I don’t know why I did this to myself. It’s a book based on a Saturday Night Live skit that I didn’t find particularly amusing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hold onto SNL skits beyond normal bounds of sanity–after all, I saw Night at the Roxbury on its opening weekend and Ladies Man as soon as I could, but the Pat thing? Nah, I have dodged that particular movie with aplomb.
As you know, gentle reader, the Pat thing is a skit by Julia Sweeney, an SNL alum I remember fondly up until the point that I deconfuse her with Jan Hooks, who I thought was hot. The gag in the skit, the movie (I presume), and the book is that you don’t know if Pat is a male or a female. So innumerable hours of skit time, movie time, and fictional decades in the book are spent by people trying to pin Pat down metaphorically or literally to find out.
I guess everyone needs a hobby.
So the book’s schtick is that it’s a scrapbook of Pat’s life, written in such a way to avoid all pronouns. Um, that’s it.
Well, it didn’t take too long to peruse, anyway, and I probably only spent a quarter on it.
Why do I do this? So I can serve as a warning to you, gentle reader, and I hope you’ll learn the lesson and not bother with this book.
Apparently, an ad at the back indicates that a similar book exists for Wayne’s World. Oh, my.