Ever play Truth or Dare, have a new friend ask about your most embarassing secret, or get caught in flagrante delicto? Just for fun, let’s play! I’ll start, and I choose Truth: I am addicted to sappy chick flicks, romance movies like Notting Hill, About a Boy,  Sleepless in Seattle and the like. I like that genre of books almost as much as movies. I know, I know, I’m a 42 year old man, divorced and lonely. I should be watching bold, adventurous action films or hanging out down the local bar with other lonely middle-aged men watching sports on tv. So sue me. I like shoe shopping, too.

Recently, at my new favorite book store, Third Place Books, I found a novel that looked like a good read and, as it was cheap, brought The Beach House, by Jane Green, home. That night, as I read the last page, I marvelled, once  more, at my ability to guess what will occur on film and in books. Two chapters in and I was able to predict several things, all but one of which came true. It was a quick read, fun, a bit cliched but, all in all, enjoyable.

The writing was nicely paced, the plot about what you would expect, and the characters–in the main–well-written and rounded out. The people you should care about, you care about, the people you should dislike, you dislike. Ms Green sets the scene quite well, and seems to write from a place she knows or at least understands intimately.

Ultimately, this is a story about 40-something upper middle class white anglo saxons and their loves, lives, and dissolution. It is also the story of much that has become wrong with our society; each character is self-absorbed, self-conscious. There is little that is uncomfortable in the lives of these people–no racism, worries about poverty or starvation, no bigotry or prejudice. These are just “good people” with nothing to be afraid of, no one judging them except themselves. After all of the heavy, heavy things I’ve been reading of late, this little piece of cheesecake was a welcome dessert.

No, I won’t tell you what it is about, nor will I tell you what the things were that I was right about. See for yourself. Go ahead, read a book, it won’t hurt you.

1) 42 isn’t old enough to stay in the house (or in bed) all day. I need shit to do. Seriously, it is noon and I am in bed.

2) Online friendships feel like the real thing but they aren’t. Try talking to your real friends and family as much as you talk to the cute “girl” you met online. Just, you know, don’t say the same things.

3) There are some awesome resources on the internet, but those resources are usually submerged in a pool of oozing crap. The internet being fairly world wide and pretty democratic, any moron can have a page. Hell, I have one or two. Most of us have absolutely nothing to say, and couldn’t spell it if we did.

Now, armed with these awesome life lessons, I’m going to get up, put some pants on, face the day like a man. But before I go, here are the top 5 or so blogs and websites I’ve come across, in no particular order:

http://www.violentacres.com/archives/30/you-can-learn-a-lot-from-a-rich-girl

http://www.tjcenter.org/

http://www.lifehack.org/articles/communication/the-lazy-social-networker-should-you-go-offline.html

http://www.ala.org/ala/aboutala/offices/oif/bannedbooksweek/challengedbanned/frequentlychallengedbooks.cfm

http://www.ehow.com/topic_1586_earth-day-every-day.html

If you can’t find something worth reading, doing or, digging into on these sites…damn, you need to think more.

But, like J.K. Rowling before her, Ms Meyer has caused something remarkable to happen: kids are carrying books. Millions of people, young and old, are reading! That little fact forgives about 300 pages of sentence fragments, plot holes, and flat characters. Actually, so many people are reading her books that I suppose we can forgive an entire trilogy. No more than that, please.

I cannot, however, forgive the movie. Oh. My. God. What a piece of drivel! I tried, honest. Put it in, turned on the TV, and 15 minutes and 36 seconds later (yeah, I checked), fled the room. It seems, according to a very young friend, that the issue lies not within the movie–or, for that matter, the book–but in me! Apparently I don’t have enough teenage girl in me. She’s right, I don’t and that’s the problem. Meyer’s demographic is NOT 42 year old men. Or, at least, not 42 year old men I want to know. Her target audience would love Wuthering Heights, if it weren’t, like, you know, so old and dusty.

So, Stephenie, thank you for getting some kids to read. I appreciate it. Booksellers adore you for it. Young people and the angsty goth community loves you for it. Just, you know, don’t do it anymore.