I probably don’t need to convince you that Tina Fey is amazing. But lately, with the pieces she has been writing for The New Yorker, I am falling in love all over again with the way she mixes humor, neuroticism and wisdom all into the same breath. This week, Tina wrote a piece called “Lessons From Late Night,” in which she recounts some of the teachings she absorbed from legendary “SNL” executive producer Lorne Michaels. Tina writes, “During my nine years at ‘Saturday Night Live,’ my relationship with Lorne transitioned from Terrified Pupil and Reluctant Teacher, to Small-Town Girl and Streetwise Madam Showing Her the Ropes, to Annie and Daddy Warbucks (touring company).” Some of the things Tina says she learned: don’t hire anyone you wouldn’t want to run into in the hallway at three in the morning. And never tell a crazy person they are crazy. True dat. Keep reading »
Taking a pregnancy test
isn’t glamorous. There’s the peeing part, of course, then the waiting, then the rush of emotions that comes when the pink or blue line—or plus or minus sign or whatever—pops into view. One would think women would want this to remain a private moment, like most things that take place in the bathroom should be. But that is just not the case. Many women are recording themselves taking pregnancy tests and posting the vids on YouTube. Even stranger—thousands of people are watching said videos. Slate.com has dubbed this phenomenon WombTube. Keep reading »
It was summer when Andrew and I met. He was a straight-edge hipster DJ—a slutty vegan in organic American Apparel underwear. We had sex the first night we met, the kind of sex that is so good it seems choreographed. The kind that reminds you what kissing is—all catching your heart and secret parts of yourself opening up.
I shouldn’t have left his bed. Maybe then we would have gotten it out of our systems, or gotten to really know each other. But instead I kissed him goodbye and said, “You are really fun. Text me if you want to do it again.” My heart fluttered—an angelfish gasping for air—and our game began. Keep reading »
Noah and the Whale are the kind of cute British boys who wear suspenders, strum ukuleles, and name themselves after their favorite indie movie. (Which would be “The Squid and the Whale,” directed by Noah Bumbach.) Oh, and did we mention the whistling? Their new album, Last Night on Earth, sounds much more produced in a studio rather than recorded in a beach house basement by guys playing with slinkys in between takes. Overall, it has a bit of a Tom Petty vibe, which is strange considering the whole British thing. Still, they give the sound a whimsical spin, naturally.
Last night’s season finale of “The Bachelor” was an incredible letdown. I felt pretty sure a few weeks back, when Brad Womack and Emily Maynard landed on their own private island and he broke into hives while trying to tell her how much he cared about her, that Emily would be his choice in the end. As expected, Brad let Chantal go in a burst of tears and then got down on one knee and slipped a big, glittering diamond on Emily’s finger. “I’ve wanted to tell you I’ve loved you for so long,” he said, before telling her she’s “the one.” Big duh.
But then came the “After the Final Rose” ceremony. Keep reading »