Apocalypse Now-ish?

Hi there, Lovelies. How the hell are you?

Soaringly anxious? Justifiably outraged? Feeling like we’re living in a Cormac McCarthy novel and in much need of levity? Maybe you feel like shouting, “NICE try, Coronavirus… I was already crazy and out of shape before you came along.” Perhaps you’re experiencing an inaugural epic WFH fail… and accidentally texted a colleague your entire household grocery list and told him to make sure to get tampons.

Alas, there are still some good things in the world…

Give author Sara Benincasa’s new Apple podcast, Well, This Isn’t Normal a listen.  Her book Agorafabulous!: Dispatches From My Bedroom is also a riotous, relatable gem for this new era we’ve entered.

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Speaking of eras, Dan Chiasson’s thoughtful meditation on our shifting sense of time during the Coronavirus gave this girl comfort as well.

You might also like Dr. Kathleen Smith’s fab newsletter The Anxious Overachiever… it’s crazy-practical and actionable. She’s my favorite stressed-out therapist these days.

If you need some funny… Dave Pell’s piece on McSweeney’s FAMOUS LINES OF POETRY REVISED FOR THE AGE OF CORONAVIRUS is such a chuckle.

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If you’re one of those folks who has to keep moving to stay sane but are now quietly panicking in the linen closet, this is a wonder of an online community: My Peak Challenge with a new Daily Social Distancing Workout.

Lastly, if you’re feeling a bit randy, check out this thoughtful piece by Elyse Martin on How a Book of Medieval Sex Tales Can Help us Through the Pandemic…

Ok, that’s what I got… Stay safe and stay home, Lovelies – xoxo – gg

It’s 2018. Where’s My Sandwich?

Hello, Lovelies… How the hell are you?

I just read that Eartha Kitt had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean. (It was the old girl’s birthday this past week) Of the nookie, she remarked, “That time back in my dance studio ranks as one of the most celestial experiences of my life. Those two beauties transported me to heaven. I never knew lovemaking could be so beautiful.”

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“Good God,” I texted a friend, “I need to completely rethink my life choices.”

“Can I please have my cause of death be listed as ‘sandwiched between James Dean and Paul Newman’?” came her swift reply.

Hells to the yeah! They can put it right there on my tombstone. I won’t even blush. Why should I? It’s 2018. Where’s my sandwich? We have a president who likes to be spanked with his daughter’s face.

And, would that there were a way to extract that monstrous ego of his, dry it like a root vegetable, grind it into a fine powder and snort it… if only to get through the rest of what’s coming.

Isn’t it convenient when crippling anxiety doubles as your daily cardio? I don’t know about you but I have to get all my news from McSweeney’s just to keep from having a goddamn seizure on the Q train these days. In the meantime, I am conjuring up a call sheet for Project G to shoot this summer. The cover reveal for Gotham Girl, Interrupted should be any day now… and when not marching I actually managed to fly through the below tome over the weekend:

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With clean, fluid prose you’ll devour, this stunner had descriptions of agoraphobia so vivid, I wondered if Finn had personal experience with the condition. (Anyone?) Add to this… all the references to badass ladies of suspense classics like Vertigo and Rear Window and it’s the perfect escape from our ongoing Black Mirror existential hellscape. I heartily recommend…

Okay, New York is noisy tonight and I must away to toil but stay rad, stay sane, and above all stay safe… XOXO – GG