Disease of the week!

Just read Darin Strauss's new novel, More Than It Hurts You, the story of a suburban couple under suspicion of Munchausen by Proxy, a novel that had me literally trembling at times with horror, squeamishness, and emotional recognition, a novel that had me calling Bill at his office in the middle of the afternoon to say, "I'm freakin' out, man; this book is freakin' me out." Of course, I've been eagerly awaiting this book since I heard what it was about -- why? -- OH, NO REASON -- and it was terrifically satisfying: really well-written, full of acute observations and a keen understanding of the potential motives behind MBP. Highly recommended for fans of Have You Found Her (also known as Have You A Foundling, Sir).

Then I went back to the Edith Wharton kick I've been on for the past few weeks, and read Ethan Frome. Dudes! Not to ruin the plot of Ethan Frome for you, but his wife Zeena totally has the Munch! Listen to this:

"He...wondered if she were turning queer. Women did, he knew. Zeena, who had at her fingers' end the pathological chart of the whole region, had cited many cases of the kind when she nursed his mother; and he himself knew of certain lonely farm-houses in the neighborhood where stricken creatures pined, and of others where sudden tragedy had come of their presence. At times, looking at Zeena's shut face, he felt the chill of such forebodings."

And not just Munch by Proxy -- sickly, crazy old Zeena's got a case of Munchausen Original Recipe, too:

"Within a year of their marriage she developed the 'sickliness' which had since made her notable even in a community rich in pathological instances. When she came to take care of his mother she had seemed to Ethan like the very genius of health, but he soon saw that her skill as a nurse had been acquired by the absorbed observation of her own symptoms."

!!!

Note the scare quotes around "sickliness" -- old Edie Wharton's calling that bitch Zeena out!

Again, I'd been prepared for the Strauss book, but nothing prepared me for a novella published in 1911 with a Munchausen plot. Now I'm going to have to go back and reread Wuthering Heights with a more critical eye -- tell me Catherine wasn't faking half that shit!

Ultimate Vanity Project

Have You Found Her from Milk Products on Vimeo.

Here it is -- the trailer for Have You Fucking Found Her Yet or What. It's my very own Mike Myers, Anna Deveare Smith, Eddie Murphy in Meet The Klumps ultimate vanity project -- I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I liked making it. Big huge thanks to Jon Stuyvesant of Milk Products Media and his crew, makeup and hair artist Michelle Kearns, behind-the-scenes maven Jami Attenberg, and my dearest shmoopy, Bill, who wound up on the cutting room floor -- but not the cutting room floor of my heart!

And a fun little extra -- the behind-the-scenes making-of video:

Making of Have You Found Her from Milk Products on Vimeo.

From the notebook

8am, the deck

Went to bed at 11:30, woke up at 3:30, furious about the apartment thing, my stomach in an uproar. Finished Thackeray, finally got back to sleep. Dishes in the sink. I just want to stay out here and never go back to the city. I’ll start the tamagotchi story today, maybe for Nerve? No, not for Nerve, not for Modern Love, not for anything or anybody but me. I wonder when Sharon’s class starts. All the 19th century novels I’ve been reading, sagas about the intersection of love and survival, and how bad decisions have lifelong consequences. Fuck bestsellers and comedic essays. What is good? What is of lasting value? I read another Carlin interview the other day, his despair for the species. I agree. Also, I need a haircut. Planned to go to Talisman today, save some hermit crabs, maybe I will this afternoon. For now, start the thing and see where it goes.

Noon, Jumping Jack’s

Wrote for a while, walked to the Pines, now waiting to see if I can get something to eat here, or if girlie is too busy with the zero other tables she has. Lame. This is the summer of my discontent, my sunglasses sliding down my fat, wet face. I don’t want to teach anymore. I was trying to figure out how I could love myself, why I should love myself. I’m so unmotivated. At least when I’m driven by bad feelings I’m driven. Why doesn’t this chick check on her tables? Dumdum. That’s my new favorite insult. Listening to the Bob Marley they’re playing, Greatest Hits, of course, like he never wrote any other songs. Makes me think of 1988, of W., who was way down on my line, of how I fell in love with G. because he said he loved me. I was tragic and beautiful back then. Too much thinking today. Enough.

4pm, the deck

A shower, a moment with myself in the mirror. Now what. The short stories of Edith Wharton, selected by Roxana Robinson. I should shmooze more. Ugh, no I shouldn’t. It’s always our mothers’ decisions not to have abortions that put us here. I don’t know what that means. I should take another walk soon. A story called I Was a Thumbsucking Pothead. A story called Spit in My Mouth, about the poetry scene, and debasement, and the Rape Fantasies piece, Anne telling me, I don’t think you should read it, Penny trying to kiss me. It’s nice out here. I’m anxious. I’m anxious all the live long day. Anyway, Wharton. Makes me think of K. and the party last June. These poignant moments that can be met with integrity and grace. Confessing regrets, dramatic turns of events. I tried to feed the birds the leftover hot dog rolls this morning but they were having none of it. And to what end, that they would be a little bit more mine? Death death death death death. Agh! I can’t fucking take it. Just calm the fuck down.

OOT

Out of town, that is, through July 1. Well, not yet; right now I'm about halfway packed. There, I just packed some more, and cleaned out my totally shmawesome fanny pack. Now I am eating a soy ice cream sandwich with my left hand. Which brings us to the present: I'm not here! In the present when you're reading this, that is. Then again, I never am here when you're reading this, but that's not what I mean. What I mean is, I'm here typing this, but by the time you read this, the future will have already happened, and I will be gone. Oot! Oot, with no internet, even. It's like I'm going to outer space. I'll report back when I'm home; until then, sending (((cosmic vibes))).

