Nom de Plume

My parents, like every couple from the 70s, had a copy of The Joy of Sex in the drawer of their bedside table. We lived in Lagos at the time; I was seven and when they were out on their endless circuit of diplomatic cocktail parties and dinners, I used to sneak it out and look at the pictures. How traumatic would it have been if they actually wrote the book and posed for the pictures? Put it this way: I’d still be in therapy.

This situation is at the heart of Meg Wolitzer’s book The Position. It’s 1975 and Paul and Roz Mellow write a book, pose for the pictures, and casually stick it in the bookshelf in the den. Michael, the second oldest of their four children finds it, and makes his siblings look at it. What follows is the story of the entire Mellow family and the impact that book had.

Overall, I enjoyed this — but I have to say that it fell short of Wolitzer’s previous novel, The Wife. There are some absolutely stunning scenes, some fabulous characters. Wolitzer is a master of slow exposition. At the same time, it was a little self-conscious at times, a little overdone in the cracks between her amazing characters and the lives they lead.

On a side note that I feel compelled to add: One of my pet peeves is when a writer replaces the stalwart, utilitarian word “because” in favor of a floating, ethereal “for” — and she does so consistently, almost dogmatically. To my ears, it ends up sounding amateurish, which is a shame because she is so obviously not.

Samantha Joyce is an idealistic, love-challenged healthcare advisor to a senator. At the tender age of 26, she’s not really sure how she managed to snag such a great job on Capitol Hill, and her earnestness is bumbling though heart-warming. In the midst of working far too hard, she falls for Aaron, a speechwriter for the opposing camp (the dreaded Republicans). He’s a jerk. Somehow, she manages to keep her sanity despite her inability to keep pet fish alive. And of course, the right guy is under her nose from the very beginning. This was a fun, fresh novel that kept me up late finishing it.

It’s here! It’s here!

Mom: So what are you doing?

Me: Pulling up the carpeting in the office.

Mom: How’s the rest of the house? Are you done with the bathroom, or the kitchen, or the bedroom?

Me: (hysterical laughter)

Well, I would post a picture of the two cups worth of dirt I found under the carpeting I pulled up, but the SIM card in my digital camera is being recalcitrant.

Two cups, though! Of pure unadulterated DIRT in a room that’s 10 x 11!

Not, you understand, that the floors are in much better shape than the carpet was. Someone painted them a pale blue and then drizzled putty or caulk or something in Pollack-esque swirls. Still, there’s something I rather like about the starkness of the worn floors.

Prednisone is a steroid, so it should come as no surprise that Harry has been much more pugnacious of late. He barks at everything now: Steve, squirrels, other dogs barking. He even barks at nothing. We’ll be in the living room and all of a sudden he’ll start looking at some blank spot and barking his silly little head off. Perhaps we have ghosts that only he can see?

Really, he’s doing so much better. He has a lot of energy, and that makes me happy. Still, I can’t help but wonder how much of this is the side effect from the medication. In a way, he doesn’t even seem like himself. It’s not that he isn’t his loving little self (he is), but he is so much more aggressive than he’s ever been before. It isn’t bad, just different. (And of course, Harry’s aggressive is most dogs’ mellow.)

Steve has found a new hobby; I am a sailing widow.

Our neighbor Geoff is on a sailing team and they needed additional crew members. So Steve started sailing, and the boys just took off for a race in Gig Harbor.

My plan for the day is to pull up the icky blue carpet in the office. This is the same carpet that was throughout the house. The wood floor in this room is painted a light blue, or at least that’s what shows up when you pull up a corner. Heaven knows what condition the floors are in, but it’s still preferable to the carpeting. So one more cup of coffee, and I’m on it. Wish me luck.

You’ll be glad to know that Harry has been his perky little self recently. Oh, he’s not 100 percent: he can’t play the way he used to, he is still a bit unsteady on his feet at times. But ultimately, he’s back to being a happy doglet who likes trompling around Seward Park and is full of tail-wagging affection.

I bought a new car today.

Not the Volvo — I ended up not liking it — but the Mazda 3 hatchback wagon.

From a storage unit company’s sign on Rainier Ave. in Seattle, WA:

Free storage to all Katrina victims!