THE PARTY IS ALMOST OVER
Eyelift update – tomorrow it is one week since I had my eyes done and I have not left the house.
I wrote on my Facebook wall yesterday that I find it quite odd that I am willing to post all these grotesque photos of myself online, yet I am totally unwilling to even walk out my front door.
Most people go out with sunglasses after three days. I won’t go to the elevator.
Salva even came in yesterday and said “Tracey, are you going out TODAY?” She has been with us two years and I don’t think I have spent this many week days at home in that entire time. She also used to work in Buenos Aires where the women do this like we get our nails done. And from what I get from Salva they are back out on the streets and in the cafes before you can say Tango. They do not spend a week in their room wearing sweat pants and a ponytail, blogging and taking photos of themselves and posting them. They elegantly walk around in their big shades, remove them in ten days and when people say how fabulous they look, I’m sure they do that wonderful Latin eye bat and say thank you. You know they don’t take out their iPhones and show forty photos of every stage of the procedure.
I’m so paranoid about anyone seeing me when Miguel from maintenance came up to fix Lucy’s radiator yesterday I ran and hid back in my room.
If I was still in therapy it would be something to talk about.
But the truth is I have been having a fine time in my room. Number one, I can see Central Park and down Fifth Ave and CPW all the way to the nineties thus I don’t feel cooped up.
I also get a lot done. I mean a lot – yesterday I did at least.
And I think the thing is being off my normal schedule and not having to travel anywhere, and not stopping by the stores saves hours and hours.
My “normal” days have a rhythm; I am a creature of habit in many ways.
We wake up at the same time most every day. Now that I’m not waiting for Taylor to come home I can sleep through the night, so we get up at six- thirty or so, and the first one up heads to the Nespresso machine.
Now, I must stop a moment and wax rhapsodic about Nespresso. Whoever invented it should get the Nobel Prize. I think the Nespresso machine brings so much peace and harmony to the world we have no idea. OK, that might be a bit much in light of what goes on every day; but it brings peace, a state of well being and most importantly caffeine to me on a daily basis, quickly and with great style. Me without the caffeine walking around the planet does not induce harmony and peace. It results in my yelling at random people and gulping Advil. I love my Nespresso machine to the point of obsession. I love the way it looks. I love the muilt-colored pods, the ease it spurts out the glorious black goo, and I love the coffee soooo much.
I love it so much that when Glenn well meaningingly, in the name of cleaning the kitchen, tossed a vital piece of my beloved machine the other day – I yelled at him. I called the man who most people who know him feel is one of the smartest people they have ever encountered a “dummy.” I called the man a book about Churchill once quoted as saying “he has forgotten more about Churchill than most people will ever know” a moron.
I was desperate, distraught, standing there with my raccoon rimmed eyes, dirty hair, yelling “You idiot, you wrecked the machine!” He claimed we could just order another piece; I was adamant we would have to buy a new machine.
That’s when my prinecesshood gets a verbal wake-up call. He says, “There are eighteen-year- olds in Iraq and Afghanistan losing their lives and your Nespresso machine is a problem?” I can take a hint.
So while I was ringing my hands and bemoaning the fate of my adored machine and my next morning’s soy cap; he called Nespresso and found out intelligent, well meaning men and women all over the world throw out this particular piece as it’s a fault of the machine, and they are retooling it. They have plenty in stock and we will have another piece here by Friday. I was kind of hoping for another answer, the one that would have meant we would need to buy the new machine with the foamer built in.
But he was right and I devoted an hour last night to reading our friend Bobby Ghosh’s cover piece in this week’s Time on the Taliban, and I have to admit I am dopey when I behave that way. The world is such a mess in so many places – I just love that machine.
Anyway our mornings – we have our coffee, the dogs climb in bed with us, Glenn reads the paper and I spend ten minutes explaining to Lucy why tank tops in the winter in New York are not proper attire. I am going to tape this conversation and stick it on her iPod as I can’t hear myself say it one more time. It happens every morning, it’s like Groundhog’s Day.
I go in and say, “It’s in the 30’s, dress warmly.”
