCK," I gasped. Because, you know, it fucking hurt. I really needed to take a moment to stretch it out, but I didn't want to stop dancing because we'd surely get trampled by the foxtrotters coming our way. So I tried to do the foxtrot steps such that I could bend and stretch the toes of my left foot as I stepped back, which was not only entirely ineffective but surely looked ridiculous as well. When that didn't work I just grimaced and grit my teeth and managed to make it through the rest of the song as best I could, trotting in a way that resembled a limping gazelle much more than a fox.

We've got seven more classes. My goal by the end is to get Ol' Suspenders snaking.

Y'all know Yonzie is like a sister to me. When I saw her most recent post title - "it just got personal" - I puffed out my chest and got ready to kick some serious ass. Cause don't nobody mess with my Yonzie, you know? And I mean NOBODY. Unfortunately, my formidable ass-kicking skillz (stop laughing) won't help. But hopefully this post will.

Yonzie knows a woman who runs a dog rescue operation from her home, and that home has just been destroyed by wildfire. Please read Yonzie's post and consider donating to OK Save a Dog if you can. Thank you.

1. Last evening I ran into one of my former students. I taught her when she was a freshman; she's now a senior. She was thrilled to see me, saying, "I'm so glad I ran into you because there's something I want to tell you!"

   "Well, do tell!"

   "I just wanted you to know that you're the reason I'm going into my chosen profession," she said.

   "And what profession is that?" I asked, sure she would say a writer because she is a gifted writer.

   "An English teacher. I always tell people that I had THE coolest freshman English teacher and now I want to be that cool English teacher."

   Awwww. Suddenly all the crap I dealt with the year I taught totally seems worthwhile. (Mrtl and Cat, please slap me back to my senses!!!)




2. At Barnes & Noble this morning I saw the book Gray's Anatomy and realized, for the first time, that Grey's Anatomy is a play on that. Yes, I have heard of the book before and yes, I feel like a complete moron for not making the connection. Seriously...DUH.




3. Also at Barnes & Noble I saw a book that purports to be rules for men and one of the rules is that the best blind dates are with girls named Samantha or Kelly. I'm still trying to figure out if that means I'm a brilliant conversationalist or if it means I'm a slut.

How exactly should one respond when one's husband lets it slip that sometimes when he comes home from work even later than usual (which, in your opinion, is too late as it is) it is not because of a long meeting or due to the fact that he is swamped, as you thought, but is in fact because after-hours he has been playing Flight Simulator?