• Bridge Ladies

    Bridge Ladies Sometimes I think a meteor could strike the earth and wipe out mankind with the exception of my mother’s Bridge club — Roz, Bea, Bette, Rhoda, and Jackie — five Jewish octogenarians who continue to gather for lunch and Bridge on Mondays as they have for over fifty years. When I set out to learn about the women behind the matching outfits and accessories, I never expected to fall in love with them. This is the story of the ladies, their game, and most of all the ragged path that led me back to my mother.
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I Am Who I Am and Who I Am Is an Illusion



Dear All: I am living the dream. After going to three Patti Smith shows in LA, I am now spending a couple of days in Malibu editing a book I love on a balcony overlooking the ocean. In the far distance, a bunch of surfers are basking in the sun on their boards. Okay, the real dream would be for all this to happen without my eating stale Dean & Deluca candy off the mini bar as if I were a lab rat. If I didn’t pick all the polish off my toes. If I didn’t seize with panic attacks every hour and a half and do a blackhead patrol.

What’s your dream and would you fuck it up?

22 Responses

  1. Well, for sure you’re living my dream. Yeah, I’d fuck it all up before I ever made it to Patti’s first show on your tour. That’s OK though. I’ve been fortunate enough to meet both of you, and god knows we all live vicariously through you. Everything else is the fat-free whipped cream on the frozen yogurt.

    Other than that, I’ll just be happy to publish this book next summer and embarrass my mother and my two grown sons. Because really, that’s why I’m here.

  2. The dream just arrived today, and it remains to be seen if I’ll screw things up royally. It’s release day, and like those before me, one expects fireworks, a ticker tape parade, and a whole bunch of people to scream in a fan frenzy when I open the back door…but like most release days, I’m sure it will come and go with a whimper. Which could be mine. 🙂

    You’ll be fine. Leave those blackheads alone.

  3. My impossible dream is a story in the NYer. I would not fuck it up.

  4. My(writing) dream came true many, many years ago and I fucked it up royally. Do we ever get a second chance, another path, a better way, another smile from the word-gods? Christ I hope so because time is running out.
    There is another glimmer. If the ashes flame, I will NOT fuck it up this time.

  5. I’m living the dream, and I fuck it up daily.

  6. I fuck it up daily by worshipping the fake god, Distraction.
    My Distraction comes in many beautiful forms, illusory and tempting, designed to lure me from the work. It succeeds mightily. And so, the body of work that I have already accomplished, the research, the chapters, the bulk of it, the glorious dedication, the the tender pages, rest stagnant on a shelf. Oh sure, the occasional mini effort rises like a sputtering Phoenix, only to be squelched by that devious other god.
    So yes, I fuck it up.

  7. This may sound strange, but I don’t have a big dream. My life is full, and I am contented. It has not always been so, nor will it always be. When it’s time, I’ll do my best with the rough things. For now, I’m smiling.

  8. If Malibu is in your dream you are in big trouble. That place is like serial killer heaven dude. Like 20 girls a year disappear from there. Man, lock the fucking door and read a book or something. No shit. Don’t go outside on your own. Not that there’s anywhere to go. Those hills look peaceful but trust me, don’t do it. Fuck. Wow. I feel bad for you.

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