Meme Spirited

 

Connect on Goodreads to see if the Hemingway classic made my list HERE.

Summer Book Report

Hello, page slaves!

I've been a busy reader since I last checked in, so let's get right to it:

Polished off seven more books that have been gathering dust forever.

I was more than a bit surprised that of them, the one I enjoyed most was "Living History" by Hillary Rodham Clinton, which was a 36th(!) birthday present from my late friend Larry Brickman. 

As you've probably gathered, I've completely shut down on the political front, which has left an enormous but completely necessary void in my life. But revisiting the subject -- even at a time that was fraught with partisan bullshit at the highest levels (poor Vince Foster) -- somehow felt good, knowing its worst moments still predated the arrival of neo-fascism via an elevator. And of course, the woman herself. It was like a 600-page reminder that we did not deserve her. (Oh, what could have been!) 

Some quick thoughts on the others:

"Truman Capote: In Which Various Friends, Enemies, Acquaintances and Detractors Recall His Turbulent Career" (1997) edited by George Plimpton, a birthday present from my friend Nina

Lacked anything revealing or juicy.

"The Berlin Stories" (1945) by Christopher Isherwood, which I bought 25 years ago in Paris

Maybe I expected too much, but I was underwhelmed. 

"The First Man-Made Man: The Story of Two Sex Changes, One Love Affair, and a Twentieth-Century Medical Revolution" (2007) by Pagan Kennedy, a gift from a New York Times colleague

The beginning was fascinating, but then the subject turned into a religious hermit and I lost all interest, proving that trans people can be just as boring as anyone else.

"I Look Divine" (1987) by Christopher Coe, a gift in the 1980s from my brother Bill

A clever idea that largely misses the mark.

 "Wonder Bread and Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano" (1996) by Charles Isherwood, which I believe I received as a review copy

Drugs are boring and other than the cover photo, so is this. P.S. Did learn that we have Chi Chi La Rue to blame for many of the worst things about porn today.

and

"Tasteful Nudes ... and Other Misguided Attempts at Personal Growth and Validation" (2012) by Dave Hill, which was recommended to me by Kathy Valentine when she and I were both working on our own books

Had some truly hilarious moments, but probably best for existing fans. Having never heard of this person -- and never since -- I didn't have enough built-in good will to appreciate the 95% that wasn't hilarious -- and the funny parts weren't enough to make a convert out of me.

What's new?

"Earth to Moon" (2024) by Moon Unit Zappa

Being the "Valley Girl" that I am, I expected to lap this one up. But for reasons that are unclear to me, something about this entire story rubbed me the wrong way. If accurately portrayed, her mother does sound like a piece of work. But I'm always skeptical of stories where the narrator always seems to come across wrongly victimized -- have you heard Saint Joyce DeWitt talk about her time on "Three's Company"? -- so not sure what else to say except: It's a good book but I don't know what my fucking problem is.

"High on Arrival" (2009) by Mackenzie Phillips

Like most fans, I was mortified when this was released. But a co-worker suggested I finally rip off the band-aid and I'm glad I did. (I keep saying people don't live lives like this anymore, and Mack is definitely in the last batch!) Damian and I are watching "One Day at a Time" in its entirety now, so will be interesting to see some of it play out on-screen.

"Happiness Included" (2026) by Eve Plumb

I've long realized that 99% of the time, actors are cast to basically play themselves. What this book reveals is that Eve Plumb is Jan Brady, and all the "I've learned to embrace that that's what I'm known for" platitudes can't hide that she's a total pill.

"Out Came the Sun" (2015) by Mariel Hemingway

I'd already seen the harrowing documentary about the "Hemingway curse" Mariel produced a number of years ago, yet was surprised how much more I learned and enjoyed her written take. Left me wanting to give her a hug.

"A Star Is Bored" (2020) by Byron Lane

This is one of the first novels I have read in ages -- it was a recommendation from my pal Chip -- and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The author is a former personal assistant to Carrie Fisher and swears this isn't a roman a clef, but readers may still wonder.

"A Moveable Feast" (1964) by Ernest Hemingway

Read this because Mariel said it was her favorite book by her grandfather. On paper it sounded great -- a memoir about his early years as a struggling writer in Paris among the Lost Generation -- but it felt disjointed and unfinished, despite many posthumous attempts to make it feel otherwise.

