where you are waiting for a table at Russ and Daughters in the Jewish Museum and, bored, you go to take out Portnoy’s Complaint but stop yourself by thinking, “Now this is just a step too far, even for me.”
Archive for the ‘It Could Be Worse…’ Category
That Thing
January 23, 2017Overheard on the Bus
December 18, 2016Mother: You have to be careful, because sometimes advertisers and marketers make you think you want something but really you don’t need it.
Seven-ish-year-old daughter: Because they’re bad?
Mother: No, it’s not bad. I do marketing, am I bad?
ID: *thinking*
Sent in a Email Subject Line “This Is Real Life”
November 17, 2016The text of a Facebook post written by redacted, for OBVIOUS REASONS:
Anyone know what to do when there’s a ghost in the house? I’m not afraid, but I want to know like in terms of Torah, do I have a need to be, or all is good?
Rob Lowe’s Exploits
September 19, 2016Husband and I caught a few minutes of Rob Lowe’s roast on Comedy Central recently (I have never been more uncomfortable than I was seeing Anne Coulter’s zombie-face reactions to various jokes about her) and I recalled a few years ago, when I worked for a very famous actor named [redacted], who regaled me and the fellow assistants with various stories about Rob Lowe’s insane romantic past. At the time, I Googled him, and found on his Wikipedia page a harrowing story about his relationship with Little House on the Prairie star Melissa Gilbert, and we (the other assistants and [redacted]) all gasped at it. Then, post-roast, during which they made endless fun of Lowe’s Lothario (to put it gently) past, I went to look at the Wikipedia again, and the anecdote wasn’t there! It wasn’t that it was so fascinating, but just that it clearly had been edited out by someone’s PR lackey that annoyed me. Anyway, I tracked it down on Reddit, so you’re welcome:
“Lowe, a little-known actor at the time, and Little House on the Prairie actress Melissa Gilbert briefly met at age 14 in 1978 in the halls of CBS Television Studios. In 1981, when both were 17, Gilbert spotted Lowe stopped at the red light next to her car and the two began dating. During the filming of The Hotel New Hampshire (1984), Lowe began an affair with Nastassja Kinski. According to Gilbert, she caught Lowe in Kinski’s hotel room and then slept with Lowe’s then-best friend, John Cusack, out of revenge. Lowe broke up with Gilbert in 1986 when he began dating Princess Stephanie of Monaco, but when the relationship with the Princess ended, Gilbert and Lowe reunited. The two quickly got engaged and were to be married in the summer of 1987. But when Gilbert informed Lowe she was pregnant, he broke up with her for good. Gilbert claims she miscarried several days later.”
This isn’t the half of his sordid back story, this one still on Wikipedia: In 1988, Lowe was involved in a sex scandal over a videotape of him having sex with a 16-year-old girl he met in a nightclub. They were videotaped the night before the Democratic National Convention in Atlanta, Georgia. As the age of consent is 16 in Georgia, both were of legal age to engage in sexual activity, although not to be recorded. At the time, Lowe was campaigning for Michael Dukakis.
Someone get this guy a Lifetime biopic!
Some Thoughts on the JonBenet Rams-aissance
August 19, 2016We all know people are really into true crime these days. I’m sure there are myriad think pieces I can read about this, but I don’t need a pundit to elaborate on the universal truth that humans adore blood, gore, and a sense of moral superiority. Anyway, according to Vogue.com, it looks like the next big nineties murder to get the true crime docu-series treatment’s gonna be JonBenet Ramsey. A few questions on that, and also the article itself. Here are some excerpts:
“… rehashing the real-life Philip Roth novel that was the O.J. Simpson case proved a successful pursuit this year… “
How do you figure Philip Roth?
“Adding to the bubbling Ramsey craze redux is Dr. Phil McGraw, who is already counterprogramming the CBS series this week by teasing the first-ever interview with JonBenet’s brother, Burke, now 29, who was 9 at the time of the murder.”
Okay, this is the big one . Some of you might know I’m a Burke truther, but that’s neither here nor there. The real question is: you’re a very sought-after interview, and you go with DOCTOR PHIL?! That’s extremely embarrassing. Hit up a classier TV journalist like Barbara, if you have your pick. Not sexual predator, litigation magnet, bad pet parent McGraw. Sheesh. Why don’t people consult me before they do things like this?
