Super Sad True Love Story

I can’t completely describe what makes Gary Shteyngart’s writing in Super Sad True Love Story so wonderful, but I suppose I should try.

For one, his use of language is unparalleled; his perfectly chosen, vibrant words gleam at you from their place on the page, waiting to become engaged, absorbed, understood, and finally to settle down comfortably in your memory, anticipating their recollection when, with a slight titter, you remember his perfect turn of phrase, his elegant encapsulation of a meaning in neither too scant nor too many words. His sentences are at once unassuming and aggressive, not only uncluttered by superfluous expressions that ordinarily belabor the point of less talented authors, but also poignant and profound in the
ir sharpness, often gnawing at you long after the initial impact.

Shteyngart’s narrative displays such sheer originality infused with undeniable truths about the speeds at which our society’s dependence upon technology hurtles forward that the effect is both delightful and morbid. Shining with illuminations of humanity’s loss of literacy and subsequently reality, his prose details our demise by paralleling it with that of hopeless Lenny Abromov, his protagonist. I don’t want to give anything away from this truly meaningful story, so go read it yourself!

booooo

Style chose to use the 4 x 5 inch space in the back of the paper for more advertising instead of a crossword. It's available online. However, the format is not interactive; you have to print it out in order to complete it. Guess who doesn't have a printer? That's right. This guy. Ugh.

On another note:

days like today

I don't know about you, but extreme weather really brings out the worst in me. On sweltering summer days I find myself ritualizing and trying to appease the gods, something I think I've done since I was little when I would walk down the street chanting that "I'd rather take 4 feet of snow and walk through it naked than be this hot right at this moment, can't you just make it cold?" Of course my prayers would be answered and a few months later I'd chatter through my teeth that I'd rather be burned alive by a thousand suns than suffer any more frost. What is it about humans that makes us so adaptable and simultaneously such pussies?

Rain sucks and I stayed indoors today in my sweatpants until 6 pm when I had to go to work. And here I am blogging about how much rain sucks. Well it does!

SERIOUSLY

IF I SEE ONE COMMERCIAL FOR A CLEANING PRODUCT OR LOW FAT CHOCOLATE FOOD THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME WANT TO THROW UP FROM THE BLATANT DISPLAY OF MISOGYNY I WILL DIE OF SHOCK. FUCK YOU ADVERTISING.

just when..

you think you know something, life turns around and smacks you in the face and reminds you that you don't. i don't really believe in karma and whenever people reference karmic retribution it seems to be less an understanding of cosmic intervention and more a helpless, vengeful appeal for their lost face, i.e. "karma will take care of it" -> "things better work out for me but not for that person whose life choices i don't agree with! because i'm pissed!" usually when people mention karma it is in a negative sense.

so i came back from a really lovely getaway with megan last weekend (see previous post) and i felt so happy while i was away with her that when i got back i couldn't help but feel a little dispirited. i love my life on a day to day basis - i have a loving boyfriend who stimulates my brain and my heart, i adore my family, i make enough money, there will always be a book to read, etc etc, but everything seemed a hint lackluster in comparison to a weekend of no work, no stress, no impending future, especially coming back to my job. i honestly couldn't tell you if i enjoy my job. i'm here right now, as it were, and i can say i enjoy being paid to sit and blog, but i go back and forth concerning the rest. teaching is positive for me in a selfish sense; i have learned so much more than i feel i have taught. not in the sense that i needed an immense amount of help with my multiplication tables or pronoun usage, but connecting with a person and feeling them understand something can be a really rewarding experience. again, this is me i'm primarily focusing on, but i suppose it works for the student as well.

so this tuesday i go into work and i am seriously dreading it in a way that i never have. i teach mostly SAT/ACT preparation, and although the work is often challenging, it has become exquisitely repetitive to teach and reteach the exact same concepts over and over and over again, and i sincerely fear that it is a detriment to my ability to communicate with newer students, as the words coming out of my mouth about parallelism or substitution could be repeated in my sleep. they seem to have lost meaning and i try so hard to pretend it's the first time i'm learning them, to anticipate the questions i'd have and to address them, but i've become so fucking familiar with the material i worry that i just can't. all this is going through my head as well as the thousand complaints i have about the way my work treats education (which i'm pretty sure i can't legally describe here...hmm) and how much i would change if it were up to me which of course it will never be, and i walk through my door and see on the schedule that i have a new student. i'm looking for their SAT binder but realize that this little nugget is only 6 years old! i haven't worked with a younger kid in months, and the change alone is welcome. it's less stressful and they tend to be more excited to be there; they're not taking 4 AP classes and worried about their cheerleading practice/6 hours of homework/boyfriend/getting into harvard at the age of 15. real talk high school is crazy these days. i always thought it was tougher than college, but maybe that's because i gave up in high school and conceded that it was total bullshit. i haven't necessarily conceded that i don't believe that anymore...anyway.

