This month, we’re focusing on stories from the entertainment industry: while it may seem like rarified air, Hollywood is a microcosm, where movie sets are little universes and the ups and downs of a career have something to say about the endless yet never-enough journey we take as human beings. One book that brilliantly uses fame as a lens through which to understand the need for connection is From Here to the Great Unknown, Riley Keough’s stunning duet with her mother Lisa-Marie Presley. Had chills at least once a page as it summed up so much about being a daughter, a mother, a sister and an artist with an unparalleled tenderness. Bruce Eric Kaplan’s They Went Another Way is a droll study in the disappointments of a writer’s career, proving that they too can be turned into an act of creative defiance. Bruce is so funny it makes me want to dress as him for Halloween (baseball hat, t shirt, slight frown.) Let me know if you have books in this genre that are must reads, and tell us what you’re thinking as we read along together #LDbookclub #hollyweird
This month, we’re focusing on stories from the entertainment industry: while it may seem like rarified air, Hollywood is a microcosm, where movie sets are little universes and the ups and downs of a career have something to say about the endless yet never-enough journey we take as human beings. One book that brilliantly uses fame as a lens through which to understand the need for connection is From Here to the Great Unknown, Riley Keough’s stunning duet with her mother Lisa-Marie Presley. Had chills at least once a page as it summed up so much about being a daughter, a mother, a sister and an artist with an unparalleled tenderness. Bruce Eric Kaplan’s They Went Another Way is a droll study in the disappointments of a writer’s career, proving that they too can be turned into an act of creative defiance. Bruce is so funny it makes me want to dress as him for Halloween (baseball hat, t shirt, slight frown.) Let me know if you have books in this genre that are must reads, and tell us what you’re thinking as we read along together #LDbookclub #hollyweird
“Where ya think you’re goin in thooose keds…” Hey! Have you ever dreamed of owning a piece of @puppetsandpuppets limited edition genius? Do you salivate when an American classic like has the good sense to dally with the avant-garde? Have you fantasized about being the kind of person whose feet are kissed wherever they go, just for being? Then have I got the shoe for you! Run don’t walk before you’re left empty-handed snogging your own dang toes 💋 #notanad #justalifestyle #thatsmybestieandimreallyproud Top: @puppetsandpuppets Shoes: @puppetsandpuppets for @keds Attitude: not very good
“Where ya think you’re goin in thooose keds…” Hey! Have you ever dreamed of owning a piece of @puppetsandpuppets limited edition genius? Do you salivate when an American classic like has the good sense to dally with the avant-garde? Have you fantasized about being the kind of person whose feet are kissed wherever they go, just for being? Then have I got the shoe for you! Run don’t walk before you’re left empty-handed snogging your own dang toes 💋 #notanad #justalifestyle #thatsmybestieandimreallyproud Top: @puppetsandpuppets Shoes: @puppetsandpuppets for @keds Attitude: not very good
“Where ya think you’re goin in thooose keds…” Hey! Have you ever dreamed of owning a piece of @puppetsandpuppets limited edition genius? Do you salivate when an American classic like has the good sense to dally with the avant-garde? Have you fantasized about being the kind of person whose feet are kissed wherever they go, just for being? Then have I got the shoe for you! Run don’t walk before you’re left empty-handed snogging your own dang toes 💋 #notanad #justalifestyle #thatsmybestieandimreallyproud Top: @puppetsandpuppets Shoes: @puppetsandpuppets for @keds Attitude: not very good
“Where ya think you’re goin in thooose keds…” Hey! Have you ever dreamed of owning a piece of @puppetsandpuppets limited edition genius? Do you salivate when an American classic like has the good sense to dally with the avant-garde? Have you fantasized about being the kind of person whose feet are kissed wherever they go, just for being? Then have I got the shoe for you! Run don’t walk before you’re left empty-handed snogging your own dang toes 💋 #notanad #justalifestyle #thatsmybestieandimreallyproud Top: @puppetsandpuppets Shoes: @puppetsandpuppets for @keds Attitude: not very good
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
That summer feeling’s gonna haunt you the rest of your life.
