Very pleased to announce that we have graduated from crappy, flammable Ikea furniture to sturdy, maybe slightly less flammable, moderately priced CB2 furniture. I am also proud to announce that the bookshelf contains a great many old issues of the Babysitter’s Club, and that Morrison plays video games on the TV. ARE WE GROWN UPS YET?
Morrison and I are working on our own version of a feel good sports movie, (the sports part NOT brought to you by me.) And so, as ‘research’ (read: reasons to not go anywhere on a Friday night when it’s raining 11 inches in a city with basically no gutters) we watched COOL RUNNINGS. REMEMBER IT? It’s hilarious, and so weird, and so colorful, and even poignant. And it’s not even about winning, per se. ‘A gold medal is a wonderful thing, but if you’re not enough without the medal, you’ll never be enough with it.’ JOHN CANDY YOU’RE SO RIGHT. We must first make peace with ourselves before receiving medals, if we are to receive medals at all. THANKS JAMAICAN BOBSLED TEAM!
When you are born to your parents, you are helpless and small and cute. Then, tragically, you grow up into just another jerk with a blog, and suddenly, THEY are the cute ones. Namely mine. They’re becoming grandparents for the first time next month, so they went on one last hurrah (though surely there will be plenty more hurrahs) up to Vermont to snow-shoe and snow-mobile and other snow verbs that are NOT SKIING AS THEY ARE SOON TO BE GRANDPARENTS. And basically the pictures reveal that it has been the cutest thing. As they are not huge picture posters, it is up to me, the jerk with the blog, to share with the world. PRESENTING, CUTE!
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!
In this week’s New Yorker!
I wish I didn’t need it, but I do, so Big it’s Sad. I know I care too much about how I’m seen. But it really only takes one subtle compliment, like just a non-negative thing, in a sea of ‘Brunstetter is annoying’ to make me think and feel, Onward! There is something There. If nothing else, I have affection.
I was re-reading the Boxcar Children last night, like you do. I came across the part where the kids find the old broken dishes in the dump, take them home, clean them off, create a quick makeshift shelf in their boxcar, and arrange their new dishes on the shelf so that the boxcar might feel like home:
And it filled me with SUCH FEELING. I remember reading this part for the first time years and years ago. I remember how it made me long for a house with shelves that I could arrange things on. And I realize, that perhaps every time I can’t leave my house without making my bed or every time I put flowers on the table or stack dishes accordingly, and then do this psycho thing where I just kind of pause and look at the Order, appeased, I am living out this very boxcar children moment over and over.
The Kilroys went on a retreat this weekend to a giant golf resort / conference center in the City of Industry, which is an actual name of a place about 20 miles outside of LA. We picked it at random, but little did we know that it was the perfect place for gathering and scheming up plans for the coming years (hot tub / chocolate fountain / two weddings / one child’s math competition). What do thirteen lady theater nerds need nightly? A safe place to sing, by which I mean, a DEEPLY SERIOUS KARAOKE NIGHT HELD IN A CONFERENCE ROOM FEATURING PEOPLE IN THEIR 60S WITH STUNNING VOICES THAT CLEARLY COME TO THIS CONFERENCE ROOM EVERY WEEKEND TO BELT OUT UNCHAINED MELODY AND ALSO THE THEME TO LOVE BOAT. We sang not one, not two, but approximately thirty songs, a decent split between musical theater, Alanis, and completely unrecognizable but very personal numbers. We were at first met with trepidation, but eventually welcomed into the fold of regulars, until that time Sheila accidentally scratched one of them with her shoe while line dancing, at which point we could have been kicked out, but then someone revealed we were TV writers, and suddenly, we were heroes, not activists, per se, just girls who used to sing in closets, and then cars, and now, in conference rooms. Also we made plans for the future. That, too. We need movements for gender parity now more than ever. STAY TUNED…..
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.
After years of resistance, I finally gave in yesterday and tried my first meditation class. I’ve been resisting it because 1.) I do not like to sit still b.) I do not want to be a person who says things like, yesterday I tried my first meditation class. But while in Thailand and Hong Kong, I kept hearing about it and witnessing it, and then once home, my friend Alexis, who has a kindred spirit rapid fire brain, told me she’d started it and that it had completely changed her relationship to her own life — so I was like, FINE. Lord knows I can stand to quiet my head. It was a simple, intro, 30 minute class, and while the teacher kept telling us that we were trees (and also, I’ll admit, some pretty helpful stuff about what it is to be alive, the simplicity of that) I tried very, very hard to sit STILL, and to not judge my own thoughts, or the moments themselves. My thoughts were something like okay is it working I think maybe it’s working okay let me listen to what he’s saying and try and remember it wait what did he just say I already forgot I should really be writing this down okay maybe I’ll just breathe and pretend I am a tree did he say tree or maybe he said flower okay this is not working but I’m breathing and I think I’m still, am I still? Morrison would like this he would be so much better at this than me maybe I should bring him to a class we could do it together and maybe we could get tacos where are tacos what kind of tacos what kind of tortillas tacos hmmm I AM A TREE I AM A TREE. I’m going to take the fact that I basically sat still for 30 minutes as an accomplishment, and try a few more times. I think I see value in finding a way to transcend the whir of my thoughts, and just Be, not ten minutes ahead or two hours behind, just simply where I am, alive, and grateful for it.
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!