Confessions of a Shopaholic

Shopping montages are dead because going shopping as a pastime is dead.
While my fellow booksellers and I spent the summer eagerly awaiting the new Haruki Murakami, Margaret Atwood, Ian McEwan, and David Mitchell novels, I was also secretly counting down the days to the newest book in the Shopaholic series, Shopaholic to the Stars.
I tried --unsuccessfully -- to join the cult of the beturners, folks who buy something with the explicit intention of using it one time and returning it. It's part stealing, part retail-borrowing, and pure evil. We all know about beturning, but no one likes to talk about it.
It's Black Friday and time to go on a literary shopping spree, not the way James Franco went on a spree buying up film rights
At Taylor's school, lunch was bowls of gruel, scooped out by hand. Back at her compound, the toilet was a hole in the floor
So let's they greenlight the remake of The Wizard of Oz, and the casting begins. Can I at least make my suggestions? Rather than try to make The New Improved Loud Wizard of Oz, a big gaudy production, why not do an eight party TV series with all the best reality show stars.
How many of those essential ingredients of the Chick Flick stew have been thrown in the Confessions of a Shopaholic pot?
This comedy about a compulsive shopper and would-be journalist was filmed before the current economic disaster, but superficially it couldn't be more attuned to today's crisis.
In Confessions of a Shopaholic, the film I adapted, the character's shopping obsession starts as a child when she watches the Joneses get sparkly shoes while her Cleaverish parents buy her sturdy brown clunkers.
That's a moot point. Shopaholic, drawn from the novels by Sophie Kinsella, is DOA, not even amusing enough to make the cut