tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8885351140714000657.post9182189470159004008..comments2023-10-29T04:39:30.266-07:00Comments on America Made Me Fat: Reading and Mockery are a Few of My Favorite ThingsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14995710168910695911noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8885351140714000657.post-83473938340172287932015-01-23T19:09:00.124-08:002015-01-23T19:09:00.124-08:00Over descriptions of food. Unless one of your mai...Over descriptions of food. Unless one of your main characters is a chef, or the plot indespensably revolves around foodstuffs (Eat Pray Love, like Water for Chocolate etc), I quickly tired of how the fearless detective managed the perfect Italian salad and shrimp scampi late at night between her grisly discoveries, or how characters of means do their deepest pondering over a seared fillet. Come to think of it, the authors that do that also tend to be gratutitous with their sex scenes as well. <br />I have no compunction about defacing my books by crossing out typos and neatly printing the correct word. I wish I could do that on the internet. Bawling aloud and balling allowed are sooooo not the same thing.woofbyteshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06518254335644490367noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8885351140714000657.post-59847067025295438702015-01-23T11:28:26.348-08:002015-01-23T11:28:26.348-08:00Over-description of outfits is nothing compared to...Over-description of outfits is nothing compared to the pages-long descriptions of the moors in any Brit Lit book I've ever read. I stopped reading them because I. Just. Couldn't. Take. Any. Moor. :) Sorry, had to say it . . .Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com