“Unlike either Simpson project, The Case of: JonBenet Ramsey won’t be camp drama or a higher-brow almost-academic exploration of the case. Instead, it looks more like a longer, bigger-budget 48 Hours. In a particularly fascinating stunt, CBS rebuilt the Ramsey family home in Boulder, Colorado—to scale—in a warehouse, for the purpose of revisiting the crime scene. But that’s not to say the show won’t smack as sordid or raise uneasy questions about repackaging and resensationalizing a child’s murder, conveniently, during September sweeps.”
Wait-–why is there a “but” after the announcement of the model house?! If anything, to me that revelation indicates exactly that the show will “smack as sordid… ”
Hands Down the Most Ridiculous Story I’ve Ever Heard
August 15, 2016From Radhanath Swami’s book The Journey Home: Autobiography of an American Swami, which chronicles Swami’s years traveling around India in search of a spiritual guru:
In Kandahar, the people greeted me warmly. One man in particular, Hariz, took a special interest in me. tall and well groomed, he was an educated man who had acquired wealth and respect in the trading business. Through his economic ventures and holidays, he frequently traveled abroad. After guiding me on a tour of Kandahar, he invited me into his spacious home. One quiet night while we sat on his rooftop terrace engaged in a philosophical discussion, he calmly said, “Mr. Richard, please excuse me for a brief moment, I have an obligation to attend to.” Suddenly, he jumped up from his chair, cocked his head to the moon and began to howl like a wolf, “Aaauuuwww, aaauuuwww, aaauuuwww.” What was going on? Had this distinguished gentleman gone mad? He grabbed a long rope with a loop at the end, raced to the edge of his rooftop and hurled it down to the road. What in the world was he doing? With rapt attention, he slowly reeled the rope in. To my amazement, he had fished up a wriggling rodent the size and shape of a ferret. I watched in wonder. This was a mongoose, which, it turned out, wandered the town by day, and each evening, responded to Hariz’s howl, by crawling into the loop of the rope, where he was hoisted up, and spent the night on the roof. As my friend and I resumed speaking, I felt the mongoose scaling up my back with his sharp pointed claws. He crawled under my long hair until he reached my head. There, he burrowed himself in my thick locks, making his nest, and went to sleep. Feeling his warm body deeply breathing on my head, I experienced another kind of culture shock.
I looked to my host for help. “What do I do now?”
My friend laughed. “Mr. Richard, he found a good nest in your hair.”
My neck felt as if it were breaking from his weight. “Please take him off.”
Hariz became serious. Under the starlit night, he sipped his tea and narrowed his eyes, warning me, “There is an ancient truth: Never wake up a sleeping mongoose.” He set the teacup on the table and told me the animal was sacred to the ancient Egyptians. “The mongoose is a ferocious killer when angered. In battle, a mongoose will slay the cobra, the deadliest of serpents and symbol of death.” Hariz sipped his tea again and leaned back, “If you suddenly wake him, he may tear your head to shreds. Mr. Richard, do not even slightly move until he leaves on his own.”
Hours passed as I sat motionless, fearing for my life. From time to time, the mongoose moved, digging his claws into my scalp. Hariz could no longer stay awake, so with many apologies, he left to sleep. I sat alone now. That dark sleepless night in Kandahar seemed never to end. My neck throbbed with pain, but I was too terrified to move. The mongoose on my head was like a time bomb that could explode at any second. I was quickly losing the attachment I had to my long hair. If only the immigration officers in England had acted on their threat to shave my head, life would be so much safer tonight.
I tried to console myself. At least someone appreciated my hair! But the mongoose had not come alone. Ravenous insects started biting into my scalp, obliterating these noble thoughts. Why was this happening to me? Feeling my vulnerability, I strained to control my emotions. Then, contemplating, I tried to make sense of it all. I realized that our free will could convert a curse into a blessing or a blessing into a curse. Yes, ludicrous as it was, this mongoose may have been sent to teach me the sacred virtue of patience and forbearance. To bear difficulty and turn to God was a priceless blessing. To transform a crisis into an opportunity was true wisdom.
