Today has been quiet. Tooooo quiet. No phone calls, and only a couple of emails. I wasn't even sure if my phone was working until I got a text message that said I had been pre-approved for a loan. The phone number to call is 1-877-353-5806 if any of you need a credit card.
The first part of my day was spent trying to post a video from summer camp in 1986 to YouTube for yesterday's blog post, and the second half of the day was spent trying to repost the same video with sound. Technology can be so amazing, except for when it makes you want to take your fucking computer and throw it out the window. I didn't throw it out the window, of course; instead, I went ahead and did exactly what I knew I shouldn't do: I looked at my page on Amazon. I justified it by telling myself I would scroll down only to the popularity ranking number and that I wouldn't look at the reviews, but that was like telling myself I could have one drink and wouldn't end up selling everything I owned within the week for dope. It really doesn't matter how long I have been clean (8 1/2 years now), I will always be an addict. Luckily, looking at bad reviews only hurts my feelings, and that I can recover from.
Yes, bad reviews do hurt my feelings (awwwww), and there were two new ones today. One was actually an intelligent bad review which, after stepping away from it for a few minutes, I could see myself agreeing with if I weren't the target of it. The other one, however, is still bothering me because I'm fairly certain I know who was behind it. While part of me thinks I should leave it alone, a stronger part is thinking, Fuck it.
I'm pretty sure that engaging with Amazon reviewers is a big no-no, but I'm going to do it here because:
1) judging by the comments, I have only one friend (hi, Ryan), and one supportive fan named Pickles reading these entries (sorry, Powell's).
2) if there are more people reading this, they are, in my imagination at least, an intelligent crowd.
3) Powell's is the best bookstore in the country (sorry, Strand).
How Little of This Memoir is True? (Has anyone wondered?) Question Everything, September 15, 2009
By Columbia grad
While the outlandish tale Oran Canfield weaves is both alarming and sensational, the story appears to be riddled with fabrications, delusions, and outright lies.
A rehabilitated former heroin addict who failed his first 7 tries at recovery, Oran grew up having many friends, attended public school, and had the opportunity to attend the private high school of his choice.
A talented juggler, Oran was invited to participate in a summer children's circus experience and for many summers attended an outstanding and well-respected summer camp devoted to performing arts and personal development. He spent his childhood surrounded by professionals, a loving family, and supportive friends and teachers. He didn't spend his childhood shipped off to strangers. He was raised in the United States and spent less than 4 months in Guatemala as a very young infant.
Oran either has a very vivid and delusional imagination or has realized the importance of sensationalism when it pertains to marketing books and making money. Considering some of Oran's accounts, I also have to wonder what kind of pipe Oran was smoking while writing this.
Before you condemn the experiences, schools, and people in Oran's life, please consider Oran's expertise at playing the victim and blaming others for his problems. Haven't we had enough of scandalous memoirs written by former drug addicts, memoirs that turned out to be filled with exaggerated fiction rather than fact? Shame on Harper Collins for dropping the ball with the fact checking process.
These are harsh accusation from someone who doesn't even think it's necessary to read a book before calling the writer a liar. Before accusing HarperCollins of dropping the ball on their fact-checking (believe me, they didn't), I would implore whoever wrote this to actually read the book.