She shows up ten minutes later dressed for Miami in August. We go back and forth until she at least has two more layers over the tank top, all of which I’m sure she sheds once she hits school, but it shuts me up, which often times is the goal of many.
And then by seven-thirty, six mornings a week I am on my way to the gym.
Now what this means is I have no mornings per-se. I am always at the gym and from the gym to the office or work at my desk. I do not have the three hours between seven and ten to do things, be they work or watching Regis and Kelly; used properly these are really productive hours. I have kind of loved these hours this week. I have kind of loved not spending a half hour on my makeup and fifteen minutes picking out my outfit. I am understanding the life of a hermit; it saves a ton of time. It’s like what Woody Allen said on masturbation: you don’t have to look your best for it.
TIME OUT- SHE JUST DID IT- Lucy came in wearing a tank top. It’s thirty-seven degrees outside. As Moss Hart used to say to Kitty Carlyle Hart – “Back to wardrobe.”
But today at one, I go to Dr. Jon Turk who will remove my stitches and then I’m out of excuses. I am getting my hair done and I will finally do what I have been threatening for a week – go buy some new makeup at Bergdorf’s. Maybe I can convince mama face Joan Kron to go with me, but knowing her she is breaking some story and needs to have her copy in pronto, the woman works harder than anyone I know.
The thing that is also odd about my staying out of Bergdorf’s is I LOVE BUYING MAKE-UP. It’s up there with Nespresso in terms of things I love in life. I feel about buying make-up the way Tiger Woods feels about twenty quality minutes with a cocktail waitress. But for some reason the cocoon of my room has replaced all.
And then yesterday I found out I can get a lot of work done in my room.
For example, I wrote that long blog on narcissism and it was done by the time I am usually headed for the office. It got a lot of response so I spent part of the day answering emails.
I got a consulting job on a Bolllywood Film for a major Bollywood star. And no I won’t tell you who it is. But it’s three days work, decent pay and I can do it from my room!
And then I filled out three-quarters of the Harper Collins Author’s Questionnaire. This may not sound like a lot, but they are long, involved with a lot of questions. This for me was a revelation almost up there with the day I discovered the Nespresso Machine. Being a “Hollywood” writer for close to twenty years, I’m not used to anyone I work for, especially the parent company, asking me questions about myself, my life, my thoughts on my work, or what led to my actually doing the work. Words and phrases like inspiration, fan base, would you be willing to go on the road, talk to groups, promote your book, sell it on your website? Tell us about your website, your vision for your work, your history. It was like my Nespresso machine, my husband, kids and a non-stop flight to Mumbai all in one. HEAVEN.
To put it in perspective these are the questions they ask you when you write movies and I mean big movies, which once upon a time they used to pay you big money for:
Do you mind waiting for forty minutes, he was just called into a meeting?
Do you want your water room temp or cold?
If you haven’t seen the trades, they’re on the table.
Would you please leave the room?
Do you mind closing the door on your way out?
Do you know your way around the lot? The exit is the Melrose Gate.
Do you mind doing a few more passes for free? You do only want your best work out there don’t you?
Do you know my assistant Kimberly? She will be sitting in and giving you notes. She may be a summer intern but she’s very bright, her father just bought her into Penn. Do you know how much it costs to buy a kid into Penn?
Do you know so and so? Good we just hired them to punch up your script.
Do you know your quote you have worked twenty years to achieve? You won’t be getting a third of it.
You know the press conference is this Friday? Don’t bother showing up for it.
We barely have enough seats at the premiere for the stars friends, why would you think you could get four tickets?
And if, if you get to go to the press conference, this is the one question the press asks the writer –
What did you think when they told you so and so would be in the film?
OK enough Hollywood bashing– you get the idea. You know how I love to throw around my thoughts, the fact someone I am working for actually cares thrills me to no end.
So by the time I did all that my little family came home, then Taylor called and actually needed me and asked for my advice. My advice! And I didn’t ladle it out like soup, I just calmly chatted with her, and I think we are really moving forward in that department. If you don’t constantly tell them what to do they will eventually ask you.
So what I have learned this week: facelifts don’t hurt and if you don’t leave your room the world comes to you.
But like I said, the party is over. Back to reality. But first I’m going to go make myself a Nespresso soy cap.