An old friend wrote me a note recently to tell me how much he enjoys reading this blog. “You are the web version of Chelsea Handler,” he wrote. “You two should write a book together.”
First of all, I love this, because flattery makes me go all mooshy inside.
Second of all, this will never happen for two reasons. Firstly, I am not worthy to buckle the little shiny thingies on Chelsea’s expensive shoes. Secondly, she scares the bejeezus out of me.
If you’re not familiar with Chelsea, you should watch her show. (It’s on too late for sedate oldsters like Partner and me, but we DVR it.) She has a uniquely dry delivery, and is unimpressed with pretty much everything. She has elevated the word “stupid” to new heights; she pronounces the word with such heavy ironic ferocity. The show’s on the E! network, which also comes in for a heavy dose of her mockery, especially when she’s forced to have guests from some of the other E! shows, like the dreaded Michael Yo, or Kendra. She also produces and stars in yet another show on E!, though only a weekly one. She has written four books, all of which have made it to the Times best-seller list. (One’s up there right now.) She sponsors a stable of writers and comedians, who appear regularly on her show, and who all seem to be doing pretty well under her tutelage.
She's smart and funny and unapologetic. You should read the recent New York Times article about her!
All this despite the fact that women aren’t funny.
Go figure.
Go Chelsea!
(All kidding aside, I know I'd never be able to go up against her one-on-one. She's pretty fierce.)
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