Sexless in the City


Sometimes reading romance novels doesn’t quite prepare you for a love life...

For this 30-year-old urbanite, love is always a misadventure: The Harvard Lickwit, Hippie the Groper, the 5% Man, and the Ad Weasel. These and many other men wander in and out of her life — but never her bed.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

Beating loneliness and evil could start with a movie ticket

Regardless of the scale of publication, one of the interesting things about making and sharing any kind of art is the reaction you get from your audience. Sometimes the difference between an artist’s espoused intent and viewers’ perceptions has led to conflict (I think of Serrano or, more recently, Renee Cox). Other times, it can provide illumination of certain themes the artist him- or herself may have overlooked. Thus, in my case, a friend’s observation that Sexless is a book about the search for community. It’s not exactly how I have been describing the book, but once she put it that way, I saw her point.

If your experience is anything like mine, one of the reasons you long for relationship and/or marriage may be a desire to put down roots and establish some kind of solidity in your community. Since not even most of our job commitments last more than a few years, marriage is probably one of the last remaining relational contracts we enter with the expectation — or at least hope — of relative permanence. Lacking such agreements, one’s social life can feel as stable as several unconnected buoys sharing little more than proximity. If the water gets choppy, they can’t provide any ballast to each other. Personally, I find that rather stressful — one of the reasons I try to maintain relationships with more than just my fellow single professionals.

Thankfully, I attend a church made up of many young families, couples and students. While we’re still working on the gray-haired contingent, at least we have some relational diversity. In the interest of trying to foster more community among we single folk, though, a few of us have also started organizing monthly socials that aim to foster more community than romance. We find that by keeping things open to both single folks and young married couples, and providing a low-key structure for each event, it provides a safe place to interact with those in a similar life stage, without things slipping into a yucky “meet market” atmosphere.

It’s also been a great way to come together for a purpose greater than just our own relational needs. One month the event was a beer benefit for cancer research; next month we hope to find a venue for holiday-related service of some sort. While all these events have been based on the local calendar, this month the cause is human trafficking, and the event that we’re supporting is the release of a movie you too can attend, if you live in Atlanta, Austin, Boston, Chicago, Dallas, Denver, Los Angeles, Minneapolis, Nashville, Orange County, Portland, Redwood City, San Diego, San Francisco, San Jose, Seattle or Washington, DC.

That movie is Call+Response, a groundbreaking rockumentary that uses songs by musicians such as Moby, Matisyahu, Imogen Heap, Natasha Bedingfield and others — as well as interviews with the likes of Cornel West and Madeline Albright — to expose the world’s multi-billion dollar human trafficking industry.



Personally, I’ve found the numbers a little overwhelming until recently, when I read an excellent four-part series from the San Francisco Chronicle, that followed one young Korean woman’s journey into debt and then prostitution in Los Angeles and San Francisco, after she was trafficked. You Mi’s story — set in city blocks I walk near or through almost every day — really made this issue real for me.



If you live in one of those cities, and go see Call+Response this weekend, your ticket could help propel the film to a deal for national distribution. If you don’t live in one of those cities, tell friends who do about it. And no matter where you live, visit notforsalecampaign.org to learn how you can join the 21st abolitionist movement.

For unmarried people in the church, the shape of relational life and commitments may look a bit different than it does for married people, but our call to lives of service and self-sacrifice is no different. If we focused more of our energy on the needs of others than on the sex and intimacy we’re lacking at present, who knows how much such service could do for our loneliness and longing for community? Whether it’s doing your part to fight human trafficking, or volunteering to babysit for friends who won’t be able to have a date night without you, a role for you is out there. Find it, and you may receive far more than you give.

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Monday, August 04, 2008

Berkeley event tonight! (And other good ways to spend a Monday)

For those of you in the area, I wanted to make sure you know about tonight’s event in downtown Berkeley.
Aug. 4 Berkeley 7 p.m.
Part of the Christ Church Berkeley Summer Salon Series
Gaia Arts Center, 2120 Allston Way
BART stop: Downtown Berkeley
And if you live in SF or New York, fear not! More events are coming your way this fall. Check the book website for more details as the dates get closer.

