On Saturday Kate and I rode our bikes to a nearby garage sale, lured by the promise in the classified ad of American Girl swag. (Yes, we’ve arrived at American Girls. Don’t ask me what I think about it. Yet.) We found what I’d feared — some woman had arrived a full hour before the opening bell and bought it all — but as usually happens at garage sales, we found something else: A stack of Nancy Drew mysteries, including several of the older titles. “The Secret of the Old Clock,” “The Bungalow Mystery,” etc.
Just opening a Nancy Drew title stored in someone’s basement for a few years brings not the whiff of mildew but of chlorine, so embedded is Nancy with my memories of summer, when I went through them like popcorn. My first experience with librarian disapproval came when I asked where I could find her in the school library. “We don’t have any,” she all but hissed. “Those are junky books. They’re written in about half an hour, and they don’t have anything to offer.”
I was shocked. Nancy Drew had nothing to offer? The girl with the titian hair, the snappy blue roadster, the accessory boyfriend? I couldn’t imagine how anyone could arrive at such a conclusion.
The librarian was right — the books are junky. They probably were written in half an hour. But they were wonderful dashed-off junk, and I plan to spend a chunk of this summer with my stash (of course I bought them all), getting reacquainted.
You can read any number of fond appreciations of Nancy Drew by baby-boom women elsewhere. I’m cutting this one short. If the books are, indeed, junkier than I remembered, I will report this fearlessly.
God, am I tired. It’s been trying to rain here for weeks, and never quite getting around to it. When it does, it’s like angry tears — given grudgingly and stopped as soon as possible. We need a night and a day of gentle soaking, but it’s not in the forecast. But last night we had a mini-thunderstorm, which barely made a noise but for the SPLAT SPLAT SPLATTING of rain on the bathroom skylight at 4:18 a.m. Nothing like being awakened at 4:18. You know first light is coming in 40 minutes, so the chance of another REM cycle is scant. The brain fills with Monday thoughts — What do I have to do today? Did I make a list? Are my good jeans clean? Should I work out first thing, or after lunch? Is George Bush still president? What do we have for lunch? Will Ohio ever find that missing $215 million? — and ohhhh, but the next thing you know the birds are tweeting and you have to get up in 90 minutes and it’s stopped raining and might as well go make some coffee but no! Sleep is coming! And then it comes, and the alarm rings 30 seconds later.
So, let’s cut right to the bloggage:
Shakeups, reinventions, hurt feelings, secret memos left on the copier — boy, do I not miss the newspaper business. That said, it would be interesting to work for Michael Kinsley, because at least when he shakes things up, you get the feeling there’s a functioning brain behind it. What he’s planning for the LAT editorial page sounds long overdue, and I hope it works.
The Poor Man — snicker: June 11 (Bloomberg) � In a surprise move expected to send shockwaves through the world of TV journalism, CNN, the orginal cable news network, and NBC, which owns cable channels MSNBC and CNBC, announced a deal to consolidate their news organizations into a single giant news network. By pooling their journalistic resources, the organizations will be able to offer deeper coverage of the most important stories of the day, and will be better equipped to compete with current cable news champion FOX News. The new network — to be called Where the White Women At?, or WWWA — is set to debut this week.
I was a little bleah on “The Comeback” when it debuted last week on HBO, but I needn’t have been. After last night, I think it’s going to be great. Lisa Kudrow is a talented, talented actress.