Maybe I'll get ads about ads now

Dude, Google AdWords is so lame. I added it to my blog thinking, hoping, praying against every sense of rationality, decency and pride that I could make a bit of extra cash off of it. 

I don't really know why I thought it would work -- my friends are too smart to fall for banner ads (They're also too smart to get sucked into reading whatever swill I'm jotting down here every week. Damn my awesome taste in people.), and I don't think my parents trust the Internets enough to click anything.

Even if my friends and parents were the sort of mythical, click-happy, Web-trolling consumers that all these ads are made for (and who are those people? Do they really exist? I imagine they're all in some godforsaken place, like Arkansas, trapped in a 1960s fallout shelter, and the only way for them to understand the present day is to mash any Internet button they can...I don't know why the bunker has Web access.), what in the world would make Google think that my friends would want the particular ads they have chosen?

Am imagined scene in the life of "Jolly" John Bavoso: 

"La la la, I'm just reading Lauren's blog. Man, I am such a good friend to plow through this every week. Oh, look, she's angry about something again...

"OoooooooOO - why, yes! I DO want an Eliot [redacted to keep the ad from reappearing] ringtone!"

What in the name of ham sandwich is a [redacted] ringtone? Does it play high-class stripper music? Does it only sound when your pimp is calling? Is it legal in the state of New York?

I demand answers, Google! Drag out your giant brain machine and make it speak to me!

If the G-team were really all that smart they would have ads for free beer and ice cream -- those are the things that appeal to the type of people who read this blog. Or maybe an ad for funny things - "Hey People! Tired of the soul-crushing disappointment that comes from reading thelaurenbell every week? Come read funny things here!" 

As it is, I'm not expecting a cheque for my AdWords contributions any time soon. . . unless you're all secretly huge fans of Abigail Adams (really, Google? Can we get at least get this shiz updated at some point? I was angry at John Adams, like, two weeks ago). 

I'm actually not angry this time...also not really funny...

I've started reading Watership Down. No, I don't particularly like rabbits, and, yes, I am over the age of eleven. I picked it up in an effort to fix a bit of a problem I've been having: I cannot stop referencing this book.

For years now, every time I've seen anything featuring, or even resembling, rabbits, I have had the horrible compulsion to blurt out, "Ohmygod Ohmygod -- it's totally like Watership Down you guys!" The numerous occasions that communists, furry bands of animals, or some combination of the two, have made it into conversations with friends (you'd be surprised at how often this happens...or would you?), I HAD to bring up Hazel, Fiver and the gang. It's gotten so bad that, though this hasn't happened yet, I can assure you if I saw a ship on the water go down somewhere, I would certainly attempt a pun on everyone's favorite rabbit-based novel.

The weird part (aside from, you know, all those other parts I just talked about): I haven't even seen the book since I was about nine years old.

Watership Down is, in fact, just one in a long line of classic, beloved works of fiction that I recklessly, wantonly and probably erroneously bring up in my daily conversations.

The boss leaves our relatively youthful office alone for the day? Suddenly I'm making cracks about Lord of the Flies. I rushed through that one once, in a blind dash of terror, sometime around the 8th grade.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas I have a bit more context for because I'm creepy and I've actually read the book (and seen the movie) recently, but that doesn't make it any less weird when I start growling about a trunk full of mescaline and a massive bat-fight in the desert.

Why have I let myself become this person? I think it's partly human nature - we like joining in the cultural conversation, embedding our lives into the bigger picture by picking up on things that are popular and connecting them to our own lives.

People reference stupid movies all the time. Because I enjoy getting beat up by common grade school thugs, I'm doing the same thing -- just with books. When you stand on a railing and scream, "I'm king of the world!" (or, more likely, unless you were a 14 year old girl when Titanic came out and you saw it 9 times in the theatre, some ridiculous bastardization like, "I'm on top of the world!" "I'm the king!" or "Fuck yeah!"), it's like me trying to sneak a Hemingway mention into conversation any time there's excessive drinking and manliness going on. You know what I'm going for, even if it's not dead-on.

If a book really is a cultural icon (and I hope to god that's still a possibility), is referencing one really that much lamer than quoting Anchorman for the billionth time? Sure, Gatsby may not be as endlessly amusing, but I'm betting he has many leather-bound books, and his home smells of rich mahogany.