I'm not sure if I should have taken it as a sign, but today, for the second time, I found myself scrambling to finish one of the shortest books I've ever read. Yes, twice now, I've taken out Nora Ephron's I Remember Nothing from the library and neglected to actually read it until it was past due with no renewals.
I can tell you that I came away feeling as if I remember more than Nora, but then again, I should. I'm younger than she is. I can tell you that she and I differ in our opinions of red coats, email, and Christmas dinners, but that it comforted me in some weird way to learn that she wrote When Harry Met Sally for the money, that it was not an easy task, and that some of what she considers to be her best work flopped. Somehow that knowledge, coming from someone as acclaimed as she, gave me the distinct impression that this is how it goes for us all. We feel the sting of the flops long after we feel the sweetness of success. Bummer, really.
Equal parts underlying heartbreak and humor, I Remember Nothing was a nice distraction on a hot July day.
Now I'm on to a book I've been dying to read - Steven Tyler's memoir, Does the Noise in my Head Bother You? Oh yes, boys and girls, I'm buckling in for one crazy ride. Rock on.
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