Tag Archives: celebrities

This is my letter to the world

28 Jan

blog image colbert

Here it is almost February and I still haven’t written the letters that needed to go out in 2013.  And it’s not that the letters are unimportant, it’s that the intended recipients are famous, really famous.  Like more famous than “I-have-a-column-in-a-free-monthly-newspaper-now” famous. (Click here for link- page 5).

Am I intimidated?  No.  Scared?  Hardly.  I’m most concerned that given my newfound fame (click here for link- page 5), I may run into some of the recipients at an award dinner and they might want to discuss the letters when really, the letters are merely constructive criticism.  (Because I know how well I handle unsolicited criticism- I’m still mad at Spouse from Christmas 2008 when he “just asked” if I knew that raw cookie dough contains the same amount of calories as cooked.)

So who gets a letter and why?

To Stephen Colbert: nation, unable to purge images of Mr. Colbert in a jumpsuit from my mind, I am concerned that his only form of exercise is running from the main desk to the interview table.  (Also, he is the bravest man on television because he will, literally, put anything into his mouth.  As an individual who abhors prop comedy (and ventriloquism) I deem Stephen Colbert the exception and, as such, deserving of my first letter of the new year.)

Alec Baldwin: you are Spouse’s celebrity man crush.  And not just because your newest wife is a yoga instructor but, c’mon, a yoga instructor?  When you go and marry someone like that you give guys like Spouse hope.  Then I have to go and do something wonderful like microwave a food or clean a thing just to bring him back to reality.  From Glengarry to 30 Rock to SNL, Spouse thinks you possess understated wit and a well-honed sense of timing.  I, however, have my doubts.  I once saw you on The Barefoot Contessa and felt that you were the person I would least like to sit with at an outdoor charity function.  Because outdoor charity functions are boring and so were you.  When one thinks of Alec Baldwin, one thinks of “The Bloviator” and his very sloppy divorce from Kim Basinger and I think I like that guy better.

To Kim Basinger: you messed up.  How can anyone who buys a town on a whim (Braselton, GA circa 1989) expect to keep a man responsible for delivering lines like: “it’s easy to get down in the dumps when you can’t take one” happy?  (Wow, maybe Mr. Baldwin is my celebrity man crush too.)

David Sedaris: why am I not you?  Your work was translated into Estonian for crying out loud.  Estonian.  Until recently, I thought that Estonia was in Queens.  Life is unfair.  And if you were to read any of the previous letters I’ve sent, you’d know that.

Jack White: you make the best noise on the planet.  And that’s coming from mother of The Boy.  Noisy Boy.  (Also, exceptional work on the National Anthem with Stephen Colbert.  He owes you.)

Drew Carey: if you don’t like your job, quit.  It’s what I’ve always done.  (But please continue to have your pets spayed or neutered.)

To Neil Young, Tom Waits and Van Morrison: for continuing to make music that is always interesting, sometimes weird.  And kudos to one of you for helping to fight big oil.

To Keith Richards goes a lifetime achievement award for achieving the achievement of still living at this time.

Dave Barry: for consistently writing funny material.  (Except for Lunatics co-written with Alan Zweibel.  That one just screams contractual obligation.)

Alex Trebek: you are the most socially awkward person on television.  You reprimand contestants for not knowing minutia that you read off the teleprompter, your impressions are dreadful and no one cares that your french pronunciation is précis.

The College of Saint Rose: there’s a typo on the home page of your MFA in Creative Writing page.

John Fogerty: for being the face (and voice) of vocal polyps for the last five decades.

To websites that make us scroll down to click on our home state: do you know that it takes several spins of the mouse just to get to the “N’s?”  And then there are 3 “New” states before you get to New York.  Why can’t you just let us type it?  (Unless, of course, you are The College of Saint Rose.)

Finally, to Emily Dickinson: a 19th century American poet.  For continuing to perpetuate the myth that English degrees are worthless by studying hard and writing boatloads of work but neither getting a job nor moving out of her parent’s house.

You make me look awesome.

Why I Roller Skate

24 May

I skate because Interskate 88 is the only place I know where for $4, politics, religions, opinions and chores are set aside as people unite and work hard to not run over each other.

