Little Fires Everywhere


Hello, Lovelies… How the hell are you?

Yet another rollicking couple of weeks for self-described narcissism expert, grief counselor-in-training, and aspiring diminutive hand model… DJT. But I can’t think about that ridiculous yahoo right now. Are you done with those college essays?

It’s been a wild few days here. Halloween was unspeakable tragedy followed quite literally by plucky resiliency. Witness this guy below dressed as a chicken telling a reporter he’s not scared.



You have to love a town where “none of your business” means, of course, it’s everyone’s business, which somehow makes you less afraid. Everyone’s right there, so what could possibly go wrong? But then it does, which is why we have to look out for each other. If you roll an ankle in a pothole, a New Yorker will surely catch you.

I woke up and it was blustery as all get out with serious Mary Poppins antics downstairs. I had an email from my editor asking about changing the title of my book on motherhood, comedy, and neurology to appeal to a broader audience of women positioning it as Gilmore Girls-meets-neurology…which I admit, I’m kind of grooving on but need to see the cover before I fully commit. I’m still such a visual nerd.

Then, my neurologist (who lives downstairs because, of course, it’s New York and everyone’s right here) phoned up to say, “Holy cats, lady! From this latest scan, even on all the drugs, your brain is still wicked electric.”

“Aw man, does this mean all my sobriety and juicing is for nothing?”

“No, your skin looks fabulous. But yeah, it’s like there are little fires everywhere.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t say those sorts of things to epilepsy patients. They might take you seriously. I just finished that book by the way.”

“What book?”

“Little Fires Everywhere.”

“Ooh, how was it?”

“SO riveting. Celeste Ng is such a badass. The conversations about race were like finely woven cloth and the sense of maternal longing at the end was completely palpable. It gave me chills.”

“Wow, no wonder you’re sparking. Look, I’m voting we have you go back into the hospital to the epilepsy unit so we can figure out what’s going on, film your sleep, etc.”

So back I go. It will be my gazillionth time in a skullcap… It’s a tough look to pull off. I really don’t have the head for it. At my age, what you want is volume without frizz. Wow, do I really miss having stupid problems 🙂 Still, I believe in science and I believe in figuring this out. If it means playing the part of a lab rat Chez Lenox Hill for a few days, I plan to savor every tedious, annoying second of it and make it totally funny anthropology.

November is epilepsy awareness month. The types of seizures I have are the scary kind you often see portrayed in the media. Think of Will at the end of season 2 of Stranger Things and you’ll have an idea.


Life just gets shaken to pieces. In the eight years that I’ve dealt with this condition, my biggest learning is that you think the human brain is weird but it turns out… the human brain is weirder than you can think. With little fires everywhere, it’s our last undiscovered country, our biggest, most complicated upside down.

But here I go… Stay rad and have a meaningful day – xoxo – GG


Is it sweater weather yet???

Alas, not quite… it’s 80 in the streets today, but here’s the perfect thing to usher in things like socks and flannel… Stephen Colbert reading Flannery O’Connor’s darkly comedic tale, “The Enduring Chill” at New York’s Symphony Space. So mothertrucking good!!!

This is a shorty this week as I am racing to finish a story about a bunch of Tiger mothers on a meth run–so that they can keep up with their overachieving, hyper scheduled children… Always such interesting anthropology, motherhood… I was more of a free-range mom–well-intentioned, guilty-feeling, always overcompensating for an untimely divorce and constant borderline poverty. The Gilmore Girls mom…that was me. I ordered pizza, had great zingers, turned on CopRock marathons and snuggled. I love and loved them so. Now, I might as well be Sean-freaking-Penn…  I’ve been ghosted big time and it blows. I might as well be flying around with John Travolta, delivering humanitarian relief to Haitians and whatnot. (Btw, true story… Sean Penn once instructed me in how to park my car at an LA Whole Foods. That is one bossy, organized guy, I tell you) I so totally miss my daughters, but the thing is… I did the exact same thing to my mother when I was their age. Still, I always imagined having a little Fonzi apartment that they’d love to come home to… Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should have been more Tiger and stern and less Lorelei… I’d command more respect… Who can know?

But ok, back to the grindstone… The dog ate my glasses, so while it may be riddled with typos… I’m going to finish this puppy…


xoxo – gg