The Next Big Bestseller or How Word-of-Mouth Marketing can Make YOU the Next Big Thing

As a bookseller I have learned the power of Oprah. On any given day,  the Dayton area Oprah-ites would decend apon our store to buy the book she featured on her show. A few years ago, it was Steve Harvey. After pimping his book "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man: What Men Really Think about Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment" (available at your local Barnes and Noble Booksellers), they came. Women of all ages wanted--NEEDED--this book, and they wanted--NEEDED--it now, RIGHT NOW! (Oprah, give a little heads-up, okay?). Unprepared we were caught with only a handful of copies in stock. Never disappoint an Oprah-ite; they do not like to hear the words "3 to 5 shipping dates, free express shipping with a Borders membership." This is known as the Oprah Effect (I may have just made that up; if so, I hereby copyright it).

But often, the publishers back an author with everything they got and do a media-blitz that saturates and numbs us. If this is the case, we receive millions, billions, all the -illions you would ever want--or not want--by that author. A great example is Sarah Palin's book "Going Rogue". Yes, it was a best seller, but not in Dayton. At Borders--and every other bookstore--we received box after box after box of this book. We may have sold one box's worth of this book. As a cashier, I was well aware of the way this book did not sell; we would ask each other if any of us sold one and we would monitor our store sales. We did not hide this book. It was featured on many displays including the main table right at the entrance. So, just to let you know, WE TRIED VERY HARD TO SELL THIS BOOK! But, the tea baggers would not open up their wallets, and our bookstore went bankrupt; thanks, Mrs. Palin.

Side note One:  From the beginning, it was all about the money. Customers would gripe about the price of the book written by their demigod and want to know when the paperback version was coming out. We would tell them our stock line: 'that depends on the publisher's contract with Mrs. Palin and the sales of the book'. When the mock-book "Going Rouge" by the editors of Nation came out, people mis-took this straight to paperback book as Palin's book. Being sensitive to the needs of my customers, I would ask them if they wanted this book or the Palin book (yes, I profiled them). They would ask what the difference was. Here are the covers:


 Can you spot the differences?






Side note Two: My Borders was in the first round of closures when the corporation went bankrupt. During liquidation, we became the repository of items that were not selling well at other stores. So not only were we stuck with all the -illions of  "Going Rogue" languishing in our stockroom, we got  extra-illions of this book! Back it went onto the promo table, and on the shelves, and under the tables and behind the register; everywhere! Whereas the liquidators were still at the 20% off phase, this book began at 40% off then quickly jumped to 70% off. We would tell customers--jokingly because we really didn't have any power--we would throw the book in free with any purchase; we could not give this book away.

Authors have loyal followers who know when the next book is coming out, even after said-author is dead: Robert Jordan (deceased author of the fantasy-genre "Wheel of Time" series), James Patterson (who is basically a corporation with a sweatshop of writers in his attic), Lauren K. Hamilton (who--like Mr. Patterson--has a two inch margin framing her "story" which is written in size 32 font), Nora Roberts/J.D. Robb (each book the same, with covers that almost differ), Charlaine Harris (she of True Blood fame), and to quote the King from the musical The King and I, "Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera". But then there are the authors that become viral by word-of-mouth. Authors like Dan Brown, Khaled Hosseini, Elizabeth Gilbert, William P. Young, and E.L. James.

Dan Brown, wrote "The Da Vinci Code". Legend has it that a bunch of publishers decided to take a little known author with a so-so book (this is according to legend, but I found the book to be filled with too many cliches, coincidences and it was really just so-so) and begin a word-of-mouth marketing campaign. They manipulated us and made us think it was a phenomenal book, which many people think it is. Then they made it into a so-so movie and everyone became rich.

Khaled Hosseini beat the odds as an author with a very un-American name overcoming stereotypes while pocketing our American dollars. He is the Afghan-born American author of "The Kite Runner" and "A Thousand Splendid Suns". This overachieving author/physician/Goodwill Envoy has sold over 38 billion books (thanks, Wikipedia). "The Kite Runner" was made into a movie in 2007, and in 2015 so will "A Thousand Splendid Suns".