Sure, there’s a disco ball, twinkly lights and awesome music (hello?  Gloria Gaynor anyone?) but what draws me to the rink is the opportunity to generate g-force using my body mass.  (Ha!  And you thought I was just chubby; I am all science.)  Also let’s not overlook the intense concentration it takes to prevent a faulty wheel from initiating a random turn that takes out small children (they are like rubber when they fall, though) and the rush of feeling  six pounds lighter by simply removing those bad boys when you’re done.

Other times, my mental soundtrack plays Dire Straits’ “Skateaway” and I connect with my inner rollergirl whose outstretched arms are filled with grace and power, whose thighs are strong and mighty and who in that moment, will  either wobble and fall or accelerate, close her eyes and fly.  Of course I look like an Ethel Merman/Apollo Ono/Jerry Lewis mash-up but, damn it, I’m taking chances.

I YMCA, chicken dance, limbo and, when I’m feeling unstoppable (literally), I grease lightning.  I am too busy trying to stay up to think about how I look or care about how you look.  This is no time to judge others- although, if you must, I recommend sitting at the counter as it faces straight into the rink.  (Also an opportune time to discreetly wipe roller sheen from your face, bangs and hands.)

I skate because it’s fun.  I skate because my kid will do it with me without having to be seen around me.  (Unless he needs money for snacks.)  I skate because the rink is the Grand Equalizer- where we are all in another’s shoes while paying for the privilege to be so.

That, and there’s some pretty fine light bulb cooking: hot dogs, pizza and hot pretzels IN ADDITION TO ice cream, soda and candy.

Skating is not for sissies.  It’s not for posers, liars or anyone on a diet.  It’s for couples, trios and me.  I skate because I’m me.  I fall because I’m spastic but the skating part?  All me.

We’re Gonna Need a Better Back-Up Plan

18 Apr

I bought a mega millions ticket.

You know things are tight if I buy a lottery ticket, singular.  Finances may be dire but that doesn’t make me a fool.  One lottery ticket is fine; it’s a tiny dream- like wishing on one star for 161 million other stars to align.  A bundle of lottery tickets is a desperation move and if I were going to take that route, I would buy myself a $100 dollar pair of Skechers Shape Up Toning Shoes and develop a Plan B that features my improved bottom and pays me money for it (or have the Kardashians beaten me to it?)

Plan C includes consulting the Feng Shui book then cleaning all the windows in the house.  According Feng Shui, money cannot find its way into your home if the windows are dirty.  On the plus side, neither can Jehovah’s Witnesses- all you have to do is duck below the grime and whisper.

But I’m not worried- I’m too busy being what my workforce counselor calls “proactive.”  “Pro” from the Latin indicating “favoring”  and “activ” from an infomercial meaning “acne control.”  My employment counselor has great skin.

Besides, there are always scratch-offs which, as of today, equate to $500 A Week LESS for Life (for me).  I swear, as soon as the boy turns 18, I’m buying the “For Life” lottery tickets for him, The Prince of Longevity.

I call that Plan W.  As in “What becomes of Grown Ups with English Degrees?”

Why I eschew fame

14 Mar

Elle and I walk on Thursdays.  Elle is also a recovering actress so walking off memories of bad theater, monologues written by undiscovered playwrights and competing with Maggie Gyllenhaal for a role is our form of AA (Actor’s Anonymous) minus the opening prayer and without actually being a friend of Bill W.  We’d both rather be friends of Martin S. or Quentin T.

As we powered our way over the hills, we talked about how our decision not to become famous has worked out better for us and our families.  We were having this discussion while trying to remember how long our  unemployment benefit extensions last.

“Imagine,” one of us said, “that you had Chinese for dinner last night and, without thinking, woke up and took the dog out.”

“Next thing you know, your mom is calling because she saw a picture of you (walking the dog) in the tabloids and she wants to congratulate you on your pregnancy and find out why you couldn’t call to tell her- that she had to find out while on line at the Food King is a sin.”

Reason #1: famous people cannot opt for the Kung Pao bloat whenever they are too tired to make dinner.

Reason #2: famous people probably have to call their mothers more than regular people.  Or pay someone to do mom’s grocery shopping.

Finally, mom asks when you had your eggs frozen because you never even mentioned it and also to remind you that “after a certain age, everyone’s ass looks like Epcot.  Even Drew Barrymore has dimples.  Of course, her’s are on her face, but still.”

Reason #3: even Epcot is famous.

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