Today on what is right with America, Pizza Hut has released a pair of shoes called pie tops. They sync to your phone, you know, like shoes do, and when you press the tongue of said shoe, it connects to your phone and orders you a pizza, because it’s way too simple to just order a pizza from your phone and it’s just way more fun to lean down and press upon your shoe and make pizza happen and just know for the rest of the day that your foot summoned food. I’d really like to tell you more about them but I really must away and find said shoes in GIANT HUSBAND SIZE.
This is Us had its Season 1 wrap party last night. It was a beautiful celebration for the best cast and crew there EVER WAS. A wrap party is basically a chance for everyone to come together and celebrate months of crazy hours and hard work, and to, nine times out of ten, eat dessert with the show’s names written all over it, and / or inside food jokes thematically related to episodes. My head is currently full of vodka soda and frosting and fondness and tears, so I will just leave all of these here.
On the way home from lunch yesterday, Morrison and I drove by some newly built, pretty rad looking condos for sale, and decided to casually pop into the open house, in a very low-stakes and Sunday sort of way. What followed was THE TWO OF US STOMPING AROUND THE BEAUTIFUL BRAND NEW PERECT AND AMAZING PLACE LIKE CHILDREN, HEARTS PALPITATING AS WE DISCOVERED EVEN MORE CLOSETS AND BATHROOMS AND A MYRIAD OF SINKS, excitedly declaring where we could put things like babies and desks. And turns out, we might actually be able to afford it. We were planning on staying put in our place for a while, but a casual look at a vacant spot has turned into an all out fantasy of dinner parties and balcony and (small, but adorable) yard. Who knows if it’s actually practical, financially and life-wise, and we are still investigating. Stay tuned to find out if we are people who buy property after looking at it for five minutes. (Maybe. But also maybe not.) WEEEE!
When Trump called Meryl ‘overrated,’ I just could not stop thinking about how insane that sentiment is, given her accomplishments, and so I wrote a thing about it. I’m a political satirist now OKAY BYYYYYEEEEEEE!
To: info at the Hollywood foreign press dot com.
Bcc: hellomeryl at aol dot com.
Subject: My Lifetime Achievement award dot dot dot.
To Whom it may Concern:
First and foremost, I would like to thank you for the honor of the Cecile B. Demille Lifetime Achievement Award. I saw my acceptance speech as an opportunity to voice to what basically everyone has been thinking. Given what our country has endured over the last few months, it didn’t seem right to take that stage time to thank my mentors and children. I can send them emails and flowers give my children hugs and college tuition. They all know how I feel about them. I tell them daily. I also saw it as an opportunity to bring back bedazzling. Both, I thought, were effective. Until this morning.
This is awkward, but.
This morning I received word that I am ‘one of Hollywood’s most overrated actresses,’ which I first read as ‘Hollywood’s most overrated actress,’ but even though I’m just ‘one of,’ it still stings. I must say, I am deeply embarrassed. I think I can feel the very nudity of Eve. Here I was, parading myself around political fundraisers and charity events and cozy Italian restaurants and sometimes Nordstrom Rack thinking that I was, maybe, I’m embarrassed to admit – a woman of some talent. I’m not supposed to read my own reviews, but who truly does not? Show me an artist who does not secretly read their reviews alone in their bathtub and cry or scream or laugh quietly into the water and I’ll show you a liar. Or at least, an artist more self assured than myself. I once read someone describe me as the best actress of my generation, and I ashamed to admit that I believed it. And I have believed it for quite some time.
Until now. I feel an – inadequacy. A lack thereof. I feel a 4 on a scale of 1 to 10, I feel certainly not hot. Blood coming out of my wherever. I suddenly hate my nose again and it’s been years since I put that to bed. I am a nasty, nasty mess.
And so, after some deep reflection, I have decided that I must humbly give back the Award. I hope you understand. The Lifetime Achievement Award should and must go to an actor who is under-rated, or at the very least regular rated. Not to me.
