I've started reading significant chunks of my friend and co-editor Tara Leigh's new memoir in progress, the sequel to her first, Here's To Hindsight (in bookstores now!) As I was leaning over one chapter with a blue pen, as per usual, I made a startling discovery: I was simultaneously in the book. There was my name! Spelled correctly and everything.
To an aspiring New Yorker, being mentioned in a memoir must be an occasion for unalloyed joy. Mine, however, was tempered a bit by context. Tara Leigh, in her infinite wisdom, had chosen to do something I tend to discourage my friends from doing: quote something I said six months ago, when, clearly, I was young and stupid.
"Where do you live?" she recalls me saying.
"Greenwich," she replied.
"Connecticut?"
"No, the Village."
I went on (supposedly) to give her a primer on Village geography and nomenclature that left her confidence shaken. The poor thing had only been in the city two days, after all; but how could I in good conscience let her continue going around mistakenly giving everyone the impression that she lived in the Whitebreadville, Hedge Fund Capital of the World? Am I wrong? Am I wrong? No -- to quote The Big Lebowski -- you're not wrong, Walter, you're just an asshole.
In any event, it is exciting to be namechecked in a book that will soon have printed pages and real covers and everything AND might one day be picked up by Pat Robertson. Hey, it's possible. (Also, did you hear that though Jerry Falwell is no longer with us, his legacy lives on in Poland?)
I also spoke to my father who began chemo today with no adverse effects. In fact he seemed downright chipper. So far as I could tell, chemo is giving him the opportunity to devote not merely his usual three or so hours to reading, but a full, justifiable eight. Eight hours of sitting and ingesting information -- that's a whole workday. I guess some people might get antsy, but to my father, if you throw in a top-notch cornbeef sandwich and a Dr. Brown's cream soda, that's all he needs in the world.
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4 comments:
Hah! I am crying from laughter! Wow.
And as for your dad... glad to hear his spirits are up. I would love to send him a book made of cornbeef. I will search The Strand for one tomorrow.
you did a good thing! really, greenwich, ct is as bad as they say. there are nice people from greenwich...but often they say they're from stamford simply to avoid carrying that heavy baggage.
give your friend a book of john cheever's short stories to read... she'll totally get it!
I like that Greenwich exists, and that it is what it is, because in comparison it makes me sound edgy when I say I'm from Larchmont. ("No no, our yacht club is the one with some Democrats.") Love, Little Adam
I think you guys are being harsh on Greenwich, CT. Thirty per cent of the Town is still blue collar and 10 per cent still lives below the poverty level and 20% are Hispanic. We have housing projects, seniors hanging on and just plain ordinary folk trying to get by.
Look at the comps in Aryan Darien and New Canaan. Two years ago an Italian (from Italy) friend of ours told us he and his children felt uncomfortable on Darien beaches because they were the only ones with dark hair.
Sure, if you just hang out at L'Eclisse (Blonds milling around at 6.30PM trolling for a 'spontaneous date' and a good meal), or the 'Ave', you get the impression of Hedgehogs and trophy Stepford wives being the norm.
But there are many ordinary folk like me who have lived here a long time. Greenwich is a beautiful fun place with lots of nice people. After having been through most of the US and 65 countries, I'd want to hang up my shoes here.
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