31 August 2011

2 august: a revue


"apparently 2007 was the Year of the Naked Lady Bar. we just didn't know it until 2011."

"i have now spent entirely too much time thinking about architect barbie today."

"four people have asked in the last 24 hours if i'm doing ok, and that can't be good."

"my boobs hurt, and I am painfully aware of my ovaries."

"i love this belief!!! i will cling tightly to it!"

"this one time at work, a lady who loves indians read my palm."

"your college love life is an unknowable black hole."

"do you know what sounds awesome? a warm buttery roll that those old-people buffet places have. just putting that out there."

"i forgot the name of the the pizza place, but it's right next to where the chicago massacre was."

"i am trying to figure out how to date myself this evening."

"i feel like this is the 1987 equivalent to naming your child 'miley' in 2011."

"i'm trying to imagine the perspective on an innocent bystander outside of the Pregnant Club."
"as an innocent bystander outside the Pregnant Club, i'm trying to imagine the perspective that could lead members of the Pregnant Club to even have a Pregnant Club."

"i feel good about none of this."

"redheads can totally wear rompers! "

"even though it's against all my ideals?"

"that makes me feel like doing a lady roar."

"do not attend a Mexican Baby Shower in the far suburbs if you have other plans that same day."

"i always forget about your southern roots with parisian overtones -- this meal was pretty much drafted with you in mind."

"you ARE so historical. whereas me, apparently, i am more hysterical."

"ohmygod, that shit is short, girl! what you doin'?"

"sharks were the bitch of the sea."

"so there's an official new boyfriend?"
"well -- the declaration was made on facebook. i'm not on facebook, though."

"the beubonic plague is not an STD, caroline."

"buff that shit in."

"oh, i meant REAL rogue. like wolverine."

"shiny happy people are my idea of the apocalypse."

"she is cool and socially liberal, but in an NPR way, not a 'let's be swingers' way."

"my silence is a noncommittal maybe."

"it makes you want to hang yourself on some piece of flare."

"i told the 29-year-old guy sitting next to me that i did not want to have children. the fact that this has moved out of my relationships and into the arena of Things Told To Strangers On Planes seemed like something you should know."

"i'm thinking your child will be like an ultra-smart adopted 10 year old. And you can peer edit each other's stories."

"i either look cute, or like a grey-pants version of pam on season 1 of the office."

"is she going to have you release doves? because if she is… you kind of have to DO that. as part of your 'say yes to everything' dealie."

"the moral of the story is: if amazon delays my shipment order, i HAVE to have another baby."

"i do not know how people refrain from looking at things on the interbwebz."

"although, with my luck, it would also be a crotch dog, and there would be an ovarian cancer scare every time someone new walked in the house."

"but, I forgot the advanced age of the rule-makers."

"that's discredited a bit by the fact that i wouldn't want to deal with my own children."

"yesterday was such a magic."

"oh no, there are a lot of chairs here..."
"yes, and i will have my way with them all."

"i KNOW i could rock this face, but could i rock that outfit?"

"who would have thought 'single ladies' would be the cause of such turmoil! and not the bottom kind."

"the corporate world of moderately priced soaps… what a rat race that must have been."

"i am hoping that lorelai's humor and pretty pretty hair will tempt the baby to hurry on up into this world."

"let us both take a moment to think of cupcakes."

"oh 2005. the most dramatic year."

0 here is why i love the daily mail


stunning prose.


and important questions.
like, what the hell is a "thong-style necklace"?



ps. skippy...


4 for sensei, king of the thumbs up


4 on this date, a zillion years ago


in the dead of an august night when we sat huddled before cnn on the telephone waiting for princess diana to die, partner whispered, "imagine the magazines!" a sentiment i had feverishly entertained myself but not voiced, and would, thus, subsequently tease her about for years and years.

that night could have gone either way. we could just as easily have been building a memory about that one time we stayed up way past our bedtimes and diana broke her arm. but, because this was after jackie had died, we both of us had a heightened awareness of any moment in which we might possibly be "living history."

for this reason, when my mother came into my bedroom and said something had happened to the princess of wales, i made a point of remembering which book i had been placing back on the bookshelf that i had been rearranging (because on saturday nights in 1997, rearranging bookshelves was how young oline had her fun). and so, to this day when i think of diana dying, i remember partner's gasp down the telephone line when her death was announced and beverly hills 90210: no secrets by mel gilden.