The rest of the night was spent in an unusual state of gratitude. Little did I know that what the mongoose taught me about crisis would give me strength in the hard times that awaited me. By the time the sun finally rose, my uninvited guest had enjoyed a good six hours of sound sleep. He awoke, crawled down my back, and jumped to the floor. He then did something that moved my heart: the mongoose stared at me with an innocent affection as if thanking me for my hospitality. turning from me, he crawled into the loop of the rope where Hariz, who had just awakened, lowered him down to the street for another day.
Hariz smiled at me. “Mr. Richard, I beg forgiveness for the inconvenience you suffered. Nothing like that ever happened in my home before. But please be happy to know that in our culture it is a pious deed to offer hospitality to one of our mongooses and you did so without any of the mechanical formalities. This morning he looked so happy and well rested.”
My aching neck numb from strain and sleeplessness, I considered his words. Had I heard him say mongooses, in the plural? I decided I really didn’t want to be around the next time he cocked his head toward the sky and howled like a wolf. Scratching my bug bitten head and itching to move on, I sighed. “Hariz, thank you very much. You’ve already done so much for me. But I think I best be on my way.”
Litrivia
June 8, 2016I was reading an interesting article in the New York Review of Books yesterday (because I am a very serious intellectual person) about two recently translated German novels. One, by a writer named Jakob Wassermann, chronicles a particularly unhappy marriage. Check out what the article’s author had to say about it:
“Unfolding in fin-de-siecle Austria, the book is socially and psychologically fascinating, a furious, baffled portrait of what has to be the worst marriage in the history of literature––yes, even worse than that one, the one you just thought of when you read that sentence.”
From the context, it’s slightly unclear if the writer is talking about Wassermann’s actual marriage or about the marriage of the fictional characters in the book, but I think it’s the latter. In any case, I can think of numerous marriages that could compete for most miserable in either category. So––which one do you think she was talking about?
I Always Miss the Good Stuff!
March 31, 2016So while I was away last week skiing in Austria, I missed this amazing wildlife drawing class where participants sketched BUNNIES!
Wild Life Drawing is a drawing class with a difference. Instead of life models, the subjects are real animals. The aim of the drawing classes is to inspire a sense of appreciation and understanding for animals and their conservation through creativity. On Good Friday – 25 March – Wild Life Drawing are hosting a special Easter drawing event for families at Somerset House, where you’ll get the chance to meet and draw different species of bunny rabbits, including Lion Head rabbits, a Plush Lop-Eared and a Rex rabbit. There will also be some guinea pigs coming along for good measure!
***
This might be the most first world-y first world problem of all time.
Bad Choices
March 29, 2016Do you ever see a person reading a copy of A Million Little Pieces and think, “Hm, were the pickings real slim at your local Barnes & Noble, or did you just miss that whole Oprah shaming thing?”
Surprises from Broadly’s Rachel Dolezal Interview
December 13, 2015Which can be found here.
- “In the aftermath of her newfound infamy, Rachel resigned from her unpaid role at the NAACP; the Spokane City Council voted to remove her from a volunteer Police Ombudsman Commission, and Eastern Washington University declined to renew her quarterly adjunct professor contract. Broke and seemingly unemployable (with the exception of a six-figure Vivid Entertainment porn offer she turned down), Rachel wrote a memoir proposal. She hoped she would receive an advance big enough to support herself and her two sons for as long as it takes to weather the storm, but she says publishers refused to sign her. Today, she says she remains out of work besides doing black women’s hair part-time and estimates a third of her friends have stopped speaking to her.”
I am completely shocked that no publisher would buy this memoir. I can’t tell if that’s because I have such a low opinion of publishers (that’s speaking very generally) or such a hopeful stance on Dolezal’s memoir. I mean, where is Judith Regan when you need her?! - “Pumpkins line her front steps in autumn, and inside her walls are adorned with her own artwork: a portrait of Pariah, the character in the Spike Lee–produced movie, over the fireplace; a drawing of the KKK chasing a black girl above Rachel’s bed; and a painting of her adopted son Izaiah as a baby next to the dining room table. In the living room, a Langston Hughes poetry book lies on a chest.”
Guys, Rachel Dolezal can fucking draw. If she hadn’t gotten an MFA, I’d guess she’d become the next outsider artist a la Jack Kevorkian and prison inmates who sell their paint-by-numbers. (This guy is an acquaintance of mine. #kiddingnotkidding)
Itinerantdaughter's Blog 