About a year and a half ago I started getting all these frantic emails from my female friends urging me to read a novel called "The Time Traveler's Wife," by Audrey Niffenegger. If you're a girl, you've probably read it, and you probably aren't going to like what I'm going to say here in this public forum, and that is: I didn't like this book. Also, it didn't make me cry. CALM DOWN. I mean, what ever happened to people being allowed to have opinions about things like books and music and movies without the threat of being yelled at or even brutally maimed?

For those of you who haven't read this book, it's about, well, here's some of the synopsis from Amazon.com:

(by the way, if you have no time for synopses that involve brutally confusing melodrama, you should probably skip ahead to where I start writing again)

"Niffenegger has written a soaring love story illuminated by dozens of finely observed details and scenes, and one that skates nimbly around a huge conundrum at the heart of the book: Henry De Tamble, a rather dashing librarian at the famous Newberry Library in Chicago, finds himself unavoidably whisked around in time. He disappears from a scene in, say, 1998 to find himself suddenly, usually without his clothes, which mysteriously disappear in transit, at an entirely different place 10 years earlier-or later. During one of these migrations, he drops in on beautiful teenage Clare Abshire, an heiress in a large house on the nearby Michigan peninsula, and a lifelong passion is born. The problem is that while Henry's age darts back and forth according to his location in time, Clare's moves forward in the normal manner, so the pair are often out of sync."

Sad, huh?

Not really? I TOTALLY AGREE. In a world with car bombs and starvation and racism and life-threatening illnesses and love stories that are actually sad (listen to StoryCorps on NPR, for instance, if you really want to start bawling), I don't feel I have time for tales as weirdly contrived as this. I mean, in your typical time travel story - take "Back to the Future" - the time traveler goes back in time, their mother falls in love with them or whatever, and then they return to the present. In "The Time Traveler's Wife," this guy Henry is continually going back and forth between periods of just a few years and the present so not only are you royally confused, but it's just so unbelievable. You're supposed to sit there and be ok with the fact that this guy was just born with this ability. I think the author even informs us that, before birth, he would disappear from his mother's womb or something. Seriously.

To counter the unbelievable nature of this terribly tragic gift, however, Niffenegger gives Henry these very human traits. Like the fact that time travel makes him feel sick. So not only is he constantly leaving the woman he loves, but every time he time travels he ends up somewhere cold and naked and nauseous, and you want to feel sorry for him, but it's really hard, because, I mean - that time I got food poisoning? I was cold and well - not naked - but nauseous, and that was REAL. A REAL THING THAT HAPPENS TO HUMANS.

Also, the book, as you may have guessed, is ultra serious. Not one even mildly funny thing occurs in this novel. And I like humor interspersed with my grief.

So what I'm saying is that it was hard for me to find this book sad, even though I'd been promised by fanatics that I would cry the whole way through. One person told me that the reason the book was so sad was that it was a love that "truly, could never be." I guess so but I didn't end up feeling that bad for the characters. Call me heartless, but I'm not. I cry all the time while reading, and maybe in a later post I'll list all the books that will really move you, with good reason.

Again, I'm only sharing my opinions this week so go ahead and read the book if you so desire. The entire rest of the world pretty much - critics included - will tell you that it's "totally so amazing." The only person who sided with me was our friend Kristen, who didn't get what was so great about "The Time Traveler's Wife," either, thus proving her immeasurable awesomeness (Kristen, I'm really sorry to take you down with me and I hope people aren't beating you up at work right now).

There are things I don't write about on my blog. I've never written about any job I've had - even when I worked in very close proximity with a 70-year-old southern woman who used the term "coloreds" on a regular basis and sometimes expressed pity for everyone who hadn't been Saved, because them there people, they were going to Hell - because I've never wanted to be unprofessional and get fired, even if the material is really, really good. I also try to avoid writing anything that would hurt anyone's feelings - things I'm told in privacy, railing against anyone's beliefs or passions, or just generally being ignorant and mean. I practice these manners in life, too. Being nice is important. And civilized.

Then there are things I don't write about because for one reason or another, I'm just a little scared to put it out there.

But this week I decided to let down my guard and spill it.

And I'll start with this: I hate Asheville, North Carolina. I know, I know, it's not that shocking if you haven't been there or have no idea what I'm talking about, but believe me, people love Asheville, North Carolina, and to boldly proclaim that I hate it there, well, could get me banned from the state. Or worse.

The crazy thing is every time I go to Asheville - a town nestled among mountain chains in the western part of the state, I think I love it. At first.

First of all, it's gorgeous out there. You drive and drive and the air becomes cleaner and the views are spectacular and the town is adorable, complete with organic restaurants and boutiques and quaint inns. There are always a good number of people out in the streets walking dogs, holding hands, and you look out your car window and think, "Damnit, I am happy to be ALIVE!"

There are worthwhile historic landmarks in Asheville, too, like the Biltmore Estate and author Thomas Wolfe's childhood home.

Asheville is surrounded by smaller mountain towns (some of which I do love) and you can take a drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway in the autumn and just about die from the beauty of it all.

Almost everyone I know is crazy about this place. If you happen to mention you're taking a trip out there they exclaim, "Asheville?! OH MY GOD I LOVE ASHEVILLE!" and that's how you know.

But I've finally come to grips with the fact that I can't stand that place, and I'll tell you why - it's awful. Sure, it looks great at first, for all the reasons I described above, but spend a little time there and you start to notice some pretty annoying stuff. Like all the hippies. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing wrong with most hippies. Hippies that, you know, are concerned about shit. These hippies, however, are mostly concerned with running around barefoot and gathering in the center of town to, Jesus, I don't know, share and eat bean sprouts and not take care of their children.

A little of that goes a long way, and believe me, the "we're so carefree we don't even mind that we're wearing dirty clothes" attitude permeates the entire town, and then add to that the fact that Asheville, for whatever reason, seems to be the place where "creative" types go to just be free and live, man, so there are cars painted all the colors of the rainbow and, like, ten street fairs going on at once and one time I saw this impromptu parade materialize out of thin air. Just individuals marching around being individuals I guess. It kind of made me want to throw myself off a cliff.

It's up to you to judge for yourself, of course, and there really are a lot of great things to do and see there and a lot of great places to eat and drink, but unfortunately I haven't yet been able to get past the other stuff in order to settle down and enjoy it.

What really summed Asheville up for me was this one night I was walking around with my brother, Vinnie, and his friend Bryan. This was over the summer when Vinnie's band was down here in North Carolina playing a few shows, and I'd driven to Asheville for the night to see the them. Afterwards, the three of us were just walking around, talking about the town, and I remember Bryan made the excellent point that, "hippies - they're all into simplicity and just living on the basics - but then they sell things like beads, which are totally, totally unecessary," and all of a sudden we noticed we were being followed by a drunk, shirtless dude, who stopped us and asked us for a dime. A dime. So we gave him one and he went on his way. I don't know why, but it would have been a lot better if he'd asked us for a couple bucks or something. Honestly, what in the name of God is going on when a drunk guy actually asks if you "can spare a dime" like you're in some crazy surrealistic film? That's Asheville for you. I don't think I'm going back.

I didn't like that book "The Time Traveler's Wife"

I hate Asheville (kickoff: Truth Week 2007)