As to other ways to spend your Monday ... I recently heard of a very cool group of folks who are fasting and praying each Monday “for God to bring husbands to women who want to be married (and wives to men), for God to work in us to change what needs to be changed, and for God to work in men, doing all he needs to do to enable them to be men who can love, serve and commit to a woman.”

In all my days of reading folks like Josh Harris and Elisabeth Elliot, I honestly can’t say I’ve heard of something this practical, obedient and exciting. (Readers of the book will know the role that fasting has played for me in the past when it comes to major decisions.) Not that by taking this extra step we can somehow manipulate God into giving us what we want, of course, but this really seems like a can’t-lose act of obedience and trust.

Email me for details if you’d like to join the group’s weekly email list.

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Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Things that make me miss New York

What’s that, you say? This blog’s been so quiet, you worried that I had gotten injured or married?

Nothing like that exactly has happened, but somehow since the book came out, it’s been harder to keep scribbling posts about the spinster life, much less with the candor I used to have. And there have also been various projects, family things ... yadda, yadda, yadda.

Now and then, though, I do manage to squeeze some reading in, though it’s long since eclipsed my knitting as the ultimate leisure activity. One of my occasional reads, thanks to a peculiar email subscription that suddenly started more than two years after my year of getting the New York Observer for free in the mail ended is said paper’s online version.

It’s not as common as the city tabloids, but neither is it as literary and self-important as the Times. And sometimes, the faintly gossipy tone they take with almost all subjects lends itself to nostalgia-inspiring stories of New York quirks, such as these two from a recent issue:

And speaking of the subway, I was utterly delighted with this creative illustration of two New York tots’ ardent passion for all things transit. Did I mention how delightful it was?

Finally, if you haven’t yet picked up the book, it’s now on sale at Amazon (if you want your copy brand-new) or deeply discounted as a used copy. And if you have got the book, don’t forget I’ll send signed bookplates (until they run out) to you and a friend if you want to give it as a gift. Just email me for further details.

Have a happy, safe holiday! And if you’re going to enjoy the fireworks, be EyeSmart.

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Mid-week reading trifecta

For those either curious or desperately bored on this Wednesday, there were a few new articles on the book this weekend, with especially nice turns by The Oklahoman and the
Tampa Tribune.

And for something a bit more original, check out my new post on the Radiant blog “The Pulse”: a look at Baby Mama, Iron Man, movie sex scenes and what I call “the lost art of implication.”

Happy Wednesday!

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Saturday, May 24, 2008

Sexless in the City Readers’ Guide

Like most of you, I hope (at least those reading in the U.S.), I’m enjoying the Memorial Day holiday this weekend, so don’t know how much blogging that will result in. Nonetheless, I did want to briefly announce a new resource now online at the Doubleday website: a readers’ guide for Sexless in the City.

If you’re thinking of suggesting the book to your reading group, or would like some questions to think about as you digest what you’ve read, it’s a great resource. And as always, don’t forget that you can also find all the songs quoted in the book in the Sexless soundtrack, and browse the books and albums referenced in the Sexless Amazon store.

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Friday, May 16, 2008

New Radiant post: ‘The Vicarious Pleasures of Courage’

I’m off to San Diego this weekend, so don’t know if I’ll have time for a full post here, but my latest piece for Radiant’s blog “The Pulse” is now up, this one musing on Eat, Pray, Love. What do cobras have to do with eating pizza and accidentally drowning lizards in your coffee? Read the post and find out.

Also, don’t forget that for a few days more, you can still take 15% off one item at BarnesandNoble.com -- a great way to save even more when you buy Sexless. And until I run out of bookplates, I’ll send a signed pair to every reader who wants to share the book with a friend.

Happy weekend! Hope it’s not as hot where you are as it is here!

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Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Train designers help improve brassieres?

Just saw this article in Newsweek, and one quote was too awesome to keep to myself:

One U.K.-based bra company, Charnos, even brought on a team of industrial designers, putting the same concepts they use to design trains to work on designing a properly supportive bra.
The story goes on to say, “Another London firm, Seymour Powell, scanned several hundred women using machinery normally used on automobiles to gather data on breast shape and form, then it developed a plastic molding to replace the uncomfortable and ill-fitting underwire that has dominated the market for decades.”

All this notwithstanding, the author soberly concludes: “While such advances are impressive, there remains no El Dorado of the bra world.”