so this little man comes in named aaron and we spend two hours learning; we do exercises with phonics, the alphabet, discerning the main idea of pictures and stories, reading, writing, various math activities. sometimes when i'm working with these kids it's mostly daycare, i give them snacks, guide them through, etc. but sometimes i catch myself in the middle of a lesson and realize how critical this is to a child's development: this little boy is at this moment learning how to read. he's recognizing sounds, he's blending letters together, he's forming letters into words into sentences, his little cogs are moving and he is truly learning. how. to. read. is there anything more important than knowing how to read? is there any one single thing that can open more doors, more avenues to remote thoughts and concepts than reading? this is going to be something that affects the rest of his life, and here he is sitting at this tiny desk, literally learning before my eyes. it's pretty amazing to watch someone learn, and for all the teaching i've done i can't say it's common to see. to really really see someone learn something new and hold on to it is rare, because learning is so complicated and happens over time and sometimes isn't truly learned and solidified for years and years until that one magical moment. and what i was doing on that dreadful monday was helping this little boy along to a magical moment.

can you remember a time before you could read? i can't, i don't think i'd ever want to. so all this strikes me just when i'm getting kind of hopeless and thinking my job sucks and i've gotten everything out of it that i can. karma, bitch!

the bell jar

is killing me! so great.

egg and cheese

i am loath to say that i'm currently sitting in a panera - it's not my fault, people! dan had to work this morning and since we are carpool-ers i decided to wait around this banana stand and pretend to "do work" on my computer. what this means is to watch project runway while uploading pictures and reminiscing from a really amazing, invigorating weekend in new york. here's a play by play :

friday: drive up to DC, hang out with my daddio y mamacita, meet megan, drink sangria in chinatown, wait an extra hour for the bus, get yelled at by the seriously abrasive proprietors of the bus, hurry onto the bus, doze while sharing leonard cohen on the ipod, brave the disgusting hole in the floor they refer to as the toilet, which is located in inky darkness and is not equipped with toilet paper or a locking door, get walked in on by a fellow bus rider while hovering above said hole and clinging to the handicapped handle for dear life while truck drivers catch glimpses of my bare bottom through the uncurtained window, FINALLY get to manhattan, meet jonny, drink delicious pickle-tini and eat yummy veg dumplings at bar nearby where there is a single gogo dancer, get in cab, go to apartment in brooklyn, drink rolling rock, talk about immigration/welfare/who the fuck knows, feel bad for andrew for having to get up to go to work in 4 hours, pass out

saturday: wake up with horrible pain from lack of pillow, suspect heart attack, take advil, venture out, walk walk walk walk see parks, trees, people, teeny dogs, children, books, clothes, cheese shop, end up at the five leaves, wait wait, drink perfect iced coffee, sit at bar, tiny pickle in my bloody mary, 3 hour long meal nom nom nom nom fried tomatoes, walk walk walk, dead rat, waterfront, strange smells, big grass, conversations about heinous crimes, baby in tutu, pumpkin pie ice cream, old books, nude afro-d barbara streisand record, children's stories, youtube videos, COMPLETE DOUBLE RAINBOW, walk walk, bar, wine, chug wine, pizzzzzzzaaaaaa, dimmed lighting, wine, cab, traffic, paul! queen vic, jager bombs, british flag, gay bar, too many people, kgb, walk walk, cab, bridge, drunk, home, sleep, pillow

sunday: good morning! showerrrrrr, took too long to get ready, nutella bagel but NO SMOOTHIES, get on the train for the first time, get off the train, get on the train, get off the train, brooklyn museum! pornographic statue, student discount, art art art, slippery floors, rhinestones, vaginas! leave into the crisp air, walk, park, squirrels, dogs, kites, soccer, volleyball, legs tired, INDIAN FOOD, dosa! thin flaky buttery lentil pancake in my belly, crowded cafeteria, laughing laughing laughing, walk walk, back to brooklyn, the knitting factory, hilarious, hipster bar, sleeeeepy, couch, sleep.

