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mallorys_cameraI was devastated by the news about Anthony Bourdain.
What is it with people seeking permanent solutions to temporary problems?
Don’t they know that if they lock themselves in a hotel room and watch The Real Housewives of New York for 18 hours, all their problems will go away?
###
My devastation did not prevent me from spending the morning texting tastelessly with B.
These things come in threes! What beloved celebrity is NEXT?
In a perfect world, Gwyneth Paltrow. In a grossly unjust world, David Letterman or George Clooney.
Why do people like Anthony Bourdain kill themselves when human cockroaches like Harvey Weinstein struggle to live on so tenaciously?
When you are loved, you feel undeserving. When you’re feared or hated, you’re too mean to die… I could see Louis CK or Garrison Keillor on the “next” list…
Keillor has always struck me as being somewhere on the spectrum. I think autistic people are fairly well insulated from the types of feelings - inadequacy, expendability, loneliness - that compel people to kill themselves.
You might be right about that. Maybe autism is an evolutionary adaptation that protects against the epidemic. Like sickle cell protects against malaria.
###
By the afternoon, it had become clear to me the day was gonna be a complete wash.
So I went to the movies.
Book Club!
I liked it. It was very funny! Of course, it got terrible reviews. Plastic surgery has made Jane Fonda and Mary Steenburgen incredibly weird-looking, but Diane Keaton is still adorable, and I respect Candice Bergen for going all matronly.
Andy Garcia is Diane Keaton’s bf. Wait! Wasn’t she his aunt in Godfather III? Garcia is practically unrecognizable, but Don Johnson has aged very nicely indeed.
Then I went to the diner and bought a big hamburger with onion rings, fries, and a strawberry milkshake.
Then I went to bed and read another 150 pages about Lord Byron’s youth.
Byron may have been the first person in the world to go to bed one night in relative obscurity and wake up… famous.
Fame is a type of maya, of course. Fame essentially turns you into a blank canvas on to which other people project all sorts of emotions. It’s glamour in the full Faerie Queen sense of the word, a kind of pulsating, sickly green light.
I’ve never understood why anyone would want to be famous.
Of course, fame is often (though not always) coupled with money.
And money is incredibly useful.
What is it with people seeking permanent solutions to temporary problems?
Don’t they know that if they lock themselves in a hotel room and watch The Real Housewives of New York for 18 hours, all their problems will go away?
###
My devastation did not prevent me from spending the morning texting tastelessly with B.
These things come in threes! What beloved celebrity is NEXT?
In a perfect world, Gwyneth Paltrow. In a grossly unjust world, David Letterman or George Clooney.
Why do people like Anthony Bourdain kill themselves when human cockroaches like Harvey Weinstein struggle to live on so tenaciously?
When you are loved, you feel undeserving. When you’re feared or hated, you’re too mean to die… I could see Louis CK or Garrison Keillor on the “next” list…
Keillor has always struck me as being somewhere on the spectrum. I think autistic people are fairly well insulated from the types of feelings - inadequacy, expendability, loneliness - that compel people to kill themselves.
You might be right about that. Maybe autism is an evolutionary adaptation that protects against the epidemic. Like sickle cell protects against malaria.
###
By the afternoon, it had become clear to me the day was gonna be a complete wash.
So I went to the movies.
Book Club!
I liked it. It was very funny! Of course, it got terrible reviews. Plastic surgery has made Jane Fonda and Mary Steenburgen incredibly weird-looking, but Diane Keaton is still adorable, and I respect Candice Bergen for going all matronly.
Andy Garcia is Diane Keaton’s bf. Wait! Wasn’t she his aunt in Godfather III? Garcia is practically unrecognizable, but Don Johnson has aged very nicely indeed.
Then I went to the diner and bought a big hamburger with onion rings, fries, and a strawberry milkshake.
Then I went to bed and read another 150 pages about Lord Byron’s youth.
Byron may have been the first person in the world to go to bed one night in relative obscurity and wake up… famous.
Fame is a type of maya, of course. Fame essentially turns you into a blank canvas on to which other people project all sorts of emotions. It’s glamour in the full Faerie Queen sense of the word, a kind of pulsating, sickly green light.
I’ve never understood why anyone would want to be famous.
Of course, fame is often (though not always) coupled with money.
And money is incredibly useful.
