After I posted my Eight Random Facts last week, Stephan reminded me that we’d come up with some for him as well, and that I should post those. Because really, I know you’re dying to know about the fact that I love cabbage, and that he has lovely feet. Really, he does.
Eight Random Facts About Stephan Cox (the Voice of God)
1.
So, Nicole Richie is pregnant after all. Not sure why I care about this, since she’s not really an actress or a singer or any kind of anything. But, this is the way the gossip world works, and so I know about it. Really, I think the most shocking thing about this for me is that this girl can even OVULATE, given her 84 pound weight and her obvious aversion to food. Every time I look at pictures of her, I think that her breath must smell like coffee, cigarettes, and barf. She and the Olsen twins are like the LAST people you’d think would ever be pregnant. I guess the lifestyle that lends itself to being that thin just doesn’t immediately seem "motherly" to me. Of course, they probably could fit several babies in those giant purses, but it does just seem incongruous, in my opinion.
Also, it is a little shocking to me that she’s managed to stay pregnant as well– I mean, this is the same Nicole Richie who was addicted to heroin, right? The same one who got a DUI while driving the wrong way down the 134 freeway in Pasadena, and admitted to being whacked out of her mind on probably enough Vicodin and marijuana to kill a small horse of the same weight? I’m surprised that Child Protective Services hasn’t already showed up to her house, just to put in an appearance, because you KNOW she’s going to have some Britney Spears-like issues with her baby. I mean, how white trash is it to go to jail while you’re pregnant? That is truly something other than else. Hey, maybe if she has to go to jail for an extended period, Lionel Richie can adopt her baby as well.
Too much? Too far over the line? OK then– I’m happy for her. I’m sure the baby is going to make her pull her life together.
Also, in case you’re wondering, we are about 90% unpacked, and I haven’t been writing much because while the rest of the house is coming along nicely, as of this morning my office still looked like this:
Hey, just because it’s a four-day week, doesn’t mean alot of stuff can’t happen. Monday, I slept in and hung out all day long, not writing (almost defiantly), despite repeated inquiries as to when my next book is coming out. I think we all know that I can write however many pages a day I want, but only the Gods of Publishing know the answer to that elusive question, so I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I need to just LET IT GO and stop obsessing. I did spend part of the day learning more about Banksy, an anonymous graffiti artist whose work I like and who is becoming hugely popular. If you want to learn more about him, you can click here to see a cool video. And, if you want to annoy him, you can click here to buy an "I AM BANKSY" t-shirt. Funny. But I digress.
On Tuesday, my book got mentioned by the New York Daily News as a "Sizzling Summer read." Again, FAN-TASTIC.
By Wednesday, Gawker was talking some smack about me which I chose to strategically ignore, because frankly, most of it was made up, and my foot hurt. However, I guess you haven’t lived until you’ve been snarked at by Gawker, so let’s just chalk that up to "interesting experiences." They also mocked Claire Danes, Tina Brown, and Rosie this week, so I feel special.
On Thursday, I got what I think is my MOST AWESOME REVIEW YET, in the form of an email, which I will quote here:
You’d think that this would be the highlight of my week, and frankly, it was. That, and finding out that my friend K. got a totally great job that everyone was rooting for her to get, so THAT was just awesome. Today turned out to be very hilarious too, though, as I just checked my MySpace account, and got an email from Dr. TATOFF’S OFFICE, saying they liked my blog. Yes, I mean THE Mysterious Dr. Tatoff from last Friday’s post, when I wondered if Dr. Tatoff was perhaps Eastern European, and already had that name before he decided to choose "tattoo removal" as his specialty, or if it was a name made up strictly for cleverness and publicity purposes (either way, a fantastic and funny name). They read my blog and liked it, and want me to come into the office. Which, I’m sure you know, I am totally going to do, just to see what it’s like so I can write about it on here.
