Sunday, July 3, 2016

I Feel Bad About My Neck (Nora Ephron)

This lady is hilarious. She is the author of the screenplays When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail. Can you imagine having writing all those screenplays and having them turned into movies??

She has led a bit of a privileged life and has been successful in her own life. As a result, she talks about some things that I just didn't relate to. She has been divorced more than once and has chapters on face lifts, manicures and interactions with famous people like Martha Stewart, JFK and Bill Clinton. 

However, she also had a lot of stuff that regular people can relate to and get a good chuckle out of. 

Some favourite parts: 

p. 51 My children thought calling Directory Assistance was free, on top of which they always pressed "1" to be connected, for an additional charge of thirty-five cents. This drove me even crazier. (Remember this?? Does 411 even exist anymore??!)

p. 52. Mostly I'm sad about just plain reading. When I pass a bookshelf, I like to pick out a book from it and thumb through it. When I see a newspaper on the couch, I like to sit down with it. When the mail arrives I like to rip it open. Reading is a part of the main things I do. Reading is everything. Reading makes me feel l Iike I have accomplished something, learned something, become a better person. Reading makes me smarter. Reading gives me something to talk about later on. Reading is the unbelievably healthy way my attention deficit disorder medicates itself. Reading is escape, and the opposite of escape; it's a way to make contact with reality after a day of making things up, and it's a way of making contact with someone else's imagination after a day that's all to real. Reading is grist. Reading is bliss. But my ability to pick something up and read it -which has gone unchecked all my life up until now-is not entirely dependent on the whereabouts of my reading glasses. I look around. Why aren't they in this room? I bought six pair of them last week on sale and sprinkled them throughout the house, yet none of them is visible. Where are they?
I hate that I need reading glasses. I hate that I can't read a word in the map, in the telephone book, on the many, in the book or anywhere else without them. And the pill bottle! I forgot to mention the pill bottle. I can't read a word on the pill bottle. Does it say take two every four hours or four every two hours? Does it say good until 12/08/07 or "Expired. Period. End of story"? I have no idea what it says, and this is serious. I could die from not being able to read the print in the pill bottle. In fact, the print on the pill bottle is so small I doubt if anyone can read it. I'm not sure I could read it even when I didn't need reading glasses. Although, who can remember?

p. 83 Why hadn't I realized how much I thought of a love was simply my own highly develop gift for making lemonade?

p. 88 now that I have read the articles about Mimi Fahnestock, it has become horribly clear to me that I am probably the only young woman who ever worked in the Kennedy White Hiuse that the president did not make a pass at. Perhaps it was my permanent wave, which was a truly unfortunately mistake. Perhaps it was my wardrobe, which mostly consisted of multicoloured Dynek dress that looked like distilled Velveta cheese. Perhaps it's because I'm Jewish. Don't laugh; think about it-think about the king list of women that JFK slept with. Were any of them Jewish? I don't think so. 
On the other hand, perhaps nothing happened between us because JFK somehow sensed that discretion was not my middle name. I mean, I assure you that if anything had gone on between us, you would have had to wait this long to find out. 

P. 95 ...there is an expression for what I am-a mouse potato. It means someone who's as connected to her computer as couch potatoes are to their television sets. 

She also has pages with long lists of advice and her life's lesson. It all brought a smile to my face. 

If you need some easy entertainment, this book is a great pick. 

Goodreads summary: 

With her disarming, intimate, completely accessible voice, and dry sense of humor, Nora Ephron shares with us her ups and downs in "I Feel Bad About My Neck, " a candid, hilarious look at women who are getting older and dealing with the tribulations of maintenance, menopause, empty nests, and life itself.
The woman who brought us "When Harry Met Sally . . ., Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail, "and" Bewitched, " and the author of best sellers "Heartburn, Scribble Scribble, " and "Crazy Salad, " discusses everything--from how much she hates her purse to how much time she spends attempting to stop the clock: the hair dye, the treadmill, the lotions and creams that promise to slow the aging process but never do. Oh, and she can't stand the way her neck looks. But her dermatologist tells her there's no quick fix for that.
Ephron chronicles her life as an obsessed cook, passionate city dweller, and hapless parent. She recounts her anything-but-glamorous days as a White House intern during the JFK years ("I am probably the only young woman who ever worked in the Kennedy White House that the President did not make a pass at") and shares how she fell in and out of love with Bill Clinton--from a distance, of course. But mostly she speaks frankly and uproariously about life as a woman of a certain age.
Utterly courageous, wickedly funny, and unexpectedly moving in its truth telling, "I Feel Bad About My Neck" is a book of wisdom, advice, and laugh-out-loud moments, a scrumptious, irresistible treat.

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