Chuck-ing it all; a review of Klosterman

Initially, when we were first assigned the book Killing Yourself To Live, I checked over the front and back covers and seemed to really be interested by the blurbs and synopsis I found there. The book seemed quirky and interesting and I looked forward to reading it. It wasn't a bad book to read-it moved along at a nice pace and was very interesting-but I'm not sure I would recommend it. I say this only because I don't think it fulfills what it promises.

Chuck is given the assignment of crossing the country to visit all the scenes where famous musicians have died, usually tragically. It makes you think you are going to go on a great adventure with him and you are going to find out all types of insider information. I was expecting him to describe the scenes and the situations of each rock star's demise with great detail. And he does, sort of, but more than a book about dead musicians, it is a book about Chuck.

During our first review early into the book, I mentioned I thought Chuck was a pompous douchebag. After finishing the book, I stand by my original thoughts on him. I'm not dogging on his writing style, because I do enjoy the way he writes, even if it is a trifle bit scattered and attention deficit disorder-ed. Chuck is an amusing writer, but the book seems more like a 235 page personal ad than a travelogue (which is what I am assuming was what he was attempting to write).

That being said, if this book were billed more as a memoir and I was expecting to read all about Chuck I probably would have enjoyed it more, but the blurbs led me to believe I was going to be reading this great epic about why musicians tend to find great fame in death and in that goal I think Klosterman fell flat. I know more about his drug habits and the fact he likes gravy and is incapable of any real relationships than I do about the motives or emotions surrounding a slew of musical deaths.

Killing Yourself To Live

Chuck Klosterman is obviously very obsessed with death (heck, his whole book is a paean to death) but one part of the assigned section I found especially interesting was his comparing dying in a plane crash versus dying in a car crash. I hate to admit that's something I have actually thought about myself a few times. Granted, dying doesn't appeal to me at all, and dying in a violent or tragic way even less so, but it seems as if a car crash would be over so quickly you wouldn't have time to form any rational thought on what was happening to you. It would be as quick as it could be.
A plane crash on the other hand is quick, but it still leaves enough time for abject terror. You would know what was happening to you for a long enough period of time to have clear thoughts about it, and enough time to work up a healthy dose of fear. Although I hope to never die at all (haha) if I have to, I definitely don't want it to be in a plane crash. And, if for whatever reason that is the way I am destined to die, I hope that I have the guts of the passengers of the plane that crashed into the farm in Pennsylvania on September 11th. Let's Roll. I want my legacy to be one of bravery, even in the face of terror.

Being 20, Twenty years later

When I was 21, my twin daughters were born. Gone, immediately, was the life I had known and instantly I became the entire universe for two tiny creatures. To say I was unprepared was the understatement of the year. And even though everything I had planned to do and to be and everything I wanted suddenly took a backseat to their needs, I wouldn't change having them in my life for anything in the world. They taught me patience, and humility, and showed me that I possessed a strength I never knew existed. They are also the walking-talking-living-breathing definition of love.

I read somewhere once (can't remember where or I would definitely give proper attribution) that having a child is like having a portion of your heart walking around outside your body and you are powerless to protect it. That is a pretty apt description because, try as you might to make life better for your kids than you had it yourself, you will never live up to everything they need. You will also never live up to all of the expectations of being a parent you thought were important.

I dreaded the day my daughters turned 18. Dreaded even more the day they turned 21. For more than half of my life, being a mom was all I knew; all I thought I was good at. I thought that when they didn't need me to 'mother' anymore, I would have no definition to my life and would cease to be. I had been Amy the mom for so long I forgot how to be Amy the person. Well, I truly couldn't have been more wrong. First of all, you never finish being a mom. Never. They might not need me in the same ways anymore, but they will always need me---if only to be their North Star to orient them as they make their way thru life. Secondly, having adult children when you are still young enough to appreciate it gives you a chance to experience the life you missed when they were babies. And that is what I am doing now. I am having the 20's I never had when I was 20. The best part of all is that they get to be a part of it with me. We do homework together, discuss classes, go shopping and occasionally have even been to the bar together to do karaoke or otherwise. I will never consider myself their 'friend' only (like Lindsey Lohan's and Paris Hilton's mothers seem to do). I will always be Mom first, and foremost, but I enjoy having these new experiences with them as something like a friend. A friend to the tenth power, as it were.

They are my legacy and my love.