It speaks to the power of someone’s life force when, at 96, their death feels like an impossibility. But Betty Halbreich has gone and done the impossible. If you know anything about Betty’s life- whether its her historic tenure as a personal shopper & doyenne of Bergdorf Goodman or the epic and complex life that preceded it (which she chronicled on hand-scrawled legal pads) you know that she did the impossible with a shrug. Betty and I met in 2014 when @jennikonner read an article about her in the New Yorker by the legendary Judith Thurman. We tried to write her story as a tv series (although she told us that “nobody wants to watch a show about an 86 year old lady, not in this America” and, as usual, she was right.) And so for the past ten years, having a Betty became part of being a Lena. Whether she was extolling the healing power of work and her endless appreciation of the view from her office or counseling me through transitions & heartbreaks with the kind of tough wisdom that makes your face go red (if she didn’t know the term “read you for filth,” that’s because she invented the concept) she was redefining me. “Dusting is therapy,” she told me, with the stern prowess of someone who could identify those who dust and those who don’t. She started every call with “what am I going to do with you, child?” and ended with “come by soon, I’m almost [insert upcoming age], you know.” I’ll miss the escalator up to her office, the royal greetings she received on each floor, the intensity of her hugs. I’ll miss dialing her 212 number, waiting for that stern “child”, knowing she is walking toward Fifth Ave in the morning and away from it at night. But as long as there’s Bergdorf’s, Fifth Avenue, an isle of Manhattan and a “child”, Betty will be here. She’s probably passing the hot dog stand now, with a wave that says “I have places to be.” There’s such beauty to someone dying at the age that dying is meant for, knowing that they really did it all- the good, the bad & the glamorous. Everything feels wrong, even though nothing is wrong. This is a celebration, but I cannot help noticing dust everywhere. I love you, B. I’ll come by soon. I know you’re almost 97.
It speaks to the power of someone’s life force when, at 96, their death feels like an impossibility. But Betty Halbreich has gone and done the impossible. If you know anything about Betty’s life- whether its her historic tenure as a personal shopper & doyenne of Bergdorf Goodman or the epic and complex life that preceded it (which she chronicled on hand-scrawled legal pads) you know that she did the impossible with a shrug. Betty and I met in 2014 when @jennikonner read an article about her in the New Yorker by the legendary Judith Thurman. We tried to write her story as a tv series (although she told us that “nobody wants to watch a show about an 86 year old lady, not in this America” and, as usual, she was right.) And so for the past ten years, having a Betty became part of being a Lena. Whether she was extolling the healing power of work and her endless appreciation of the view from her office or counseling me through transitions & heartbreaks with the kind of tough wisdom that makes your face go red (if she didn’t know the term “read you for filth,” that’s because she invented the concept) she was redefining me. “Dusting is therapy,” she told me, with the stern prowess of someone who could identify those who dust and those who don’t. She started every call with “what am I going to do with you, child?” and ended with “come by soon, I’m almost [insert upcoming age], you know.” I’ll miss the escalator up to her office, the royal greetings she received on each floor, the intensity of her hugs. I’ll miss dialing her 212 number, waiting for that stern “child”, knowing she is walking toward Fifth Ave in the morning and away from it at night. But as long as there’s Bergdorf’s, Fifth Avenue, an isle of Manhattan and a “child”, Betty will be here. She’s probably passing the hot dog stand now, with a wave that says “I have places to be.” There’s such beauty to someone dying at the age that dying is meant for, knowing that they really did it all- the good, the bad & the glamorous. Everything feels wrong, even though nothing is wrong. This is a celebration, but I cannot help noticing dust everywhere. I love you, B. I’ll come by soon. I know you’re almost 97.
