I Don’t Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I’ve Dated by Julie Klausner
Back when we picked this book I posted “Sure, it probably won’t be a core-shaker, but I’m looking forward to a chuckle–and something tells me we can all relate to dating the dud dudes.” And it was just that–a great pool read (I actually did read it by the pool, my copy is now warped from getting wet) and jus a fun laugh-out-loud time. I couldn’t remember the last time a book made me laugh in public like a crazy person on the subway. Yet…it wasn’t what I expected, and unfortunately leaned far too much on stereotypes as a way to get a laugh.
First the good. Klausner is the witty foul-mouthed redhead Jewish nerdy best friend you’ve always wanted. In writing about her failed relationships, all you want to do is exchange snarky stories with her over a pint of beer. She shares stories with complete abandon and no pretension whatsoever, documenting her trip through the dating duds. The point of the book? Still not quite sure. When I first started reading I Don’t Care I wanted it to be this deep, profound book but once I gave up looking for something deeper, I just went along with the ride and had fun.
So here’s the thing with me and musicians. I know most girls go crazy for frontmen who close their eyes when they sing and nod their heads when the drums kick in, but I’m like Shania Twain with that stuff. That don’t impress me much. I’ll take somebody funny and brainy over a peacock with perfect pitch any day. You can teach a moneky to play the guitar, you know–and, as a bonus, watching him do it is hilarious. Still, anyone who can make a living doing something creative is impressive. And that, reader, is the single most Jewish thing I’ve said in this book so far. [...] I tried to listen to a comple of his songs online, and I got too bored by the melodies to may attention to his words. It was typical indie rock stuff: droney, thick, exhausting; but obviously heartfelt. Bring a book. I tried to get to the end of one of his tracks, but a Youtube clip of a basset hound taking a shower was too tempting not to switch to, mid-verse.
Of course there are some good “value yourself, ladies!” bits of the book that I did appreciate.
My advice to women who habitually gravitate towards musicians is that they learn how to play an instrument and start making music themselves. Not only will they see that it’s not that hard, but sometimes I think women just want to be the very thing they think they want to sleep with. Because if you’re bright enough–no offense, Tawny Kitaen–sleeping with a musician probably won’t be enough for you to feel good about yourself. Even if he writes you a song for your birthday. Don’t you know that a musician who writes a song for you is like a baker you’re dating making you a cake? Aim higher.
The downside of the book, like I said, was that she sometimes rested on stereotypes to get a chuckle out of the readers. Spitfire and I were discussing this earlier–why is it that people feel the need to utilize this type of humor? There are ways of being funny without pulling out gay guy stereotypes.
The end of the book seemed rather tacked on and tried to give a point to the whole book…but it didn’t. It just felt silly. There’s no point, really, except that dating is weird. Especially as a female twenty-something New Yorker.
Did anyone else read? What’d you think? I didn’t get much meat out of it, so to speak, but it sure did entertain me.