The Water Cooler
Once upon a time, we had water coolers. Big, burbling things where co-workers could gather to schmooze. They were shrines to the art of the schmooze. Co-workers would talk about the craziness of the current White House, or last week’s episode of “The X Files,” or them Mets, or the new dish they hired in accounting (“…blond, big eyes, sweet smile, mustache [you thought I was going sexist there, weren’t you.]…), or this book you’d just picked up from the library.
Water coolers. Think of them as corporate versions of Stonehenge.
Then, those pesky Internets showed up and all of a sudden there was a cooler, faster, hipper way to talk to friends about books. (Or dishes, one supposes.) For instance: Good Reads.
Know it? Why the hell not? What are you, living in a cupboard under the stairs on Privet Lane?
OK, I didn’t, either, until “Crashers” started showing up. Suddenly, average, ordinary readers are schmoozing about my book. Wow.
I just became them Mets. My book is that upon which people schmooze. The book is schmooze-worthy. It’s water cooler material.