Additionally

I know I say this every few posts, but sometimes I think I, uh, overshare on this blog. Not to mention the two books. (Heh.) But, you know, maybe I shouldn't blog about my burning rage all the time in public. It's not really the image I want to project. I was going for more of a "happy, successful, at peace, and in love with life" thing. Because only that will bring about the slow bitter death of my enemies!

I'm sorry, what?

I also don't seem to mind

...laugh-talking about my books for a half hour on the radio (the John McMullen show, K-NEWS in Palm Springs, California -- I'll update the link tomorrow when the podcast goes up). Many congratulations to John, who recently announced on his show that he and his partner of thirteen years are getting married in October -- yay marriage equity! Enough of this, and Bill and I get to have another wedding!

Delighted, I'm sure

Both Girlbomb and Have You Furnished Her are mentioned in Entertainment Weekly this week, in an article called So, You Want to Write a Memoir?

It's not world peace, or a solution to the existential condition, but I must say, I certainly don't mind being mentioned in magazines.

Side effect of rage

= raging sinus infection.

Which is continuing to suck, and has caused me to miss several days of work, a trip to Coney, and a school visit I'd been looking forward to for weeks, but at least it's taught me a little lesson about running around too much, especially with toxic people who want to infect me with their bullshit. I swear to god, with the amount of time and energy I spent brooding over this latest bit of jackassery, I could have written another book, solved the problem of global resource disparity, and figured out what the hell happened on the season finale of Lost. Instead, I made myself sick.

So now I'm munching on some delicious antibiotics, and swearing that I've learned my lesson this time. No more hanging out with underminers. No more responding to emails designed to piss me off; just delete, delete, delete. And no more lunches, damn it -- I've got a full-time job, even if the hours are flexible. I've got another book to write, and global resources to redistribute, and I think I need to watch the scene where Sawyer comes out of the ocean shirtless a few hundred more times if I'm going to crack this Lost thing. I'll let you know how it goes.

Writing in my notebook while trying to write

Thurs. 5/29, 11:30, Paragraph

Here! And no appointments today, no people, just working, hooray. J. blew off lunch on Tuesday, which was fine; went to Judith yesterday and talked about all the lousy relationships I'm still in. Was in a shit mood because I had to pay Oakwood and my AmEx is no good right now and it was stressful. Didn't write last night, just made dinner and watched a movie, went to bed. Still arguing with M. in my head. Never should have reached out to him in the first place. God, even writing in my notebook feels so hard, feels like I haven't done it in a week. And this haircut is the bane of my existence. Anyway, now that I'm here and sworn to being productive I don't want to be, I want to blow it off and go buy sunglasses, blunt myself, kill time. Have to call B. at lunch. Everyone's a pain in the ass. I'm done with people. I'm the cat that hated people. I'd like to come up with a blog post today, I'd like to start the travel piece. I should try writing about what an asshole I am instead of always writing about what assholes people are to me. I'm angry but I don't want to post about it. Anyway, let me get back to the Danielle piece.

12:50 Two pages! Now I can get some lunch, then pick it up again, then maybe a blog post re: leave me alone? Hard to say. I'm not anti-social, I just don't want to deal with anybody. Fuck everyone, just fuck them. Go me.

1:45 Ughsters. Got some lunch, keeping at the Danielle thing, also checking email on my phone, which is deadly slow for some reason. And my neck and back hurt, and I feel like quitting. Have to sign the power of attorney form before we go away. Write to Gillian from On The Rise, a pile of other emails to respond to. But good. I feel good. I got some writing done, not that anything's "done," but something got worked on, and even if it goes nowhere, I got that feeling, I got into a voice, it's something I can say I'm working on, the Danielle piece. Now try to work on a blog post. About?

2:15 Holy crap. I can't write a fucking blog post to save my life.

2:50 Still nope. Just a bunch of angry shit about being abused by people. M., that pile of shit. You're a pile of shit.

3:10 STILL NOTHING. Because I am angry.

3:30 If I'm not going to write about M. and/or people blowing me off for lunch, then I need to pick another topic and go with it. Although maybe what I should do is go home. Almost 4 hours today, that's enough, right? Or I could write a post about being grateful.

3:45 I QUIT.

Readings: Now and Forever

A quick update to alert you to an imminent appearance, and an imminent lack thereof:

Tuesday, May 27, 8pm, suggested donation
Flying Saucer Cafe, 494 Atlantic Ave. between 3rd Ave. & Nevins St, Brooklyn

I'll be reading with Roxana Robinson at the Other Means reading series. All proceeds go to Natural Resources Defense Council.

June & July: Nothing! (Snoopy dance.)

Sunday, August 3, 6pm, free
McNally Robinson bookstore, 52 Prince St. between Lafayette and Mulberry

I'll be doing a free one-hour Memoir Writing class at McNally Robinson, courtesy of Gotham Writers' Workshop.

Wednesday, August 20, 7pm, open to members of the public
LIM College, 12 East 53rd Street

I'll be back at LIM College, where I had so much fun back in March.

Friday, August 14 and Saturday, August 15
American Psychological Association conference, Boston, MA

I'll be signing books and shmoozing shrinks at the APA conference -- look for me at the Random House table on Friday at noon and Saturday at one.

Wednesday, September 17, $150
Sonesta Hotel, Cambridge, MA

I am delighted to be the keynote speaker at this year's Prepare for Winter Dinner to benefit On The Rise, an organization supporting women in crisis.