Ah, to have an assignment like that, and the chance for such deadpan reportage. The author must be the belle of writer cocktail parties this week!

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Buy Sexless from BN.com and save 15%!

In case you haven’t bought your copy of Sexless in the City yet, you can take 15% off the cover price now through May 19 when you buy it from Barnes and Noble and use code Y8Y8E9R.

Already got it? Here’s an offer for you too. If you like the book enough that you’d like to share it with a friend as a graduation/Memorial Day/kick-off-your-summer-beach-reading gift, write me with both of your names and your address, and I’ll send a signed bookplate for both you and your friend ... until my bookplate copies run out. I wish I could offer to come sign the books in person, but at this point there’s no book tour planned, so I can’t guarantee when I’m likely to next be in your city.

Don’t forget we also have a select number of copies to give out to people who want to join the Sexless street team by helping spread the word about the book and its soundtrack, suggesting your book club read it (if you’re in one) and so on. Tell us how you could creatively let people know about the book, and we’ll send you a copy (while supplies last).

Lastly, if you’re done with the book, but curious about all the songs and books I quote in it, I’ve compiled a handy reference list of all the authors and artists to whom my book owes such a debt.

Thanks for reading!

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Sunday, April 27, 2008

New Radiant post: ‘I See, I See, I See, Thus I Believe’

It turns out I can’t simul-post what I write for The Pulse, but if you’re curious how what I learned from the movies about wearing shoes relates to John Cusack, my recent TV segment on parental sex talks and a college class on courtship and marriage, read on. Post theme: how exactly do we learn what sex looks like? Comments always welcome, either here or there.

I hope, by the way, that The Pulse won’t be the only context for the sort of essays I launched this blog with, but I’m certainly in a transition at present. Having a charter to write what I think about “art, film, literature and music” (as has been given me with this chance to write for The Pulse) feels vastly more inspiring, lately, than coming back with some variation on the same old “still sexless” posts I've been doing for ... um ... about four years — especially since all this book craziness leaves little time to even check my eHarmony account, much less squeeze in a date. That said, I do have a couple ideas I hope to find time to write in the next week or so. Which reminds me ...

A writing assignment for readers
Whether you bought your copy of Sexless at a neighborhood store or from an online vendor like BN.com or Amazon, don’t forget that you can support the book by writing a brief review at one of the aforementioned websites [insert big, persuasive, toothy grin here]. Thanks!!

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Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Sexless in stores today!

I'll be picking the winner of the contest after a good night’s sleep to recover from doing my taxes, so if you haven’t blogged yet, you can take advantage of the extended submission deadline. Entries accepted until I first check email tomorrow morning.

Already entered? Then take a look around the book’s brand-new website, www.sexlessinthecity.net.

In other news, I discovered during a.m. resucitation attempts today that Starbucks has launched another free music promotion (woohoo!). This time they’re giving away a new free song every Tuesday; today’s is one by Counting Crows.

Finally, if you’re a blogger who wants to post your email address online more securely, my friend and fabulous web designer, Joe, tipped me off to this email-encoding resource. (Not that I’ve started using it, mind you, but it’s nice to know about.)

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Sunday, April 13, 2008

New Radiant post: ‘Readings, Writing and a Wedding Parallel’

Still haven’t gotten word whether I can simul-post entries or not, so if you want to hear my take on a recent Mary Roach reading (complete with signs for certain sex-ed-class words and anatomical cakes), have a read. Besides, you wouldn’t think any of that would have some connection to a 17th-century poem and a recent chick-flick with that Knocked Up star, now would you? But it does ...

And don’t forget, you have until Tuesday to enter to win one of five signed copies of Sexless in the City! New details added on how you can do so even without a blog.

Lastly, after a shamefully long wait to follow through, I finally picked the winners of the chocolate-chip cookie prize for those who responded to my reader poll ... um, almost two years back. The winners are readers Elaina and Tiye (email me if you didn’t get your congratulatory email with details on how to claim your prize). And since said winner selection required the development of a highly scientific process involving Singaporean post-it notes, I am happy to report there should be no such delays in picking the winner of this contest (besides which, it’s far easier to sign books than bake a batch of cookies from scratch).

