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.
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:
Then, I got off the train to this… I haven’t seen such joy in free speech in a while.
And also this… Ah, New Yorkers are a practical lot.
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.
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…