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote "Eat, Pray, Love" and is a recipient of the Oprah juggernaut. Her book makes women feel good, I have heard; I haven't read it. But, it was made into a movie starring Julia Roberts. It may have been a good movie, but I did not see it. But now she is rich and famous.

William P. Young made 15 copies of his book "The Shack" and handed them out to friends. A couple of very supportive friends worked with him on some revisions and they went out to sell the book to publishers. They were rejected by 26 said companies (again, thanks Wikipedia) before deciding to create their own company. With a $200 marketing budget and a word-of-mouth campaign, the book became the number one trade paperback fiction best-seller in 2008. While working Sundays at Borders, the after-church crowd would come through my line to purchase this book. Sunday was also a big day for porn purchases (yes, from the same crowd).

That leaves us with E.L. James. That's Erika Leonard's pseudonym. She began by writing fan fiction using yet another name: Snowqueens Icedragon. Her "Twilight" fan fiction grew into her  erotic trilogy: "Fifty Shades of Grey", "Fifty Shades Darker" and "Fifty Shades Freed", and sales of grey ties soared worldwide. My Barnes and Noble sold out of the first book the first day having only recieved a few copies; who knew? Certainly not the publisher because they had to go into a second printing of said first book and women everywhere had to wait impatiently for about three weeks for the next shipment.  I have never experienced anything like the phenomena of this series. Women of all ages are still coming in for this book and reading it in broad daylight (10 million copies sold!). It's a sado-masochistic book and grandma's are reading it! I am sure their men--and the men of all the women who are reading it--are reaping the benefits of this book. And yes, the movie rights have been sold.

So, dear readers, that leads me to list some authors that I think deserve a word-of-mouth shout-out:

1. Jasper Fforde If you want to read something imaginative, funny, and intelligent (meaning, he doesn't insult the reader's intelligence), you have got to read his "Thursday Next" series. Beginning with the book "The Eyre Affair", this series brings you into The Book World: a place where fictional characters move in and out of books and monitor all things fiction and non-fiction. Let the word plays roll!
2. Carlos Ruiz Zafon The third book of his trilogy is not being published in the US until July! I have been waiting forever. The books--in order--are "The Shadow of the Wind", "The Angel's Game" and "The Prisoner of Heaven". His books are a book inside of a book about a book. The first book is set in 1950's Barcelona. A little boy is taken to a place underneath Barcelona where books have been hidden to protect them from being destroyed and/or forgotten (this is during Fascism in Spain). He is told to pick one book from the -illions that he comes across; this is the book he will be responsible for. He chooses the book "The Shadow of the Wind" and becomes curious about the author, who is trying to burn every copy of his own book.
3. Wilkie Collins Mr. Collins was a contemporary and collaborator of Charles Dickens. I became interested in him after slogging through the book "Drood" by Dan Simmons. In Mr. Simmons book, Wilkie Collins is a dope fiend and very jealous of Charles Dickens. I read Mr. Collins' book "The Lady in White" and will eventually be reading "Moonstone". His writing style is much more accessible than Dickens and is one of the few Victorian writers that I will read a second or third time.

So, dear readers, do you have any word-of-mouth authors you'd like to share?

Being Left-Handed

"I'm used to being in the minority. I'm a left-handed gay Jew. I've never felt, automatically, a member of any majority."
Barney Frank

I'm not gay--I think-- and I am not Jewish. But I am a left-handed girl of Sicilian and Polish descent. So, growing up hearing jokes and jibes about  stupid pollocks and dagos in the mafia (these words are demeaning and used for purposes of shock and awe; please NEVER EVER use them),  I think that somewhat like Barney Frank, I also have never automatically felt like a member of any majority.

