And in response to that epic win, here’s a slightly different kind of review:
Dear Mindy,
Can I call you Mindy? After reading 200-some-odd, very honest, oh-so detailed pages about your life and thoughts, I feel like we’re on a first-name basis.
It’s true.
From the disclaimers and “encouraging” statements you make in the introduction —
“I don’t know. I have a lot of books already. I wanted to finish those Girl with the Dragon Tattoo books before the movies come out.
“This book will take you two days to read. Did you even see the cover? It’s mostly pink. If you’re reading this book every night for months, something is not right.” (5)
— to the detailed accounts of your pre-Office woes and triumphs (making friends and finding your niche before breaking into your twenties are definitely accomplishments), to the totally random but completely necessary personal essays, I feel like I can count the star of TLC’s Androgynous Kids and Puppets as a friend.
Because, unlike those super cheesy, over-the-top trailers that ultimately scream, “This movie’s so bad the trailer needed as many bells and whistles as possible,” your memoir lived up to the high hopes those previously released twenty-five pages set your fans, and soon-to-be fans, up for.
Your unique voice carries through, and you never bat an eye or show any sign of holding back any nanosecond of your stream of consciousness —
“It was October 2001 and I lived in NYC… I… suffered from a strange combination of post-9/11 anxiety and height-of-Sex-and-the-City anxiety. They are distinct and unnerving anxieties. The questions that ran through my mind went something like this:
Should I keep a gas mask in my kitchen? Am I supposed to be able to afford Manolo Blahnik shoes? What is Barneys New York? You’re trying to tell me a place called ‘Barneys’ is fancy? Where are the fabulous gay friends I was promised? Gay guys hate me! Is this anthrax or powdered sugar? Help! Help!” (66)
— even when you stand the risk of coming off in a less-than-favorable light.
And, look, I know in the very beginning you said that this book wasn’t supposed to be a how-to, and that you can’t be counted as an expert of anything, but let me tell you something, Mindy: by tackling such relatable issues as body image, racial identity, post-grad instability and blues, and general self-deprecating experiences so straight-forwardly and unabashedly, and in an accessible voice, you do come across as something of a knowing older sister.
Because I mean, who wants to take advice from frazzle-haired, stern ex-Mrs. Boosnore when they can hear Cool Aunt Mindy talk about that time she made a defiant Irish Exit? Or how much she loves chest hair?
From personal experience, I know that people learn the most from the sister who made math fun (and fast), and not from the sister who actually made me sit through three additional hours of math practice and unnecessary, too-advanced theory (Annie).
So the way you intermingle darker chapters of your life with essays that read like transcriptions of an ADD patient’s psych sessions makes those personal experiences really mean something.
True, at times, the tales you tell can seem a bit shocking or completely irrelevant or, again, not very flattering, but the fact that you put them out there as cautionary tales, or in a way that shows how self-aware and unapologetic you are, makes it all okay. And, at the very least, you help the reader feel less like a nerdy fangirl and more like an adoring younger sister.
So, to answer your question, “Is everyone hanging out without me?” Yes, I am. But, after reading your book, I gotta say, I really wish I weren’t.
[And, by that, I mean, “I wish I were hanging out with you.”
#GrammarJamz.]
Sincerely,
Vickie Toro
Order your copy of Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me (And Other Concerns) today!