"One Gay American" (2013) by Dennis Milam Bensie 

Dennis contacted me when this came out looking for a little blog love. A mere 13 years later I am here to tell the world that this should be required reading for "queer" youth today, who have no fucking clue what it was like to grow up gay in the late 20th century. I've since learned there was a precursor to this, "Shorn: Toys to Men," which chronicles two pivotal parts of the author's life (childhood sexual abuse and paraphilia in extremis), which I wish he'd at least mentioned for those of us new to him. If you're reading this, Dennis, would love a copy of the out-of-print "Shorn," which I will gladly write up in 2039.

"Notes to John" (2025) by Joan Didion

Another recommendation from my competitive reading colleague. As a Didion memoir fan, this was a great complement to "The Year of Magical Thinking" and especially "Blue Nights." It was by no means required reading, but a quick one for those who would like to know a little bit more. 

Listen Up!

A friend alerted me to Elisabeth Egan's NYT piece called "Stellar Celebrity Memoirs Read by Their Authors," and I would like to suggest three additions:

"Inside Out" (2019) by Demi Moore 

"Stories I Only Tell My Friends" (2011) by Rob Lowe

"Karma" (2024) by Boy George

Having grown up with Demi, Rob and Boy, each of their memoirs felt like reflections on events that had also happened to me. And while Boy's got a little bogged down with some later-in-life reality TV stuff, I found myself completely mesmerized listening to Demi (the older sister I always wanted), Rob (a surrogate for my older brothers who never shared much) and Boy, the obvious homo you watched through your fingers as a teen, half admiring and half fearing exposure by association. 

Note: I could have done without learning that Dayton-born Lowe pronounces height as if were spelled like width -- the dreaded "heighth" -- I thought only Michiganders were that dumb! Fortunately he never references any of his cousints. 

I was stunned by Demi's childhood -- and how off the rails her relationship with Ashton Kutcher left her. And Rob's "Zelig" existence through life would almost be hard to believe, if I didn't firmly believe that doors "miraculously" open for ridiculously beautiful people. It's called pretty privilege for a reason! Boy George comes across exactly as you would expect -- sassy and combative but ultimately harmless -- and thank God this was recorded before his new smile led to the severe lisp that's heard on the new documentary about Culture Club. Yithkes! 

Right now I'm revisiting Michael Ausiello's "Spoiler Alert: The Hero Dies," which I got to page 190 upon its release in 2017 before having to stop in the months after my brother's cancer-related death. 

Needless to say, I had to restart, but was tickled to find this photo of my now-husband taken when I first started the book on a weekend visit to our friend Christopher and Augusten's house in Connecticut.

And here is the "bookmark" I found in the Hillary Clinton book, a sweet photo-booth excursion with my ex (Bernard/Michael) back in 2003. 

Better Read Than Never

 

Hello, page slaves!

It's been a few weeks since I updated you on what I've been reading, so I decided now's the time.

First off, I should probably mention that part of this exercise is being driven by my desire to have finally read all of the titles on my bookshelves, including numerous titles that were gifts -- you may recall that I got "Dreams That Money Can Buy: The Tragic Life of Libby Holman" for my birthday in 1985!

I can now also check off Peter Bodo's "The Courts of Babylon," which my brother Bill got me for Christmas back in godknowswhen. Once again, I was left asking myself what the hell was wrong with me for waiting this long -- I loved every second of it.

In addition to all the fascinating insights -- I had no idea how corrupt the tour once was even since I started following it in 1977 (read the Italian Open chapter!) -- the book brought back a memory of meeting Bodo with my friend Greg at a Davis Cup tie in Birmingham, Alabama, where I managed to stump him with a question about the unsolved 1982 murder of a black female player, a case he knew nothing about. (I was heartened to discover that a recent podcast was devoted to Andrea Buchanan's homicide; god knows her family deserves some answers.) 

In keeping with the theme, I then tackled Michael Mewshaw's "Ladies of the Court: Grace and Disgrace on the Women's Tennis Tour," which provided an at times disturbing inside look at the 1991 season. 

I also polished off "I, Tina," which I mostly read when it came out in 1986 but felt entirely new; and Mindy Kaling's "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (and Other Concerns)," which had some good parts but way too much filler (and I can't imagine those "jokes" about black and Jewish people, "trannies," etc., would be welcomed these days).

Right now I'm knee-deep in "Live From New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live" (2002) by James Andrew Miller and the late Washington Post TV critic Tom Shales. This too was a gift from Bill ages ago, but I kind of forgot about it. 

