A Misanthrope’s Guide to Lunch Break Books

You might remember that one of my goals for 2010 is to read 100 books. Reading that much is important to me because it is one of the main ways I fit magic into any spare moment of my day: while eating my Cheerios and Kashi; drying my hair; waiting for dinner to cook; eating in the dreaded office break room.

I thought I’d share with you what was first out of the gate. I’m going to skip the synopsis. If you’re interested, you can find that here. Click on the book on my bookshelf to see details and other people’s reviews.

The Education of a British Protected Child

Chinua Achebe

I’m typically not a fan of essays. They can be insightful, but they can also ramble and list toward the sentimental, especially if they are taken from speeches. Perhaps these essays approach my peeves when Achebe knows his audience personally, at least better than he knows the general reader, but they include the reality rendering insights that made me love his novels. Let’s face it, I’ll read anything he writes.

While the essays are compiled around themes, they can stand alone. It is a great book to have on hand if you only have a few minutes to read and you want something that will stretch your world. On a misanthropic note, it is also good to keep the coworkers away during lunch. They think you’re an intellectual.

The Illustrated Man

Ray Bradbury

Ray and I have a turbulent relationship. I love him, and then I’ll hurl him across the room. The Illustrated Man maintains our status quo. There was a story I simply skipped. I’m sure its message would be apparent if I gave it a chance, but I cannot get past the overbearing influence of a 1950s white male. Some stories make me laugh out loud. If you have a bent for theology in science fiction (which I’m convinced beats those snotty old German boys any day), go for “The Fire Balloons.” You’ve probably read some of these stories in your freshman English lit courses, but give them a try in a ratty Bantam paperback and not a high school anthology. If nothing else, it keeps the coworkers away at lunch. They think you’re one of those scary sci-fi geeks.

Milagros, Girl from Away

Meg Medina

I purchased Milagros months ago when I heard the author speak. Meg is vivacious, hysterically funny, and gives crystalline observations about life and fiction. I thought if Meg conveys any of herself into the book, it is something I want to read. The good news is she did. The bad news is Milagros lacks Meg’s spunk.

Milagros is juvenile fiction. That isn’t an insult. It is marketed for children. Like all children’s books, it tackles “adult” issues but can mix them with magical realism. Many of my favorite books fall under this category. Sometimes Meg nails the blend of mystical and mundane; other times it can be a bit jarring.

It is a brilliant debut novel, but I hope her future books will eliminate the generalizations and tone down the overt personifications. Her biggest strength is the use of metaphor and simile: “Whispers. Gossip. Humiliating family stories. All of these scraped and rattled behind Milagros, fastened miserably to her like noisy tin cans on a string.” Read it, even if it is only to make your coworkers think you have arrested development.

Curl up this week with a nice cup of tea or hot chocolate and a bit of hand held magic.

A Misanthrope’s Guide to Making Magic at the Office Holiday Party

I was striving for something reflective and meaningful for this week’s post, but I decided to go with something more in line with my personality.

• On the way to the party, listen to holiday techno, like Joy Electric, in an attempt to put yourself in a better humor. Ultimately, it will fail, but you can say you tried.
• Take along a potato gun for launching ornaments at the karaoke Christmas caroler.
• Imagine your favorite literary characters crashing the party. I like to think of a Wild Thing eating up the witch in the short, electric-blue dress. A close second is an invasion by the cast of The Hunger Games and a re-creation of their arena in the Omni ballroom.
• Cough loudly at the hors d’oeuvres buffet and tell people you’re getting over swine flu, leprosy, and tuberculosis.
• Now that you have the food to yourself, there is a special treat for those of you with orthodontic apparatus. Collect cocktail toothpicks, the ones with the frilly ends add a festive touch, and turn them into projectiles using the rubber bands on your braces. For extra fun, dip them in hot sauce from the Tex-Mex table before firing.
• Consider prepping for the cocktail dress by shaving your legs sometime during the preceding three weeks. If you prefer to keep your winter coat, string tinsel and twinkle lights through it and say it’s your impression of a Fraser fur.
• Take the control top pantyhose that have been cutting off your circulation all night and use them to garrote the woman who is trying to convince you child birth is the “most amazing thing.”
• If the proud, picture-showing parents descend, announce that you think children are parasitic lumps of flesh that latch on and suck your will to live for the next—at least—eighteen years.
• Try the Electric Slide using a stun gun.
• Three words: Steal. The. Booze.
• Only hide the liquid cheer after you’ve seen a room full of white-collar yuppies do the chicken dance and YMCA. For extra points, snap a photo and slide it into their annual evaluation.
• Go for post-party cheesecake. Bribery in any form is always appreciated, especially if you’re the date of the person who actually belongs to this motley.

So, how would you make magic at the party?

Disclaimer: In no way am I advocating actual bodily harm. Being snarky, however, is condoned and even encouraged.