Uh-oh, it looks like your Internet Explorer is out of date.

For a better shopping experience, please upgrade now.

Everybody into the Pool: True Tales
  • Alternative view 1 of Everybody into the Pool: True Tales
  • Alternative view 2 of Everybody into the Pool: True Tales

Everybody into the Pool: True Tales

3.4 5
by Beth Lisick

See All Formats & Editions

Beth Lisick started out as a homecoming princess with a Crisco-aided tan and a bad perm. And then everything changed. Plunging headlong into America's deepest subcultures, while keeping both feet firmly planted in her parents' Leave It to Beaver values, Lisick makes her adult home on the fringe of mainstream culture and finds it rich with paradox and humor


Beth Lisick started out as a homecoming princess with a Crisco-aided tan and a bad perm. And then everything changed. Plunging headlong into America's deepest subcultures, while keeping both feet firmly planted in her parents' Leave It to Beaver values, Lisick makes her adult home on the fringe of mainstream culture and finds it rich with paradox and humor. On the one hand, she lives in "Brokeley" with drug dealers and street gangs; on the other, she drives a station wagon with a baby seat in the back, makes her own chicken stock, and attends ladies' luncheons. How exactly did this suburban girl-next-door end up as one of San Francisco's foremost chroniclers of alternative culture? Lisick explains it all in her hilarious, irreverent, bestselling memoir, Everybody into the Pool.

Fans of David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell will relish Lisick's scathingly funny, smart, very real take on the effluvia of daily living. No matter what community she's exposing to the light, Lisick always hits the right chord.

Editorial Reviews

Entertainment Weekly (Editor’s Choice)
“The tales veer from razor sharp to hilarious. A”
Entertainment Weekly (Editor's Choice)
“The tales veer from razor sharp to hilarious. A”
(Editor's Choice) - Entertainment Weekly
"The tales veer from razor sharp to hilarious. A"
Entertainment Weekly (Editor’s Choice)
“The tales veer from razor sharp to hilarious. A”
KLIATT - Janet Julian
One of Entertainment Weekly's 10 best nonfiction books of 2005, Everybody is humorous, frantic, self-effacing, laugh-out-loud funny—well, look up "flippant" or "irreverent" in Roget's and it's all that. Beth Lisick moved with her parents from the stodgy Midwest to Northern California in 1967, settling in Sunnyvale. They went from working-class Catholic stability in small-town Illinois, wholesome as white bread, to the madness of a liberal West Coast town. "They were naive, sweet, and open to just about anything—as long as it wasn't illegal or didn't hurt anyone's feelings." Beth's life became somewhat more unusual. Her tales include: Nancy Patten, their live-in teenaged babysitter, a braless Mary Poppins in platform shoes; an improper sexual suggestion during the prom; ripping off nuns the weekend before college began; a flirtation with lesbianism; buying a house in the San Francisco Bay Area with a crazy neighbor who tended the lawn with scissors one blade of grass at a time; a brother in advertising who wrote the immortal phrase "Drop the chalupa!" for the Taco Bell Chihuahua; earning a couple of bucks by dressing up in a giant foam banana costume and Ray Ban knockoffs; writing a book and having a baby. Lisick's witty observations are for mature readers only, due to sex and adult language.
Library Journal
Lisick has sampled most of the alternative culture experiences available to Americans. Currently a prominent figure in the San Francisco arts community, she has contributed to National Public Radio's This American Life and has been a comedian, musician, and actor. Her memoir is made up of loosely connected chapters about being too bizarre for mainstream life but too mundane for the fringes. She delights in contrasting her wholesome (and slightly na ve) family with her later experiences (squatting in illegal warehouses, touring with punk poets, and ending up-slightly perplexed-with a child of her own). "[T]he fact that I had a stable childhood was precisely what let me stray pretty far away from it without ever landing in therapy, rehab, or jail," she writes. Readers who like their memoirs with loose ends neatly tied will not necessarily appreciate Lisick's breezy style; a number of one-time references are left unexplained, and chapters occasionally end abruptly. Still, these stories most definitely entertain. Recommended for larger public libraries.-Audrey Snowden, John F. Kennedy Sch., Santiago de Queretaro, Mexico Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
California performance artist Lisick offers bright, funny takes on her square upbringing in Sunnyvale during the 1970s and 1980s, her adult life in San Francisco's 1990s counterculture and beyond. A weekly columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle's Web site, the author presents herself as "too weird to fit into the mainstream world, the one I came from . . . too normal for the fringe world I found later." She highlights the contrast between normal childhood and freaked-out adulthood in her account of an annual ladies' luncheon and Christmas gift exchange at which she appears first as an eager child waitress in 1976, then, in 1991, as a disheveled invitee with a hangover and bad hair bringing a poorly wrapped, last-minute gift. Lisick uses her uneasy stint as a homecoming princess and her appalling first date with a popular jock to create an entertaining glimpse of her high school years. Later, she's at UC Santa Cruz stuffing $20 bills into her black bustier at a Catholic charities raffle because she needs money for an abortion. It's darkly funny, and there's more to come. After college, Lisick travels with an all-female punk-rock troupe named Sister Spit and explores her sexuality with a female construction worker named Trouble. Then, while living with her boyfriend in a San Francisco warehouse that's flooded by broken sewer pipes, she is forced to move her possessions out in a beat-up shopping cart. When she eventually buys a house in Berkeley, it's in a rundown, garbage-strewn neighborhood known as Brokely. Such personal disasters, small and large, are the stuff of these memoirs, providing her with the material for her sharp observations and self-deprecation. The final piece finds hera bemused new mother, coping with a drooling and crusty-headed baby boy who's clad all wrong in pink and yellow. Exaggeration in the interest of a good story is no sin, and Lisick is above all an accomplished storyteller. Light, flippant and savvy. Author tour

Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.60(d)

Read an Excerpt

Everybody into the Pool

True Tales
By Beth Lisick

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2006 Beth Lisick
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0060834269

Chapter One

Greetings from our
Special Bubble

The fact that my parents moved to Northern California during the fabled "Summer of Love" can be explained this way: In addition to Free Love and War Protests, another hot ticket in the year 1967 was Guided Missiles. The aerospace industry was booming, and my dad, the son of a former coal miner named Cubby, had just become the first person in his family to go to college. He finished his engineering degree in Illinois and decided to move west. While vibrant young people across the nation were making pilgrimages to the Haight Ashbury in San Francisco, my parents found Mecca in Sunnyvale, near the Lockheed Missiles and Space plant and about forty-five minutes away from any genus or species of counterculture movement. If it weren't for public television documentaries and Life magazine, they would have never known that there were excessively hairy people getting busy in Golden Gate Park, shaking ribbon-festooned tambourines in one hand and holding doobies in the other. As my mom sums it up, "With two boys under two and you on the way, we were pretty darn busy ourselves."

Fast forward to one Thursday evening in the fall of 1972. It's been a big year so far.Vietnam is out of control, Watergate is heating up, and my parents sit the three of us down on the couch to alert us to an important event that will change our lives. From now on, every Thursday night will hereby be known as Family Night. My mom explains that Family Night will be a special evening when we can look forward to "relaxing" and "enjoying one another's company" -- concepts difficult for pre-elementary school age children to latch onto until my dad clarifies matters for us: "That means no TV."

It seemed impossible to imagine it. Our TV was like the household sundial, always there to give us a rough estimate of the time. Lilias, Yoga and You meant it was still too early to wake Mom up. Nap time was in sync with As the World Turns. Dinner ended just before Walter Cronkite came on. Ignoring the panic on our young faces, Dad presented us with a typed agenda. Even at ages four, five, and six, my brothers and I knew there was something odd about your dad handing you a memo. We had long harbored a vague suspicion that he thought of us as his employees, and the itemized schedule was a disturbing development.