30 August 2011

3 lessons learned



don't wear 
a strapless bra 
to burlesque. 

5 Movies You Really Should've Seen By Now If You Want To Consider Yourself A Grown Person: Some Like it Hot




some like it hot has everything you could ever want from a movie made in 1959. marilyn. gangsters. cross-dressing. a long journey on a train. plus blatant raunchy sexual inuendo that everyone in the film completely ignores.

while some like it hot masquerades as a fluffy comedy, there's some deep shit squirreled away in there. i'm thirty, i've dated a gay man and i still can't quite wrap my mind around the layers of sexual liberality going on at the film's end. i applaud them. i think. but i still don't fully understand.

there's also no way in the world you can consider yourself a grown-up if you've never seen the wonder that is marilyn monroe's breasts in some like it hot. this is their finest performance.

i mean, really...

there's also the awesome biographical tidbit that, due to a stray on-set comment during the making of this film, tony curtis will go down in history as the man who likened making out with marilyn to "kissing hitler."

so yeah. see some like it hot. if you don't trust me, trust the good old folks at the american film institute who named it the greatest american comedy film of all time. they're legit and they would know.


29 August 2011

1 people keep asking what i'm writing


the better question is what am i not writing because ohmygod SO MUCH.

it's like when there's a sale on produce and you buy a shit-ton only to sit there and watch it rot, cursing yourself for having been so ambitious as to think you could ever eat eight avocados in one week because they were a mere 79 cents a piece.

at the moment, there's a lot of rot in my head.

(let's also take this moment to appreciate that there's a marilyn picture for ANYTHING. case in point:)






2 WANT.


2 o young oline, 1992


28 August 2011

2 :)



“My best feature is my gray hairs. I have them all named; they’re all called Burton.”
- Elizabeth Taylor


26 August 2011

0 oh, the places you'll go


my mum is amazing me right now. because, seemingly out of nowhere, in the last three months, a woman to whom i could once barely even broach the issues of healthcare, inner city poverty and non-christian faiths has become deeply entrenched in the somalian refugee community of memphis.

she's had her hands hennaed. she's taken hibo to the doctor for a uti and seen how it takes three solid weeks for hibo to get the medicine to cure it. tonight, she is going into the depths of memphis' most impoverished neighborhood for laylat al-qadr.

hearing this, i think, oh my god. she starting to get it. finally.

i am deciding whether to go to haiti.

yeah, where did that come from? my thoughts exactly.

i say i'm deciding because i go back and forth every day. it's easy to do that when you don't know what you're doing. when you can feel, but you cannot see. but then- and here's what i keep trying to remember- it's usually under those circumstances that the biggest adventures begin.

3 so many salient points, i can't even begin.






"I think you’re overlooking that fact that marriage, to some extent, has to be a bit like two people signing on to run a non-profit business, with all the minutiae of taxpaying and housekeeping etc. You want to be with someone who will make the daily routine aspect of it as easy and pleasurable as possible. And for that reason, you do not choose an outlaw who can’t be tied down, who will, at best, sit on a rocking chair and berate the kids on the lawn. You marry someone who, when you say 'I don’t really like this salad dressing' says 'honey, I will MAKE you the BEST salad dressing.' Newman wins no matter what."

0 today, in tragedies


4 in searching through old quotes, i rediscovered the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me:



"baby girl, your legs are HOT. if i'd of had your legs, i don't think i'd of ever come in from the rain and gotten off drugs and found god. legs like that are meant to lead a life of sin."
- martha, my dear former co-worker


25 August 2011

4 street style

yesterday i was stopped on the street by a woman who had run three blocks to catch me. she had done so to inform me that my outfit was totally rocking but what i really needed to do was to sew a denim cuff to the top of my socks and pull it over my boots. that would "take it to the edge."

this is weird, right? to receive sartorial advice from people on the street?

nothing about my dress sense has changed except for a redying of the red hair and two pair of provocative boots i bought last year and have busted out again. so it's funny that this has happened four times in the last two weeks.

i tell my mother about it and, over the crackling of the line, she makes it all make sense. well, they think you're ashlee simpson. so obviously they'd want you to look your best.

