The OA, Crazy Dream Logic, Bad Wigs?

Hello, Lovelies… How the hell are you?

I’ve been wickedly excited about the return of The OA and GoT—especially after writing a Christmas movie about pie. That said, I do hope I don’t end up dying in an airplane bathroom in a Draco Malfoy wig. (I probably will) Yes, the tour took its toll but was ridiculous fun and I have many stories…

Meanwhile, is AOC  not the new political Daenerys? I know I sound like a broken record here, but we need guys everywhere to bend the knee, show us the report, and make room for lady writers, politicians, activists, comedians, bartenders, and engineers to do their best work to save the planet and vanquish the white walkers with their horrendous toenails, etc. It’s time to lead with fairy hair and dragons…

What else is happening… RIP Agnes Varda. You broke ground, you powerful sprite. Speaking of angels, Part 2 of The OA is super fun. They weave storylines so gracefully across all manner of “bearing witness” platforms and contexts—it’s almost balletic. I won’t spoil it for you.

I think because I’m coming up on my own personal epilepsy survival day of April 11th…  I just had the most beautiful-frightening dream ever.  I’m in New York on the way home from dinner with my ex and his hilarious friend Will, and because it’s crazy dream-logic, we all go to yoga in this converted church that somehow looks like a Restoration Hardware ad??? Think soothing, hipster masculinity, everything swathed in grays, taupes, distressed leathers, and wood tones. And I fall asleep during Savasana like I always do. When I wake up, I’m in a different place in the studio, searching the crowd for my ex and his buddy. They would never just up and leave me… Oh, and did I mention I’m also naked… and phone-less.

So, I wrap myself up in a yoga mat (like a taco) and I’m asking staffers where my clothes might have gotten to, but they’re all in this post-vinyasa fugue state that’s probably a function of working there. I can’t remember my ex’s number or Will’s to call them from these white courtesy phones that keep appearing out of nowhere. I finally make it to the door, and out of the church-yoga-Restoration Hardware. It’s just a few blocks to my house, I think. Yes, I’m only wearing a yoga mat, but I can make it if I run really fast. Hell, it’s NYC… There are plenty of people wearing much worse.

Just then, a man approaches me. He’s a pale, gaunt Jeff Daniels type, and he whispers, “I’m going to have one…” And I KNOW exactly what he means. All at once, he morphs into this roiling, swirling, skinless body of sand, light, and air that I cannot quite catch or keep safe… it’s like trying to hold fire. He is having a seizure, and then I SIT STRAIGHT UP in my bed here in LA, with both arms outstretched and empty—still trying to catch him. It was haunting.

Ok, I need coffee… Enjoy Spring, you crazy rad lovers – XOXO – GG

PS… For what to actually do during a seizure, watch this.

PPS… Apologies if you see weird paragraphs in this one… Something is up with WP.

The Path of Totality

Hello Lovelies,

How the hell are you? Are you wearing your glasses? It’s been a tough mental health week here and everywhere… Imagine if Angela Merkel were online today bemoaning the removal of Hitler busts, she’d be dragged from her house and offed more quickly than Ned Stark during an HBO hack-a-thon. For a day or two, I was doing all my final edits here. I don’t know who said it first, but finishing this book is like being pregnant with a lawnmower. It’s all large and sharp… and unwieldy… with loads of psychic paper cuts.

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With the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I confess… I SO wanted him to block me. It was like a Girl Scout badge (no, I never quit). I tried everything from damning passive-aggressive buddy texts to scathing Russian cartoons. In truth, these days my cruelty only comes out for a quick jaunt. Between the heat and my crazy neighbor, Marlene, I have acute snark-fatigue.

The thing of it is… even for a mouthy little spitfire who’s still making up for the fact that she was mute in Manhattan for a good long time, I was stunned back into silence this week after the presser. I got on the train all like this:

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Then, I got off the train to this… I haven’t seen such joy in free speech in a while.

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and this:

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And also this… Ah, New Yorkers are a practical lot.

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If only! But I’m with Colbert on this one, I give him until next week. I also predict loads of dancing. For now, I’ll be at Marie’s with this baby.

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Stay rad, stay loud, stay safe.  xoxo – GG

 

 

 

 

The White Walkers Are Coming… Quick, What’s Our Safety Word Again?

