You were wild once. Don’t let them tame you. — Isadora Duncan
When someone found out that my 40th birthday is almost upon me, she chirped, “Don’t worry – 40 is the new 30!”
Although I don’t remember what I said in response, I remember what I thought:
I don’t want 40 to be the new 30.
I’ve already been 30. I felt like a student who handed in a good paper and wants credit for her work.
I wasn’t sure why I felt this. It’s not like I want to get older and die. It’s not like I enjoy this growing awareness of my own freaking mortality. It’s not like I am displeased when people tell me – as they have since I was 19 or so – that I look younger than my age (thank you, excessive facial baby fat).
Then I came across some information about the word ‘weird’. click for more
There’s a story this culture likes to tell about men and women.
It goes something like this: men and women are at war with each other because men are from Mars and women are from Venus.
Women have emotions and men do not.
Women want relationships and men do not.
Men have sexual desire and women not so much.
Therefore, men must manipulate as many women as possible into having sex with them (because that’s what all men want) and women must manipulate men into commitment and marriage (because that’s what all women want). click for more
Daniel Pink, in his bestseller DRIVE, tells a story about Clare Booth Luce, who was a writer and a badass. In 1962 she had a meeting with JFK. At the time, JFK was doing a thousand things at home and abroad, and Luce wondered about the consequences of such scattered focus.
She told him: “A great man is one sentence.”
Like President Lincoln: “He preserved the union and freed the slaves.”
Like FDR: “He lifted us out of a great depression and helped us win a world war.”
So the question she posed to JFK was this: What was to be his sentence? click for more
I was in France for a wedding. A famous American actor served as best man.
“I’m very honored to be here today,” he said in his speech, “even though we all know it’s because they couldn’t get Leonardo di Caprio.”
A friend and I started talking about a movie that failed to shoot the best man’s career as skyhigh as you might expect, given the talent, success and firepower involved. It was the actor in a supporting role who walked off with the film and two ensuing sequels (not to mention the following trilogy, which was written around his character). click here
I don’t really get Anne Hathaway. I can recognize that she’s gorgeous, talented, charming, all that, but for whatever reason she just doesn’t ring my bell.
I don’t really get Kate Middleton. I was never the biggest fan of Julia Roberts, even when I enjoyed her performances. And I didn’t take to Brad Pitt until he got a bit more lined and rugged and, in my mind, more interesting.
On the other hand, I have always had this thing for Keanu Reeves, to the great bemusement and mystery of some of my friends. They don’t ‘get’ Keanu like I do.
(I keep telling my people, “Bring me Keanu Reeves”, and yet it does not happen.)
It’s not like any of these people would care, nor should they; somehow their stardom flourishes with or without my approval. But in response to a recent post, a reader referred to the ‘it’ factor and commented click here
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