5 my parents have cancelled their landline (cont'd)



you may remember that my parents cancelled their landline. i was right to be bereft.

my reasons, however, were misguided. i saw this as the end of a golden age, a simpler time when i could not anticipate who would answer the phone and did not have to pick between my parents. little did i know that it signaled the end of something altogether more fundamental- my ability to converse with my mother and father on the phone.

the switch from landline to cell was much debated in the eaton household and eventually undertaken with great enthusiasm. but drunk on their excitement over all the money they would save, my parents never once stopped to consider that they never spoke in the house on their cell phones. and that there might be a reason for that.

thus, the age we've been ushered into has had a wealth of surprises. wavering signals. voices emerging from great depths at irregular volumes. plus a crackly background noise that unfailingly follows any indication that the thing said immediately after is going to be of great import.

my mother's phone does not ring inside. no one in the house knows how to put their ear to my father's phone without hitting every single button on its face. on the landline, my mother use to quietly click into our conversations. now, when my father passes the conversation to her, her arrival is preceeded by a deafening digital fanfare.

add to this the fact that every single conversation i have had with my parents in the last three months- no matter the length- has been punctuated by a minimum of three dropped calls and you can imagine we eatons are a bit on edge.

the other night, during my third attempt in ten minutes to relay the details of the yusha interview to my father, he finally had enough. we just can't live like this, he said. you are our beautiful only daughter, but on this phone you sound like jabba the hut.

24 August 2011

0 dunderheaded


i ran into a pay to park sign.

face-first.

i didn't even see it coming.

pay to park signs typically loom above the street and i am by no means nine feet tall, so the logistics of this don't make much sense.

all i know is that i did run into a sign, it was advertising pay to park and, because i'm a brisk walker, i ran into it with such force that there was an audible reverb as the pole supporting the pay to park sign snapped to the right, thrown off-balance by the impact of my face making contact with its retroreflective sheeting and metal.

so if i suddenly keel from explosive head bleeding in the next couple days, this would be why. i walked into a road sign.

i will say this: it's hard to know the proper response when one has just walked into a road sign. when a considerable amount of laughter floated out the open windows of the cars sitting at the intersection, i simply did the first thing that came to mind: said shitsmiled, curtsied and walked on.


1 and... my day is made.


0 cheeky time


when i told my mother i was writing about cleopatra, 
she said, but you already wrote about liz taylor?
that said, god, she was gorgeous.


3 Movies You Really Should've Seen By Now If You Want To Consider Yourself A Grown Person: Spaceballs



watching spaceballs for the first time is ideally done after you've seen the original star wars films at least 400 times and you've just had your wisdom teeth out, contracted the flu, are high on both valium and nyquil and bleeding profusely from the mouth.

mind you, the circumstances outlined above are the ideal. they're not mandated.

based on my many viewings of spaceballs wherein these were not the circumstances, i can attest to the fact that the film holds up even if you're not high as a kite.

i resisted spaceballs for forever. because i was young and immature and knew nothing. much less that there was such a thing as "parody." this is why you really should've seen spaceballs by now if you want to consider yourself a grown person. otherwise you're being young and immature and you know nothing. parody is important. once i managed to wrap my head around that novel concept, it was a whole new world! a dazzling place i never knew!

spaceballs offers many many things. bill pullman at his lankiest. insightful commentary on racial conflict and commercialism. quotes a'zillion ("may the schwartz be with you", "she's gone from suck to blow!"). Fashions. plus, my father's favorite philosophical doctrine: Living In The Now.

queue it. pronto.

