I feel bleah today. I went to bed at about 2:30 and woke up at six, unable to go back to sleep. I’m still addicted to Tylenol PM, and it was unusually warm this morning, so when the heater kicked on at 5:30 or so, it turned the room into a dry-heat sauna. Instead of doing anything productive or maybe medicating myself to oblivion, I sat in bed and read until about noon or one. So my whole day has been off sleep-wise, and now I’m waiting for Domino’s to show up.
I have a huge pile of books to read, and an ever-growing stack of magazines I might or might not browse. I keep a huge Amazon wish list, not because I’m some kind of camwhore, but to keep track of what I’m supposed to buy and what I should read. And after the holidays, I almost stopped reading entirely, bored of everything and unable to focus on anything I should be reading. So with my post-bonus, post-tax refund, post-holiday budget, I splurged and put in a few mega-orders to Amazon. Tons of books have been rolling in, and my room now looks like a book warehouse or something. It feels so good to sit in bed and read, especially on a Saturday morning. And it’s been such a long time since I’ve stayed up late reading, then woke up and read more and just stayed lazy for half the day.
Last night/this morning, I read Jenna Jameson’s tell-all bio. It was an interesting read, and a page-turner. I’m not going to try to be all ironic and make fun of the porn industry or her or whatever, because she’s probably living in a house that costs more money than I’ll make in my lifetime, and I’m alone on a Saturday night waiting for the Domino’s guy to show up. I’ve never been a huge fan of her work, although I am familiar with it. She is very beautiful, but to me, she is so perfect that she’s average, if that makes any sense. I’m more interested in women that have that little quirk, that tiny imperfection, or, more than anything else, that awkward social grace that makes them far more beautiful than a perfect rack and a tight ass ever would. And that’s my general feeling about her. I mean, if she showed up on my doorstep, I wouldn’t kick her to the curb, but I’d rather watch gonzo films with no-name people that have the little imperfections that make them human.
Her book was pretty good, but it was also pretty much every stripper/porn star stereotype you could possibly imagine laid out for you like a Lifetime movie or something, but real. I mean, she grew up moving all over, her mom died at a young age, her dad was too strict, she was molested by a guy, she was into Harley dudes and tattoo artists and started doing crank, she was little miss beauty pageant and ballerina and then decided to start stripping when she was sixteen, she sprouted into this perfect-looking woman but had horrible body image issues, and so on and so on. It made me wonder what was real and what was simply lifted from some other movie-of-the-week. And most of all, in reading the book, it made me think she was batshit insane, which maybe she is. I mean, after piling through all of these life choices, I was thinking “why the fuck did you do that?” and, more often, “why the hell did you go back to him?” But around all of those mistakes was this varnish of “I’m right” that is coated over everything and reinforced by the fact that she has so much success these days. It makes me wonder what stuff she really did wrong, what people she did screw over, what stuff was her fault that she simply didn’t cover in the book. I know there are probably a ton of people out there that would say she’s a bitch-whore-diva whatever that is impossible to work with. But we don’t see a lot of apologetic “well, maybe I was wrong” or “wow, I sure was high back then” or anything else. It made me think that if you handed her the world on a platter, she’d complain about the color of the platter or something.
But despite all of that, I still kept turning the pages, all 600-some of them. Granted, a lot of them are color glossy pages that will probably be stuck together in many peoples’ copies, and the font and layout and stuff probably make the whole thing not that monumental of a read, wordcount-wise. Despite all of the shit I just said, I did enjoy the book. I like a good biography, and this was a step beyond the typical, phoned-in celebrity tell-all. I’m not saying I identify her, or would want to be her or meet her or fuck her or anything like that, (okay, I’d fuck her), but I did enjoy the read. And now that it’s done, I have about 47 other books to read.
And of course, if you have a book that I should read, please leave a comment or email me, because I always like to check out new things. But if you tell me that I really need to read the Davinci Code, I will kick you in the fucking throat.
Where is that fucking Domino’s guy? I’m ready to start chewing off my own arm here. Okay, I must go and pace the house in anticipation.