It speaks to the power of someone’s life force when, at 96, their death feels like an impossibility. But Betty Halbreich has gone and done the impossible. If you know anything about Betty’s life- whether its her historic tenure as a personal shopper & doyenne of Bergdorf Goodman or the epic and complex life that preceded it (which she chronicled on hand-scrawled legal pads) you know that she did the impossible with a shrug. Betty and I met in 2014 when @jennikonner read an article about her in the New Yorker by the legendary Judith Thurman. We tried to write her story as a tv series (although she told us that “nobody wants to watch a show about an 86 year old lady, not in this America” and, as usual, she was right.) And so for the past ten years, having a Betty became part of being a Lena. Whether she was extolling the healing power of work and her endless appreciation of the view from her office or counseling me through transitions & heartbreaks with the kind of tough wisdom that makes your face go red (if she didn’t know the term “read you for filth,” that’s because she invented the concept) she was redefining me. “Dusting is therapy,” she told me, with the stern prowess of someone who could identify those who dust and those who don’t. She started every call with “what am I going to do with you, child?” and ended with “come by soon, I’m almost [insert upcoming age], you know.” I’ll miss the escalator up to her office, the royal greetings she received on each floor, the intensity of her hugs. I’ll miss dialing her 212 number, waiting for that stern “child”, knowing she is walking toward Fifth Ave in the morning and away from it at night. But as long as there’s Bergdorf’s, Fifth Avenue, an isle of Manhattan and a “child”, Betty will be here. She’s probably passing the hot dog stand now, with a wave that says “I have places to be.” There’s such beauty to someone dying at the age that dying is meant for, knowing that they really did it all- the good, the bad & the glamorous. Everything feels wrong, even though nothing is wrong. This is a celebration, but I cannot help noticing dust everywhere. I love you, B. I’ll come by soon. I know you’re almost 97.
It speaks to the power of someone’s life force when, at 96, their death feels like an impossibility. But Betty Halbreich has gone and done the impossible. If you know anything about Betty’s life- whether its her historic tenure as a personal shopper & doyenne of Bergdorf Goodman or the epic and complex life that preceded it (which she chronicled on hand-scrawled legal pads) you know that she did the impossible with a shrug. Betty and I met in 2014 when @jennikonner read an article about her in the New Yorker by the legendary Judith Thurman. We tried to write her story as a tv series (although she told us that “nobody wants to watch a show about an 86 year old lady, not in this America” and, as usual, she was right.) And so for the past ten years, having a Betty became part of being a Lena. Whether she was extolling the healing power of work and her endless appreciation of the view from her office or counseling me through transitions & heartbreaks with the kind of tough wisdom that makes your face go red (if she didn’t know the term “read you for filth,” that’s because she invented the concept) she was redefining me. “Dusting is therapy,” she told me, with the stern prowess of someone who could identify those who dust and those who don’t. She started every call with “what am I going to do with you, child?” and ended with “come by soon, I’m almost [insert upcoming age], you know.” I’ll miss the escalator up to her office, the royal greetings she received on each floor, the intensity of her hugs. I’ll miss dialing her 212 number, waiting for that stern “child”, knowing she is walking toward Fifth Ave in the morning and away from it at night. But as long as there’s Bergdorf’s, Fifth Avenue, an isle of Manhattan and a “child”, Betty will be here. She’s probably passing the hot dog stand now, with a wave that says “I have places to be.” There’s such beauty to someone dying at the age that dying is meant for, knowing that they really did it all- the good, the bad & the glamorous. Everything feels wrong, even though nothing is wrong. This is a celebration, but I cannot help noticing dust everywhere. I love you, B. I’ll come by soon. I know you’re almost 97.
Dearest @andrewrannells- remember that time we went to the Golden Globes and we were really nervous in the car and kinda sweaty but then you still looked like a 40s film icon and then someone labeled this “Liza Minelli and date?” You are my forever favorite scene partner, epic conversationalist, lengthy text recipient, essayist and dear dear friend. I got so lucky when you walked into that audition room 14 years ago- fireworks of the century. I knew we’d make some TV, but couldn’t have imagined all the friendship. Cannot wait for a million more 14 years of making art with a modern day Fred Astaire if Fred Astaire could improv a really good cocaine joke. Happy birthday to the best and the brightest. I love you Andrew. We all do.
August is the Sunday of months- aka the time to read like your life depends on it. Here are my favorite tales I’ve torn through lately- what are you reading? #LDbookclub
August is the Sunday of months- aka the time to read like your life depends on it. Here are my favorite tales I’ve torn through lately- what are you reading? #LDbookclub
August is the Sunday of months- aka the time to read like your life depends on it. Here are my favorite tales I’ve torn through lately- what are you reading? #LDbookclub