23 August 2011

3 pinned




i can't pin you down, oline. i just can't pin you down. when a biographer told me this a few weeks ago, it was alarming. the message i took from it being that my writing suffers because my personality is too oblique. because i'm a lady of contradictions- and, by extension, contradictory projects- and, therefore, cannot be easily classified.

i didn't know what to do with this and have been mulling it for the last few weeks. trying to figure out how to overhaul my whole self and my work so that i might more easily fall in line and more easily meet with success. the futility of this process has led to the conclusion that i am, in fact, biographically anti-establishment and working outside the mainstream. a novel idea in which tremendous liberty can be found.

i went to newport again and, having gone, i'm still not sure i know why i did.

i'm sitting on yet another low-to-the-ground couch in yusha's sun room. he isn't feeling well. the pauses are  long but i'm getting better at this. i've learned to wait, to be patient, to put my whole self in and listen. so we sit in the thick silence as he searches for the words.

he's been working on his tan, sunning at the beach every afternoon. his blue eyes shine bright in the golden brown of his face. i observe his facial features as they arrange themselves in preparation for the communication of a thought.

during one of these pauses, my mind darts back to what the biographer had said. i cannot be pinned down. i will fail, inevitably, because i cannot be pinned down.

we've been deep into an analysis of jfk's foreign policy in the middle east when yusha coughs and, apropos of nothing, he says: you know, caroline, i'm presbyterian but i go to the episcopal church... and i teach islam at the school and i'm a christian but most days i think the muslims have got it all right... i'm a conservative and i love obama... my friends tell me i make no sense... but i make sense enough for me so i don't pay them much mind. 

having said this, he levels a steady gaze in my direction. it's as if he knows what i have been thinking and is willing the bad thoughts away. he holds the gaze a few seconds, shoots me a flirtatious wink and looks away.

i'm struck upon leaving that i may never see him again. this hits me in that moment as absolutely the saddest thing.


4 hot



thanks to a stray facebook message and a need for more frequent bumping and grinding, oli and i are taking burlesque. again. you can likely feel my mum's disapproval all the way from memphis. the whole situation is very 2008.

except for one thing... the prop list was emailed out over the weekend. bras, shimmy belts and back panel. i'm clearly a failure as a bombshell as i know what only one of those three things is.

the back panel, in particular, was mystifying.

immediately, oli emailed: what the hell is a back panel??? is it like a fabric flap for your ass?

lesson one of intermediate burlesque: a back panel is a fabric flap for your ass. so now we know.


22 August 2011

1 how books are made

years from now, when asked to reflect upon this time in my life, i expect i'll remember two things: the absurdity that has characterized everything i've done and arriving into towns across america insanely late at night. 

i got into boston early saturday, picked up the rental car, crammed down a bagel that was tangy with the flavors of the perfume that had spilled in my bag, drove to jen's house and, at 2:30 a.m., faceplanted into the first bed i could find.  

when, three hours later, the alarm went off, i awoke still wearing the dress from the night before. mr. sparkles was licking my hair. 

my departure for newport thirty minutes later looked like this: i ran down the steps from the house barefoot, two bags strapped across my chest, the yellow shoes of death in my right hand, the voice recorder and a cup of tea in my left. my hands were full and there was a cheese sandwich in my mouth. so there was nothing to be done when, halfway down the stairs, the cup of tea brushed against the play button of voice recorder. 

i just kept running, barefoot, towards the car, as- at 6 on a saturday morning- the dulcet voice of yusha auchincloss blasted at high volume down the quiet street.


0 young oline has fun


21 August 2011

0 :)



“Our world hangs like a magnificent jewel in the vastness of space. Every one of us is a part of that jewel. A facet of that jewel. And in the perspective of infinity, our differences are infinitesimal.”
-Fred Rogers


0 there's an infinitesimal chance you're not up-to-date on your obituary reading


that is why you have me. so listen to your oline and read up on nancy wake.

