Skip to main content

Living la vida porno: A book review

I know you're going to say, um, TallGirl, this doesn't strike me as your sorta read. It's not. But in the coming months, my book club will be "discussing" (and I use that term loosely, because usually we just get together to eat, drink, and gossip about the neighbors) How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale (Jenna Jameson, 2004), so I thought I'd give it a whirl. After all, it's enriching to read stuff outside the usual fare, right?

Alas, I stopped reading this one about halfway through, and I just returned it to the library dropbox (in the hopes of avoiding the librarians' judgmental stares...that's a post for another day, for sure!). I didn't hate the book, nor was it poorly written, but I found after about 300 pages that I just didn't really care. At all. Here's the gist:
  • Jameson's life story is extremely predictable, but terribly sad -- lost her mom at age 2, her dad was unavailable emotionally and married a few wackos; she entered a bad relationship as a teen, which led to rape and drug addiction; she discovers her talent for stripping after a brief stint as a showgirl (like her mother) doesn't work out. She makes a ton o' money stripping, finally feels empowered, starts posing for magazines, meets a few hot lady lovers on the way, gets into porno acting, and voila...a star is born. (I only made it as far as her entree into gonzo films, then skimmed around a little in the later chapters. No real surprises.)
  • Heterosexual married ladies are not the intended audience -- the majority of the (explicit) sex scenes are girl-girl, which leads me to believe Ms. Jameson knows exactly the demographic of her readers. Duh, of course she does.
  • Why is this book 600 pages? She's only 34 years old, for pete's sake...has the woman even lived long enough to warrant such paper?
  • Wait for the movie...oh, no, that's right, the movies are already available -- I'm pretty sure everything you need to learn about making love like a porn star you can learn from one of Ms. Jameson's videos -- and without as much time invested.

Although the title is effectively a misnomer (yet attention grabbing, I admit), beyond getting some good advice on how to give a b.j. and how to avoid getting screwed (pun intended) by the porn industry, I did learn a few helpful tips from this book:
  • Use Noxema to shave your "area" instead of shaving cream, as this will reduce shave bumps.
  • If you ever see an ad for models that leads you to a strange hotel address, think earnestly about your life goals before you knock on that hotel room door.
  • You can lose a lot of weight very quickly by smoking meth (though it does a job on other aspects of your life) -- and your house will be squeaky clean.
  • Marilyn Manson really likes anal sex -- a tidbit that will come in handy for most of us, oh, NEVER!
  • If you're going to take a book about a porn queen out of the local library, expect it to be missing some pages (and consider wearing gloves while reading it).
As stated, I didn't love the book, but I didn't hate it. I did think the creative use of diary entries, comic book pages, and tips lists added a bit of fun to an otherwise bleak and predictable life story.

And I do have to give props to Jameson for making the most of a terribly rough life. I mean, her dreams may not have been the same as mine, but she kept them in sight and did whatever it took to reach them. She knows how to market herself, and now she's a bajillionaire adored (or lusted after?) by millions with her own product empire, so she deserves our respect, despite whether you agree with her lifestyle and choices.

Comments

  1. Wait, are we really reading this? I mean, I'm not going to, but is it on the list?

    Anyway, thanks for the review -- now I can save myself 600 freakin' pages. I mean, really, if you can't get the hang of it after the first 200, I just don't think you'll ever be making love like a porn star.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A boy and his cat

Our backyard is a decent size and backs to woods. Every time a visitor steps onto our back deck, friend, family, and neighbor alike, we hear "What a yard! You need to get that kid a dog!" Apparently this is the natural progression here in Suburbia: house + yard + boy child + dog = happiness. Now, it's one thing to hear about our need of dog from friends or family who know us, but coming from neighbors and relative strangers it gets a bit old. My first response is always, Why do you think so? Which makes people hem and haw because they don't want to insult me by saying what's really on their minds: Because you're depriving that child of a human sibling , and he needs a friend . One problem: We're not dog people. I mean, we like other people's dogs, and I often think having a dog would be a major motivation to walk long distances regularly and get myself into shape. But a dog is like a toddler who will never grow up. They are needy, and they bark and poo...

Ottomania!

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about ottomans. A ridiculous amount of time, actually, given the number of other things I truly should focus my thoughts on. I find, though, that when the world outside gets scary (and scary is a truly relative term these days) I turn to online shopping for things I don't really need. Actually, it's more like online browsing; I rarely purchase. I spend hours searching for, oh, erasable colored gel pens or standing desks or all-natural curly-hair gel or the perfect black sweater. (Yes, these are things I've fixated on over this winter; I still haven't clicked "buy" nor settled on any of them.) This week, it's ottomans. By the way, my girl  BrenĂ©  Brown would call this behavior numbing . I'm okay with that. Because online browsing is way less detrimental (so far) than chain smoking, which is what I'd really like to do when the world is scary. It's a way to escape, to daydream, to focus on things tha...

Grace happens

Today Honey's roommate in room 364 at Maine Medical Center was discharged. Some other day I'll tell you about why Honey is in the hospital again, but this story is about the roommate because it's way more interesting. Let's call him Elton, because all I really know about him is he plays guitar in an Elton John tribute band and he's originally from the very northern part of England, bordering Scotland. (Or as Honey described it, "that place in England where the Roman Empire decided, nope, those Celts are crazy, and put up a wall.") Elton was in room 364 before Honey arrived, and what struck me immediately, besides his delightful accent and soothing Liam-Neeson-esque voice, was his gentle, good-natured manner. He was going through heck from a botched surgery and compartment syndrome - pain and gore and fear of losing the use of his dominant hand - yet he spoke kindly and softly to every person who came into his room. Every time a nurse walked in, Elton gre...