Finalist for the 2001 Thurber Prize for American Humor a Rocky Mountain News (Denver) Best Book of the Year
Millions of people dream of abandoning the city routine for a simple country life. Jim Mullen was not one of them. He loved his Manhattan existence: parties, openings, movie screenings. He could walk to hundreds of restaurants, waste entire afternoons at the Film Forum, people-watch from his window. Then, one day, calamity.
His wife quits smoking and buys a weekend house in the Catskill Mountains of upstate New York -- in a tiny town diametrically opposed to Manhattan in every way. Slowly, however, the man who once boasted, "Life is just a cab away," begins to warm to the place -- manure and compost and strangers who wave and all -- and to embrace the kind of life that once gave him the shakes.
Mullen, best known for his pithy, skewering "Hot Sheet" column in Entertainment Weekly, was once a New York City chauvinist, tethered to a trendy, glamorous lifestyle. Having reluctantly acceded to his wife's wish for a house in the Catskills, Mullen turns his gimlet eye on rural New York, deconstructing the local practice of exchanging waves with all passing drivers and the coercive function of the local newspaper's hyper-detailed police blotter. Mullen is funniest at his most acerbic, like when he verbally eviscerates some pretentious houseguests: "Bert is wearing what he thinks are country clothes ostrich skin cowboy boots with silver tips... a skin-tight cowboy shirt.... He looks like Miss Kitty's pimp." Or in this description of "Walleye" 's town square: "A community college that looks as if it was designed by a cabal of the worst Soviet bloc architects... saves the town from being too cute for words." But he eventually goes native, respectfully acknowledging the locals' contempt of clueless, demanding weekend "flatlanders," and coming to appreciate the simpler life: "Why would... eating lunch at La Grenouille... be more important than watching the birds on the feeder?" he wonders. As the shticky title suggests, the book relies heavily on authorial invention; Mullen openly admits to "exaggerations, fictionalizations, and anachronisms." In the end, authors like Bill Bryson manage a more sustainable mix of solemnity and humor, but Mullen's readership and, yes, members of the trendy crowd looking for a little light weekend reading will find this rewarding enough. Agent, Lisa Bankoff, ICM.
Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
From Library Journal
Mullen, who writes the "Hot Sheet" humor column for Entertainment Weekly, was satisfied with his trendy, busy life in Manhattan. So when his wife decided to buy a farmhouse for weekends in the Catskills, his lack of enthusiasm knew no bounds. Wouldn't he be totally bored away from all his favorite restaurants and shops? In this fresh and funny account of his unwitting transformation from sardonic urbanite to contented countryman, Mullen seems genuinely surprised by the affection he feels for his rural community after his initial culture shock. He learns to wave like a native, discuss septic tanks with interest, and read local newspaper gossip with glee. When neighbors suggest using blood, bonemeal, and human hair to keep the deer out of his garden, he quips, "Are we gardening, or practicing voodoo?" As the relaxing pace of life grows on them, Mullen and his wife spend more and more time in the country ("commuting in reverse") and ultimately move there permanently. Unlike most back-to-the-land books, which tend to be how-to manuals or celebrations of the simple life, this memoir is a unique blend of stinging wit, hilarious anecdotes, and amusing fondness for his farming neighbors. Recommended for all public libraries. Ilse Heidmann, San Marcos, TX Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
My first newspaper column was in the weekly "Village Voice" in the mid-80s. It was called "I Believe" and it was based on a short bit Steve Martin used to do in his stand up act. He'd say "I believe" very pretentiously and instead of something deep and profound, he'd say something shallow and silly. I never used any of his lines, but the set-up was all his. I can only remember a few of the lines now, like "I believe that if you really think about it, men should be the ones who ride side-saddle." "I believe that somewhere there's a place for us, but it's $3600 a month plus utilities." "I believe that if you wake up and smell the roses, you've probably been buried alive."
That got me a job as a writer for Jim Kerr, the morning dj at WPLJ-FM at the time. Eventually I ended up producing his show for a few years, while also working at different magazines as a writer and editor. I would get up a 4am, go do drive-time radio until 9, then go to a bar and have a few drinks with Jim before jumping into a cab to whatever magazine had their hooks into me at the time. Trust me, if you're not drinking at 9am, you're doing it wrong.
I created a column called "The Hot Sheet" (try and say that fast, three times in a row) that was published in three or four "downtown" magazines before it ended up in "Entertainment Weekly" in 1991. It was a list of people and events that were in the news that week, ranked from 1 to 20, with a snarky comment attached to each. I called it "kicking people while they were up." EW over-paid me for thirteen years before they showed me the door, which was fine, I had absolutely nothing new to say about Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and the Sopranos.