I wasn't sure what to expect reading it now -- I've wasn't born with the "fascinated by Lorne Michaels" gene that everyone else seems to possess -- but I'd forgotten how huge the show was for my brothers and me when we were kids. A lot of that was because of Bill, who filled me in on the early seasons so I could act like I'd been allowed to stay up and watch them. 

As a result, I'm really enjoying the book. (I've made no secret of how I felt about Gilda!) Plus, Jane was the only sane one, so it's fun to hear her perspective, and they talk to absolutely everyone associated with the show. (It also inspired me to watch the Chevy Chase documentary -- so good -- and now I need to see that "Saturday Night" movie about the first episode.)

Once I finish that, here's a sampling of some other titles collecting dust on my bookshelves -- that meme about buying books and reading books being two entirely different hobbies definitely strikes a chord! -- which can be broken into three categories: 

Books I Bought:

"The Berlin Stories" by Christopher Isherwood

"Tasteful Nudes: ... and Other Misguided Attempts at Personal Growth and Validation" by Dave Hill

Books That Were Gifts:

"Wonder Bread and Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano" by Charles Isherwood

"Truman Capote: In Which Various Friends, Enemies, Acquaintances and Detractors Recall His Turbulent Career," which is right up my alley given that it's an oral biography edited by George Plimpton (a la "Edie")

"Fool's Errand" by my actual friend Lou Bayard; I have read "Endangered Species," both of which were gifts from Bill, who was tennis pals with Lou in Washington

"Serious Pleasures: The Life of Stephen Tennant" by Philip Hoare

"Story of My Life" by Jay McInerney

"I Look Divine" by Christopher Coe

"The First Man-Made Man: The Story of Two Sex Changes, One Love Affair, and a Twentieth-Century Medical Revolution" by Pagan Kennedy 

Books That Were Review Copies:

"Dreadful: The Short Life and Gay Times of John Horne Burns" by David Margolick

"Dangerous When Wet" by Jamie Brickhouse (whom I just met at a memorial and is hilarious!)

"Eating My Feelings: Tales of Overeating, Underperforming and Coping With My Crazy Family" by Mark Rosenberg, with whom I'm Facebook friends and now seems to be a personal trainer

Eyeballing this list I would probably put the Truman Capote at the top.

Point me in the right direction in the comments -- and also tell me what you're reading!

Greenport Getaway

Just back from a perfect birthday weekend on the North Fork, a place I’ve wanted to visit for years.

Today is the actual “big” day, and I’m spending it doing what makes me happiest of all -- in my chosen city with my husband, my cat and a biography of a fascinating woman from the past (Libby Holman). 

The book happens to be a birthday gift I received from a dear friend some four decades ago, which I recently rediscovered in a box and am only now getting around to reading! xo

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Chicago, Cher and the Crawfords

 

Hello, page turners!

Since I last wrote, I did indeed complete Erik Larson's "Devil in the White City," which I received as a gift in 2007. I hadn't peeked at any reviews, but since finishing I concur with a lot of readers that the "b" plot -- the titular devil of a serial killer -- was unnecessary given that the main story about the World's Columbian Exposition (aka the 1893 Chicago World's Fair) was utterly fascinating and had nothing to do with the sicko.

My guess is Larson didn't think anyone would read a book solely about the fair, so wove in the murder stuff to get people to pay attention. (Spoiler: It worked. The book spent years on the New York Times Bestseller list and became a defining work in popularizing modern narrative nonfiction.) 

Kudos to my friend Marc for suspecting I would enjoy it, even if I was too stubborn to appreciate it for nearly 20 years!

At the same time, I've been revisiting my brother Bill's second book, "The Elephants of Style," because I miss his wit.

And then I dug into the first part of Cher's memoir and nearly sobbed when it abruptly ended even before "Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean." 

I thought I was a superfan of the Emmy-, Grammy- and Oscar-winning star, but I must say I was stunned by how much I didn't know. (Add Ms. Sarkisian to the list of people whose lives no one will ever live again, with the rags to riches and back again existence dating back to her girlhood.) She's a fantastic storyteller and doesn't shy away from uncomfortable topics. Part II can't arrive quickly enough. 

Right now I'm listening to the 40th anniversary edition of "Mommie Dearest" -- which must have come out in 2018 -- and getting a real wake-up call about audiobooks. 