Being left-handed has influenced my life in many ways. As a child, I conformed to my right-handed family and suffered the excruciating difficulties of learning to write and tie my shoes. I was re-taught to throw with my right hand so I could use my brother's mitt; I blaim this forced-conversion to my inability to aim. In school--and at home--I used right-handed scissors and was labelled as a messy student because I couldn't cut straight. My friend Linda and I were the only lefties in our grade and we were put in the back of the class to teach ourselves penmanship. My papers and hand were always smeared with ink. Unlike Linda, I never perfected the left-hand-rainbow-writing-technique.

As a musician it has come in handy. I have a very strong left hand which my piano teacher just loved. While my peers were playing pretty little pieces composed for long, slender and delicate hands, I was wowing the crowds with thunderous pieces that fit my short, stubby and powerful left hand and equally independent and strong right hand. 

When I was around ten-years-old, my grandmother found out I was left-handed. She had a few issues with the whole southpaw population: she threw herself on the floor, clawed at her face, and said some things in Sicilian that I am pretty sure were not in praise of my uniqueness. Family rumor has it that she stopped her sister from emigrating by telling her they don't allow lefties in America. Now here was the spawn of her daughter. Patty: the personification of evil. There is some justice in that; maybe I was made this way just for that moment, scary as it was. Vindication for my aunt alone and forgotten in Sicily!

And that is how she and others had--and still have--viewed anything left-handed. What brought about this preoccupation with a person's dominant handedness? Let's read some of the superstitions and folklore.

1. The devil is associated with the left hand and is depicted as such in art. He baptises and greats his friends with his left hand. Be careful when you look over your left shoulder because the devil may be there. That's why we throw salt over our left shoulder; to rid the evil spirit lurking there.
2. The right hand of God is the place to be. If you are there, you are one of the sheep, one of the chosen. If you are on the left, you are a goat, one of the fallen.
3. Want to symbolize corruption, shame, or misfortune? Use imagery and words that depict left-ness (my word). Even poor Joan of Arc, as she is shown burning on the stake, was depicted as left-handed just to make sure no one forgets she was evil.
4. Because anything female is scary for men, right hand symbolises man, and left hand symbolises woman.
5. Watch it at the bar! It is bad luck to pass a drink with your left hand. Also make sure to follow a clockwise pattern.
6. Clumsy? You have two left feet. Adept at using both hands? You are ambidextrous which means you have two right hands.

 Now for some modern data.

1. Lefties are more likely to  be schizophrenic, dyslexic, or suffer from Mood Disorders and ADHD. On the positive side, lefties are more capable of divergent thinking.
Scientists think this may be because lefties are more apt to not have a dominant brain hemisphere. Because having one hemisphere is more efficient, when neither one steps up to be in charge, there is more chaos. This leads to all that stuff listed above.

ME: When I was in college, I minored in psychology. As part of this, I had to sign up for student-led experiments as part of my grade. It was almost impossible to find tests I could participate in because they needed to exclude lefties so their data would not be skewed. Why? Because of our divergent thinking! But,at least I am not dyslexic or suffer from schizophrenia...yet. However, I have been diagnosed as being ADHD and suffer from anxiety and depression. None of this is fun, BUT I have found that the way my brain works is kind of cool. I do see things differently than most people do and my lack of having any filter makes for fun times. But my brain feels like an aquarium with only one fish darting around, and that fish's name is Dory. Or, like some guy in a movie so aptly put: it's like my brain is constantly reshuffling the deck...a deck without any cards.

2. Lefties are more accident prone and apt to die earlier than righties.

 Seems we die earlier because we are clumsy. Be it in a car, on a bike or just walking we are more likely to cause mayhem. We therefore have more opportunities to die--you can knock off 9 years from our life expectancy. This may be why we are also so easily scared and more apt to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorders.  Some say it is our distorted depth perception. This world is made all upside down and backwards for us. However, there seems to be data out there that says we are not more accident prone.