monday: depressed! last day :( we carry our ludicrously heavy bags around, eat mozzarella basil tomato pesto sandwich, people watch, drudge up the stairs, down the stairs, people watch in chinatown, wait for bus, sit on bus, traffic on bus, try to sleep on bus, get off bus, get on metro, get off metro, get on shuttle bus, get on metro, get off metro, get in cab, goodbye megan! get in car, get out of car, put oil in car, get in car, drive home, get home. bed. dan. mmmmm.

everything besides the traveling aspect of this weekend was truly perfect. the perfect little getaway and we managed to not lose our savings in the process. i love new york!

off with your head

dance dance til you're dead.

I really love the Yeah Yeah Yeah's. Even It's Blitz, which is on the verge of TOO DANCEY (if there is such a thing), has some gems. Part of this is sentimental; I used to listen to Fever to Tell back in the day with my girls driving fast down the dark streets of the suburbs, looking at the stars, smoking cigarettes, waiting for something to do, not realizing it was already happening.

I should be doing work right now! I refuse to ramble further!

FRIGHT FEST

So today started out like most Sundays, albeit I was a little more hungover than usual because there was a big hoo-ha over in Oregon Hill that left me worse for the wear. Anyway, we woke up, lazed around and decided we wanted to go out in the crisp air for some food at Joe's Inn because we may be too lazy to cook but not too lazy to walk to get some good ass potatoes. Then I get a call from Megan telling me that she somehow has two free tickets to Kings Dominion that have to be used today and is headed there with Justin right now. The weather was looking pretty icky but we decided to brave it and went out there to meet them after we ate. It was just bizarre to spontaneously leave for Kings Dominion having no plan whatsoever and no expectations, but it ended up being a really fun day. There were no lines, it wasn't a hundred and ten degrees outside, we rode all the good roller coasters over and over, but what I wasn't prepared for was the FRIGHT. Or, as they call it now, "Halloween Haunt" or some stupid shit, I guess it changes every year. We read the map of all the 'scary' attractions they have and decide to go into this totally un-ironically haunted "slaughterhouse" where the terror is that they're really EATING PEOPLE. I mean normally it's animals that they are slaughtering for food but I guess that's a-ok. Regardless! I was not prepared for how fucking terrified I was of this attraction. We walk in and there's a corridor with all this fake hanging meat and then all of a sudden people dressed like deranged butchers with horrifying monster masks start jumping out at us as we walk through the winding halls, and it FREAKED ME OUT SO BAD. I was on the verge of tears by the time we got out of there because they sensed my fear and honed in on me while I clutched Dan's jacket like a 5 year old. The element of suspense, the fact that they're all wielding cleavers, I don't know what it was that turned me from a rational adult who knows that these are humorously nonthreatening amusement park workers wearing masks to someone who truly believed that she was about to be cut up and served to a bunch of pigs (because wouldn't THAT be ironic)! After we got out of there I refused to participate in any further spooky activities, including Club Blood (vampires) and ASYLUM (duh). But even if you didn't want to partake in the sectioned off scare-zones, there were still gobs of scary actors dressed up like demented clowns or undead pilgrims milling around who SMELLED the fact that they could get a high-pitched squeal out of me. When did I become such a baby?! This has really put me on high alert because if I didn't know this about myself what else could there be lurking in my subconscious just waiting to ooze out at the most inopportune moment? What if I'm terrified of a certain breed of dog or completely enamored by sting rays? WHO KNOWS ANYMORE?!?

Oh well, here I am on the merry-go-round :)

I'm back!

So today is the day I start blogging again for real. I just got home from mentoring and it's beautiful outside, I'm in a good mood, I don't have to go to work at Huntington and wheeeeee all is well in the world. Forget that I have to man the center tomorrow while three thousand kids come in for various reasons, teachers invariably are late or don't show, parents ask inane questions while timers scream at me at 5 minute intervals, everyone wants to take a snack break at the same time and I can't stop questioning the appropriateness of my top. Seriously, who invented professional attire?

