Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
I wrote this review for Helium on a book called: "Melrose & Croc Beside the Sea".
They didn't like it...
The article we have deleted (Helium):
I have to admit that I haven't actually read this book. But with a title like, "Melrose & Croc BESIDE THE SEA", why the hell would I want to? I mean really, come on. I'm in my thirties and ashamed of myself that I still haven't finished my High School Senior English list of required reading. In the study alone that I am currently sitting in there are hundreds and hundreds of books with fascinating titles staring me intently in the face, crying out to be read, such as: "The Book of Disquiet"; "Lord of the Barnyard"; "Death on the Installment Plan" (probably the best title ever), and on and on and on. All of which I desperately want to read. But between work, feeding my gob, doing laundry, cleaning the apartment, exercising, making intimate time for my girlfriend and me, working on the query letter for my book, trying to find that special agent for my book, trying to figure out how to become a journalist, skimming the paper in a half hearted attempt to stay current with the circumstances of the world beyond my apartment, grocery shopping, taking the subway, watching a movie now and again, and dropping my Netflix at the mailbox around the corner, I often find that I simply don't have the time sit down and read a damned book, let alone a book titled, "Melrose & Croc" whatever whatever. And I mean no disrespect to the author (it's simply not my cup of tea), for it is a great feat of talent and know how in this day and age to get published by a traditional publishing house (I'm assuming these fellows Melrose & Croc have found a comforting home securely nestled in the milk giving bosom of a publishing house - God knows I'd like to suck on that fat nourishing tit). And I mean no disrespect to those of the reading public who have the time to read this book or other books of the whimsical nature that the title suggests. In fact, I am jealous of both the author and her readers, as I would love to have the seemingly care free existence that allows someone to write and or read a work thus titled. I, unfortunately, seem to be doomed to toil and struggle in the murky swamp of life attempting to keep my head above the dirty water, ever on the lookout for an opportunity to pounce on an unsuspecting victim, like the ancient crocodile of the title. If I were however to actually review this book I would tell the reading public to read it only if they had read everything else on the planet that they had ever wanted to read to satisfy their particular intellectual bent. Or read it if they didn't have to worry about money at all and therefore had no need for any sort of intellectual bent. Or read it if they had kids that they needed to read to at night. Or maybe buy it if they had nieces or nephews that they saw on the holidays and wanted to spend some quality time with reading to them or some shit like that. Or, read it I suppose if they just wanted to be be whimsical and spend their precious reading time in an act of defiance. Then and only then would I suggest that they should possibly pick this book up. Otherwise, I'd suggest tackling another one of those 100 classics from High School English before they were dead.