HUH?
Longtime readers to this blog know my penchant for not reading as many books as I'd like. And buy. I have stacks of books that I craved but never get around to the prose. If there are pictures inside, the book has a fighting chance to be opened.
So, how did I wind up so quickly digging into Kelly Ripa's memoirs? I don't even have a good, fake answer.
I have long watched her allegedly "live" TV show with a bevy of male hosts from Regis to Strahan to Seacrest to now her husband. It is my morning background noise and I tune in to really find out what's new in movies and television. It's all so light and airy...even if the show is "previously recorded" two days out of every five.
This doesn't sound like the most compelling reason in the world to read her book. But, on my last trip to NY, I arrived in LAX and realized I had forgotten to pack a book that I wouldn't crack on the flight. Suddenly, I felt naked in Terminal 4. How can I fly without a book? Maybe this was an omen. He forgets to pack a book and the plane crashes into the ocean. End of life.
Len, you need a book.
I walked into the LAX bookstore and the first one I see is Kelly Ripa's tome. They swiped my VISA card. Air calamity averted.
On the plane, for some other reason I can't explain, I felt compelled to open the book. And read it. And read it. And read it. Oh, don't get me wrong. This book is barely a blip on the literary meter. But it is a pleasant diversion as the author takes you inside all elements of her life on TV and as a wife and mother. It's helped along by a snarky tone from the author that actually sounds real and genuine. And those who want some inside dirt on Regis Philbin won't be disappointed.
Is it a must read? Nah. If you're trying to ensure that your plane won't crash, it's worth the price.
Dinner last night: Leftover Chinese food.
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