Ok, enough negativity. It truly is intoxicatingly (yep that's not a word) nice outside and I had such a good mentoring session today with Marissa. We played Scrabble, drew pictures, played tic-tac-toe and all the while had an impressively easy conversation. She is almost painfully shy and demure so I occasionally found myself hurling a spate of questions at her and had to stop, but she really opened up (relatively) today and we even had a few laughs, mainly at the squashed, preschool-esque butterfly I drew for her.

So at the risk of giving up on this post because there are so many distractions going on around me right now, I will end it here and accept the fact that if this is going to be a daily activity, my blog doesn't have to include every single aspect of my life. WHEW.

bennie and the jets

The title of this post has zero to do with its content; I just downloaded one of Elton John's greatest hits albums and am simply enjoying it.

This post is about empathy, and how quickly we as humans forget that other humans are just that. Being human is a consistently amazing thing for plenty of reasons, one of which is our ability to acknowledge the pain and suffering of the world and similarly ignore it completely. It's not insensitivity, rather survival. We literally cannot absorb the abstract notion that while our consciousness continues and our worlds remain untouched, people are being tortured, raped, killed, bought, sold, and to a lesser degree hungry, cold, poor, and spit upon for reasons unfounded. I write this as a human, as someone who goes through life knowing the sadness of others but ignoring it to stave off my own. It's easier to laugh at things that those whom we don't understand or agree with do, or to immediately sympathize without true sympathy. We whittle our worlds down, and in doing so forget that the other people who walk the same streets as we do are so much closer to us than we think; they feel the same feelings, love their mothers, hate their jobs, smile at the sun, are insecure about their opinions, curse traffic, don't understand politics, could always use more money, think their significant other is sexier than yours, have no idea what they're doing on this planet, and drink too much coffee. We are so quick to judge because, if we didn't, if we truly accepted that other people were just like us, we would lose our individuality and what we believe really does make us human, our unique perception of the world.

I'm reading the book Better by Atul Gawande, a chapter of which you can check out here.

Health care is such a big issue these days and this is just one subset thereof, but it definitely plays into the idea that so many wish were true that there is a bad vs good, right vs wrong. Everyone should get free health care, or noone should get free health care. Doctors are making money off of our pain, or doctors are saints. Because we lack empathy, we cannot imagine that, like us, most people don't fall into categories of extremes. Overall, in any arena of life, our need for simplification and for there to be someone to pay for wrongs that are attributable not to evil but to human error, is pushing us further away from solutions to problems that aren't going away. Gawande is a physician and writer, and his book documents the ins and outs of doctorhood from the importance and evolution of hand washing, to the difficulty of eradicating a disease, to the flawed system of malpractice lawsuits against doctors. The latter is what I'm currently reading about, which prompted this post. Gawande describes the frustration and humiliation inherent in dealing with a malpractice case, the horror that comes along with being blamed for someone's pain or even death. The flaw in the system stems not from the need for humans to feel reimbursed for such negligence, but rather the immense trust and faith we put into doctors and the medical system, and our instantaneous vilification of them when something goes wrong. We set doctors so high because we can't bear thinking that our health is in the hands of someone less than perfect and, in creating in our mind gods who can bring us back to life, are of course let down by the fact that they are indeed just like us, ultimately defined by their failures.

Today

Today was a lovely day. Last night it cooled down enough that we could sleep without the AC unit or the fan, and being under the covers makes for some good snuggling. This morning the sun shone through the curtains without its usual stifling heat. I biked to meet Jessica at the gym and we did an hour-long yoga class. My only previous yoga background is hot yoga, and this was a severely less intense experience. I enjoyed it but didn't exactly feel like I'd worked out. I know that's not the point of yoga (namaste) but 90 minutes in a 100 degree room really made the difference in the poses, the heat intensified every movement and allowed me to push further and focus completely. The air-conditioning today somehow softened the flow, and I was surprised when the hour was over. Afterward we biked into Carytown and I got a smoothie, then I managed to get home, take a shower, drink a coffee and read a chapter in my book before work! Work itself was wonderful as well, I got to give a diagnostic test to the most adorable 6 year old on the planet. The hours passed quickly; they usually drag on as the child becomes more and more fatigued and frustrated with the constant reading/writing/math exercises, but she chugged along cheerfully and yapped away about obstacle courses and rocket ships. As we waited for her mom to return we flipped through a random magazine and she pointed out everything she saw, "woman...gardener...ooh is that a spa in japan? impressive!" She was verbose and personable, and she's not even out of the first grade. Treacly (or perhaps insensitive, depending on how you look at it) as it may sound, those gems are the ones who keep me positive and working. Now I'm off to Ipanema for $2 champagne cocktails - what sounds more delicious than that?

my living room

it is the best.

louder...lips speak louder...

so i've been renewing my book of rilke poems over and over at the library, i keep reading books 4 and 5 at a time, it's taking me a long time to get through all of them, especially his lines.

