Oh, one more thing about the flight home from New York. The MAGA guy sitting next to me was an upgrade to First Class. He had enough Frequent Flyer miles that he could move up from coach, and guzzle beer and burp in the company of appropriately-dressed people who paid full-fare. Look, I have nothing against mileage upgrades; I
I flew home from New York yesterday and I wound up sitting next to a guy who was wearing a purple Ed Hardy t-shirt and a red Make America Great Again hat. I was horrified. Horrified! It made me really sad. Not just because of the children in cages, and the pathological lying, and the vulgarity and the porn stars.
Summer has officially* come to an end, so it’s time to look back and write a “what I did on my summer vacation” entry. What I did on my summer “vacation” was sweat, schlep and get scowled at. My handsome, darling, wonderful, teenaged son, Cooper, will be graduating from high school next June … assuming he doesn’t wind up
Dear Diary, If you thought finding Osama bin Laden in Pakistan was a tough task, try finding the right shrink in Hollywood. In order to find Dr. Fishman, I needed eight references, twelve suggestions and Navy Seal Teams Six thru’ Twelve. My search for the right therapist was broader than Jay Leno’s comedy – Did I want a
Okay, yeah, it’s me. And to answer your question, “Why am I writing a diary?” – because my therapist, Dr. Fishman, said it would be good for me, that’s why. And because maybe my words would help others as well (which is what my publicist said I should say, so I that I appear altruistic and enlightened). Also, because