I loved hearing Jeff Hiller tell his story and thought Will Patton brought "On the Road" to life. And I wish to God my brother had recorded audio versions of his three books. But I find Tavia Gilbert, who apparently is actually an award-winning narrator, incredibly annoying and it's making me root for Joan. (Having the right person on board is obviously more important than I realized.) 

I'm just starting Chapter 13, but at the rate I'm going, I'm not sure I'll be happy unless Christina's dead. What is up with this woman's intonations and why isn't someone slapping her?

Still hoping for more connections on Goodreads -- does anyone still use that besides me? -- and tell me what you're reading in the comments.

Pre-Summer Reading Gist

 

Hey, page slaves! 

So I finished "In Cold Blood" over the weekend and then immediately dove into "Tales of the City," a book that somehow wasn't on my suburban Phoenix childhood radar. I remember feeling so left out when the television adaptation premiered in January 1994 -- everyone was buzzing about it that night at Trumpets on 17th Street -- but then ate up the series and all its sequels. 

To read it more than 30 years later was still a pleasure, although I must say whoever wrote the teleplays for those miniseries deserves a huge round of applause because they are nearly identical in style and tone as Armistead Maupin's classic works. 

Yesterday I started Erik Larson's much-acclaimed "The Devil in the White City," which I had received as a gift from a reader-turned-close friend. (We actually met up with him on our recent trip to the Coachella Valley.) 

I'd attempted the book once or twice before, only to get distracted. But in the words of the great Donna Summer, this time I know it's for real because A) I'm back in a reading groove and B) I finally realized that although it's written like a novel -- which regular readers know isn't my favorite genre when you get past the 20th century -- it's actually a novel in the way that "In Cold Blood" is, so I'm loving learning about the World's Columbian Exposition (aka Chicago's World Fair) celebrating the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's discovery as well as the B plot about of H. H. Holmes, who is widely considered the first serial killer in the U.S. 

This one's going to take a while so until then, follow me on Goodreads HERE and tell me what you're reading in the comments.

Literary Therapy

 

I had planned to write that I finally "got my life back" yesterday after finishing both Jonathan Franzen's "The Corrections," which I'd started in 2003(!), and Vincent Bugliosi's "Helter Skelter," which I'd started while babysitting in eighth grade(!!), but then I immediately resumed another title I have struggled with forever -- Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood" (purchased at a bookstore in the Marais in 2001) -- only now that I'm back in the reading groove, I'm whizzing right through it, "life" intact. (Wow, it's good!) 

To back up a little: I had restarted and then abandoned "The Corrections" again last month, telling myself that reading is supposed to be fun, so why force myself if I wasn't feeling it? But then my obsessive-compulsive disorder kicked in -- do I really want to leave unfinished something I'd started? can I really buy new books when my shelves are littered with ones I haven't read? -- and discovering that my brother Bill had urged me to read it ages ago and that Meryl Streep had recently signed on to play Enid in a Netflix adaptation sealed the deal to forge ahead. 

In the end, Franzen's writing is not for everyone. But the chaotic family dynamic was definitely something I'm comfortable with, so I have no regrets.

In addition, I completed Damian Barr's "Maggie & Me," which I'd bought in 2014 around the time my memoir came out but struggled with because it's written in working-class Scottish English -- when I say they have a different word for everything, I mean they have a different word for everything -- so it made it hard to get into when you were constantly confused. 

A decade wiser, I muddled through and when I finished last week, I immediately tagged the author on social media saying I wanted to give him a hug. (If you've read it, you'll know why.) 

My Damian saw this and got sentimental, asking if I remembered what he'd said to me right after reading "Wasn't Tomorrow Wonderful?" early in our relationship. 

Off the top of my head, I did not, so he reminded me: "I said I wanted to give you a hug." 💓

My hubby explained that he was so moved by how vulnerable I had made myself and my gay inner child, which is exactly how I felt about Mr. Barr. (I'm sorry, but younger people will never understand what it was like to grow up thinking you were the only person in the world who felt this way -- something many of us didn't even have a word for -- and that everyone you loved would disown you if they knew -- only to discover there actually were other people like you, and they were dying because of it.)

On a similar but more uproarious note: I couldn't get enough of the audiobook of Jeff Hiller's "Actress of a Certain Age.” He too grew up gay at a difficult time in a difficult place (Texas). And while it would be a great read no matter how you slice it, hearing his delivery took it to the next level!

