Musings of a Midlife Mama and Other Stories

The other day while driving in my car I listened to NPR. Yes, I listen to high brow radio, but this isn’t what this post is about. Is it?  A story came on about Joshua Braff whose professor asked who he and the rest of the MFA students liked  to read.  Braff responded John Irving.  There was collective snickering throughout the classroom. Braff’s classmates had thrown out Flannery O’Connor, Raymond Carver and William Faulkner.

“… and DeLillo … of course … Joyce,” Braff added to make himself feel better. Although Braff felt ridiculous at the time to admit to his guilty reading pleasure, he now stands behind what John Irving has done for writers in terms of craft, characters and story.

This got me  thinking about my guilty pleasures both writing and otherwise.  Here’s my list (You’re welcome, Melia Lore.) of some of my guilty pleasures:

1. Marshmallows-Straight out of the bag big fluffy sugary marshmallows. A marshmallow’s ingredient list includes Corn Syrup, Sugar, Dextrose, Modified Corn Starch, Water, Gelatin, Tetrasodium Pyrophosphate (Whipping Aid), Artificial Flavor, Artificial Color (Blue 1).  This is why I don’t read the ingredient list  and why it’s a guilty pleasure since I know these little chemical bundle of joys could cause some serious internal damage.  Teeth be damned.
2. Claim Jumper’s Ice Cream Sandwich-Nestled between two giant chocolate chip Heath Bar cookies is three cups of vanilla bean ice cream.  On top of this masterpiece is both hot fudge and caramel syrup.  Until now, I’ve never considered the calories or the Weight Watcher points of this guilty pleasure, and it turns out there’s a reason.  The two cookies alone are about 1500 calories.  Yikes.  I want you to know I’m not totally gross.  I share this indulgence.  But now I’m questioning the sanity of using this cookie concoction to celebrate my weight loss accomplishments.
3. People Magazine-This magazine is all about mind-numbing, candy brain lovin’, good times.  Heavy on the photos and light on the text.  Here’s another confession, I read the New Yorker for the cartoons.  I’ve been known to laugh hysterically in the doctor’s office while my kids look at me as if I’ve gone mad (or more mad than usual).  But seriously, who has time to read the New Yorker articles?  I don’t.  Or should I say, I don’t make the time.  But I see this as no different than those men who claim to “read” Playboy. Come on, really?  The articles?
4. Pop music-I love catchy, uncomplicated music.  I love songs by Jason Mraz and Dave Matthews, and oh, yeah country music, without the twang and the sappier the story the better.  Jazz and classical music are a little too complicated for my brain.
5. Give me romantic comedies, mind fluff, any day over dark, dark, dark movies.  I’ve never seen “Sophie’s Choice,” although I read the book, because visually I couldn’t stand to watch her choice.
6. I have read Carver, Faulkner, Hemingway, and other literary giants.  But can I tell you something?  I love a good story.  And as a working mom with three kids and now three dogs, I need stories that leap from the pages and grab me by the throat.  I need stories I can read at the end of the day, for fifteen minutes before my eyelids become so heavy I have to put the book down.  The next night I need to be able to pick up the book, and start reading where I left off without missing a beat.  I can’t read dense prose that has more than three hundred pages.  Right now I’m enjoying reading “Diary of a Wimpy Kid” and “The Adventures of Captain Underpants” with Jack.  These are funny stories and they have pictures.  Come on. Who’s with me?

There are reasons for guilty pleasures.  For me, it’s about comfort, fun, levity, escape, denial. These are all ways I lighten up. Maybe one day when life is a little lighter and less hectic, I will turn to “Moby Dick” while sipping my herbal tea and nibbling on my organic home grown oranges and apples.  In the background there will be something jazzy playing on the stereo.  But until then, here’s to marshmallows and Jason Mraz.

What’s your guilty pleasure?