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VIEWSVOICESDepartmentofWitI NeedA BookClub!in0mBYVICKIGLEMBOCKIFROMPHILADELPHIAMAGAZINEAYEARAFTERmyhusbandandImovedtotheNewJersey suburbs,wherewe'dplanned to start afamily,Irealizedthat in order to be fulfilled, I needed one thing: a book club.It was odd toyearnforone.I'd never been in a bookclubalthough Iknew people who made remarks like“When I hada baby,my book club brought dinners for a month!"or"If itweren'tfor book club, I'd murder my husband in his sleep"IVICKIfelt the yearning most when my as-yet-unmurdered husband,GLEMBOCKIThad, and I had dinner in a restaurant and saw couples ouris acolumnistage laughing as the two ofusate our Loaded Nachos, alone.forReader'sOn the ride home,I'd announce,"Ineed a book club."Digest and a"Iknow, Vicki,"Thad would reply,patting my thigh."I know.writer at largeforPhiladelphiaWhat I was really saying,of course,was"I need friends.magazine.Butthatphrasewas toopathetictoutter,soI substituted"book club"as code.Like,"Igetbywith a littlehelpfrommybook club."Like,"All you haveto do is call,and I'll bethere, yeah,yeah, yeah.You've got a“book club."09-201515ILLUSTRATION BY STEVE WACKSMANrd.com
rd.com | 09•2015 | 15 VICKI GLEMBOCKI is a columnist for Reader’s Digest and a writer at large for Philadelphia magazine. A YEAR AFTER my husband and I moved to the New Jersey suburbs, where we’d planned to start a family, I realized that in order to be fulfilled, I needed one thing: a book club. It was odd to yearn for one. I’d never been in a book club, although I knew people who made remarks like “When I had a baby, my book club brought dinners for a month!” or “If it weren’t for book club, I’d murder my husband in his sleep.” I felt the yearning most when my as-yet-unmurdered husband, Thad, and I had dinner in a restaurant and saw couples our age laughing as the two of us ate our Loaded Nachos, alone. On the ride home, I’d announce, “I need a book club.” “I know, Vicki,” Thad would reply, patting my thigh. “I know.” What I was really saying, of course, was “I need friends.” But that phrase was too pathetic to utter, so I substituted “book club” as code. Like, “I get by with a little help from my ‘book club.’” Like, “All you have to do is call, and I’ll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ve got a ‘book club.’” I Need A Book Club! BY VICKI GLEMBOCKI FROM PHILADELPHIA MAGAZINE Department of Wit ➸ ILLUSTRATION BY STEVE WACKSMAN VOICES VIEWS
DEPARTMENT OF WITI'd never been so friendless. Sure,soon.Iwas 100 percent certain thatIhad collegefriends I texted almostThad and Iwould beinvited toaplayevery day; my oldest pals were onesdate/potluck/partywithinthemonthI'd had since fifth grade. I'd met myand be friendless nomore.Webesties at my first real jobs.But nonewaited and waited-for four years.of them lived near us.It seemed asThad and I tried to laugh. It took aif everyone in our town not only hadfew more lonely dinners out and zerogrown up herebut still hung out withbook club invites for me to ask him,the kids they'd sharedfor real, "Is there some-8aprom limowith.thing wrong with us?"They didn't need newAs it turned out, thereIwas100friends. Ifelt as thoughwasn't somethingwe weren't just back inwrong with us.Therepercent certainhigh school--wewerewas somethingwrongwe'd be invitedthat exchange studentwith just about everyto aparty withinfrom Finland whomperson weknewlikepeople lent their biol-us—that is,an over-30the month.ogy notes to but didn'tadult. Married or not.We waited-forremember to invite toKids or not. Suburbs ora bonfire at the beach.not.Everyone we talkedfour years.I tried joining activi-to in our age bracketEEEties to make friends.Iwho wanted to"join abecame a yoga teacher. I had a baby.book club"couldn't make it happen.Itook myhusband and said babytoNot long ago, a friend-an oldfriend from grade school, to bea Unitarian church.I told an acquainclear-forwarded mean article abouttancewhohadabookclubhowmuchI wanted to be in it. I told her again. Iforming new