“Rhubarb, golf, prostate, prostate…” (30Rock)

We’re about to hand the keys to the White House over to a cray-cray, uber-racist, homophobic, disability-hating Oompa-Loompa who has no intention of actually leading. It’s like a life-on-fire montage, and no amount of tweeting or blogging will fix it.

Re: the Melania moment. To give her the ultimate benefit of the doubt… a “worldview” is what you do when you’re alone in the room… when you think no one else is watching… Maybe Larry Wilmore is right…at least she espouses the same values as Michelle Obama??? Naah, they’re just a bunch of lazy, entitled f*ckwits. To quote Rory Albanese, “This is how hot girls get through high school,” which is wrong, wrong, wrong Rory… You doofus-ass crush of mine. And, you know what they say about the “entitled”… “They don’t get a break… They just get broken.” (Jon Westenberg)

But ugh… I put myself through college working as a baker… I know I said I was a dangerous girl, but after Day Wine and Tina, I think we might need Step 2 to be about Del Close and long form improvisation…  see the brilliant: https://www.amazon.com/Truth-Comedy-Improvisation-Charna-Halpern/dp/1566080037

And for hot-as-balls New Yorkers and thinkers everywhere, we need more of this guy from today’s Gothamist:

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Tomorrow: Step 3 – Time to Get Your Bourne on…  For now, stay rad.

XOXO – GG

 

First Prince, Now Hodor… What Next?

Hello Lovelies,

Is it just hot as balls out, or what? A perfect day to binge watch by the AC while doing Blogilates on the side (anything to avoid the dreaded writer’s bum)

A bunch of you have written in to ask what I thought of Prince and then Game of Thrones last week… what with Hodor saving the day in an epic, grand mal time seizure in which he is trapped in a last-moment loop before his own horrible death.

I spend a lot of time these days thinking about how to transcend the niche of epilepsy. Either through humor, the personal essay or any kind of narrative…  and I can honestly say… I don’t know what I think. I cried with the rest of Gotham last Sunday night.

On the one hand, Hodor has been portrayed to us over the years as a giant broken simpleton–without high cognitive function. A person with no there, there. (And Bran has been a little turd to him all too often)

On the other, the joy of serialized TV is that with each episode, we, the viewers, are given the opportunity to constantly correct what we thought we knew and that’s super fun. Our curious human brains love it.

Last Sunday, we corrected our knowledge of Hodor’s inner life in a big way. For me, the real tragedy was that there was a there… there all along.

I want to believe the boundary between being able and disabled is becoming increasingly porous, but my concern is that without a horribly tragic demise… the respect, the tiny openings just aren’t there. I too chuckled at all the memes that followed GoT, but as an out spaz… I don’t want to be a doorstop… just because I’m still getting all my words back and am stuck in a bit of a time seizure, myself.

Hodor talk pretty some day?

Still noodling over it… Stay rad and cool. XOXO – GG

For more on the troubling ethics of Hodor… see this completely compelling piece in The Atlantic Monthly.

 

UnReal Estate… Or What to Do When Oscar Isaac Becomes Your Worst Nightmare!

Hello my  Lovelies!

I don’t know if it’s the weird weather out or the fact that I am crazy-close to finishing Project Ur (thank you very much Warren Ellis for that spiffy term) or if it’s just the current zeitgeist of the city… but I keep having THE WORST real estate dreams… No joke! In them, earnest hipsters with neatly trimmed triangle beards, and ominous cats keep chasing me all over the city… and NOT in a good way.

Last night, they chased me right out of my apartment to a Westin and then to an awful Marriott with nasty bedspreads (sorry Marriott brand). The desk clerk there was also an Oscar-type, and HE kept telling me that I was actually booked at a boutique hotel called The Lucky (some ACE poseur in my dream) but I couldn’t ever seem to find it. It was like The Walking Dead, but instead, the Oscar Isaacs all had these credentials and liquid assets… And they were way better writers.

My BFF Ed (depicted here below in dog form–whose dog is this, btw?) keeps telling me…

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I need to desensitize myself to the Game of Thrones that is New York real estate by listening to this podcast: There Goes the Neighborhood and that it’s just like check-in at an Italian airport… anything goes! To this I say…

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Thanks for allowing the dream rant… and thanks to all of those who wrote in last week agreeing that we SHOULD INDEED have Neil DeGrasse Tyson as a write-in running mate! It makes so much sense, right??? But how do you get creative with housing in our/your fair city when Oscar Isaac starts to give chase with a cat in hand? Drop me a line 🙂

Ok, back to Project UR… even though it’s cloudy out and there are buildings… make sure to wear sunscreen and be nice to each other. (I swear, you’ll thank me later.)

