I work with a woman whom I refer to as the Creepy Cat Lady. She often wears a baseball cap and an oversized tee shirt to the office, and has a loud, buzzing voice, like that of a hyena. She seems like a nice lady, despite her eccentricities.

Normally, I don't find cat ladies to be any more threatening than, say, Ron Paul, but this lady is weird: she brings framed pictures of, by my estimate, seven or eight different cats, and places them strategically around her computer. And when I'd once made the mistake of asking her for something, she noticed me looking at the pictures (I probably looked horrified--people always say they can read my mind through my facial expressions), and informed me which of the cats were still living. The sad thing is, aside from the fact that two or three of the pictured cats are dead, no one knows her name. Co-workers refer to her as the Cat Lady, usually with an uncomfortable laugh and a slight shudder.

Yet, when I think of the Creepy Cat Lady and what she does on her downtime, I imagine her participating in a book club, sitting with other Creepy Cat Ladies, in a house that smells like cat piss, and perusing ratty Jan Karon novels. (Disclaimer: I have nothing against Karon's novels, as I've never read one. [Disclaimer the second: nor have I ever wanted to.])

I've never read a Gabriel García Márquez book, either, and though I own One Hundred Years of Solitude, it's unlikely that I'll get around to it any time soon. I know I should. It just hasn't quite tickled my fancy quite yet. But Rachel is starting a book discussion (Ryan: "Book club! Book club!") on García Márquez's Living to Tell the Tale, so I thought, I might as well start now.

In any case, this book club is way fucking cooler than the Creepy Cat Lady's book club (there, Ryan--happy now?). Sure, she haunts my ideas of what a book club must be like. But we can pull this off. We're young, hip, and modern, and so can you! The discussion starts some time in July. You're on board, right?

Comments

[Citizen Reader]

Okay, too many book "clubs" to join this summer. I was playing with the idea of joining the Infinite Jest one, but I don't think I can do it. And now you throw this one out there...damn and blast, why do I need to work to earn a living? I wonder if anyone would sponsor me for a book club, like for a charity event or something. Only I'm the charity.

[Brandon]

I dare you to join Infinite Summer. Come on.

Look at like this: we have to read about ten pages a day of IJ. That's manageable, isn't it?

[Citizen Reader]

Oh damn and blast,
a dare. Now I have to do it. You bastard. See you there.

[theorist]

Yes, I'm in! Oh, wait...

Regarding One Hundred Years of Solitude, there's tons of weird sex and deaths plus general awesomeness in that book. What's not to love? And García Márquez is a Castro-loving commie, which is even more fun. Anyway, I want to re-read it, so maybe fade theory will have a year of García Márquez.

[Brandon]

Now that's a good idea, Rachel. I'd love to do that.

[Brandon]

And Sarah, glad to see you're not afraid of a book!

My girlfriend attempted IJ a few years back and never got through it. She described it as very "taste-specific." But she assures me that I'll love it.