relationships in yourhad anotherbaby.And another.While30s and 40s. It was reassuring to readImet nicepeople being Miss Join-a-howapsychologyprofessorfoundLot, nothing clicked in a"Let's rentthat"people tended to interact witha shore house next summer"way.fewer people as they moved towardSoIgot aggressive.I made cutemidlifebutthat theygrew closertoinvitations to a Halloween party atthe friends they already had." So thatour home, and I walked along mywas why we couldn't make friends.street, leaving one at every house"Do you reallyfeel like you havetime for new cast members?"askedwitha swing set ortrampoline.NotTricia (not her real name), the neigh-onlydid almost everyone come, butwe shared our numbers and e-mailbor who broke our droughtby invit-addresses and vowed to do it againing us to a party two years ago, at1609-2015 rd.com
16 | 09•2015 | rd.com DEPARTMENT OF WIT PREVIOUS SPREAD: ILLUSTRATION BY JOE MCKENDRY (GLEMBOCKI) soon. I was 100 percent certain that Thad and I would be invited to a playdate/potluck/party within the month and be friendless no more. We waited and waited—for four years. Thad and I tried to laugh. It took a few more lonely dinners out and zero book club invites for me to ask him, for real, “Is there something wrong with us?” As it turned out, there wasn’t something wrong with us. There was something wrong with just about every person we knew like us—that is, an over-30 adult. Married or not. Kids or not. Suburbs or not. Everyone we talked to in our age bracket who wanted to “join a book club” couldn’t make it happen. Not long ago, a friend—an old friend from grade school, to be clear—forwarded me an article about forming new relationships in your 30s and 40s. It was reassuring to read how a psychology professor found that “people tended to interact with fewer people as they moved toward midlife but that they grew closer to the friends they already had.” So that was why we couldn’t make friends. “Do you really feel like you have time for new cast members?” asked Tricia (not her real name), the neighbor who broke our drought by inviting us to a party two years ago, at I was 100 percent certain we’d be invited to a party within the month. We waited—for four years. I’d never been so friendless. Sure, I had college friends I texted almost every day; my oldest pals were ones I’d had since fifth grade. I’d met my besties at my first real jobs. But none of them lived near us. It seemed as if everyone in our town not only had grown up here but still hung out with the kids they’d shared a prom limo with. They didn’t need new friends. I felt as though we weren’t just back in high school—we were that exchange student from Finland whom people lent their biology notes to but didn’t remember to invite to a bonfire at the beach. I tried joining activities to make friends. I became a yoga teacher. I had a baby. I took my husband and said baby to a Unitarian church. I told an acquaintance who had a book club how much I wanted to be in it. I told her again. I had another baby. And another. While I met nice people being Miss Join-aLot, nothing clicked in a “Let’s rent a shore house next summer” way. So I got aggressive. I made cute invitations to a Halloween party at our home, and I walked along my street, leaving one at every house with a swing set or trampoline. Not only did almost everyone come, but we shared our numbers and e-mail addresses and vowed to do it again