"She was dauntless. When a German counterattack against the Maquis disrupted lines of communication, Ms. Wake covered 200 kilometers by bike over hostile ground to get and receive crucial messages. She slept in haystacks or in the open during her 72-hour journey, which resulted in reestablishing radio contact with London... In London, she bluffed her way into journalism by telling a Hearst newspaper executive that she was fluent in Egyptian— Egypt being a favorite topic of his. She wrote shorthand gibberish that resembled hieroglyphics and passed it off as the language... 'For goodness sake, did the allies parachute me into France to fry eggs and bacon for the men?' she asked. 'There wasn’t an egg to be had for love nor money, and even if there had been, why would I be frying it when I had men to do that sort of thing?'"

19 August 2011

3 in recent hilarities...

camilla and charles: whatever love means. 
william and kate: the lifetime movie. 
katies and caroline: ridiculousness.






2 ring, ring


i'm going to see yusha again.

after our last interview, i sent flowers in the belief that men remember women who send them flowers and because, though i'm neither of the old world or from newport, that seemed like the type of old world, newport thing to do.

yesterday, i called to confirm our meeting, screaming down the line: YUSHA? IT'S OLINE. OLINE... THE WRITER!!!

there was silence and a cough and then yusha said, oh, yes, yes, oline of the flowers, how are you?

18 August 2011

0 great expectations



i write a lot about expectations. mostly about how you shouldn't have them because they totally suck and they'll only leave you disappointed because, really, nothing can ever live up to the wonder of anything you could construct in your head.

flip that around and it's actually true: nothing you can construct in your head can live up to the wonder of what can actually happen.

i've been dicking around all summer. doing things with vague biographical connotations that are "allegedly" moving me toward the 21.09.13 goal, when really that's just been an elaborate excuse for expensive adventures.

after london, the plan was to hunker down with jackie, to be in chicago and to save money. the plan was that there would be no more trips.

which, like, well... HA.

you never know what's going to happen and my theory is that when adventure comes along, you've got to seize it. as the very wise mk wrote: "you have to treat yourself by throwing choice up ahead."

all summer, i'd been mulling a trip to new york this fall. to follow-up on freelance leads. to snag drinks with a handful of people who may or may not be biographically important. to interview The Feminist (?!?!?!).

but none of these were pressing. i thought they could be put off. i thought this was very much a want rather than a need.

i was wrong. these things can't be put off. their time has come.

because i somehow landed a gig as the social networking coordinator for a biographical collective and- much to my mortification- was quoted at length in last month's newsletter explaining which icons to click on to join facebook, i'm speaking as a social media expert at the women writing women's lives seminar on october 3rd.

you can plan all you want but it's useless. nothing you dream up is better than what can really be.

5 is this the tackiest thing ever?

when this came over the transom from k.clen, my impulse was to say yes, this is undoubtedly the tackiest thing ever. but then there's a part of me that thinks it's kind of awesome and that the squishy faces really do capture the essence. then again, i like THIS. and THIS. and i want to own THIS. so i'm maybe not the best judge.


2 mwwahhhhhhhh, the french.

this is both the worst story ever and the best.


my favorite passage:
The plane taxied back to the terminal and the bulky bon vivant was escorted off. A friend claims Depardieu, who has appeared in almost 200 films, actually peed in a bottle and was "mortified" by "spillage."

and, just for kicks, hey remember this?

17 August 2011

2 dear norman mailer,

i love all the perms happening in your car.


0 dead day

happened. and wasn't commemorated here yesterday because it's being commemorated HERE today. go forth, read and eat your jellied doughnuts...


8 Movies You Really Should've Seen By Now If You Want To Consider Yourself A Grown Person: Zoolander


first, let me drop some knowledge that'll emphasize the fact that we really should all be grown persons by now: zoolander is ten years old.

ouch.

we know this because zoolander had the unfortunate luck to be released in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 so it was seen by maybe three people (and me and CP were two of the three). accordingly, its box office performance was lackluster, but don't take that as a reflection upon the film. because, if we're getting down to it, zoolander is The Greatest Movie of Our Time.

yeah, i said it. now let's consider the evidence.

zoolander stars david bowie, fabio AND billy zane. dude from the labyrinth, dude from the covers of millions of harlequin romances and mean dude from titanic who is directly responsible for the fact that leo drowned. that's a lot of star power for an 89-minute movie.

