judging from my personal experience, if there's two types of women i like, it's 1) amazing women and 2) women from west michigan. this book by crystal bowman's new book, "Amazing Women of West Michigan" (available now!) seems to kill two birds with one stone...so to speak (and i take full responsibility for the play on words involving swingin' british vernacular just there. and i feel no shame. or cold, but that's a different story altogether). it appears as if every woman in this book has a different ethinicity, vocation, and background, and an even more interesting bit of information is that we here at River Bank are having an event with the author and a plethora of the women on October 10th. so do yourself and your fellow man...erm...woman a favor and stop on by. or buy the book. or buy me a pony. i condone all of the aforementioned actions.

also, can i tell you how excited i am about the new chuck klosterman book? numerically, i'm about a 713. i'm about as excited as the lard fairy in a mayo factory. i don't even know what that means, but it must be really, really excited.

first things first: i am a real person. i am not a robot, nor am i a fictional person that recommends books and savors the thought of a dumptruck full of cadbury eggs crashing in front of the store. i tend to work nights later in the week, so if you are so inclined to swing by and chat, please do...but also buy one of my staff picks. they're neat-o.

on to business! i want to write those synopsisisisisisi on the back covers and book jackets of all those tasty pieces of literature. i think i can sum up a book in the span of two paragraphs. heck, i could make it sound like bloody "Tale of Two Cities" in ONE paragraph! WITHOUT AN AUTHOR PICTURE TO ACCOMPANY IT! i allude to the jacket photo merely because i am currently vapidly in love with marisha pessl. i think we should be pals.

and in another addition earth-shattering, jello-shaking, tear-jerking, belly-jumbling addition of "Hypothetical Author Brawls," i'm currently pondering the merits of a rachel ray/chuck palahniuk fight. let's break this down logically (which would be a first:

1) palahniuk has the build comparison down, considering the fact that he is 5'11, and i think ray is 3'7. or something.
2) there's something about rachel ray's plucky demeanor that has me thinking she is just a gritty, down-and-dirty street fighter. is it the smile? the hair? the cooking prowess? all of the above. sure, palahniuk wrote "Fight Club," but c'mon. "30-minute Cooking with Rachel Ray"? you can't fight that, son!
3) in the secret moves department, i think it's a wash between ray's beautiful tae kwon do and palahniuk's fearsome jiu-jitsu. you'd be surprised how much you learn about an author when you watch them in illegal cage matches in saigon.
4) with the intangibles taken into consideration, i give the edge to palahniuk. read his memoir "Stranger Than Fiction," and you'll see what i mean.


















the winner? not even a close one: chuck palahniuk! i mean COME ON, amigo! the dude wrote "Fight Club"! F-I-G-H-T C-L-U-B! if rachel writes a book called "Uber Knife Wielding," then maybe we can talk.

as my buddy craig likes to say when i air out my opinion on any variety of subjects, "LET'S ALL LISTEN, BECAUSE GRANT'S IS THE ONLY OPIONION THAT MATTERS!!" sure, it's in a mocking tone full of contempt, but i think it's just because he's jealous. however, i digress, and present to you my review of mr. nick "i rule just about everything you can think of" hornby's newest book (now available in paperback majesty!):

I love Nick Hornby. There, I said it. I have a massive man-crush on this intelligently humorous author from across the pond. Known primarily for his film-inspiring books High Fidelity, About a Boy, and…sigh…Fever Pitch, Hornby’s newest read, A Long Way Down, presents a thoroughly interesting take on the typical first-person narrative.
In this tale of collectively botched suicide attempts on one particular New Year’s Eve in London, we are introduced to four individuals with problems that are practically suffocating them: JJ the aspiring musician, Jess the melodramatic teenage girl, Martin the former British talk-show host, and Maureen the mother of a handicapped son. The strength of this book lies in Hornby’s uncanny ability to hop from character to character as they narrate the story of how they came to know each other and slowly strike up friendships.
Their problems range from massive to inane, but each character manages to strike up some emotion in the reader, who is compulsively following their adventures from rooftop to resort to intervention. Nick Hornby juggles intelligence, humor, and raw emotion in a book that I recommend so hard that it hurts my spleen.




"I sure wish grant was my best friend...."








and in reference to the monkey post and subsequent comments, NO, i will not be wearing a monkey suit anytime soon. that's just ridiculous. come on, people. i mean really. yeesh.

so james frey lied. so what?

the controversy surrounding mr. frey pertains to his memior "A Million Little Pieces," in which he fabricated and embellished certain parts to make it a more cohesive, and perhaps better story. oprah had kittens when she found out. the smoking gun website is trying to crucify him. according to an interview in the New York Observer he reamed out fellow authors jonathan safran, david foster wallace, and especially dave eggers. he seems surly, disagreeable, and often boorish. but you know what? big deal. he wrote a moving book that helped and influenced a lot of people. he has high aspirations for himself. he sets goals. he writes very well. why not be angry at jayson blair, the punk who got fired from the New York Times a couple years ago for WRITING FAKE NEWS STORIES, and then promptly signed a book deal. that guy's a jerk of a writer, using his controversy to his advantage. frey was touted before his controversy errupted.

so my plea to you is this, my humble and aromatic reader: forgive james frey. he only did what countless other memoirists have done by changing his life story for the sake of a better read. instead, help me track down blair and punch in his dopey mug.