READER'S DIGESTfriends. But they weren't here.which my six-year-old threw up on"Thad, I need a book club."her rug."Kids, work,family,house,"I know, Vicki. I know."keepingupwithfriendsfrompre-kidlife ... I feel like any time I findFTER 12 YEARS, here's how itshould befor me,my husband, andthekids to reconnect.finallywentdown:AmomI couldn't deny this made me hatewhose son was in my middle daugh-Tricia a little, in the same wayI hateter's class posted on Facebook thatpeople who have naturally curly hairsheneededabook recommendationor canplaythepianoby ear.ButI alsoI posted two.Sheposted that she'ddidn't believe her. I'd so often tried toread them. I thought, She should beconvince myself that I was too busymy new friend. I did not post that.for a"book club"that I did more justThen she posted:"We shouldso that it was true. When mygirls hitstart a book club!"First, Iweptschool age, I joined the PTA, directedquietly. Second, I called Thad. Third,their talent shows, and started singingI watched as other class momswith the church choir. I tiled theposted that theywanted to jointookitchenbacksplash."Ihave notimeIimmediately created apageonfor new friends,I'd sayto people inFacebook; Ieven gave us a name:the alto section and at drop-off."Westmont's Illustrious Novel EnthuThen it would happen. I'd meetsiasts, a.k.a.W.I.N.E" (Too soon?)someone. We'd click.I'd start toFive meetings later, I was stillbelieve she was a bona fide friend.texting my college friends more thanAnd then I'd get a form from schoolanyone in the club. But I had all theorfromthe athleticassociation:themembers'numbers in my phone."InCaseof Emergency"form.WhenWhoknewwherethis could go?WeI saw the sheet from the after-carefulfilled the conditions for BFFs-program, I nearly cried. There wereseeing each other often, living nearbynot one, not two, not three, butfourItwasapromisingpoolfor recruitlinesonwhichwewereto listpeopleingfourlocal emergency contacts.who could "act on behalf of parents."It was, pretty much, perfect. In fact,All fourneeded tohave local phoneit was so perfect that I didn't want tonumbers,and all I had was thedigitschance anything ruining it. And justof three other second-grade moms.like that, I'd become the verythingI'd spent years trying to infiltrate.It was the defining line of friend-ship:Whom could youask,countAfter Meeting Six,I posted on ouron, trust, to take care of your kids insecret Facebook page:"What wouldeveryone sayabout cappingthebooka crisis? I wouldn't have hesitated toRwritedown the numbers ofmy oldclub at the number we're at?"COPYRIGHT 2014 BY VICKI GLEMBOCKL PHELADELPHIA MAGAZINE (JANUARY 30, 2014), PHILLYMAG.COM
READER’S DIGEST which my six-year-old threw up on her rug. “Kids, work, family, house, keeping up with friends from pre-kid life . I feel like any time I find should be for me, my husband, and the kids to reconnect.” I couldn’t deny this made me hate Tricia a little, in the same way I hate people who have naturally curly hair or can play the piano by ear. But I also didn’t believe her. I’d so often tried to convince myself that I was too busy for a “book club” that I did more just so that it was true. When my girls hit school age, I joined the PTA, directed their talent shows, and started singing with the church choir. I tiled the kitchen backsplash. “I have no time for new friends,” I’d say to people in the alto section and at drop-off. Then it would happen. I’d meet someone. We’d click. I’d start to believe she was a bona fide friend. And then I’d get a form from school or from the athletic association: the “In Case of Emergency” form. When I saw the sheet from the after-care program, I nearly cried. There were not one, not two, not three, but four lines on which we were to list people who could “act on behalf of parents.” All four needed to have local phone numbers, and all I had was the digits of three other second-grade moms. It was the defining line of friendship: Whom could you ask, count on, trust, to take care of your kids in a crisis? I wouldn’t have hesitated to write down the numbers of my old friends. But they weren’t here. “Thad, I need a book club.” “I know, Vicki. I know.” AFTER 12 YEARS, here’s how it finally went down: A mom whose son was in my middle daughter’s class posted on Facebook that she needed a book recommendation. I posted two. She posted that she’d read them. I thought, She should be my new friend. I did not post that. Then she posted: “We should start a book club!” First, I wept quietly. Second, I called Thad. Third, I watched as other class moms posted that they wanted to join too. I immediately created