Romantic films promote the idea that there is someone for everyone, and I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. However, there are a lot of messages to be found in even some of my very favorite movies that are much, much less appealing.
I was reading an article on Louise Cady-Fernandes' blog, Lines of Beauty, about this week's fascinating TIME magazine piece, Nip. Tuck. Or Else: Why You'll be Getting Cosmetic Procedures Even If You Don't Really Want To. Everything from the cover photo to the subtitle had all my jingly flesh up in arms.
On July 21, 1989, 26 years ago today, Nora Ephron brought us 'When Harry Met Sally' and everyone spilled out of the theater, electrified. Nora had just created the first modern romantic comedy that had us talking about the most famous 'orgasm' in cinema history. I still mourn that trademark 'Nora Ephron sparkle.'
Almost exactly three years ago, I read that Nora Ephron died. I had just moved the farthest I'd ever been from my family and friends, and started law school a few weeks earlier. Life was changing, but I always expected Nora to be there to explain the changes and all that goes along with them.
A great and giving storyteller, Lee's engagement should be a music fest, yes, but also anecdote-laden treat, with some tasty Broadway legend tidbits.
Snowbound in the Big Apple? Try a bite of your favorite Warren Beatty flicks. Get out your DVD collection or surf Netflix. Here are mine. Agree or disagree. What are yours?
In finding my own personal style and aesthetic, I have picked up a couple tips and borrowed looks from a few ladies along the way. In coming into my own, I have learned through imitation (both subtle and not).
One of my earliest memories is watching my mother apply her makeup. If I was lucky, she let me try some. She called it "putting on my face." What a perfect description of what so many of us feel compelled to do every morning.
If you think your office job is rough, know this: Tina worked the front desk at a YMCA after being turned down for jobs at a Ruby Tuesday and a theater box-office.
Unlike Nora Ephron, Maya Angelou and I have nothing in common. When I read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, it did not offer me identification as Heartburn had, it offered me access -- vivid, scary, and profound access -- to a place I had never been before.
Today is the 9th anniversary of the launch of The Huffington Post. There is so much to celebrate, so much that has exceeded my wildest dreams -- no, back in 2005, I wasn't dreaming of more than 90 million unique visitors a month, more than 60 verticals, more than 50,000 bloggers, more than 300 million comments, or double-digit international editions, a game-changing live streaming network, and a wall-full of awards. Looking back, however, there are a number of things that I know now that I wish I'd known then. To mark our 9th anniversary, here are 9 of them...
Thank God for Nora Ephron. Before she came along, the primary role model for a smart, wise-cracking female writer was Dorothy Parker, known both her sharp wit and her unenviable life. (After too much drinking and too many bad relationships; she died a famous but unhappy woman.)
Has the entertainment industry given up on the romance of Manhattan? Did it flee the country with Woody or migrate to Brooklyn with Lena Dunham? Are we destined to be portrayed as an urban wild west, ducking gunfire instead of drinking Cosmos?
"What do you write about?" I'm often asked. The answer, um, is I, uh, write about myself, which automatically puts me in the company of Kim Kardashian, Paris Hilton, and others who exude the belief that their lives are of inherent interest to others.
It's one thing to meet a great artist. I've been lucky enough to meet, and interview, quite a few considerable artists, and a handful I would probably describe as great. But it doesn't happen all that often in a life that you meet a great human being.
One 16 year old and a set of twins coming up fast on their 13th birthday: They want freedom, they earn some money and they don't want to be with me all the time. I'm on the back nine of my kids being kids.