Jessi Klein's NotBlog

So I’m sure I’m officially the ninety billionth person to have just finished reading “Eat Pray Love” and am probably ranking about the same regarding my need to write about it on my website, but holy JC, did that book pick me up and spin my head in the best ways.

I’m normally a little wary of a NY Times bestseller, since that list usually includes things like DaVinci Code and various Thrilling New Novels by Tom Clancy (no offense if those are treasured works you keep under your pillow, they’re just not for me.)  But Eat Pray Love had so many recommendations coming from so many different dear friends, who all told me that not only did I need to read this book, but certain circumstances in my life required that I read it right NOW, immediately.  And not being one to ignore being told “NOW,” I walked over to the dreaded/beloved Grove, went into Barnes and Noble, bought it, trotted home, and started reading.

And I have to say, as cornee as it sounds, it kind of changed my life.  Or at least, the way I’m viewing my life, right now.  Not to throw in any spoilers, but there’s a grand moment at the end in which Elizabeth Gilbert shares a Zen world view that kind of made me think about everything I’m working through in a different way.  I mean, part of what makes the book so lovely is that there’s nuggets on every page, but the last one kind of rocked me in this way that was more deliciously inspiring and wonderful than anything I’ve read in, well, decades.  True, I’ve been mainly reading UsWeekly and InStyle, but way back when I actually used to read real books.

Without giving away any self discovery for whoever might read this, the whole thing was just a beautifully written, sincerely felt reminder from someone who had the courage to do it:  be brave.  Don’t be afraid to go through the growing pains of leaving behind the familiar to get to a higher happiness.  This is certainly not news, but I haven’t read anything by anyone that made this truth so clear and right.  So Elizabeth Gilbert, I just want to say thanks for writing a book that delivers a kick in the ass disguised as the most warm loving cup of hot chocolate ever.

Today on my way to a party I had to go to a vaguely shady liquor store to buy some champagne.  It wasn’t so shady that it had a bulletproof plastic barrier, but it didn’t really need one, seeing as the guy behind the counter had a terrifying red almost-mullet that made me wish for the barrier.

Anyway, I get the champers and I’m standing online behind this woman who appeared to be in her early sixties.  I had seen her go to the refrigerator case to grab a six pack.  It made me sad a little bit, the whole six pack after work thing.  She looked like the sort of person who might be drinking alone.  (I drink alone all the time, but not six packs.)  But then I saw that in fact her six pack was O’Douls.  I couldn’t tell if that made the whole thing sadder.  I was pretty sure it did. 

But then, waiting for her turn at the register, she reached down to the candy display and grabbed a pack of Rolos.  I used to fucking love Rolos.  So she was buying O’Douls and Rolos.

I have no idea what the significance of this is, but I guess for a moment I felt like perhaps this woman knew the secret to happiness.  What greater joy is there in life than to know exactly what you want?  And then to know that what you want is fake beer and Rolos.  So specific, so simple.  So attainable.  It should all that be easy. 

What is the sound of one hand clapping? O’Douls and Rolos.

I’m not the first person to write about Tim Gunn, the advisor/fashion mentor on Project Runway, and I won’t be the last.  Good.  We should all write a little something about Tim Gunn.  Tim Gunn is one of those people that moves you in a visceral, or more correctly, primal way.  He’s got a sexy, boxy head; beautiful white hands; and a voice that sounds the way that I imagine having an expensive merlot licked off your stomach by a lover who you’re just realizing is your soul mate might feel.  That’s a fucking terrible sentence, but just calm down and give it a chance.  I did.  True, I’m a little drunk as I write this, but I think I do like it.  It’s arousal and excitement combined with the deep comfort of Platonic recognition.  But I don’t want to write too deeply into the sex angle because I think what makes Tim Gunn so wonderful is that he’s one of the great all time Gentle Uncles.

What’s a Gentle Uncle?  A Gentle Uncle is someone who’s not your father but shadows a father role; he’s stern, but he’ll never yell.  He’ll praise you more warmly than your hetero father ever can, because he’s a little gay and he’s in touch with his nurturing feminine side.  You can be mildly physically attracted to your Gentle Uncle because he’s not really in your family.  Your Gentle Uncle is dry and sarcastic and witty in a way that your father, who’s out earning a living and is tired, doesn’t have the energy to be.  Your Gentle Uncle reads EW.  Your Gentle Uncle might casually recommend a hair product.  That hair product will work.  Your Gentle Uncle doesn’t really seem to have a private life.  He never complains or talks about it - his focus is on you, even though he’s not spoiling you.  If you ask him about his love life he’ll just give a wave of his hand and laugh, “Oh, don’t get me started.”  Then he’ll top off your glass – which is only one sip from being full, because he topped it off a second ago – and ask, “How are you?  Are you as happy as you deserve to be?”  When he tells you you’re pretty, you believe him more than anyone else, because you know he’s learned to see the art in your face.

I don’t know why I feel the need to give Brit a little shout out.  I’m nether a fan or a hater, really.  I never thought she could sing but I have Toxic on my ipod.  Here’s the thing that bugs me:

Her performance the other night was obviously quite craptastic, but in addition to the criticism of her shitty dancing, lip syncing, etc, – which as an “artist” (even a bad one or a fake one) you have to be willing to get – the press also eviscerated her for being fat.  Out of shape.  There was a lot of stuff about her gross flabby middle, her mushy abs, etc.  

I hate this shit.  First of all, I thought she looked pretty great.  I mean, the girl lives on Bugles and Cheeto dust.  I think of her body as a miracle.  But more importantly, the thing that most grossed me out is that underneath the gleeful venom spewed over her appearance, I detect a certain nostalgia for the days when the country gave itself permission to collectively circle jerk onto the image of a sixteen year old (fifteen?) in a Catholic school girl outfit.  How dare she not be a barely pubescent child anymore!  How awful that she isn’t up to our jizzable standards!  Didn’t she know we had all been hyped to spank it to her the way we used to when she was a kid?  How dare she allow us to see the effects of age!  Not to mention the effects of neglect, confusion, addiction, emptiness and unfulfilled need that so logically would result from the type of exploitation we all participated in and signed off on to begin with…

Horribly ironic (or maybe just sad) then, that it was her listless lip syncing of the words to her new song, “Gimme More,” that made it undeniably, incredibly clear that she doesn’t really want more.  And how fitting is it that we rip up her performance of the song when we are the ones who really want more, who are never satisifed; that we are the people, who, despite the fact that she obviously has nothing to give us, keep demanding, in the tabloids, blogs, TV and radio: “Gimme gimme more, gimme more, gimme gimme more.”