Your shocking interests, presented to you matter-of-factly by Amazon.com

We've all had that moment, when Amazon recommends something to you, and you feel two very conflicting emotions. On the one hand, you are offended by this item they so confidently said you would like. On the other hand, you wonder, how does Amazon know me better than I know myself? How does Amazon know things about me that I don't dare utter, even to my BFF?

For example, once they suggested I read a book called, "If I am Missing or Dead: A Sister's Story of Love, Death and Liberation."

And I was like, wait, huh? Why on earth would they think I would enjoy something like that? That sounds horrible and very specific.

But then I read it and was captivated. So Amazon, of course, continued to lead me down a path of dark and disturbing memoirs, a path that I followed without question somewhere from 2006 to 2009. In my defense, I think a lot of Americans were on this same path, and let's blame Oprah because she pretty much just sucks anyway. I mean, when you start hosting a show called Life class, indicating to viewers that you are the teacher of EVERYTHING ABOUT LIFE, you need to order yourself a case of humble pies, and then lie down and take a nice, long nap. Take a nap, Oprah.

My Netflix queue is another matter-of-fact declaration of my very limited interests and a source of significant shame when viewed by outsiders. Every movie is about American gluttony, drug addiction, or kidnapping. Occasionally, something more reasonable pops up, like Parenthood to indicate that I'm not a unabomber in the making. I love family dramas! And I consider the cast of Parenthood alongside Laura Linney in the realm of knowing All Human Emotions.

I digress. The problem is that once Amazon and Netflix know you like something, they think you'll like everything in that category forevermore. I would try to deny it, but in describing two of my favorite childhood movies to Josh, I realize that I've long been drawn to dark themes.

For example, has any other nine-year-old loved Spike Lee's Crooklyn like I did? It's a movie about growing up in Brooklyn in the 70s, bursting with both a rocking soul soundtrack and blistering commentary on black culture and family drama. Why did I connect so strongly to this film? We don't know. Everyone forgot about this movie, but you should watch it because it's awesome. Trailer here:

Another movie that everyone else forgot about is The War, starring Kevin Costner and a young Elijah Wood. It takes places in the south in the 70s and tackles racism, abuse, poverty, and the Vietnam War, which where all themes I felt compelled to educate myself about as a third grader in white suburbia.

I watched both of these movies almost as much as I watched "Little Women", which is to say more than one million times. 

Have Amazon or Netflix ever offended you? Were you drawn to strangely serious, adult themes as a young child? Tell me more in the comments.

Great Expectations: Housing Advice for the Young Professional Pauper

Since the first installment of Great Expectations was published a few months ago, I've received dozens of requests for more advice. You were all so grateful for the tips about how to eat on a budget, but you let me know loud and clear that there are still more metaphorical fish for the young pauper to fry as he navigates these tough economic waters. (They have to be metaphorical fish because the real ones are still swimming somewhere around $10 a pound and that's outside our budget!)

So today, my peasants, I'm providing some housing advice because, let's be honest, you've looked under a bridge or two and wondered what it might be like to live there if you can't pay your rent next month.

Regarding furniture: You don't actually need any. You're not on HGTV. Coffee tables are really just vehicles for artfully-displayed detritus. Chairs for guests are unnecessary because you can't afford to entertain. I'll allow you a mattress, maybe a couch, and a table so you can maintain some level of dignity when you eat your Spaghetti-Os out of the can. Lamps are allowed because reading is important so your brain doesn't rot. A pauper must pull himself up by his bootstraps, and you'll need smarts for that, kid.

But what else do you need? Stop shopping for framed art, knick-knacks and other luxury items like baking pans and wooden spoons. Live within your means for one hot second. Once the sharp stabs of self-pity wane, you'll realize Lazy-Boys are merely ostentatious displays of weak moral character.

"But Catherine," I hear the Bumpkin Chorus chime, "you allow me to have a mattress and lamps, but I can't afford any." Young professional paupers must be resourceful, and if your eyes are open and your ears are listening, you'll soon realize that your more monied friends have furniture. In fact, they have so much of it, they want to give it away to you! Be humble, bumpkins, and gratefully accept what you are offered.

On the subject of utilities: I'd suggest you think twice before approaching that thermostat in the winter months. We've become so soft! Put on a second pair of pants, a couple of sweaters, and a winter coat, and I'm sure you'll find the indoor temperatures of your tenement much more agreeable. Drink some tea, an inexpensive drink known for its warm, healing properties. Perhaps you've heard of it. If you feel you're suffering overmuch, consider the research which indicates cooler temperatures may be good for you.

Furthermore, appreciate the riches you do have. You are an employed professional! Take advantage of the heat, electricity, and water at your workplace. Work an extra hour or two at the textile mill. By the time you get home, you'll be too tired to worry about creature comforts. Curl up in your pile of rags, blow out that kerosene lamp, and look forward to a brand new day.

The neighborhood and what it offers Young Pip: Just because you're 25, have a professional wardrobe, a real job, and nearly $4 to spend on lunch, doesn't mean you're too accomplished to dog sit, mow lawns, or water Mrs. Spielman's beloved houseplants. These jobs aren't for just for 12-year-olds anymore, and it's about time those seventh graders started to feel the pinch of the recession anyway. Offer yourself proudly as a more qualified, mature alternative to Timmy from down the street. You could be out there making money, so step out of that boarding house and look at the economic opportunity around you.

The world is your oyster, young pauper!

The Greatest Observations

Some things I've come across recently:

Two days in a row, I saw these geese trying to cross in the crosswalk during my morning walk to work. If they're going to cause a disturbance, at least they're playing by the rules. Which almost but not quite makes up for all the defecating they do on my walking paths.