a page on Facebook; I even gave us a name: “Westmont’s Illustrious Novel Enthusiasts, a.k.a. W.I.N.E.” (Too soon?) Five meetings later, I was still texting my college friends more than anyone in the club. But I had all the members’ numbers in my phone. Who knew where this could go? We fulfilled the conditions for BFFs— seeing each other often, living nearby. It was a promising pool for recruiting four local emergency contacts. It was, pretty much, perfect. In fact, it was so perfect that I didn’t want to chance anything ruining it. And just like that, I’d become the very thing I’d spent years trying to infiltrate. After Meeting Six, I posted on our secret Facebook page: “What would everyone say about capping the book club at the number we’re at?” COPYRIGHT © 2014 BY VICKI GLEMBOCKI. PHILADELPHIA MAGAZINE (JANUARY 30, 2014), PHILLYMAG.COM
Points to PonderAs sooNAS a largegroupofpeople[SCRIPTURE'S]POWERCOmesor citizens laughs at something,from its malleability.You can readit's never the same.That'sthemostit in any way that you want to.If youpowerful thing in theworld.Theyare a violent misogynist,you will findsaylaughter is the best medicine,plenty in theKoran or in theBiblebut it's the best revolution too.to justify your viewpoint. If you area peaceful feminist, you willfindROSEANNEBARRjust as much.comedian,on1salon.corREZA ASLAN, PHD,religious scholar[I'M] DISSATISFIEDwiththeanSweron The Daily Show withJon Stewar"I don't really like to put labels onthings"... Putting labels on thingsPEOPLEASKMEsometimes,Whenis how people find the exit duringwhen do you think it will be enough?a fire and make sure they're addingWhen will therebe enough womenvanilla extractto the cake insteadonthecourt?And myanswerisof arsenic.When there are nine.ALANAMASSEYRUTHBADERGINSBURGSupreme Courtjustice,duringatalkawriter, on medium.comGeorgetown UniversitySEEEERON SHARINGIDON'TKNOWWHYpeoplearesokeentoputthedetailsoftheirprivatelifeinpublic:theyforgetthatinvisibilityisasuperpowerBANKSY,streetartist,inTimeOutNewYorWHENYOUPUTSTUFFoutthereaboutyourself,peoplerealize,Heythispersonadmitsheisflawed...[mylbeingthatwayisgoingtobeOKI'mnotgoingtobejudged...So,whileithas,attimes,workedagainstme.Ithinkmany.manytimes,ithasworkedformeJIMNORTON,comedian,on sweetphyllis.cor1809-2015rd.comILLUSTRATION BY TRACY TURNBULL
18 | 09•2015 | rd.com SOURCE PHOTO: ERIKA GOLDRING/GETTY IMAGES ILLUSTRATION BY TRACY TURNBULL AS SOON AS a large group of people or citizens laughs at something, it’s never the same. That’s the most powerful thing in the world. They say laughter is the best medicine, but it’s the best revolution too. ROSEANNE BARR, comedian, on salon.com [I’M] DISSATISFIED with the answer “I don’t really like to put labels on things” . Putting labels on things is how people find the exit during a fire and make sure they’re adding vanilla extract to the cake instead of arsenic. ALANA MASSEY, writer, on medium.com [SCRIPTURE’S] POWER comes from its malleability. You can read it in any way that you want to. If you are a violent misogynist, you will find plenty in the Koran or in the Bible to justify your viewpoint. If you are a peaceful feminist, you will find just as much. REZA ASLAN, PHD, religious scholar, on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart PEOPLE ASK ME sometimes, When— when do you think it will be enough? When will there be enough women on the court? And my answer is, When there are nine. RUTH BADER GINSBURG, Supreme Court justice, during a talk at Georgetown University Points to Ponder ON SHARING I DON’T KNOW WHY people are so keen to put the details of their private life in public; they forget that invisibility is a superpower. BANKSY, street artist, in Time Out New York WHEN YOU PUT STUFF out there about yourself, people realize, Hey, this person admits he is flawed . [my] being that way is going to be OK; I’m not going to be judged . So, while it has, at times, worked against me, I think many, many times, it has worked for me. JIM NORTON, comedian, on sweetphyllis.com