For those who are interested, the orthopedist squeezed me in, x-rayed my foot, and declared it NOT BROKEN. This orthopedist is the son of the woman who owns a house where we used to live in Santa Monica. Incidentally, when we moved out, a tv producer/ screenwriter moved in (Jacqui), and she is now optioning my novel for tv. But that is a WHOLE different story, one that assuredly requires another post, and probably a press release. Let’s get back to the orthopedist. This orthopedist is very good looking and doesn’t seem married, so I was trying to think of a good way to suss out whether he’d want to go out with my single friend without seeming like it was ME who wanted to go out with him (because I like to look out for my friends, even when my foot aches. That is the kind of friend I am, man). But, since I couldn’t think of a way to ask without sounding like a weirdo swinger, I decided to just let it go, and see what he had to say about my foot.
ANYHOOO, Dr. Handsome Orthopedist (I’m sure he’d be absolutely thrilled with this nickname after going to med school for a zillion years. Maybe about as excited as I feel about getting a Master’s degree, then having the UPS guy call me "sweetie") looked over the X-ray, then pronounced my foot pain a "classic case of plantar fascitis," which is awesome because it means my foot is not broken, and all I have to do is stretch it a little and buy an insole. Sweet!
Also, in "I think this is hilarious, but you might not" news, when I was parking in Beverly Hills to go see Dr. Handsome Orthopedist, a little old lady cut me off, then TOTALLY STARTED CUSSING ME OUT, like "What the F*#& are you doing? F@*^ you!" This made me laugh, which made her even madder. I kid you not, she looked like a female version of the Quaker Oats guy, which is why I thought it was so funny. Can you imagine what she says when she gets mad at her grandkids? I’m just sayin."
Mind you, the two people I’ve told this story to so far have been like "That is HORRIBLE!"
Fantastic!
I try to not mix personal blog updates or reports of strange things I see on my daily travels and travails, but I did want to mention that the NEW YORK DAILY NEWS just featured Hollywood Car Wash in its "Sizzling Summer Reads" edition, so THAT’s extremely cool.
Also, I almost want to send a fruit basket to this reviewer, I love this review so much. No, I don’t know her– she’s not my friend. SHE JUST LOVES MY BOOK. And that. Is cool.
Finally, I believe I might have a stress fracture in the bottom of my foot from sort of falling on the stairs in front of our house about a month ago, which would be uncool because, well, in my mind a stress fracture is something that only old people get, but also, because I might have to wear that boot thing, which will assuredly not go with any of my clothes. BUT, I will say, even a possible stress fracture is not putting a damper on my , because at least I have health insurance, and the orthopedist’s office is totally squeezing me in tomorrow. So, better safe than sorry, I suppose. Still, all around an excellent day, and perhaps tomorrow, I will have a foot X-Ray to post.
This will probably not surprise you, but in the course of my regular week I tend to hear alot of rather absurd and funny things. This week I kept a list, and I thought I would share, just to give you a Friday laugh.
Things That Have Come to My Attention This Week (Mostly Quotes, Mostly from Unreliable Sources)
Sunday— I get an email from someone I haven’t talked to in a loooong time, telling me to watch out for the black helicopters of Scientology outside my house. This is the type of comment that people think is going to help me out at this point in my life. Um, thanks.
Monday-– someone calls to interview me about the book, and in the course of this interview, this person says: "You know, I heard Paris Hilton has a club that you can only get into by flashing your vag to the paparazzi."
Fantastic. First of all, this makes me feel old, like "in my day, we never left the house without underpants on" old. Secondly, does this mean that Paris Hilton is only friends with super-famous women? It might. Funny, nonetheless. Also funny because it came from an actual reporter, and not just one of my gossipy friends.
Tuesday-– I watch the finale of the Search for the Next Pussycat Doll, then am amused to see that in the closing number, when the winner of the eight week long, nationally televised competition (we’ll call her ASIA, for that is her name) is added to the group, it becomes painfully clear that even though she won, ASIA is seriously now just a backup dancer, and the lead singer of the PCD, Nicole, whose contract clearly mandates that she have more screen time than all the other group members combined, basically steals the whole show. Sad, but somehow appropriate, in keeping with the whole ethos of this show, in which talented young women KILL themselves singing and dancing in order to become clones in Robin Antin’s PCD empire. Outstanding.
