Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Non-fiction world stinks
I have one foot in Fiction World—listening to audiobooks—or watching TV. Everything is easier there in FW.
On NCIS, when you need to look someone up, you put in "brown hair-red jacket-was in Georgetown Saturday"--and a driver’s license comes up complete with picture. There he is—John Smith! Well, well, well, got you now.
A relative calls—emergency, can you come? In FW, you dial Experian, then head to the airport—the trip is $800, but no problem, on my way.
Or just go to the airport, reserve a seat on your phone, wave your credit card near a reader, and you’re off. No mention of over your limit, the pets will starve, the plants will croak, and you will get fired.
You get a bad headache—in FW (say on A Gifted Man, NBC), a world-renowned neurosurgeon plucks you off the sidewalk and walks you into the hospital bearing his name and operates within the hour—whew, big tumor, but you’re fine now.
In books, heroes like Jack Reacher walk around in army surplus rags for days in the heat and babes still clamber all over their manly form.
Reacher just buys more clothes—no laundry for him!
A friend of mine also said she saw a heroine in a book who had “night vision contacts.” Well, those sound handy.
These things don’t happen or exist in my world—and I want them! Except for how Reacher says we don’t need toothpaste.
He took it too far that time.