As two people who spent the 1940s and 1950s growing up in working class Catholic families in small-town Illinois, my parents were about as wholesome and earnest as twin ears of corn at a church picnic. They were naive, sweet, and open to just about anything -- as long as it wasn't illegal or didn't hurt anyone's feelings. It's so easy to picture my mom reading about Family Night in Redbook, Ladies Home Journal, or one of those confusing mom magazines that features pictures of roasted meats and patio furniture. The little thought bubble over her head would say, "What a fun idea!" and that's exactly what would come out of her mouth.

Some people get criticized for saying whatever pops into their heads because their heads are full of darkness, sarcasm, and brutal truths. With my mom, it's the opposite. Her world is full of neat people! Interesting places! Fun ideas! And she's not afraid to let her little light shine. Irony, for her, was what she had to do with all those clothes in the basket over there, and jaded was a pretty, green Oriental stone. And she knew about the Orientals because her high school football team had been called the Pekin Chinks. Their mascot was a toothy, slanty-eyed guy wearing a coolie hat until sometime in the mid-seventies when, under advisement, they became the Dragons. Everyone in town felt just awful about the misunderstanding. They'd had no idea.

Among other things, Family Night was also a way of wearing us down before bedtime through the repeated playing of charades. Each Thursday my dad would come home from working at what he and my mom called "the bomb factory," and he'd type out the agenda on the powder blue Smith-Corona. The schedule usually looked like this:

Lisick Family Night

The first item was a given, although it should be noted that my parents participated in this part as well. We were a family of five, entirely clad in pajamas, in a suburban, split-level, tract home at dusk.

Questionnaire was always up for grabs. Any member of the family was free to ask a question of another family member, but there were months at a stretch when my brothers and I would demand to know what my dad did at work all day. "First I get my coffee," he'd start. "And then I read my mail. Sometimes Luke from the office down the hall comes by. . . ." His deflection strategy worked. He'd bore us until we stopped listening and forget by the next week that we had ever asked.

Charades was the rowdiest part of Family Night. Lacking worldly knowledge, we were forced to repeat the same clues, usually drawing from the worlds of Walt Disney, Dr. Seuss, or daytime television. A quick batch of jumping jacks was enough to act out the Jack LaLanne Show, the early morning exercise program we watched religiously as we scarfed down our Pop Tarts, and my mom's specialty was a surprisingly nuanced version of Dick Van Dyke's Bert the Chimney Sweep from Mary Poppins.

We were obsessed with Mary Poppins. My oldest brother Paul, at the age of seven, had already typed out a sixty-five page sequel about what Jane and Michael Banks do after Mary leaves -- namely, horse racing and international spying. And I was in the annoying, precocious habit of blurting out "supercalifragilisticexpealidocious!" any time something favorable happened, like dismounting the backyard trapeze without doing a face-plant or . . .


Excerpted from Everybody into the Pool by Beth Lisick Copyright © 2006 by Beth Lisick. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Beth Lisick, author of the New York Times bestseller Everybody into the Pool, is also a performer and an odd-jobs enthusiast. She has contributed to public radio's This American Life and is the cofounder of the monthly Porchlight storytelling series in San Francisco.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Post to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews

Everybody into the Pool: True Tales 3.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 5 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Someone compared this writer to David Sedaris. NO WAY!! She would like to be as clever and funny as Sedaris, but doesn't even come close. But aside from any comparisons, this writer is not funny or interesting.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Only her, her mate and deputy allowed in without asking. Otherwise and recieve answer at camp. Bluestar.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book is so great!!! It's funny, smart,and just really relatable. Beth lisick has got great comedic timing, I have never laughed so hard from a book in my life. It's a fun read, I've even re-read it!! So, enough with this review and buy the book to see what I'm talking about!!!