ME:  The only time I ever heard my mom laugh to the point of peeing her pants was when she was telling stories about all my falls and concussions. Steps and bikes were my chosen venues although I did get one concussion by passing out and hitting my head on the outside church wall. I can attest to the above "fact" as being true. And until you are left-handed, you never realize how right-handed this world is. Yes you adapt, but every once-in-awhile you let your guard down and WHAM! you're down for the count.You see, we are always having to reverse things; add this into our problems stated in #1, it's no wonder we are always distracted.

3. Living in a right-handed world.
 Yes, it is skewed to the right.

• School supplies: Desks that make us contort and do funny things with our writing hand. And before the invention of quick-drying ink, we made a dirty smudge of our work and perminent black-ink marks on our hand. Scissors with the blades on the wrong side so we have a harder time cutting which makes our stuff look messy.
• Utensils and gadgets: ladles with built in spouts, measuring cups with the measurements written on the wrong side, manual can-openers, knives (especially serated knives), potato peelers, and try using a tape measure left handed: the numbers are all upside down and backwards.
• Eating with righties: I don't mean to make a stereotyped comment here, but my esperiences with dining with righties is that they like to take command of the entire area by sticking their elbows way way out as they eat. I eat with my elbows crammed into my sides and hunched over my plate. If any contact is made, it is usually pointed out that it is my fault because I'm a southpaw.

“Damned infernal gizmo. My kingdom for a left-handed can opener.”
Mr Burns, The Simpsons

Because we are thought of as being creative, I leave you with the words to this song found at: http://www.lefthandersday.com/lefty_lament.html

Left-Handers Lament by Ian Radburn

Now here's the story of my life,
I've had fun but lots of strife,
For I was born left-handed, but I'm proud
To be one of the elite, right-handers we can beat
We're the 10% that stand out from the crowd!
But as a little lad, oh the problems that I had
Winding clockwork toys was just a mystery
Tying laces was a pain, couldn't get it in my brain
Everything was back-to-front it seemed to me

Chorus
We're the Cack-Handed Kings, we're the LEFTIES
You right-handers just haven't got a clue
'Cos if you'd been through what we've been through
Then maybe you would feel superior too!

At 5 I started school where I was treated like a fool
Being left-handed I stood out from the pack
And learning how to write was not a struggle - more a fight
For I had my left hand tied behind my back

"Now get it in your head" the sympathetic teacher said
"You use the right and not the Devil's side"
Those supposed men of vision caused me pain and such derision
Is it any wonder often times I cried?

We're the Gibble Fisted Friends, we're the LEFTIES (repeat chorus)

Time then came when my voice dropped
And my face was one big spot
But I was glad to see my teenage years arrive,
Because I use my left, I was different from the rest
And the girls saw me as something of a prize!
I learned some handy tricks in the back row of the flicks
It used to drive my girlfriends all berserk
For their eyes would keep apace of my right hand - just in case
And they never saw my left one go to work!

We're the Southpawed Princes, we're the LEFTIES (repeat chorus)

Well I'm married now, worst luck
But my wife has given up
Asking me to help with chores like peeling spuds,
Or trying to cut the bread, I'll get a 4 x 2" wedge
Lose three fingertips and half a pint of blood
I would love to be a dad, but we've hit a little snag
If you can help please tell us what to do
The problem simply said, is that I'm a left-hand thread
But my wife you see, now she's a right-hand .....OH, YES WE'RE THE
Scrummy-Handed Heroes, we're the LEFTIES (repeat chorus)

Now we reach today, where you stand and watch me play
And yes, I play right-handed it is true
For the very simple fact is that I've had to adapt
Something all we southpaws have to try and do

We have trouble tying ties, writing cheques out, using knives
and scissors made for use in your right hand
And when it comes to sport once again we are left short
In hockey and in polo we are banned

We're the Cuddy Wifter Winners, we're the LEFTIES (repeat chorus)

Now I've finished off my song and as you move along
Please bear in mind the things I've had to say
And please show some respect for your friends who use the left
Thanks for listening to me this Left-Handers Day.  (Left-Handers Day is August 13).
Copyright: Ian Radburn, 2004

Sincerity and Dismissiveness

 There is one phrase that never fails to infuriate me: "That person has way too much time on their hands". This is usually said in response to something they have read about or seen on their computer or television that relates to anything artsy, obscure,  unconventual or odd. I embrace the artsy, the obscure, the unconventual and the odd; it is what makes us neat. It is what makes us, well, us.