Wednesday-– again, I’m on the phone, and someone says "You know, I heard American Idol is a conspiracy by the U.S. Government to divert our attention from the war in Iraq."
What’s funny about this is that anyone actually thinks our government could actually be ORGANIZED enough to pull off something as spectacularly successful as American Idol, and yet be losing a war at the same time. This is the U.S. Government we’re talking about here, people. Unless Simon Cowell is some kind of freaky Special Ops undercover guy, sadly I don’t think they could pull this one off.
Thursday-– I get an email from someone I know at one of the celebrity magazines (hi J!), asking me if this "blind item" in Page Six is about me:
"What chick lit author was so hung over on Sunday morning that she vomited into her sleeve in church?"
Not me, but seriously funny that I’m on his list of possibilities, right?
Friday-– Someone leaves my book a FANTASTIC review on BN.com, but only gives it four stars (instead of the five you might expect if someone thought the book was fantastic). For some reason, this makes my sales ranking go DOWN instead of up. Apparently a book with NO STARS will sell better than a book with FOUR STARS, in case you’re ever selling books. So remember, if you like my book, be sure to leave it FIVE STARS, or else people will misinterpret your FOUR STARS to mean that you didn’t like it, and this will make them NOT scroll all the way down to read the nice things you wrote. Because these are the kinds of things I worry about now, along with Paris Hilton, American Idol as a government conspiracy, and whether I not I go to church.
Over and out!
Right now, my book is up to #3,276 on Amazon. DUDE! That might not seem very high to you, but we’re talking about TWO MILLION BOOKS here. That is HUGE!
I was reading Vogue the other night before I went to sleep—several snippet-sized articles about a pregnant ballerina and a really tall nightclub owner, as well as something about Drew Barrymore being 30. Sandwiched between the articles and the ads was this vivid Versace ad featuring Madonna. Don’t get me wrong– she looks great. But, something is wrong with this picture for me. Somehow her fabulosity is mitigated for me by the fact that they have her sitting behind a computer. This image makes me laugh. Maybe it’s the concept of someone that dressed up, computing. Maybe it was the thought of Madonna, force of nature that she is, doing something I do every day. Maybe it was a multimillionaire doing an advertisement for clothes that regular people can’t afford, while she’s doing a regular person kind of thing. ….perplexing, really.
I slept on it, and woke up still thinking about Madonna behind a computer. Then I finally pinpointed it. It’s not the clothes. It’s not the millions. It was just the simple Heidegerean commonplaceness of Madonna, at a computer. So wrong—like seeing your first grade teacher come out of the bathroom for the first time. Teachers are supposed to be hermetically sealed, above the drudgery of everyday person life. I don’t like to think of the icons of my age peeing, or using email. Both are far too pedestrian, and the juxtaposition is too much for my starstruck mind to handle. In my mind, for some reason, celebrities don’t eat, they don’t poop, and they certainly don’t send email. I was raised in a “National Enquirer” family—my grandparents bought and enjoyed their “rag mags” every week, and there’s something familiar about this sort of celebrity worship. I know it’s wrong, but like a train wreck in my mind, I can’t stop it.
This is the reason why the new genre of “celeb-reality” are so disturbing to me, as are those National Enquirer “Stars Without Makeup” covers. Why without makeup? Do I really want to see my icons looking….like me? Emailing like me? Do I want to see them fighting with their husbands, picking up dog poop, and paying the electric bill? I want a better life for my celebrities. What’s celebrity culture for, but to help us escape the “everyday” of everyday life? I see people emailing all day. I don’t need it in my magazine, and I certainly don’t need it from my celebrities.
I’ll let you know when I get an email from Madonna complaining about this piece.