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Thursday, March 20, 2008

More on girlspeak/guyspeak translation woes and what marriage does for your health

I don’t plan to make recommended reads the substance of this blog, but when making chowder collides with finishing a bottle of Chimay and putting the final touches on yet another op-ed draft (as it did last night), I’m left with just the latest interesting headlines to share. (Besides, as I think Andrew Sullivan once said, bloggers are the “sherpas of the internet.”)

Today’s reads:

And as an unrelated announcement ...

Have any new, unused makeup or jewelry you don’t need?
A friend of mine is collecting donations of these and other items girls love -- all new, of course -- for a gift bag project. Donations need to be mailed by April 3; contact me for more details if you’re interested. No excuses, now; I know you must have at least some gift-with-purchase you’re never going to use ...

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Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Anna and the Sergeant: Dreams are made of eucalyptus, part 2

Missed the first part? Catch up!

________

Mumbai, Fall 2007

After a trip to a chemist right down the street from my friend’s rather shockingly priced rented room (evidently not marked up due to our whiteness, unlike most street food and many other things), I tracked down a bottle of eucalyptus oil and a small plastic-wrapped roll of cotton.

By the time I got back to my friend’s place and realized Sargie had never precisely described the exact application of the oil, I found myself starting to think of John Cusack’s oh-so-glam Q-tip use in Better Off Dead. Hotness, for sure.

While I was hardly there to add myself to the local queue for arranged marriages, much less attempt intercontinental flirting, stuffing my orifices with cotton seemed a bit desperate. Which I clearly was by this point, just not that desperate. Yet.

Instead, since my friend had been recommending I try out some fabulous sauna down the street, wherein one evidently sweat out all the dutifully drunk bottled water in one’s system while breathing in lungfuls of eucalyptus-laden steam, I decided to go for a more homegrown steam bath.

In truth I did attempt to inhale
Although my friend’s rent did not apparently cover kitchen access, like all practical travelers abroad, she had a hot pot for boiling water. After finding a bowl big enough to serve as a “bath,” I plugged in the pot and waited to see if Sargie’s oil would do any magic.

Once I was carefully huddled over the bowl, attempting to hold a small towel over my head, without spilling the steaming water on my lap, I dumped in some oil, and then a little more just for good measure.

Well, so maybe it was a lot more. It’s likely the pigeons that normally roamed the ledge outside the open windows (and left their germy fluff on my toiletries in the bathroom each morning) had started shuffling toward a less-cleansing perch, but I was too busy coughing to notice. Lean too close to the bowl (and by close I mean less than 12 inches), and I could suddenly feel the steam pricking my eyeballs, tickling my throat and basically opening up or provoking everything but my confounded sinuses.

Evidently, when in India, one must do what all the locals do — which certainly isn’t treating sinusitis (as the ayurvedic doctor called it) with cotton bits and the oil preferred by one northern European father. Hence a week-long adventure in swallowing the various unknown but speckled pills I got from the doctor and which I hoped bore only a superficial resemblance to dung or mud.
I’ll never know exactly what was in them, but at least the shooting sinus pains never came back. If only I could have said the same for the pigeons and their morning bathroom “gift.”

The proof is in the stuffing?
Ah, but Sargie. If you’ve been reading closely, you’re probably wondering why all this makes me grateful for him, no? Well, in what may perhaps prove that even the weirdest of my recent adventures in dating could yet have copper in not silver linings, one day months after my Mumbai trip I woke up with another sinus headache. And while I had full access to a kitchen, stove and tea kettle, let’s just say I was short on time.

And who knew? It turns out if you dab a little oil on some cotton and tell yourself Cusack was hot no matter what he was saying — or, more importantly, doing — you start to get a taste of Sargie’s folk cure. For I found myself strangely grateful.
________

Now then: as to those yet-unredeemed dates mentioned (which I hear some of you want reports on), I certainly could tell a tale or two, but for the time being, I don’t like to be a girl who dates and blogs. I can however promise a few reports from my weekend ditch-your baggage party and hopefully news of a forthcoming double crazy blind date. Stay tuned!

In the meantime, if you’re looking for more things to read, check out a V-day article I was quoted in, a recent review of this blog in San Francisco magazine, or pre-order your copy of Faith on the Edge, a forthcoming essay collection from GodSpy that includes my essay, “Confessions of an Undercover Virgin.”

