Archive for September, 2009


September 18, 2009

Good news!  I got the David Mamet book on Anti-Semitism to review!

Bad news!  I have three days to read it and write the review.

That’s okay, though, cause I’m kinda psyched.  David Mamet “On Anti-Semitism, Self Hatred and the Jews”? Get ready for some vitriol.

School with David Mamet

When one student asked Mamet who his favorite actresses were, he exploded: “Women who act are not actresses. They’re actors. Why do they need to fucking qualify what their genitalia are? Folks, seriously, I need to disabuse you of the notion that ‘actress’ is anything other than a euphemism for ‘floozy’ . . . Do women fucking writers call themselves ‘writressess?’ No!”

Balbirer – who appeared on “Seinfeld” and wrote and performed the solo show, “I Slept With Jack Kerouac” – says Mamet advised her, “There’s nothing worse than being a woman in show business . . . you’ll be asked to do only two things in every fucking role you ever play: take your shirt off and cry.”

He also told his class he considered critics “the syphilis and gonorrhea of the theater,” and delivered a lecture, “the premise of which was that Bill Cosby was a whore . . . television was evil and for whores, Hollywood was a hotbed of whoredom, and we were to avoid all of these things like the plague, unless, of course, we, too, were whores and not the artists we said we were.”

Originally printed in the New York Post, sans the expletives.  I added them back in.  You’re welcome.

I Do Not Like My Writing

September 16, 2009

…these days.

If only my crying looked this pretty...

If only my crying looked this pretty...

Alright Seriously

September 15, 2009

Seriously?  People are still making shows about women who have twenty babies at one time?  Eight Million Kids and Counting? Please make it stop.  It’s really totally disgusting.  And I hate to play Captain Obvious here, but how is it dogmatically sanctioned to pump your body full of unnatural hormones in order to get pregnant with the sextuplets you will then raise with “very strong Christian values” (including: not letting them watch television but having their entire adolescences documented on that very same broadcaster of societal evils) and it’s somehow NOT okay to exterminate one tiny little fetus that is definitely NOT a person yet?   It makes zero sense, and somehow I think God, in his infinite wisdom, gets that.  He’s not stupid, and he doesn’t appreciate your hypocritical procreating habits.


Back At The End

September 15, 2009

Some day, later on in my life, I will come back to Montauk in September, alone, or with someone/people I love.  I will eat sushi at West Lake Clam and Chowder House and watch the fishermen gut their catch on the wooden table next to me.  I will wear my blue Montauk dress.  I will swim in the ocean late at night, when the sharks come close to shore.   I will pay the twenty dollars to swim in the salt pools at Guerney’s Inn.  I will read and I will let it be quiet.  Silence is a gift.  I will never again take it for granted.

Reasons I am happy to be here:

cable television

the ocean

Reasons I am not:

The fat, semiretarded cat I found licking itself on my bed last night when I checked in


my boss living next door

No internet in my room

Where Is the Dwelling Place of God?

September 13, 2009

“God dwells wherever man lets him in.”

~A Chasidic Rebbe.  Whose name I don’t know.

Red Flags!

September 13, 2009

This is one of my favorite lists to make! When you meet a person who does/is this, run in the other direction…

Has two first names

Is a Roman numeral (John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith the III)

Is a Doctor, and calls him/herself “Dr. First Name”

Speaks about him or herself in the third person

If he/she is on a television show and is speaking English but has subtitles any way

For girls (dating): men really into Freud

For guys (dating): women really into Grey’s Anatomy

People who “can’t get a vein”

People who enjoy hearing their own voice tape recorded

blink too often

talk a lot about their workout regimens or dietary habits

swear in foreign languages

have an accent that does not correspond with where they GREW UP (and yes, Madonna, I’m talking about you, and if you didn’t exhibit this red flag, you’d be screwed any way. See two prior.)

There are about eight million more, but I needed to publish this so I could start drafting another list. It irritates me when there are too many unfinished drafts…

My Friend Writes Me Beautiful Letters

September 13, 2009

She said this:

“We have something esoteric and rare and here I go adulterating it with social networking and a fake internet self. This thing I am showing you avoids the mandate to write something “that doesn’t suck” by utilizing the writing of others. Self-expression by proxy (I like that idea).”
By-Proxy is all I feel capable of right now:

Dear diary, I’m afraid I’m gravely ill. It is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. An article of clothing from when I was young. A green jacket. I walk with my father. A game we once played. Pretend we’re faeries. I’m a girl faerie. My name is Laura Lee. And you’re a boy faerie. Your name is Tita Lee. Pretend, when we’re faeries we fight each other, and I say “Stop hitting me I’ll die!” And you hit me again and I say, “Now I have to die.” And then you say, “But I’ll miss you.” And I say, “But I have to. And you’ll have to wait a million years to see me again. And I’ll be put in a box, and all I’ll need is a tiny glass of water and lots of tiny pieces of pizza and the box will have wings like an airplane.” And you’ll ask, “Where will it take you?” “Home.” I say.

(Tag: Tiny Pieces of Pizza.)

(The font change is really pissing me off.)

A Dream, Again

September 11, 2009

The day is rainy…I’m off work, and feeling languid, and lonely.

Last night/this morning:

I wore tights with a black seam up the back

The movie Coco Before Chanel

At least three missed flights, and a bridge in Chicago

Fat Chance, Kiddo!

September 10, 2009

So when I was at writing camp this year, we had to write letters to anyone, essentially, and mine was, apparently, kind of funny.  (It was to Ryan Gosling, on whom I have a gigantic crush.  I saw him once, and I think the tone of his voice when he said, “Hello” implied that he really wanted to marry me, so that’s where the letter starts.)  My teacher told me I should submit it somewhere, but where?  The only two suggestions from the class were the now-defunct XX Files (of The Washington Post) and Shouts and Murmurs, of the venerable and infamous New Yorker.  I feel kind of stupid submitting to the latter, but seeing as I don’t know where else to go (water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink) I think I’ll just bite the bullet.  Besides, who will ever know, except you guys, aka Nobody?

Plus, when I asked my teacher if she thought I should really do it, she said, “Now, you do realize that the chances of getting into Shouts & M is miniscule, it’s merely an exercise, why not submit it, and yes, it does fit the genre, and quite well, but don’t you dare feel the least bit devastated if/when it’s rejected.  I still want you to submit it there.”

Color me convinced!  The “It’s merely an exercise” really sealed the deal for me.  Though I’m still tempted to write a snarky note as a prelude to the piece (also kind of snarky…)

Anyone else think it’s really funny that it’s S&M?

True Story!

September 10, 2009

“Tourists are vulgar, vulgar, vulgar!”  ~Henry James