When I left the States for Brazil in January, I packed lightly. Maybe a bit too lightly. I brought with me exactly two books: my Portuguese- English dictionary, and "A Concise History of Brazil" by Boris Fausto. Though I use both quite frequently, nuzzling up to the 'E' section of my dictionary after work, or re-reading the same chapter on land ownership for the hundreth time became a bit tired. My boyfriend visited in March, and brought two more books for me, Barack Obama's "The Audacity of Hope" and "Dumbing us Down: The Hidden Agenda Behind American Compulsory Schooling." I loved both. But after completing them, I found myself in a similar situation as the one I was in prior; and I wanted more. And so, after a rousing game of dominoes last week, I begged a friend to lend me any piece of literature he was willing to part with for a few days. He had but one book, entitled, "The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists" by a gentleman named Neil Strauss. The book's title is matched in cheeziness by it's exterior, a Bible-like shiny leather cover, and more gold than you can shake a stick at: gold lettering, small, gilded silhouettes of naked "babes," and gold-edged pages. There is even an attached red ribbon bookmark. 

I laughed at myself for accepting this loan. But after coming down with Dengue Fever, I found myself laid up for a few days. Well, my friends, I tore through that book like a madwoman. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the author's (who goes by the moniker "Style") harrowing nerd to hottie transformation. Maybe it was the completely rediculous recounting of Courtney Love becoming his roomate in a house full of fellow pickup artists. Maybe it was the adorableness of envisioning one of his friend's, a nerdy asian college student, pick up Paris Hilton at a taco stand.

I finished this book, maybe a little dumber, but almost proud that something so silly was able to hold my focus for 400 pages.

NP