I am quite pleased with myself tonight. 1) I remembered that tonight was the local branch library’s ice cream social, even though I haven’t seen ads for it or been to the branch for two weeks. 2) I had everyone fed in time to go. 3) I ate ice cream, and an Oreo cookie. 4) I got some fiction books to read AND the latest movie version of Pride and Prejudice. I plan on liking it; I don’t intend to judge anyone for adaptations, acting, or casting choices.
I am so sick of the books I’ve picked up for this latest work thing. I am supposed to be researching gender roles but all the stuff I’ve grabbed has really been about gender discrimination. With the exception of the Faludi book–the oddly named The Terror Dream–I’ve gotten some mediocre doozies. The last one I tried to read is called Selling Women Short, and it’s not the Wal-Mart one. It’s the Wall Street one. Forget for a moment all the jokes I am dying to make at women’s expense about Wall Street and Wal-Mart. I’ve skimmed through this book and it so doesn’t fit my assignment that I am not going to pretend to read even half of it because I am running out of time and I still have to get to the book about why girls fight each other more. I did read enough of it, however, to be alternately shocked by how crappy women are purportedly treated on Wall Street and by how much frikkin money people make on Wall Street. The women getting shit on–and if the book is telling the story straight, which I can’t judge because I don’t know anyone remotely affiliated with Wall Street or investing or money–are making upwards of $350K a year. The men who are getting ahead of the women are making $600K. What?
My brain breaks. I can’t decide if I am more outraged that women have been asked in job interviews (not lately) if they would be willing to have abortions–which is an outrage! yes! horrific! not being sarcastic!–or more outraged that anyone is complaining about making $350K a year five years out of college, even though they work lots and lots of hours for it and other people make more. I have no imagination. This isn’t movie star money. For some reason, my brain doesn’t break when I hear about the sums successful actors get per movie but this money management investment thing I don’t get in the first place so I really don’t get how these kinds of salaries exist. I feel betrayed that no one told me how much money these people make. I would suck at it and hate the work, but I wish I’d had the chance to feel all superior about rejecting such things in my twenties when feeling superior to other people had the most emotional payoff.
Long story short, I don’t care right now why Jane is hitting Jean and I just want fiction. So I picked a book off the shelf because it had pretty colors on the spine and an interesting, one-word title:
Pretty colors and an interesting subtitle. I accidentally learned on GoodReads that it sort of has a mediocre rating, but I am not going to let it faze me. I’m even pleased that there’s no copy on the back cover–just reviews–and that the second book listed by the author at the front has an asterisk next to it. It’s so rare that I get to be completely surprised. I also picked up Mill on the Floss because it’s the third of the Big George Eliot Three and I haven’t read it. I love Middlemarch and when I finally read Silas Marner (I had a couple false starts) I was brought to tears and so impressed. I expect to like this one, too, and plan on finding no faults with it.
It’s Kiera Knightley and Mary Anne Evan’s lucky day, I guess.