My book is a buzz word

I have to admit that every now and then I google "Suburban Xanadu" to see if anyone new has reviewed it. Imagine my surprise when I found this, in an article written by Steve Winn of the San Francisco Chronicle about motivational seminars:

With its promises of financial potency for the working single mothers, go- get-'em pluck for salespeople squeezed by the economy and a bullish Bush- Rumsfeld determination for the rest of us -- "Iraq isn't nearly as bad as the media makes it seem," Ziglar assured his audience, with Jessica Lynch in the wings to prove it -- this feel-good-athon built a shining bridge to some mythical, impregnable suburban Xanadu. There everyone lives in big houses and drives nice cars, plays golf or rides horses, sits down for quiet cups of coffee with spouses of 57 years who love them more than ever and enjoys a casual proximity to the immortals.

For the record, I don't live in a big house, drive a nice car, play golf, ride horses, drink coffee, or have a casual proximity to anyone immortal, though I don't begrudge anyone who does.

And then there is this, from the confessions of a copy-writer for Martha Stewart:

With let's-get-this-over-with zeal, I dug into my task. Martini glasses, turned out by the billion by some factory in Asia, had been imbued with specialness by virtue of Martha's name on the box. This wasn't your everyday glassware; these were "a subtle, modern design ideal for casual entertaining." Blankets became "exquisitely soft, stain-resistant, in a variety of designer hues." I trumpeted the virtues of non-stick surfaces, coordinated colors and patterns, ergonomic friendliness, and of course style. Over and over. For scores of items, which even if I had wanted them, I could never afford on these wages. Over the days and hours, it became an exercise in self-mockery: Taken in the aggregate, my brief lines of copy became descriptors not only of products but of a mythic lifestyle marked by opulence, comfort, taste, and convenience - a suburban Xanadu designed to be clearly visible, yet tantalizingly, eternally out of reach. Martha's world of perfect kitchen accessories was, like the gates of the law in Kafka's The Trial, forever beyond my station.

I know I should have trademarked that phrase. There are a few idiosyncratic phrases I have that I'm trying to get into the public consciousness, but I never thought that "suburban Xanadu" would resonate with anyone.
Googling has also taught me that Hans Ostrom, an English professor at the University of Puget Sound, has written a poem called "Suburban Xanadu" that will be published this year in a journal called Hadrosaur Tales. I've always liked dinosaurs, so I'm OK with this.

The strangest discovery I made is on a website called "cheapshop4U." It says that my history of casino gaming is a "similar product" to a myster thriller called 96 Tears. Other "similar products to buy" include a biography of Martha Washington, a book about fishing, and one about Nazi math. Bizarre.

The Suburban Xanadu page is no less random. "Similar products" include books about Nazis, vampires, and crocodiles. Needless to say, Suburban Xanadu is about none of these. They also included a book about nutritional supplements. I actually get asked about supplements a lot, and I'll say it again--I don't use any, and never have. I'll have a protein bar or shake for post-workout recovery, but that's it.

And then, at the bottom, is the revelation that if someone didn't find "the David G. Schwartz--Suburban Xanadu" interesting, they might like a Kaiser Noblesse 8-Inch Loaf Pan, 5-1/2-Cup. So is that saying that me and my work are of less interest than a baking accessory, or just that you can't use my book to bake banana bread?

I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to.
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posted by Dave at 3:57 PM

My book is a buzz word

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