XOXO – GG

 

David Foster Wallace… Everyone’s Favorite Infinite Jester, Aunt Linda and Resting Freak Face

Greetings from the hot, stinky city…pardon the hiatus… I’ve been hibernating… working on (or obsessing over not working on) the next book–an essay collection about creativity, electricity and the brain. I’ve also been on the David Foster Wallace diet plan… loads of pancakes and overthinking… Dear, doughy DFW… tragic literary genius… subject of the new film… everyone’s favorite DB… lover of rockin’ pooches and patron saint of writerly white bros… the man who once referred to John Updike as “just a penis with a thesaurus.”

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Yes, the DFW pancake regimen has been critical as of late… Btw, I could give a whole disquisition on the glory of the pancake… how pancakes should be their own food group, etc., but I’ll hold back (for now). The fact of the matter is that anytime anyone comes near me with anything remotely resembling a scalpel (you could be holding a paperclip at this point) … I drop multiple dress sizes and start looking seriously like a bug, so with September’s final surgery looming, I’m carb loading. This muffin top is ultra intentional.

A number of you have written to ask what I actually I broke… I broke both sides of my face near my ears, right where your upper and lower jaws come together… and then shattered my lower left jaw. My resting freak face (RFF) isn’t actually that bad (I think), but talking is still a doozy, so I was recently sent to see this team of Yale surgeons who specialize in facial nerve reanimation. I know… Fancy! I was so excited… the prospect of being able to feel again and to talk… like a normal chatty Cathy who doesn’t sound like Kirk Douglas… seemed just so close at hand … It was a gorgeous fall-like day as I scurried across Central Park to their retro-tech Starship Enterprise offices. I had my massive binder of cyborg x-rays and scans and these were the people to see. They handled New York’s “jumpers who live.” I hadn’t jumped off anything–surely they would be able to help. Surely they could graft a nerve or two, so that I could at least feel my lips again. After I filled out loads of forms, they all held tablets and moved in a herd-like manner examining me and snapping pix. They told me that there was nothing they could do… They could give me Botox to deaden my whole face and create more symmetry, but that was about it. The nerves were toast. Congratulations, you are a living, breathing Botox mishap…

I know there are probably acres of middle aged women who would easily swap a handy for a couple of strategic jabs in the forehead and furrow, but I actually want to be able to move my face. I don’t care if I look old. So, I cried (as best I could) all the way home to the assisted living community that is the Upper West Side… and I have been bummed out ever since and dangerously close to morphing into Aunt Linda…

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In August, New York is packed with Aunt Linda’s… But it takes me as I am. People hearing me for the first time still ask what country I’m from… for a while I was making up all kinds of “-istans” “‘burgs” and “‘gravias” … then new regions from Game of Thrones. Last week… I was Belgian.

I’ll snap out of it soon enough. Stay cool ladies and gents…

xoxo – auntie gg

Mother of Dragons…

I love them. I hate them. I love them… ghyaaaaagh!!!… I’m home from the hospital and my neighbors across the yard are barbecuing this:

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It’s summer in the city and total Rear Window olfactory torture… I have not had solid food since April 10th… How many days is that? I did, however, wake up on the table after 11 hours and write this:

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I can feel my face! And despite being mute and meatless, I’m not wasting away in total squalor–as several of you have suggested… The ladies made me decorate. We went with girly library meets Wes Anderson:

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with some serene mixed in…

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Also, I decided it’s time for a role model changing of the guard. Over the years, I’ve had everyone from Nora Ephron… to La Femme Nikita… to Nora Charles (The Thin Man), but after a truly horrific NYC hospital stay, followed by a nightmare call from the head of school that one daughter just set the new science lab ablaze trying to convert her iPhone to a dark matter detector… I think I may need to step up the level of bad ass required to get through the days ahead.

Marvin, my queen from Queens, insists there is nothing more dangerous (and therefore more bad ass) than a single mother… He cites examples to an imaginary jury in my living room…  Sarah Connor, Erin Brockovich… Medea (wrong) but I say there is… A single mother of dragons:

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This is what I need right now.

Oof… my mouth hurts… At least, there’s that… Hooray for that 🙂

xoxo – gg