"Aren't lovers always arriving at each other's boundaries? Although they promised vastness, hunting, home."

so i'm listening to new order and dan's out of town recording, i have to go to work early in the morning and i'm all alone. i just wanted to write about that line.

we promise vastness, hunting, home. those three things don't seem linked, but they are. in being comfortable enough to be with someone for "THE REST OF YOUR LIFE" you enter into the unspoken agreement that you will continue to be new to them. we all do it. it's on the cover of magazines, how to spice up your rotten, deteriorating love life, how to bring the spark back. it's sickening. but it's how we live. we promise hunting, but we promise home. how can those be related? how can i enter the woods to hunt something i desire so much, and return home to live with the same beast i yearned for.

i learned in one of the best classes i took that to love is to destroy. is it?

Robert Rauschenberg-Rebus

Project Runway

So i'm watching pject rway (as per usual) and i was just so moved by something completely tiny and meaningless and as with all things that move me i decided someone else needed to know!

so on said episode, the designers are prompted to design clothes for children, a project runway first, and one of the designers has an interesting idea. she merely said "when i was young, my sister was in a play etc etc and i was always so jealous of this outfit that she got to wear so i'm going to make THAT." obviously not that profound of an idea, but i found it so beautiful to imagine that every designer or every artist creates something that other people can love and appreciate from something they once loved or appreciated.

i can't describe why this is so meaningful to me, maybe it's the fact that so many of my memories of childhood, or even life in general, are centered around brief moments, fleeting scents or images, or outfits, even, like the white linen dress my mother wore when she picked me up from the airport after i'd been in iceland one summer, or the velvet peach skirt she made for me to wear to my fifth grade graduation. these stick in my mind like prickly thorns and if i was talented in any way i would recreate them and infuse them with the beauty they give to me, but of course i can't.

i love thinking that art or design is so exquisitely personal that we are honored to view it. of course this pretty much eliminates modern or abstract art, which inherently is something new, different, shocking, unknown, but these are just the ramblings of a silly lady watching tv on her computer. i will never stop loving project runway, and i will never stop believing that clothes are more important than we think.

detangling

i had an unfortunate incident in which my hair assumed the texture and consistency of steel wool. these giant tangle/dreads appeared after leaving it unbrushed for too long. so here's a video of our attempt at detangling it. it's not that interesting. oh well!

CROTS

I took a really great writing class my last semester at VCU and one of our assignments was to write "crots," which are little pieces of writing comprised of fragments that are repeated or scattered and basically have a feel of abruptness and move quickly from idea to idea. Here is one I wrote about Iceland:

In Iceland they call pocket change “klínk.” Heavy coins in silver and gold emblazoned with fish and crabs. 1 króna, 5, 10, 50, 100. In America change doesn’t buy anything – better to Coinstar it. In Iceland children with bulging pockets brace the wind and bolt to the nearest shop. Gaze at candy behind glass counters. Gummi fish of every color. Chocolate covered licorice sticks. Hard strong pepper flavored pieces for melting teeth. 5 krónur for one piece. 100 and you’re rich. It’s only one coin! Smiling with browned teeth and clinging to your plastic bag filled with much more than a dollar’s worth. Chilly wind whips through your hair and right through your sweater on the way home, pounding the sidewalk. Klínk klínk klínk.