Soon to come: The new Olivia Newton-John biography, Barry Walters's "Mighty Real" and a colleague reminded me that I still need to check out Mackenzie Phillips's "High on Arrival," although the list goes on and on ...

Tell me what you're reading in the comments. xo

Rackets, Rivals -- and Regrets

I texted my friend Greg to see if he could fly in for the premiere of "Chris & Martina: The Final Set" at the Tribeca Film Festival next month but sadly he's got other plans. I later told him I was re-reading the book about their famous rivalry -- Greg and I first met when we had to play against each other in a club tournament in 1980! -- and mentioned how I don't remember any of the "new" details I had first learned in 2005. (Does anyone else seem to forget most of what they read? He -- and Damian -- ended up concurring, so I felt a little better.)

After finishing, I moved on to the imported Steffi Graf book my brother Bill had gotten me for Christmas some 30 years ago, which I feel like I had only skimmed at the time. 

Nothing monumental, other than finally confirming to me that her gross father had not, in fact, fathered a child out of wedlock plus the grim realization that in addition to sexy race-car driver Michael Bartels (above), Fräulein Forehand had also dated dreamy German tennis pro Alexander Mronz, who reached the round of 16 at Wimbledon in 1995. 

Andre Agassi is clearly Steffi's Aristotle Onassis, because how else do you explain trading in either of the other guys?

Side note: If Steffi had wound up with Mronz, her brother-in-law would have been sports and events manager Michael Mronz, seen above on the left with his longtime partner, Guido Westerwelle, who served as foreign minister in the second cabinet of Chancellor Angela Merkel and as Germany’s vice-chancellor from 2009 to 2011, becoming the first openly gay person to hold either post. Westerwelle attended Merkel’s 50th birthday party in 2004 with Mronz, marking the first time he attended an official event with his partner. (Sadly, he died in 2014 after a battle with acute myeloid leukemia.) 

My Roland Garros program from my 1987 trip to the event can be seen above

This prompted Greg to send me a photo of his tennis book collection, below, and me to send mine in reply. Although we both have a number of good ones -- note the two YA Tracy Austin books I may have pilfered from the Rhodes Junior High School library and the WTA media guides that changed my young life -- it got me a little weepy remembering that I had been offered Bill's sizeable tennis library after he died in 2017 but I wasn't thinking straight -- and lived in a much smaller third-floor walkup -- so demurred. How I wish I could go back.

On Greg's shelf I spy an Evonne Goolagong book I would love to check out, as well as John McEnroe's "You Cannot Be Serious," which is on my list as I want to hear his side of things after reading what Tatum O'Neal had to say about him in "A Paper Life." 

Please tell me which tennis books I should be adding to my collection in the comments!

Notes From My Nightstand

I'm still plugging away at "Helter Skelter" -- and have "In Cold Blood" waiting in the queue -- but here's what I've been reading lately:

"A Paper Life" by Tatum O'Neal: A fascinating memoir for a Gen Xer like me, who grew up on a diet of "The Bad News Bears" and "Little Darlings." Her childhood was even more harrowing than I knew -- and I wish I could say I was surprised to learn that John McEnroe is an awful lot like (fellow narcissist) Ryan O'Neal, or at least was back in the day. This book would have been a lot easier to swallow if I didn't already know the tragic post-publication "ending," where our flawed protagonist winds up overdosing and nearly dying in 2020, lucky to be alive as a shell of the person she once was.

"The Harder I Fight the More I Love You" by Neko Case: A childhood that rivals Jeannette Walls's goes a long way to explain why the gifted musician is the way she is -- yikes. Warning: she literally mentioned the New Pornographers once in passing(!).

"Then Again" by Diane Keaton: Not at all what I was expecting, which probably makes perfect sense coming from this idiosyncratic woman. Wish it hadn't been a "dual" memoir shared with her late mother -- start it and you'll see what I mean -- but now that Diane is someone's late mother, it did make for a haunting read.

"What Falls Away" by Mia Farrow: I think it's safe to say that NO ONE will ever live the life she did -- are we sure she wasn't the inspiration for "Zelig"?! -- and while I still maintain that she's a bit nutty, I would like to go on record saying that I have long let Woody Allen off the hook more than he deserved as he seems like a truly awful person whether he's a child molester or not. To her credit, she questions what it says ABOUT HER that she stayed with him after so many red flags, many of which I was not aware of. 