We sometimes forget that everything around us that is manmade started out as an idea first--an idea that grew out of the imagination. Be it inane or sensible, it is created by human ingenuity. How fantastic! How can anyone be dismissive to that?

My favorite story about this is when George Frideric Handel composed his famous oratorio The Messiah way back in 1741.  We should all be familiar with the Hallelujah Chorus; I have put in a link where you could listen to it and read about why it is powerful:  http://www.npr.org/2008/12/23/98517850/the-pure-power-of-handels-hallelujah-chorus.

 There is that part where it just gets higher and higher and higher and higher. Well, during rehearsals, it went so high that the singers of the time could not sing it and it caused alot of people to get really pissed off at Handel. He had the audacity to go against the practices and musical conventions of the time. But that straining sound was just what he wanted; he wanted to personify the need for mankind to push and reach for God. He had a vision and a sound that he wanted: he wanted to exalt God and push our emotional buttons. And he didn't give up and no matter what your beliefs are, if you aren't moved by that piece of music, you are stone-cold and heartless.

Handel was sincere in what he was making and not only has it withstood time--almost 300 years, people--it was important to the evolution of music and culture. And he was willing to fight the egos and powers that be to maintain his integrity and sincerity. Could you imagine the piece without it?  Thank you, Mr. Handel.

So I say, HIP HIP HOORAY to all these people. People who:

1. Make movies that star Vincent Price or have names like "Donovan's Brain" and "House on Haunted Hill".
2. Make houses out of beer cans, grain bins, junk and broken glass.
3. Make art with food,  sand,  and buildings. Visit http://www.squidoo.com/oddart for some neat stuff to look at.
4. Started and run the Mutter Museum. That's the one with all the flayed human bodies.
5. Invent things and those who sacrificed for them. People like the Wright Brothers, Madam Curie, Leonardo Da Vinci, the Silly Putty guy and the Post-It Note guy.
6. Maintain the little kid inside, especially when they are really a little kid.

So, next time you experience a beautifully decorated cupcake, view art made out of books, listen to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, watch "Planet of the Vampires" or read Thomas Pynchon, remember that you are given a gift of someone's imagination and sincerity. You don't need to like it, but you do need appreciate the human spirit.

The Holy Library

I love books. I love their smell, their binding, and their heft in my hand. And yes, I often judge a book by its cover; some are just more interesting than others. At the end of this blog I have put in a link to a game; see if you can name the book by its cover.

This obsession with books began at a young age. In grade school, I would get all excited when the bookmobile would come, and impatiently wait outside for my turn to enter this cramped and wobbly library-on-wheels. When the Scholastic Book fliers would be handed out, I felt like I had received a catalog for Tiffany's, with each page boasting more exotic treasures than the previous. Page one:  Are you my Mother?; Frog and Toad; Velveteen Rabbit. Page two: Bread and Jam for Frances; Corduroy; Where the Wild Things Are. Page three: Caps for Sale; Little House on the Prairie; Wind in the Willows. Page four: Johnny Tremain; A Wrinkle in Time; Charlotte's Web. I'd scrape up or "borrow" enough money to buy something. But the truth is, I never read them; I just wanted them. I was a covetter.

On Saturday's, my dad would bring me to the Solon Public Library, a very sacred place to me. The doors to this brick rectangle opened into a wide hallway with display cases and bathrooms to the left. After getting a drink from the water fountain--that holy water was always satisfyingly cold!--we'd enter through the second set of doors and into the inner sanctum.

 It was like entering a Catholic Church complete with priests, altar, rituals, and contrivances.