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Thursday, February 07, 2008

Some entertaining, interesting research

I’m still waiting for time and energy to align in my schedule such that I can write pt. 2 of “Anna and the Sergeant,” but in the meantime thought I’d share these two stories my housemate kindly alerted me to:
Interestingly, the first story seems to confirm one take-away from my new favorite book (How to Avoid Marrying a Jerk): “The good doesn’t always last, but the bad usually gets worse.” Commendably, while some might be inclined to read the marriage study as a discouraging finding, the authors note that it may just be an indication of the couple’s growing intimacy and increased willingness to be themselves. For some reason this also makes me think of the piece in this week’s Newsweek on how our nearly pathological efforts to treat and avoid sadness may not be so healthy.

Back in a bit!

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Friday, January 25, 2008

Anna and the Sergeant: Dreams are made of eucalyptus

A head cold is an admittedly odd reason to feel some gratitude for a long-ago, tongue-pierced suitor, but when said date was the one to inform you of eucalyptus oil’s powerfully curative properties, even the boob job he’d bought his “ex” (in an ill-fated effort to boost her self-esteem, or so he claimed) becomes the sort of endearing quirk that makes you sigh, “Ah, Sargie,” laugh and shake your head. (Yes, that sentence weighed in at 71 words, thank you.)

Sargie wasn’t really his name, of course — in fact, he had a such unusual one, I still sometimes wish I weren’t committed to pseudonyms — but somehow or other, a similarly shortened version of St. Ex-cessories’ real name had previously wound up on my shoulder, in a short-term tattoo scratched with eye pencil for my Halloween guise of stripper one year. (Ironically, that costume predated the early-20s bender of secular dating I went on, in a sort of rebound from being so shattered by Married Man’s being, well, married. Yes, you can get more back-story in the book.)

And when I met Sarge at the bar one night in grad school, he talked well enough that I chose to overlook his tongue ring, highly tricked out Jeep (all of which accessories he swore were vital to its optimal operation) … and the various other details that moved from being eccentricities to deal breakers in a matter of three dates.

Maybe the fact that I’d once gone around a party with a nickname version of his name writ as evidence of some prior, ill-fated “fling” had something to do with it. Or maybe I sensed that behind the avid first-impression conversation (which he later claimed was like running his brain in the “red zone,” a place he’d rather our physical contact went), was the sort of valuable homeopathic insight that would one day take on the sinus scourge of my second trip to India.

I don’t remember how it came up, except that I think I got sick the month of our dates. So one night Sgt. Ex-cessories helpfully mentioned that his dad used to have him put eucalyptus oil up his nose during head colds, which he claimed promptly caused all germs, junk and who knows what other fluids to promptly eject themselves from said stuffed-up orifice. Charming, no?

But charming or not, in an hour of desperation in Mumbai — either shortly before or after my equally desperate visit to an ayurvedic doctor who performed acupressure, some treatment with a heat lamp and played an unsettling meditation chant from an elephant plug-in — I remembered Sargie and the oil.

My head had been putting me through such misery that the needle-like pains in my temples sometimes drew spontaneous tears, an experience that was into its second or third day since my departure for Mumbai. Our first treatment had been tracking down the Indian black-market version of Sudafed — made with the real stuff, not the nearly impotent phenyl-whatever — and had taken us three or four chemists to find (the local version of a corner drugstore).

This worked quite nicely at first, but less than 24 hours into the treatment, the more capricious, black-market side of the pill introduced itself — as if it perched there beside me in bed, fearlessly gulping unboiled local water, and laughed when I pointed to my temple ordering, “Sinuses, NOW!”

“What, you think my work is clinically proven or something? I’m just a pill in foil packets that some unknown pilot or flight attendant dropped by the chemist for God knows what reward.” Wink, wink. That’s probably when I remembered the claim that oil of eucalyptus might cause, well, a disgusting flow of discharge, but one that just might open my sinuses, stop the pain, and allow me to sort of enjoy my vacation. In short, it might be a miracle cure.


Did I find it? Did it work? Did I manage to live in sinus happiness ever after? Check back next week for the thrilling conclusion to Anna and the Sergeant: Dreams are made of eucalyptus.