it's snowing again

snow is wonderful but not when it prompts the idiots on american family radio to say things like "global warming?! STEP OUTSIDE" like hey totally weird fluctuations in weather have zero to do with us roasting the earth. anywho. there's been naught to do for the past few days as my work has been closed and snow keeps us confined to the house/kroger. so i've been catching up on project runway and reading. my library card is the best thing that's ever happened to me, so far i've watched documentaries about spelling bees, teenage alcohol abuse, growing up online, etc, and started reading the bilingual version of duino elegies by rainer maria rilke. who is the shit. and not only am i enlightened with every word he writes, but i'm (allegedly) practicing my german at the same time! JA JA! the reason i actually decided to borrow that book was because the night before dan and i watched 'another woman,' a less popular woody allen movie with gena rowlands and mia farrow. rowlands' character is a scholar of german poetry and philosophy and her mention of rilke prompted me to start reading him. that and the fact that he's considered one of the best german poets of all time and i should probably know a thing or two about him if i profess to speak (poorly) the language.

so here are a few lines from the first elegy that i haven't stopped thinking about since i read them:

Isn't it time that these most ancient sorrows

grew fruitful? Time that we tenderly loosed ourselves

from the loved one, and, unsteadily, survived:

the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string

to be more than itself. For abiding is nowhere.

Palinism

So I've been meaning to write a little something about this article I read in the City Paper (dc) a few months ago but never got around to it because once I think about writing something concrete I roll it around in my brain 69 times and decide it's too daunting of a task. So I'll leave the commentary to a minimum. Basically the article describes the views held by some of Sarah Palin's female supporters and extends these views to her impact on feminism. You can read it in its entirety here. At first the article employs the well-worn notion that people, particularly women, who support Sarah Palin have no real idea what they're talking about, and merely buy into the "meaningful" image she and many other political workers have crafted of her. I'm no fan of Sarah Palin, but I think writing people off who can't give a sparkling, well-worded and specific answer about their political decisions is a little too easy. For me, it's her stance on abortion, it's kind of a non-negotiable issue that a woman should have the right to a safe and legal procedure, but I won't profess to know much more about her politics besides what the media has told me. All this aside, I find all that America has said about her fascinating. In this article, the emerging idea of Sarah Palin as a neo-feminist is addressed and one paragraph stood out to me in particular:

"In 'newer feminism,' every woman’s choices are valued—no matter what those choices mean for other women. Schlessinger isn’t an enforcer of rigid gender roles; she’s a facilitator of women’s choices. Palin’s opposition to abortion rights and comprehensive sex education isn’t anti-feminist; it is her choice to deny reproductive choices to other women. Under this model, Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis isn’t an exploiter; he’s a liberator of women’s breasts."

I remember encountering this conflict when I took Feminist Literary Theory (ENG352-best class hands down at VCU); where do you draw the line at what is feminist? There are so many branches and subsets within the theory and its basis is in the idea of equality; it seems wrong that it should be exclusionary. But of course everything gets muddled in the notion that everything done by a woman, or a minority, or someone who calls him/herself feminist is progressive, meaningful, subversive, feminist.

I really loved learning about "the personal is political" criticism when I took Fem Lit; it opened up an entirely new understanding for me: looking at one's relationships and personal life through the lens of feminism. But you can see how dangerous a concept it becomes when taken into the hands of those with no essential understanding of feminism or women's rights, like Sarah Palin and her followers. They do just as the excerpt above states, that is, act it as though every decision that a woman makes is important and RIGHT, by virtue of the fact that she has a vagina. Scary stuff. Feel free to comment. If there is anyone besides Dan and maybe my mom who reads this :)

Zapatista

Dan just informed me that he's "drunk and moving to Mexico". Welp, see ya later!

Coming to America

...was rented from the Redbox last night and ho boy is it good. Today when I turned PBS on while eating my delicious lentil soup and salad with artichoke hearts (still veg) there was a special about immigration. PARALLELS. However the latter isn't funny in the way that Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall playing 40% of the characters in a movie is. Oh well.

Catie introduced me to the teacup pig last night, apparently they're all the rage according to Paris Hilton. If being on the same page as Paris Hilton is wrong then I don't want to be right :

ANOTHER PARALLEL! I am reading a book called The Good Good Pig by Sy Montgomery, who is evidently a crazy, animal-loving jungle woman currently living in New Hampshire. The book is mainly about her adopted pig. Honestly I couldn't imagine I would enjoy so much a book about a pig, but I guess I have to come to terms with the fact that I do. Pigs deserve some attention for their cuteness and brains, yo! And yeah they taste good too, but I'm trying to adjust my feelings about that! Anyway, the book came to me through the "lost and found" at work which has also bestowed upon me an awesome Frontline special about autism...if you want to borrow either let me know.