• The Priests: Unlike those in the Pope-led Catholic Church, these priest's were women. Non-smiling women. Women who held the power. Women in polyester dresses.
• The altar and Ritual #1: Completely cut off from the congregation by a 3 foot horseshoe counter. Here you would approach the librarian with your pile of books to return either sin-free, or to ask for absolution:
•  Me: "Bless me, Librarian, for I have sinned. I have three overdue books."
• And receive penance. Librarian: "Give me fifteen cents and promise to never overdue again."
• The Contrivances:
• The Library Card: Tangible proof of your Baptismal Rite of Initiation
• The Take-Out Slip: Pocketed in the back of the book and presented during Offertory.
• Ritual # 2: The Blessing and Dismissal.

Our library was one big room with a row of tall book cases separating the kid's section from the not-kid's section. Dad would drop me off in the former and then go hang out in the latter. I can still conjure up its smells, colors, and textures. I'd go from right to left, removing books willy-nilly from the shelves based on my criteria of thier smell and cover art. Hardbacks with those plastic cover-protectors exclusive to libraries, were my favorites. I would avoid the wretched weathered and wrinkled paperbacks. My choices ranged from picture books to teen fiction. Stack in hand, I would go to the not-kid section to find my dad reading maps and reference books. When he was ready we'd go check out.

And there, at Ritual #2, I'd pull out the slips from the back of the books and use the midget pencil to inscribe my name: Patricia Krasowski. This was proof for the ages that I existed; that I was a member of this church, this denomination of readers! Although I was a poser, someone more intrigued by the accoutrement's of the religion and not its beliefs, I knew deep in my heart they understood but still accepted me. This is a very 1970's notion, by the way.

But our morning was not over:

• Ritual #3: The Tavern. After leaving the library, Dad would take me to the Tavern where we would partake of Communion. A Beer for him and Coke--in a bottle!--and pretzels for me.

PLAY THE BOOK COVER GAME!
 http://www.sporcle.com/games/g/bookcovers

The Farm

When I was a kid, Sunday usually meant a trip to The Farm. I always thought this trip took an hour-and-a-half until recently when I googled a map, traced the route and found out it was only a 45 minute drive; I had doubled the hell. Obviously, this was not a trip I looked forward to.

 I was--and am--prone to being motion sick. All you had to do was say "We are going to The Farm" for me to start sweating. We'd all pile into the car: three in back, Mom and Dad in front. As the youngest I would have to sit in the middle, the coveted window seats called for by my older brother and sister. They would make themselves comfortable--sprawl--and I was not to touch them.

Uncomfortable and crabby, I'd begin getting motion sick as soon as we backed out of the driveway. My dad would drive (insert favorite line from Mom: "You know I don't drive"). Going down hills would claim my stomach, curves took my brain, and lurches would suck out the last of my resolve. Soon, I'd have to stick my head in the paper-bag my mom had lined with a plastic bag, always at the ready (the stiffness of the paper bag made it a reliable receptacle and the plastic bag made for ease of disposal). To this day I suffer a Pavlovian response to the smell of paper bags.

The second reason was everyone on The Farm scared the shit out of me. Except for Tipper and Princess. They were the two dogs I remember the most, probably because they lasted longer than any other dogs after getting hit repeatedly by cars. They smelled really bad and had matted fur full of burrs. But they were happy, and bouncy, and Tipper would sit on me when I sat on the floor. I think they were angels sent by God. That's one of the reasons I love dogs.

My Uncle Tony and grandparents lived on The Farm. It was my uncle's farm, but my grandparents came to live with him. The story of my uncle's move to The Farm is a legend of Shakespearean proportions.

First, the legend:
ME: After much planning, Uncle Tony runs away from his home on Green Road in the dead of night. He tells his secret plans to no one except my mom. He absconds from the Cleveland home he shares with his parents, and moves to his own personal Idaho: West Farmington, Ohio, an Amish area not far from the Pennsylvanian border. A few weeks later, my grandparents show up unannounced and unwanted on his doorstep, bags in hand, and ready to move in with their forty-year-old adolescent.

