Here it is, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: my train adventure. Let me put all my cards on the table and tell you that I totally bailed out. A woman smiled as she sat down next to me this morning, fifty-something, black hair made of straw, and book in hand. I thought to myself, she could be the one (the one I spend the rest of my train ride with), but I just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. To my surprise, she spoke to me first instead! I was reading a recent article in The New York Times Magazine about how James Patterson revolutionized the publishing industry, building himself an empire through unconventional marketing strategies.
Turns out this woman read the article, read many of Patterson’s books, read lots of his competitor’s books, was actually on his mailing list, and could talk talk talk for hours (she needed a friend). She was fairly knowledgeable in all things crime-thriller, and she basically said Patterson lost his brilliance when he started churning out 10 books a year. Still, we came to the conclusion that he’s a genius, a millionaire, and he deserves major credit. He is a household brand name, like Marc Jacobs on your bookshelf. He’s had a take in just about every genre and target market and I haven’t read even one book! I did of course see Along Came a Spider, which I discussed with my F Train friend. She said Morgan Freeman wasn’t hot enough to be Alex Cross. Whatev. If anybody has a recommendation feel free to comment (feel free to comment anyway). Oh, and she was reading The Commoner by John Burnam Schwartz, which she said is like Memoirs of a Geisha.
On another note, I called 911 this Valezident’s weekend. I was staying by a friend’s summer house in Jersey with a couple of girls when we heard an unexpected and disturbingly loud bang on the door, the equivalent of “ready or not, here I come.” It was 10:30 PM on Friday night, meaning it was the Sabbath, late, and a 95% chance we could die. We ran to the kitchen, one girl hiding under a blanket in the corner, one looking for a butcher knife, one running around with a blanket on her shoulders like Superwoman in pajamas and yet another yelling out that the door was opening! Before the 911 operator could pick up, we discovered it was only our newly married-friend whose post-wedding occasion was the reason we were in Jersey in the first place. The police came and I apologized for jumping to conclusions (but I wasn’t). Later, my parents told me they were very proud of my instincts (bow, bow). In hindsight, hilarious. In then sight, terrifying. Moral of the story? Never go to Jersey in the winter. That’s my fiasco of the week!
Till next time,
Rachel Lily Benun