"My Mother's Keeper" by BD Hyman: I've had this "Bette Davis tell-all" for decades since hearing about the infamous Stouffer's macaroni and cheese incident but finally got around to finishing it. While it's certainly no "Mommie Dearest," it frequently provided LOL moments due to the acting legend's complete inability to act like a normal person around her family or anyone else!

"In Her Sister's Shadow: An Intimate Biography of Lee Radziwill" by Diana Dubois: I've been on a Princess Lee kick -- does everyone know about turn as Tracy Lord in "The Philadelphia Story," her disastrous made-for-TV remake of "Laura" (opposite Farley Granger) and her attempt to be a talk-show host ... and why isn’t it all on YouTube? -- and am hoping there's a sequel that covers the balance of her life after this book's publication in 1995.

Tell me what you're reading in the comments!

Notes From My Nightstand

Hello, book lovers! 

Here's a quick look at what I've been doing on the reading front:

Since my last post, I have finished:

"Bunny Bunny" by Alan Zweibel (sweet memories of Gilda Radner)

"Edie: An American Biography" by Jean Stein (re-read from high school)

"Slaves of New York" by Tama Janowitz (underwhelming)*

"The Friday Afternoon Club" by Griffin Dunne (best of the bunch)

"It's Always Something" by Gilda Radner (heartbreaking)

"Shirley, I Jest!" by Cindy Williams (too buttoned-up; Penny Marshall's was way more fun -- natch!)

"Hologram Boyfriends" by Mike Albo (some LOL moments) 

I received a review copy of the beautiful new Pet Shop Boys book "Volume: The Complete Record."

And I am in the process of reading "Helter Skelter" by Curt Gentry and Vincent Bugliosi, which I started in 8th grade(!), and Toni Tennille's memoir (I brought my copy of the album "Love Will Keep Us Together" to show 'n' tell in third grade at Hiller Elementary and used my label maker to put my name on it!)

P.S. Just remembered I'm on Goodreads if you're so inclined. And would love to hear what you're reading in the comments.

*I remember back in the '80s that everyone said the film version of "Slaves of New York" sucked. But I actually thought it was very true to the book -- and at least it had Adam Coleman Howard as Stash. 🔥🔥🔥

Michael Musto's party-scene cameo was called "the film's only moment of credibility" by critic J. Hoberman of the Village Voice, which sounds about right! 

Notes From My Nightstand

 

I still haven't broken my reading habit, so here's the latest:

Having only consumed Joan Didion's two late-in-life memoirs -- "The Year of Magical Thinking" (about her late husband) and "Blue Nights" (about her late daughter) -- I thought it would be fun to read stuff from her heyday. I ended up picking "The White Album," and while I certainly wouldn't say the writing isn't good, as a collection of (then) timely essays it doesn't really hold much interest in 2026. (Not since "Chinatown" has someone been this fascinated by L.A. water, only Joan's no Faye Dunaway.) 

I had asked for a recommendation from an older friend who reads a lot but came up short when she told me that she'd never actually read anything by the acclaimed writer because "Joan Didion always seemed like someone you were supposed to read, which was a big turnoff."

 

From there I finally read Scotty Bowers's infamous "Full Service," which was loaned to me nearly a decade ago by the same friend, who actually heard about it via my blog. When we discussed "how much of it do you think is true?" my friend said she had a hard time believing there were men who would PAY OTHER MEN to perform oral sex on them(!) or that Katharine Hepburn would be a whore for young women. (Um.) 

I didn't have a hard time believing the book's contents so much as stomaching them. Call me a prude -- my tags are "vanilla," "vanilla" and "vanilla" -- but after the first few encounters I was kind of getting grossed out by it all. 

Suffice to say that I wasn't too surprised to realize upon closer inspection that the copy my friend had loaned me -- which she'd bought used online -- had been "withdrawn" from Cedar Mill Community Library in Portland, Ore., not exactly the censorship capital of the world but even they can only stomach so much. (Sorry, but the shit sandwich was a "kink" too far.) 

And then I picked up David Spade's 2015 memoir, which my brother Terence had quasi-recommended because we're both fans and the comedian shares our Detroit-Phoenix upbringing. I'm probably the only person who has read not one but two autobiographies by "Saturday Night Live" alums but wasn't very interested in the "SNL" angle of it all. (Table reads and Lorne Michaels gossip don't really excite me.) But I've always enjoyed Spade -- especially on "Just Shoot Me," which doesn't even get a mention -- and some very strange things have happened to him over the years that made for a fun read. 

