I guess it could be argued, based on some of my blog topics, for example, the one describing the exorbitant amount of food I can eat in one sitting and the one about my aspirations to be a super model, that I’m not exactly the deepest puddle on the road.
Notice how I said, it could be argued. Because I don’t agree. If you asked me, I would tell you that I am capable of very profound thought and meaningful conversation.
I just find that profound thought and meaningful conversation suck.
But then the other day, my friend Janella who is a costume designer, made a reference about me in which she said that I’m easily distracted by shiny objects. I didn’t really know what she meant. I thought she was trying to be clever, but that she was failing miserably. Because really, distracted by shiny objects? What in hell does that mean? I don’t even wear jewellery.
Then I went to her house to try on some of the newest swimsuits she made. So we’re in the middle of chitchatting, when I spot from across the room, the prettiest bikini top.
A few nights ago I started reading “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. I figured I’d give my Twilight obsession a little rest. I’ve already been through all the books twice and my kids are refusing to sit through another Twilight and New Moon marathon with me. Now it just feels weird to sit in the living room by myself fastforwarding to all the Edward scenes.
As I’m reading this book though, I’m struck, yet again, by the very discomfitting notion, that I’m not exactly as deep as I think I am. For one thing, the author is on an introspective journey in which her ultimate goal is peace and contentment. My ultimate goal is to stay a size 5.
As I advance through each page, I find myself struggling between admiration for the writer, and a burning desire to blog about her.
I guess it’s clear which road I’m travelling down.
I don’t normally read anything that’s too terribly complex. The excuse I give for this is that I spend so much time reading textbooks for school that when it’s time to sit back and relax, I prefer to read about successful single women who wear Manolo Blanicks, drink Cosmopolitans, have momentary man-troubles, solve man-troubles, then get the big promotion at work…I think I just described every episode of Sex in the City.
“Eat, Pray, Love,” although not Nietzsche, does require the reader to…well, think. Where are the references to the designer labels, the 4 carat diamond engagement ring that the heroine inevitably gets at the end. Where’s all the fucking?
I guess the biggest confirmation that I may be a tad superficial is in the way I even chose to read this book. Usually I gravitate towards the pretty pastel coloured covers on which are pictures of high heels or glittery jewels, or martinis.