(to say nothing of will farrell, david duchovny, jon voight, milla jovovich, christian slater, donald trump, winona ryder and alexander skarsgÄrd.)

but this parade of celebrities is pretty much unnecessary given that on the strength of soundbites alone, zoolander is the greatest movie ever made in the history of the world.

how else would we know that "moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty"? without zoolander the american vocabulary would be missing really, really important words like "wack" and "delio" and the oft-use phrase: "listen to your friend billy zane"

my retorts to drunk people, and therefore my whole college career, would've been radically different had i never heard derek zoolander say, "oh, snap!"

you're convinced, i know. stars and catch-phrases. what more motivation could you possibly need to get The Greatest Movie Of Our Time into your queue? oh yeah, this...



16 August 2011

1 banned books


the only book my parents ever banned was scarlett: the sequel to margaret mitchell's gone with the wind by alexandra ripley.

it had been excerpted in an issue of LIFE magazine that my mum had read while we were staying at my grandmother's house and, in that excerpt, scarlett and rhett had sex.

i don't know who in our family lodged a formal complaint about this. scarlett was, after all, not by jane austen. and we were talking scarlett o'hara and rhett butler here. over the course of an 823-page novel, those two were bound to be hooking up.

but the notion of these fictional characters having sexual relations was apparently far more scandalous when excerpted in the country's most beloved monthly magazine. and so, in my grandmother's house, the scarlett issue of LIFE was declared "trash" and hastily tossed into the pile of Sears catalogs and phone books that went to the hall coat closet to die.

at the time, i was a well-read age ten, so i'd dabbled in some pretty scandalous stuff. biographies of princess diana had given me an extremely accurate picture of adulthood (wrist slashing! bulimia! love affairs galore!) and sweet valley high was pretty much all death, all the time. so it's ironic that my parents protected my innocence by prohibiting a bodice-ripper with precisely two sex scenes and a birth so horrific that the brief joys of the sex preceding it were rendered null.

never mind that i had been allowed to repeatedly read gone with the wind itself, a novel prominently featuring marital rape and the KKK. something about scarlett as excerpted in LIFE magazine was too much and, accordingly, the book was banned.

in light of this, i did what any kid would do. i crawled out of bed in the dead of night and rescued that LIFE from the waste basket under the kitchen sink. i wiped the dinner remnants from the face of vivien leigh and reread the scarlett excerpt so many times that pieces of it are, to this day, emblazoned on my heart.

and then i waited...

when, in 1994, CBS airred a tv-movie starring everyone in hollywood willing to attempt a southern accent, i taped it and, as though i were a scarlett o'hara catechist and it was a pillar of my faith, i screened the scarlett mini-series after school. every day. for a year. just another reason why we are surprised i had any friends.

in 1995, i decided it was time. i had to disobey my parents. my moment had come.

a prime opportunity for flagrant disobedience arose during an unchaperoned trip to books-a-million at the cool springs galleria. leaving my friend sitting indian-style before the safe pastels of the baby-sitters club, i darted into the fiction aisle, grabbed one of the dozens of remaining copies of scarlett, a book everyone else in the country had by now read, and handed the cashier my $5.95. i heaved a sigh of relief when she handed it back to me encased in a brown paper bag. i was grateful for her discretion.

what did you buy at the mall?
 
my mother asked innocently when i returned home.

sweat broke out on my upper lip. i said nothing. i couldn't bear to upset her and confess, and so i hugged the brown bag tightly to my chest as though it's were something by which i was deeply embarrassed (training bras? maxipads?) and- with all the adolescent angst i could muster- raced up the stairs.

my mother asked no questions. she may've thought i'd gone mad.

and so i read scarlett. at last.

thanks to my father's exacto-knife and elmer's glue- scarlett masqueraded as james herriott's all creatures great and small. i read it while standing at the bus stop, while riding the bus, during class breaks, during recess, during lunch, all the way home and when i should've been studying for a geometry test. at night, i lay awake reading it by flashlight, sweating beneath layers of unnecessary blankets so no one would see the bulb's glow.

i flunked the geometry test and read all 823 pages of scarlett in six days.

my parents had banned scarlett due to the sexual content but, ultimately, it was a book in which the absolute most scandalous plot twist was that of an unwed woman moving to ireland on her own.

in other words, i had waited four years to read a book with a message of female independence that was insanely boring for a fourteen-year-old.