Now, the damper as applied by my sister:
PAULA: They had put the house in Cleveland on the market before he moved and it was assumed that Nani and Nano--that's what we call our Sicilian grandparents--would join him later.

The truth, somewhere in the middle:
MICHAEL: Although I like my story better, I thought I'd ask my brother. Paula and I both partially right: the house in Cleveland was put on the market, but Uncle Tony was making his move for freedom which wound up being very short lived.

So back to why The Farm scared the shit out of me: Uncle Tony, Nano, and Nani.

Uncle Tony picked on me--and probably others--constantly. Yes, I was told that this was his way of showing affection, but it was mean-spirited and personal. In retrospect, I can now see he probably felt very impotent, and I don't mean in the way you may be taking it. It's just the best word I can think of to describe what he must have felt like; he never got to be the bachelor farmer he wanted to be, he never was able to sever the ties. But at age 6+, I didn't know that, and it does little to erase the sour memories and feelings of my own impotence.

Nano and Nani never really learned English. I never knew what they were saying, even when they were using English words, and I was too scared to ever approach them. I only remember Nano from after he had his stroke. He gave up on life at that point and what I remember the most is him in his wheelchair reading the newspaper and saying he was going to die. Nani had some mental issues. When she found out I was left-handed, she threw herself to the ground and began flailing, speaking gibberish, and clutching at her hair and face (I later learned she told her left-handed sister back in Sicily that they didn't allow left-handed people in America). I also have memories of her killing chickens--for food, not demonic reasons--in the yard, and me helping her make sausage  in the dark, damp, and smelly basement.

There were some things that were fun about visiting The Farm:

• The hay loft in the barn
• Picking berries in the fields behind The Farm
• A fleeting memory of a free-wheeling jeep trip in the mud 
• The man-made pond behind the new house (the original home was a century home and was moved; very cool) which we called The Lake
• My dad taking me to the general store in town to buy an Archie comic book and sample Baby-Swiss cheese

I also remember some quirky things:

• Helping Nani feed the sheets through the mangler: a hand-cranked machine with rollers to remove water and eat fingers
• Ice that tasted like Romano cheese
• Undrinkable water because of the iron content
• The cookie drawer with ginger snaps in brown paper bags and Archway molasses and windmill cookies
• The dining room table's pedestal that was carved like a lion (this is where the left-handed incident took place)
• Nani's collection of 1930's  ceramic lady heads
• The train track and late night trains

When the visit was over, we would return home. I would get car-sick the minute the car left the gravel driveway. I'd always look for Mosquito Lake because I thought this meant we were almost home, only to be repeatedly reminded by everyone in the car that we weren't. The same hills, curves, and lurches would attack me and I would be handed another Mom-made barf bag. Soon, I would desperately crave something salty and potato-ee. So when we got home, I'd lay on the couch with my head and stomach swirling, and my dear sweet, dad would go to McDonald's--we never ate at McDonald's!--and get me french fries. Dad was an angel sent by God. That's one reason why I love my dad.

You may be wondering why I call it "The Farm". Well, that was what we all called it, caps included. It was like an institution, an historic site. A place that really didn't belong to us, but we belonged to it. I wonder if this is what Uncle Tony felt.

Why, Oh Why, do I Listen to NPR?

I listen to NPR every morning on my way to work. I love the blend of stories and news as well as the incidental music and sound effects. Don't you enjoy listening to the sounds of the wind and walking that accompany many of their stories? Even the names of their reporters are eclectic, exotic, and musical: Lakshmi Singh, Soraya Sarhaddi Nelson, Andrei Codrescu, Rene Montagne, Korva Coleman and Mara Liasson, just to name a few.

But every once-in-awhile, they report a story about something I never heard of or dreamt of, and I get all steamed up. That is what happened to me this morning. The story was about virginity tests of Egyptian women who were arrested for protesting in Cairo.

