Tuesday 6 November 2012

Fifty ways to get yourself to Disneyland

I soliloquise from time to time on the topic of what ever happens to be going.  There are some topics that tend to reemerge more often than others, and the quality of books I have not read is definitely an area in which I will often make out as though I am some sort of expert.  More so than, say, someone who has read the book in question.

I bring this up not as a confession of some wrong doing, but as a lead in to something I said in a recent installment of my regularly scheduled episodic verbal opinion piece I like to refer to as Bit Shit Lit. Crit. for people who have had a drink (or two).  The way I remember it is little bit like, "From what (few) excerpts I have read, when you hold Fifty Shades up against anything by Hemingway, it is just not very good."

This has been edited slightly, because I may have compared it to another book (yes, that is what I did), that perhaps not a lot of people have read or even heard about.  Instead I chose yet another book that my experience has lead me to believe is more widely commented on than it is read.

This is a true thing, but Fifty Shades of Grey doesn't sit up next to A Farewell to Arms in the same way that Debbie Does Dallas doesn't sit up next to Citizen Kane.  I draw this comparison because Fifty Shades of Grey seems to be encouraging people to get themselves to Disneyland.  It also seems to be encouraging people to experiment with other ways of getting themselves or others there, and some people are finding that they need to strap themselves down hard to the roof racks to ensure that they make it all the way to Disneyland without getting left behind.  Maybe you need the Lonely Planet Guide to Disneyland in your life more than you need an emotionally and psychologically taxing ending that might put you off the concept of parenthood altogether.

I know which one I would give to an expectant mother.

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