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Wednesday, January 09, 2008

E-dating week 5: Gambling on love?

So I’ve got a little confession to make: I’m not quite sure what Kenny Rogers’ advice on gambling means, or how it applies to life, but I might be about to embark on a little romantic roulette beyond the blind date blackjack I played a few weeks ago. (Is that enough cheesy gambling references yet? Yes? Good.)

Can buy me love?
Yes, I might be about ready to plunk down cash for a dating service. I didn’t have to do it with the first one, since their two free trial periods were sufficient time for most of the guys I met on there to give me their emails or IM handles — and CrazyBlindDate is free of course — but eHarmony wants to charge me through the proverbial wazoo to answer questions from/trade emails with/view pictures of my matches. And by wazoo — in case you haven’t priced such services lately — I mean anywhere from $60 for one month to $251.40 for one year.

Now, granted, they have a vastly better interface than the previous site (though clearly the former had work to do in ensuring their users were actually revenue-generators), but still, the whole thing entails a bigger financial commitment than I’m prepared to make ... at least before my likely first date with e-Prospect #1 this weekend (turns out life in the mujahidin did not exclude some internet use after all). I still have almost no clue what the plan for Sunday is, but we’ll see. I guess you have to play each hand one at a time, eh? In any case, depending on how that all goes, I may be more or less likely to fold ’em, more or less likely to hold ’em, pay up and see how harmonious my matches are.

Either way, this new experiment at “putting myself out there” seems to involve risks with every deal. Obviously that’s inevitable, and some things will turn out better than I feared. Despite the cliché of blind dates being horribly demoralizing and awkward, my first one in a long time resulted in almost no nerves on my part and a very lively conversation that let me talk about things I’d forgotten I had thoughts about or had studied. (Alas, there wasn’t enough there for me to consider him a romantic prospect, but on the whole it vastly exceeded the street rep of such random outings. Props to the e-dating matchmakers at CrazyBlindDate.)

But as I try to get back on the same (or similar) emotional horse that bucked me off the last time and left several nice horseshoe grooves in my heart, it’s hard not to fear that I’m in for more pain this time, whether or not the ride’s half as good as it was the last time, and whether there’s one more thrilling fall involved. Then again, I’ve probably been that sort of romantic gambler/horse-rider who goes all in on the first round, who rides the horse without using stirrups, reins, or other standard safety devices (humor me, and find these two metaphors compatible, will ya?). This, it’s to be admitted, isn’t something I’ve really acknowledged till lately, but hopefully it’s a step toward saddling up again.

Improving on a poor poker face

One thing that may help me learn to ride and fall better is a new Sunday school class on dating that started this last week. Based on a DVD series with the author of How to Avoid Marrying a Jerk, it looks to be a tremendous guide to not so much different ways of dating but the skills, head knowledge and heart-pacing needed to “Pick the Right Partner” the course title mentions. The overview session alone gave me lots of new insights into some of the bruises my heart has sustained, and the book has uniformly high praise on Amazon. Check it out if the title is as new to you as it was me. Even if you’re not “single-and-looking-to-change-that” yourself, odds are you know someone who is.

If nothing else, I can say from experience that the title alone will get you plenty of laughs and stories about others’ ill-fated gambles on jerks/“jerkettes” when you mention what you’re reading.

Which confession of reading/classwork, now that I think of it, is one more social ante-in that went better than my risk-fearful heart might have expected. And if there’s nothing gained without venturing first, perhaps I ought to focus more on improving my game and learning when and how to risk, than just quitting cards altogether.

Kenny, I guess I’m not ready to walk away just yet, but have you got any insider tips on what the winning odds are with eHarmony? I’m still wary of big-money games ...

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Sunday, December 16, 2007

A recommended read

I found myself writing a book review for the Barnes & Noble website* tonight (we’ll see if it gets posted) and thought I’d publish it here as well.

Redeeming Love, Francine Rivers
I have to admit, when I first got a used copy of this from my cousin, it did not jump to the top of my reading list. Oh no. In fact, it stayed on my dresser top, beneath a growing pile of books, for at least a year. Finally, however, one night when I had just finished reading a used copy of The Red Tent (a creative retelling of the life of Jacob’s daughter Dinah), and found myself swallowing disappointment at the flat second half of what started out as a very promising book, I gave our girl Francine a second thought. True, I had once devoured every Bodie Thoene book I could find; perhaps Christian romance wasn’t entirely the tepid discredit to writing I’d mostly thought it was.

