I don’t read trashy romance novels. Really, I don’t. I’m not saying that I’m sitting around reading Dickens, but my tastes are usually, say, somewhere below Dickens but above Twilight on the trash-o-meter. Not that I didn’t read all of the Twilight books — because I did. But usually the books I read are generally right around Oprah’s-book-club level. Mostly mainstream stuff that you find on the “staff recommendations” shelf at Barnes and Noble. Mostly non-trashy.
All of that changed a few days ago when Amazon.com had a “recommendation” for me. It based this recommendation on some New Kids on the Block merchandise that somebody purchased using my account.