I also finished my friend Tim Anderson's "Tune In Tokyo: The Gaijin Diaries" -- about his time teaching English in Japan -- and it is HYSTERICAL! 

UPDATE: A kind reader just gave me three Didion recommendations -- "Play It as It Lays," "Where I Was From" and "South and West" -- and I'm thinking of starting with the middle one as it's a straightforward memoir, which seems to be my sweet spot these days -- although I must confess this review is already giving me "White Album" flashbacks!. I'm also a Patty Hearst nut dating back to my childhood, so I might give "South and West" a shot, too. 

Notes From My Nightstand

Since I've heard from a bunch of you about my renewed reading "habit," I thought I would give you a quick update. 

Finished "Love You Madly, Holly Woodlawn" and "Backstage, You Can Have" and was struck by the number of similarities between two very different people: One, an Andy Warhol cult figure (Holly Woodlawn), and the other, once the No. 1 actress at the box office (Betty Hutton). The common thread, of course, is fame. And it seems that no matter how small or big one's fame is, many people are left ill-prepared for when it fades.

"Cybill Disobedience" was everything I expected it to be and more. In addition to all of the catty gossip and Hollywood dish -- I had no idea that Bruce Willis arrived at his "Moonlighting" audition having just narrowly lost the role of Des in "Desperately Seeking Susan" to Aidan Quinn (thank god!) and that the network wanted Robert Hays ("Angie" and "Airport") to play David Addison, but Shepherd followed her chemistry gut. (She had final say, somehow.) 

Although I'm unduly inclined to side with the L'Oréal blonde given my odd affection for her -- and you have to think her version of events is bound to present her in the same light that Vaseline-smeared lens did back in the 1980s -- I really was taken aback at how demonized she seemed to be on both shows, particularly "Cybill," which had started out so wonderfully as a collaboration with Chuck "French Kissin' in the USA" Lorre before he completely turned on her for reasons she claims she can only begin to speculate about. (Maybe I need to find if he has a memoir.) It's also unclear why Christine Baranski wanted absolutely nothing to do with her co-star, and seemed to encourage others including Alicia Witt to behave the same way. (Kudos to Zoe, though, for f**king Season 2 addition Peter Krause!) Shocking to think that Cybill thought Paula Poundstone would be right as Maryann -- talk about trying to Vivian Vance the role! -- or that the network considered Sally Kellerman. 

I then polished off Sloane Crossley's acclaimed 2008 debut, "I Was Told There'd Be Cake," which I have been meaning to read since I first saw the title. She's hilarious -- her parents' abnormal concern about fire definitely struck a chord, and so much more.

Then the other night I was missing my brother Bill's voice, so I plowed through "Lapsing Into a Comma," which made me feel like he was reading to me. 

I’m about halfway through "Brain on Fire: My Month of Madness," a book I now realize I’d started -- and abandoned -- once before. It’s not that Susannah Cahalan isn’t a decent writer, or that her story isn’t worth telling. It’s that the medical mystery at the heart of the story is so relentlessly frustrating that it can annoying to read. (It turns our narrator into an angry and paranoid lunatic who is hard to care about.) Watching doctors repeatedly dismiss her symptoms and label her a closeted alcoholic -- when she’s actually suffering from a potentially fatal disease -- is exhausting.

I gave up the “if I start a book, I must finish it” rule years ago, but I’m sticking with this one for now, hoping that once doctors figure out what's wrong, there will be a satisfying payoff to justify the aggravation. UPDATE: I finished and this should have been a long-form article at the most and nothing more. 

Next up in my psychological que: "Tune In Tokyo," my pal Tim Anderson's debut about his time teaching English in Japan, which left Damian in stitches when he read it right before our Asian adventure in 2024. 

Previously: "Rebel With a Clause," "Answered Prayers," "On the Road" and "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

"Eternal Flame," "Appropos of Nothing," "Girls Like Us," "Pleasure and Pain" and "Gay Bar: Why We Went Out" 

 

 P.S. Ended up watching the Betty Hutton film “The Perils of Pauline" (1947) yesterday and was surprised to hear this ditty! Wonder if Brian Elliot, who later penned the Madonna hit "Papa Don't Preach," had ever heard of it or if it's just a small coincidence. If any of my readers in Palm Springs know Carlo Bruno, who helped care for Hutton in her golden years, please tell him we're headed his way next month for Indian Wells!