When I set out to learn about my mother's bridge club, the Jewish octogenarians behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, their gen, and the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
Met a really impressive young producer today. Heard about what he has in the pipeline, pitched him a couple of novels. Shot the shit about industry gossip. I continued to spread the rumor that Courtney Love got Ed Norton addicted to heroin when they made the Larry Flynt movie and it took him a few years to kick, which explains his disappearance in the late nineties. We trashed a movie about yuppies having babies and talked about the new Bourne which I loved, and kept the rumor to myself that Jeremy Rennert was a porn star whose cock rivals Willen Dafoe’s. YP (young producer) never, not once took out his phone while were talking. I was impressed. Some movie people actually carry a Blackberry and an iPhone as if they’re gunslingers out of a Clint Eastwood vehicle. Bam! Bam! Oh, and what about Tony Scott jumping off the Vincent Thomas Bridge in San Pedro, CA. Respect. The dude made Top Gun. I love everything about this fucking business. I can’t quit you movie business.
What can’t you quit?
Filed under: Uncategorized |
Betsy Lerner 
Writing. God knows I’ve tried.
That question is pure sycophant bait.
I hope you pitched the producer your screenplay.
I can’t quit you, August.
Hope.
OMG. Did you see TP’s movie? Goosebumps. Beauty.
Aww, thanks, Ginny.
Yes, beautiful.
It’s gorgeous.
The shots of her feet are my favorite. Great job!
Teaching and books, especially since they go hand in hand for me as an English teacher!
Or housepainting when you’re on a mission. Love the before and after pics. Amazing.
I wish I had you for a teacher.
🙂 thanks! Off the top of my head I’d probably say I would be glad to give up house painting, but I’ve been thinking about painting my kitchen the past couple days, so I guess I’d be lying.
What I can’t quit:
My husband
Krishna
Reading
Facebook
Opining
Butter
Nail-biting (for long)
This blog
There, Auggie: Betsy just reeled in her first sycophant.
Heels, alcohol, internet, piano.
Apparently I can’t quit moving.
I have a similar affliction.
Me either. (or me too?)
I quit being connected for 48 hours earlier this week — internet, email, phone, text, TV, everything — and didn’t go on vacation to do it. Totally unplugged at home.
It was a long, quiet 2 days. Sad to see what an addict I’ve become.
SEX. I refuse to quit sex.
Are you doing it right now?
I can’t quit using the alphabet for my own selfish means; feeds my addiction. It’s fascinating how so few letters can entrap the mind, diminish and exult the heart. I’m lucky because it makes me smile, more than it makes me cry, and I don’t have to get it from some guy on a street corner at midnight.
Jeremy Renner’s irresistible, craggy Muppet face.
Inception fanfiction. Especially the Regencies. I blame Tom Hardy.
Living—gotta see what happens next . . .
I thought size didn’t matter. Or was it that you were just impressed with the idea of it filling the screen in–what is it–Panavision?
The pale blue sky on a cool August morning, maple leaves fading to red, orange, yellow; garden fresh vegetables in the summer, apples, pumpkins in the fall. Skiing. Happy weed. Love, love, love and love. The writing on the wall and thoughts in my head. All that leads down the rabbit hole and hurry, hurry, hurry, must not be late for a very important date. Guitars played loudly or finger picked so softly only souls at peace can hear the notes. A red convertible with the top down, music blaring, speeding down a road as open as Montana, not once pausing to reconsider, riding headlong into the hurricane. The rear view mirror jettisoned along with all the baggage. What can’t I quit? Whadda ya got?
“The rear view mirror jettisoned along with all the baggage.”
Awesome, love it, love all of it.
Thank you, Wry — your kind comments make my day.
I’m with you, girl. There’s an energy about movies that’s intoxicating. And everyone loves a celebrity. Or dishing about them when you watch them behave in real life.
I think it’s the spotlight for me. I’m addicted to it.
This post makes me miss LA and acting and all that jazz. I would kill for a taco from Henry’s.
Wind, water, wilderness, watching, writing, listening. Boats, boat things.
“What can’t you quit?”
Breathing. Eating. Crapping and pissing. Heart keeps beating, too. And the eyes, they blink from time to time. And the nose runs.
I am a champion quitter. I can quit anything.
Whoever you are, I love you.
What can’t you quit?
Heels was a good one. They fuck up the back and yet… I did quit fashion magazines, for the most part. Shiny, shiny. I can avoid mirrors for most of the day but since I quit smoking years back I do need some way of knowing I’m there. The smoke confirmed my breath until it didn’t. Crafting the perfect meatball, it’s a quest. Finding the perfect fried calamari since my favorite restaurant moved to some godforsaken burb. I tease my wife I won’t ever stop trying to get her pregnant but since we’re two women she knows that’s a tease. Still I’d get the pope on speeddial in that occasion. Writing, I won’t touch that one.
A friend of mine and her wife have two of the brightest, most wonderful kids I’ve ever met, and they love their moms. Gay, straight, trans, the world needs more good parents.
Cats. I know it makes me look bad, having a lot of cats. It gives people a great excuse to not take me seriously, I know that. And still…I have a lot of cats.
Cats rule. And don’t they know it.
In good news regarding the having of numerous cats, my wife’s criminal trial for consorting with, habitating, nurturing, abiding, tolerating, and otherwise encouraging the existence of unlicensed cats was a week ago today. All charges were dismissed and she was free to go forth, no longer an accused misdemeanant of mousers.
Tony Scott breaks my fucking heart.
Chocolat. Can’t quit it. Gotta have it. Jones for it.
Coffee.
OMG yes, I forgot coffee. How could I forget that which gets my day twitching.
Um. Cat Stevens. And dark chocolate covered almonds.
Oh my God. . . Steven Georgiu. And almonds? Unfuckingbelievable. I hope you don’t have red hair.
No. Brunette. Born in 1960s. You’re a red head?