'"It's disturbing," said Louise Reilly Sacco, the permanent acting interim executive director of the museum."

Do you understand Louise's title, because I don't. I thought maybe it was a joke, since she does work at the Museum of Bad Art, but who can be sure?

Was there a popular demand for these?

In case you're having trouble reading the title of this book, let me help you. It says "Purebaby posing recipes." 

I'd like to start by saying that I think we should steer clear from using the word baby and recipe together. It just creates weird feelings, lots of confusion, and sometimes the munchies. Second, why do people want to do this to babies? Who sees a baby and thinks, "I wonder what kind of flower pots I could fit this in?" or "I wonder if this baby will fall asleep inside of a carved pumpkin?" These are not natural, human thoughts, and I don't find them artful. This all began when we started enabling Ann Geddes and her odd compulsions, and now we have copycat books, and the essential question of WHY is still unanswered.

The Big E

Going to a state fair is like time traveling. You're transported to an era of simpler pleasures--funnel cakes, talent shows, and really, really heavy hogs.

A couple of weeks ago, we headed to the Eastern States Exhibition in Springfield, a yearly event where exhibitors from all over New England come to peddle their wares. And sure-I could tell you about the handy tourist pamphlets we picked up, or the truly impressive sea lion show we saw (those sea lions wiggle their butts EXACTLY IN TUNE WITH SIR MIXALOT'S BEATS), but I think the story of the Big E is one better told through photographs.

1) The Maine baked potato people have been attending this fair for more than 50 years, and their excellent reputation was evidenced by the lines of people wrapped around the building waiting for these creations. A lovely group of older women assembled the potato and its toppings--sour cream, bacon bits, melted cheddar and chives with tender loving care, all while sharing little bits of their life stories with each shake of the Bacos (retired! serving potatoes for 16 years!).

These things sit heavy on your stomach, so don't plan to beeline to that shady looking ferris wheel immediately afterward.

2) What's a fair without some animals? Well, I can tell you this camel (HOMELAND AFRICA) was feeling joyful and spry that day.

Unfortunately, this other animal was not. I considered calling the Australian embassy to notify them that one of their nationals was being held hostage in a deleterious environment. The sign beside him read "Shhh, Be quiet, I'm sleeping." I was suspicious, however, because this sign appeared to be a permanent, nailed fixture in the fence post, and this kangaroo seemed a lot more like dying than sleeping. Just saying.

3) But, just around the corner, one of the world's most amazing creatures! Step right up! Step right up! One dollar to see the world's smallest horse! Of course we had to fork over a couple of Mr. George Washingtons to experience the great, wonderful Muffin!

19" inches to the shoulder! Insured for $25,000! And best of all? This horse? This horse is...

Please don't hate me if I confess that a small part of me wanted the woman manning this booth to be hauling around a really tiny horse corpse. But no... Muffin is alive, but only slightly more thrilled about life on Earth than Captain Kangaroo.

4) Animal cruelty jokes aside, there's a lot to learn at the Big E. 4H clubs have lots of information on display, and you never really know what you'll find. Alpaca tricks, sheep sheering, chick incubators. Look at this informational presentation board about canine gestation! That glob of goo turns into a cuddly puppy!

So what's your takeaway? Time traveling can be fun. Trans fats taste delicious, and a little old fashioned entertainment is a great change of pace. Furthermore, if you pay $1 to see a horse that turns out to be dead, you can make $999! (Too bad the kangaroo was not afforded the same guarantee.) At the Big E, the possibilities are truly endless.

Touring Orchard House with the Riff Raff

I've always had a strange and powerful connection to the Little Women story, which began when I obsessively wore out my VHS copy of the 1996 movie version due to repeated viewings. Between you and me, I may have spent an afternoon or ten pausing and playing the video as I recorded the script word for word in my trusty notebook. Quotes from the film still rattle freely off my tongue, and no matter what others think, I find this story and its themes constantly relate to my daily life.

So imagine my delight when, after a lifetime of waiting, I arrived at Louisa May Alcott's home in Concord, where she wrote and set Little Women. The tour was delightful in all the ways you'd hope--sweet anecdotes about the Alcott sisters, an emphasis on staunch feminist ideals (Louisa had her own desk! Imagine the freedom--a woman allowed to have and record thoughts!), and original furniture, wallpaper, and even drawings on the wall by May Alcott (who is portrayed as Amy in the books).

But what truly made this a spectacle were the others on the tour. I'll begin with the tour guide, who was an extremely knowledgeable Wellesley College-ish-looking young woman with an arresting sense of humor and an even more peculiar accent. Now, I'm no linguist, but my mind was reeling trying to figure out the rhyme or reason to her pronunciations. I found her assessment of May being the "oddest of the family" rather strange, until I realized she was meaning to saw artist. Although I found her "Conkuhd" and "steeah-case" to be Kennedy-esque and therefore acceptable.

Her personality clashed strongly with one woman on the tour, who walked into Marmie's bedroom, and in a fantastic Boston accent loudly, "WHO DIED HEE-YAH?!" The guide was dismayed and suspected this woman wanted a paranormal tour and stated frankly that this was not her area of expertise. Later, we passed a portrait in the the hallway, and the Ghost Hunter remarked on the names of those pictured. "Phelps... like Michael! Michael Phelps...the Olympics. Oh, and a Helen Hunt! Now she's an actress. How strange, Helen and Michael!" The tour guide visibly withered, but agreed to discuss the portrait a couple of minutes later.

As we all gathered to listen to her description, we were cruelly shooed away by the guide, who had independently decided this portion would be between her and the Ghost Hunter only. Confused, I shuffled through the narrow doorways and out into the garden, but not before wondering, as I often do, "What would Marmie say?"