PS. Just a heads up, I will be sending similar emails to the Emmys, the Oscars, and to The Screen Actor’s Guild, regarding all of those awards, too.
PPS. Oh and also BAFTA, Critics Choice, People’s choice, Cannes, AFI, Kids Choice awards, Elle women in Hollywood, The National Society of Film Critics, the British Independent Film awards, The Palm Spring International film festival. And my honorary Doctors of Arts degrees from both Princeton and Harvard. All going back via UPS mail.
PPS. Oh and the National Medal of Arts. I always forget about that one. OH and the Presidential Medal of Freedom, too. I am not worthy. I will have my hand prints paved over while I’m at it, too. All shall be righted; all shall be returned.
WE GOT OUR WEDDING PICTURES! They are lovely. As hard as it is to look at 900 pictures of yourself and marvel at how even in a stunning gown you can manage to look like an evil badger baby, I STILL love them. The moments are perfectly captured. We were so stupid happy that day and the pictures will forever show it. There are so many that I do not even know what to do with them. I think I will just stretch the process out, keep the feeling new and real, and just drop them like tiny love bombs whenever I feel like it. Starting with these! I present to you, the moment after Morrison and I first saw each other, hugged and cried, and then I promptly made him look at my butt, my exact words being, LOOK AT MY BUTT!
It’s the timmeeee of yearrrrr
When the world
Falls in love
And I sit on the couch watching Hallmark Christmas movies that are bountiful and limitless and appear to be made for approximately nine dollars a piece, and I judge their predictable plots and cheese covered dialogue and tell myself I’m watching them ironically and shout at my husband THIS IS MY VIDEO GAMES but then quietly sob when the commercials come in which nice people do nice things for strangers, and then the sobbing leads me to wonder, am I a Hallmark Christmas movie writer? IS THAT REALLY WHAT I AM? SHOULD I JUST MAKE THESE FOREVER? AND EVER? AND EVER? AND EVER?
Oh, did you want content UNRELATED to the beautiful weekend / life experience I just had? Feel free to check back in approximately one year once I’ve come back down. I have every intention of slowly trotting out memories and moments here so that I continue to fully remember every moment of it. It’s still kind of a blur, even though apparently, I’ve been informed that the moonshine at the reception in fact made me stomp around shouting to people, I FEEL SO PRESENT! And so today, on the Wedding, the train of my dress — pictured here with my Grandma’s mink:
It was long. Like epic long. When I got the dress I knew it was slightly impractical, being that the ceremony was in the grass under a tree, and that the reception was in a horse stable. But I loved its fairy queen-ness AND its impracticality. But after the I do’s and pictures, the best feeling ever was just LETTING THE THING GO AND DRAG THROUGH THE DIRT.
There is something amazing about getting very dressed up and then letting it all go. It felt so freeing. The release of tension, literal and figurative.
Press is starting to drop for the new show I’ve been writing for, This is Us! I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it here yet, because whether or not I’m eating cheese this week and whether or not Unicorn dresses surely takes precedence over career announcements. I won’t spoil it much, but let’s say that if NBC’s gift to viewers at the screening of the pilot, these personalized packs of tissues, are any indication:
THE SHOW WILL BE WEEKLY BURROWING INTO YOUR HEART AND PRESSING ON YOUR TEAR BUTTON.
LIFE GAVE BEYONCE LEMONS, AND SO SHE MADE LEMONADE.
I AM THE FIRST PERSON TO GET THIS HIDDEN SECRET MEANING RIGHT?
OKAY COOL I THOUGHT SO TOO.
One of my favorite things about staying at my parents’ house is finding these guys in the adorable and incredibly thorough toiletry guest basket that my mom places in the bathrooms, and remembering that during my Dad’s campaign for County Commissioner some twenty years ago, we got a bazillion schwag items made — nail files for the ladies, combs for the dudes. We still have Brunstetter schwag items FOR DAYZ. MAY WE NEVER RUN OUT.