My wife Sue (we just celebrated our 39th anniversary by staying up past 9) was working on Seventh Avenue in Times Square and for some reason she wanted a place where we could get away from the city on the weekends. She bought a little farm house outside a tiny little town without a stop light in the Catskills, three hours away from the cocktail parties, the free-movie screenings, the gift-filled swag bags and expense account lunches that I was gorging on in Manhattan. What was she thinking? We had lived in Greenwich Village for twenty years. We didn't have a car, I didn't have a driver's license, we didn't have a lawn mower or a grill. It took years, but I gradually came around to her way of thinking, a story I tell in "It Takes a Village Idiot" which is a thinly fictionalized version of the real story. I, of course, am the idiot in the title.
"Baby's First Tattoo" is a spoof of those memory books they give parents so they can write down the day the baby got his first tooth, the day she said her first word. My mother had eight of them and never got past the second page on any of them. "First Tattoo" is the memory book for real children, it has places for baby's first Ritalin prescription and baby's first lawyer. I wrote most of "Baby's First Tattoo" on the back of napkins on a plane ride from Omaha to Albany after spending a long, long weekend with small, noisy, sugar-fueled nieces and nephews. Inspired isn't the right word for that, tortured is. If you think I'm kidding, those same nieces and nephews are out of college right now, none of them married, none of them have kids. Because they know what they were like.
"My First Wedding" was a spoof of a wedding planning book, a follow-up to "First Tattoo." The premise was this: everyone knows that they're probably going to get married more than once, so why not make a deal with the caterer? If he does a good job on your first wedding, you promise to use him on the next one. It was a huge bomb. We could have dropped in on Iraq and ended the war ten years ago. Apparently brides-to-be don't find wedding planning as funny as I did.
After "The Village Idiot" came out, I thought a good way to promote it would be to get a newspaper column, write about fun stuff, and at the very bottom there'd be a line that said, "Jim Mullen's new book is "It Takes a Village Idiot." I've been writing that syndicated column every week for 10 years for United Media (which merged with Universal Uclick this past June). If you run a newspaper and would like to shower me with money go to www.universaluclick.com/ and sign up for my column. If your newspaper doesn't run my column, ask them why. Sometimes if you Google "Jim Mullen newspaper" you can find the column on line. I don't know why it's so hard to get on line, but I'm guessing it has something to do with money.
I put 43 of the columns together as a book called "Now in Paperback!" and it's companion volume with another 43 columns will come out in soon (around the first of the year, 2012) called "How to Lose Money In Your Spare Time -- At Home!" Don't ask me why, I like the exclamation points at this point in my life. I also have two novels in the works, one of which should come out in 2012.
I read this book in one afternoon. Like many others we too have had dreams of a fantasy "country house". Like the authors wife, we have made forays in Northern California to look for such a dreamplace. But luckily, everything here is either five hours away or costs three quarters of million dollars. So instead I read books like Jim Mullen's and feel smug about not having actually gonr and done the "fool" thing. This book actually has a great story, progresses beautifully, is very funny and is an all-around pleasure to read. If you like humourous books about suburban/urban life then you will love this book.
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This review is from: It Takes a Village Idiot : A Memoir of Life After the City (Paperback)
After the brief period of time it took to read this tale, I'm not surprised it found its way into my hands. This is not only a story I "get," (couple flees city for a life in the country) it's full of a self-deprecating and sarcastic wit I welcome when reading memoirs.
Jim Mullen, a humor columnist best known for his "Hot Sheet" in Entertainment Weekly, portrays Manhattan life as addiction. Addiction, for example, to non-stop action, Broadway plays, gallery openings, ethnic restaurants and The New York Times. The symptoms include immunity to noise and smells, and they lead to chain-smoking and excessive spending at The Sharper Image. He's hooked. It's his wife, Sue, who takes the lead and buys a farm three hours northwest of the city in the Catskills, and drags him along for what turn out to be rehabilitative weekends. As the weekends grow from two days to five and then finally full time, he gives up smoking, takes up bicycling and then learns about everything from growing giant pumpkins to the inner workings of a septic system. One realizes he has come full circle when he describes a dewy spider web as the prettiest thing he's ever seen and recognizes a "flatlander" in the garden store. While observing this newer version of the village idiot, he rolls his eyes and wonders if that's how he was when he first entered (the fictional town of) Walleye.
The writing is original and funny, informal without being glib, irreverent without being vulgar. For anyone who enjoys well-written memoirs--particularly those of the city-mouse, country mouse variety--put this on your list. Also recommend: "Fifty Acres and a Poodle."
Michele Cozzens, Author of A Line Between Friends and The Things I Wish I'd Said.
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Jim Mullen (known for his ascerbic and clever "Hot Sheet" column in Entertainment Weekly magazine) has written a very, very funny account of his indoctrination into a rural community in upstate New York. Mullen and spouse experience the horrors and, ultimately, the joys of life outside the crowded, dirty, and crime-ridden Big Apple when they buy a weekend home. The culture clashes between uber-urbanite (Mullen) and the farming community makes "Green Acres" look like an O'Neill drama. I read it in one sitting and couldn't stop laughing. I hope there is a sequel.
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