To paraphrase: Seven detained women were brought into a room populated by a doctor and several inappropriate and unnecessary male soldiers. They were stripped and penetrated by some unnamed object to see if their hymens bled. The reason it was reported is that these women came forward and the case was brought before the military court which--you guessed it--found no wrong doing. The ruling  basically said it never happened. To read more, please visit: http://www.npr.org/2012/03/29/149547892/egyptian-activists-push-to-end-military-trials

Reality-check time: a test like this can be accurate. Normal physical activity,day to day living, and tampon use can break a hymen. Also, not all women are born with one. And besides being degrading, it's illegal in many countries and IS CONSIDERED A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION BY AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL.
 
There aseems to be three main reasons the testing is done:

1.  Prevention of disease and pregnancy The logic is that if a girl has a hymen, she is not able to spread HIV or be pregnant. If you are a cynic--like me--you may see this as a way for some men to find little girls to have sex with or to sell into sex-slavery.
2.  Royal Affirmation One must be a virgin and be certified to dance before the king.
3. Immigration Until 1979, the United Kingdom still did these tests. The logic is virgins were more likely to tell the truth about why they wanted to live in the UK.

So what were these Egyptian guys looking for with the virginity test? I couldn't find the answer. Nor was I able to find out:

1. What would be done with the information? Do they receive stiffer sentencing if  there is no blood?
2. Do  the women received any documantation as to their virginal status? For example,if they were able to cause a woman to bleed, does she receive a certificate of authenticity?
3. How often can you test a girl? And will this give her a pass on any other virginity testing she may be subjected to in the future?
4.  What are the age parameters? If a girl of 12 doesn't pass, do they use the information to investigate for possible rape?

The NPR article only stated that it's a remnant of the past. Again, the cynic in me is sure it is done for some very sick and private reasons on the men's--ahem--part.

 Here are some other examples of the ways girls and women are abused:

• Rape
• Sex Trafficking
• Genital Mutilation
• Dowry Deaths
• Honor Killings
• Forced Sterilization
• Femicide (killing female babies)
• Early and forced Marriages
• Maltreatment of Widows

Please read the following for more information on violence against women:
http://www.humanrightsimpact.org/fileadmin/hria_resources/R4C/Mapping_VAW.pdf

In the USA, we don't think this happens because this all sounds extreme. However, our culture has become so inured and desensitized that we don't give it a second thought. But there are many ways a culture can abuse its girls and women.

Some timely and relevant examples that are a less exotic:

• The male dominated decision making concerning women and our "issues".
• Sexualization of little girls
• Violence against women in movies, television, games
• Verbal assaults 

So, NPR, thanks alot for bringing all this reality to me. I should have stuck with listening to my oldies station.

Happy, Smiley, Shiny Things

I wish certain words and phrases would just go away. These are banal, insulting, trite words like:
             
Baby Mama                                       24/7   

                                Have a good one                Sperm Donor

                                                             Bitch                                                  Whatever     Closure                                                                      Literally
                                                                                                         Baby Bump
                       Uber                                      Hypocrite
                                 

 Other words and phrases should be said more often. These are happy, smiley, shiny words like:

       Thank you                                             I love you
                         Marshmallow
                                                                       Sorry                You're welcome

Lemur                                                         Can I help you?    
                                              Serendipity                 conundrum

But some of my most favorite words are the ones I grew up with. These are cultural, made up, mispronounced words like:

Snudik   A piece of string. Used as a term of endearment and for talking about a piece of string.
Sentence: Excuse me, sir, but there is a snudik on your pants.

Bacowsa A word I thought was Sicilian for bathroom, but was really my grandfather's thickly accented English. He was saying "Back of the House", which meant the outhouse behind the house. That was what he would say to indicate the bathroom, so I guess it's not too far off.
Sentence: Excuse me, sir, but can you point me to the bacowsa?   
 
Prutt  This is an actual Swedish word. It means fart. Take THAT you disbelievers.
Sentence: Excuse me, sir, but did you just prutt?

There are so many more, but I will leave you with this last one:
Schatzi Treasure. Used in our family as a term of endearment, and most often my Aunt Sophie.

Her Sentence: Eat, schatzi, eat.
                                



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