Since nothing else in my dresser-top stack came close to the soul-feeding book I longed to read at that moment, I decided to take a chance on Redeeming Love. While the first couple pages didn’t exactly ring with the prose of an Updike — though he, too, struggle more with plot — it wasn’t long before I was unexpectedly hooked and turning the pages so fast I started to wonder if this book might make a speedreader of me (I did finish it in something like two days, a return to childhood late-night reading stints).

To my surprise, it wasn’t a book with the “fake” premise of a sinful woman redeemed that instead proves to paint “sin” in the palest, mauve shades imaginable; it delved with shocking candor into the sort of gritty, painful details too few authors seem to recall the Bible doesn’t blush at acknowledging. Rivers unflinchingly follows her characters’ story, not constraining it to the places church librarians might think it could safely go — and that’s where the transforming power of the book really lies.

Scenes like a later, pivotal one in a brothel play surprisingly well, though even that far into the book, I doubted there’d be a convincing, plausible resolution. Same with Rivers’ bold, but measured treatment of scenes in the couple’s marital bed. While she could never be accused of titillation, she doesn’t draw back from important issues raised and resolved in the couple’s greatest intimacies, powerfully mining the difference between physical sham and real unity. Full props to Francine on this one.

I have to say, too, on a personal note, that not only was Redeeming Love exactly the sort of story I was looking for that night — a book that fed my soul and left me feeling I’d live life better for having read it — it was a guide to me as an author. In the months later, as I tackled some major challenges in writing scenes for the book, I thought back to how Francine had handled sensitive scenes in her book. Definitely a worthy read, and a credit to the what’s possible when Christians make art with a view to honoring God.

*The links throughout are to Amazon right now, as I’m still waiting to get approval for B&N’s new affiliate program. Sigh.

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Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Keen for greens, lean on cash?

Last month I had a chance to lunch with a reader, who mentioned in passing that she’s been growing her own garden this summer. Said tale of backyard veggies was so inspiring that a week or so later, I spent my Saturday digging through the California clay behind my house, coached in said “tilling” by a friend of my housemate’s, Garden Buddy.

Nearly one month later, I’ve got green beans, carrots, lettuce and chard reaching sunward every day, with shoots from recently sprouted pumpkin and zucchini seeds madly racing to catch up. Despite the lost sleep from rising 10 minutes earlier each day to water, I’m finding it’s more than worth the delight of checking my “babies” each day when I get home from work.

So what if you’re not as land-spoiled (or intrepid about worms and weeding) as I, but still want to ingest more-healthful produce, preferably without wiping out your beer fund? The answer (thanks to a girlfriend’s morning email tip): this guide on which produce is most worth buying organic.

Disclaimer: I know the above isn’t all that love-life germane (unless perchance you need a game-plan on how to woo a vegan with your cooking), but these days either my life as both sexless and dateless leaves this blog rather postless ... or the contents range more broadly.

Personally, I’m happier being more content with this season. Life was far more stressful when it revolved around the ever-absent Relationship. If you, however, prefer that posts herein serve all-romance, all the time, feel free to say so in the comments. I can promise, though, a male guest blogger perspective on the timidity of certain Jesus freaks, coming soon.

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Tuesday, July 31, 2007

(comically) Bad Lit

If you suffered through last time’s post on shopping, it’s probably one of the worse pieces I’ve written lately. Then again, after reading these sterling efforts at prose (referred to me by the ever-alert Blogyenta), perhaps I just composed that for the wrong audience ...

More efforts at resuming the old blog rhythm (hopefully with more humor) coming ... sometime-ish. There may be something percolating around a barely avoided Ride of Death on a colleague’s motorbike, and whether my new “low tight” safety belt could have served as some kind of chastity pillow ...

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Tuesday, July 10, 2007

For your off-beach summer reading ...

Updated Thursday night, July 12

A couple quick things (though, hopefully, soon enough I shall return to the blogging of old — or something like that).
Enjoy!

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