over and over in my quest to get through the first chapter. I wanted to like it because Mark Henry's such a likable guy (and what if he's been watching the blogs of everyone who got an e-arc and has been heart broken by my silence?) and the book has fabu potential.Right. So my husband and I watched Lost's finale on Sunday night like millions of other people. I cried. We enjoyed and discussed. He Tweeted, I updated my Facebook status. And we awoke to a world in which, for all of us that ranked it among the top show finales ever, almost equal amounts either just didn't get it, or didn't get everything they wanted and therefore hated it. Not wanting to follow the episode's theme of letting go, I mistakenly tried to enter into rational conversation with one of the haters. Bad move. He didn't want his questions answered, he wanted answers to questions that had never been apart of the show (i.e., the writers suck no matter what). I turned my need for further discussion to Lost's official FB page where, among the heartfelt goodbyes there were posts of rage, some causing head/desk (not necessarily my own head) desires.
Why didn't the finale answer the question about the polar bear?! Um, cuz it was answered like, two or three seasons ago. The writers can't help it if you didn't watch or forgot.
What was with Richard?! They did a whole episode to explain that. Hulu is your friend.
What happened to Walt's storyline?! They cast an 11 year old to play an 8 year old; puberty had the bad grace to occur on schedule.
I'll leave alone any Q&A about the actual episode for anyone who's holding off, and I left alone discussion because...well, we're not all wired to like the same things. I'm a woman; I don't know why the so-called women's networks offer so little that appeals to me while I can watch Spike for days. Who knows why some of us watch sports while others hate them, or why one person's favorite band is audio crap to the next person? I'll never get why anyone would prefer dark chocolate to milk...
And thus, I finally loaded Happy Hour of the Damned
into the e-reader I got for Mother's Day, started to force my way through, and found it was OK to let go. It was still smart and witty, even if I didn't like it, and I could still tell you all that. Funny thing is, now that I've allowed myself to not like it, I sorta like it.“Happy Hour of the Damned—is it a comedy? An urban fantasy? A whodunit? Who cares! Mark Henry’s written such a clever and engaging story that fans of any genre will totally adore it. Amanda Feral is the freshest,funniest character to come out of fiction since Bridget Jones,and my only regret is she’s not real and we can’t go out for drinks.(Because,really? Zombies are the new black.) In short?I loved this book!”
—Jen Lancaster,author of Bitter Is the New Black
My problem is that I wouldn't go out for drinks with Amanda. I might not use a quicky two minute Access Hollywood segment on her as a bathroom break, but I would not be a fan and I was not thrilled about reading her pov like she was a female Perez Hilton and my brain was her blog.
Released from my need to like it, I loved the wit that went into the character and her voice, the "breaks in the 4th wall" that make it like Amanda really is telling you this story, and the fantastic footnotes. I'm totally going to go liquor shopping one day soon and make myself a Flirtini.
My taste didn't exactly change; like a brilliantly crafted hors d'oeuvre, the book leaves me hungry for a meal--a setting that I want to live in for a while populated with characters I want to spend time with. But now I do appreciate the hors d'oeuvre's flavor and can suggest you try it, too, without watching to see what face you make.