15 August 2011

6 and i repeat: why don't people talk like this in real life?


5 ouch


the discouraging voices are no longer confined to my head. they belong to real people now.

boxing is the best metaphor.

because you can be landing every punch when suddenly the living shit's kicked out of you and you're forced to retreat. into your corner. bloodied. spooked. slightly unhinged. not permanently, but decidedly.

but the fight's not over. immediately, you've got to go back out.


6 o young oline, in the sins lab

september 28, 1988


[trans.: Today my class went to the sins lab.]

12 August 2011

0 dear chicago,

why are you so good to us?


3 brighten up

there's this crazy man i used to work for in my old job whom i love. mind you, he drives me absolutely balls to the wall bonkers. he tries to be way too involved in my love life. he says incredibly inappropriate things. and he often blows everything i say entirely out of proportion, thus, necessitating the exchange of upwards of eighteen emails to calm him back down and convince him i'm not sad and lonely or dying of low self-esteem.

that said, sometimes he gets it right. because there's often a miles wide expanse between those times, they're doubly precious.

this morning, after one such exchange of eighteen emails to convince him that "this is what it feels like to be dumped by a girl" was written five years ago and i am no longer the insecure, untrusting girl i was then, he wrote this:

"wear shades, your future is so bright that it could be blinding."

it was a morning where i needed to hear that and hearing it has made my day.



0 there's some wisdom

HERE.

i like...

11. I understand the attraction of Monica Lewinsky.

19. Every guy should know how to make cookies.

23. That pants-below-the-ass look seems like it would make it harder to run from the police.

64. Ikea isn’t that great.

65. Not all bacon is good.

67. Liking Judy Garland doesn’t make you gay.

76. Money won’t make you happy, but it makes the hooker leave.

80. If I had more money than I knew what to do with, I’d use the word “luncheon” less ironically.

92. Kids will let a lot of shit slide if you keep your word.


2 we're on a yacht

one of us is wearing The Most Beautiful Dress of All Time.
the other is wearing a dress bought on her lunch break that afternoon,
which turned out to be surprisingly transparent.



11 August 2011

6 it puts the lotion on


k.clen and i are living it up tonight on a yacht at a cheeky event. with great care, we have coordinated our outfits so they don't clash and we don't have to spend the evening on opposite ends of the boat.

i'm feeling very good about all of this until i get to work and immediately squeeze a vial of lotion too hard so that it shatters, shooting white cream all over the front of my dress, into my hair and on my face.

i look like monica lewinsky.

these are the options: (1) buy a new dress over lunch, (2) look as though i was doling out sexual favors all afternoon.

3 things you never know if you never ask



the first legit biographer to ever read jackie was a pulitzer prize winner with whom my only in-person interaction had been the observation that there should be more stalls in the women's restroom at the national press club.

she had expressed liberal views about what constitutes a biographical liberty and so i shipped the questionable eight pages of jackie off to her to see if, in her estimation, i had sinned.

the other day, she wrote back.

it's hard to summon momentum. to keep up your energy over the long haul. because this- writing, biography, life- is a mighty long haul. what you need is some galvanizing force that- even if it leads nowhere, even if it's fleeting at best- gets you going. it gets words on the page.

the pulitzer prize winner wrote back. her emailed opened with this line: "well, i must say i enjoyed that..."

as though she hadn't expected to. as though she were genuinely surprised.

i'm tempted to print out this email and frame it, as a reminder. because this is the response i'm writing for, this is the response jackie should get.

you think you know her story. you don't. i'm going to tell it, though i'm still not sure how.

10 August 2011

0 cheeky time


BOOK CLUB!
it's a naughty one too...
(plus there's a decent movie if you wanna skip the book)