I'm super excited about men's book club next week.
Our book is I Ain't Got Time To Bleed, by Jesse Ventura. Being a writer, I insist on grammatically correcting it to Do I Have Time To Bleed? No, and Arnie is a Pussy.
Imagine being bold enough to write about your manopause. Ironically, or maybe not, this is the time of Jesse's finest acting, before he was abducted by aliens and his brain replaced with an expired Brita filter.
Last week we critiqued the dictionary, which I felt was overwritten and in huge need of a quality editor. And that was only reading to the letter F. It's not just too wordy. It's too lettery.
In the summer we are studying Goop Clean Beauty by the one and only Gwyneth Paltrow. It's at my house and I'm just so not sure what kind of scented candles I'll choose.
My favourite so far has been The Unibomber Manifesto. Not an easy read, but worth the trouble, plus I was puke drunk when I read it.
