I have friends who have found this within The Secret and The Alchemist, Catcher in the Rye, Maxim and/or Cosmo. The Bible (... ... ...). At one point in the early chunk of my grad school days, I was beginning to feel as if my Bible was Amy Sedaris' I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence; I was feeling silly and weird albeit considerably self-loathing, was struggling with how to become a better domestic goddess as I had no means of/no actual reason for doing so, and had found great solace in the sauce. And pot cookies. It's fine. Incidentally, I do still believe that everyone deserves to have their own Fuck-It Bucket (kindly refer to pages 290-291 in the aforementioned masterpiece).
And now, after having lived in this glorious city for nearly three years (Whaaaaaaaaaaat?!), after having plowed through a million and seven books, and after both cutting back on the sauce and becoming addicted to Pinterest, I have found it. I have found my answer and, goddammit, she's a beaute:
Tina Fey's Bossypants.
Tina. Fey. Now, there's a woman for whom I would, for A, pay an amazing amount of money simply to have stand in front of me just to read off a list of fancy hors d'oeuvres. Scrutinize them. List the options off all deadpan-like just to say, "Friends, why are we doing this to ourselves? Let's just order a Bloomin Onion and call it a day."
(...For the record, I feel like this is not a thing that she would legitimately say, but it certainly is a HOOT to think about. Right? Am I RIGHT?!... ...)
Tina Fey who, for B, I have been wildly enamored with for forEVer. Since she first started Weekend Updating, to her schooling Jack Donaghy, to her "seein Russia from her howhse", this chick...this chick has always been a bit of a wonder to me.
Why I did not have the impetus to purchase this book months ago is beyond me.
Why it never occurred to me that the book might actually have something to say to me, I mean, I just have no idea.
How. Ever.
I have a knack for having all sorts of important things happen to me all timely-like. Sometimes. I guess. Sporadically occasionally, but still, this is precisely one of those moments.
I feel like I found this book just in time.
Fellow Starving Artists were telling me years before I'd even moved here that it takes someone between three to five years to feel as if they're getting anywhere professionally in the city, on average. Meantime, you'll have a few tremendous ups, have a series of tremendous downs, and then, there will be a wall, a big wall, and you'll hit it.
At the beginning of last week, I felt like I went at said wall much like a ram, concussed myself, landed on my ass and went, "Great. Going nowhere, and with self-inflicted wounds. Baller." It sucked. And I felt stuck, and kinda just like I was lying in wait; I'm horrendous at that particular (in)activity.
I discussed my pseudo-ballsy letter with my manager, nervously picked at my nail polish, drank 7.35 cups of coffee, and walked my ass into The Strand for a happy distraction.
And there she was, perched amongst the Staff Favorites like a shiny happy little beacon.
This should be good, I says to myself. And like that, Bossypants was mine.
There are many many reasons why I feel like this book is arguably one of the most important ones that I have ever read. For one thing, it reiterated that I should not only embrace my Inner Weird, but flaunt it. Hard. Tina Fey did not get by/get ahead/get anywhere touting supermodel-looks, an impressive pedigree or a droll character. Instead, she took stock in the unique bits of herself that she had to offer, and ran with them: her crazy big brain, her razor-sharp wit, relentless self-deprication, her scar, and her "heart-shaped ass. Unfortunately, it's a right-side-up heart; the point is at the bottom." She took all of those things, put them together in a completely untidy package and unapologetically gave them to Lorne Michaels and the rest of the world in a completely take-it-or-leave-it-fashion.
They took it.
And this unapologetic-thing therein of itself had an enormous impact on me. I admit, I'm a pretty shameless person, and I actually really like that about myself, generally speaking. However, I'm dually shameless and apologetic (it's possible, I swear), and that's lame. Tina Fey is a woman who apologizes for nothing, not her career choices, not her Sarah Palin-impression, not her devotion to her husband and her kids, not her Republican parents. And certainly not her being a woman and certainly, certainly not her being a funny one; she offers the least amount of apology for that. She says the following regarding one of Amy Poehler's first read-throughs at SNL:
I think of this whenever someone says to me, "Jerry Lewis says women aren't funny," or "Christopher Hitchens says women aren't funny," or "Rick Fenderman says women aren't funny....Do you have anything to say to that?"
Yes. We don't fucking care if you like it.
I don't say it out loud, of course, because Jerry Lewis is a great philanthropist, Hitchens is very sick, and the third guy I made up.
...It is an impressively arrogant move to conclude that just because you don't like something, it is empirically not good. I don't like Chinese food, but I don't write articles trying to prove it doesn't exist. ...So, she wins.
And then, much to my surprise, there was an entire chapter dedicated to the art of IMPROV WHICH I WAS SO STUPID EXCITED TO READ ABOUT BECAUSE OF HAVING JUST SIGNED-UP FOR CLASS AT UPRIGHT CITIZEN'S BRIGADE!!!!!!!!!! (...PS, I just signed-up for my first class at UCB. I start in 12 days. I'm peeing my pants.) She began at Second City in Chicago in 1992 (the same training ground for Amy Poehler, Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert, Steve Carrell, Chris Farley...no one remotely impressive...) and ate it whole. She talks about how much she loved and still loves the feeling of being a part of an ensemble (Me too!!), loves this crazy artform where there is no choice but to say "Yes" to absolutely everything (What a great day!), this artform that has positively no predictability (Exciting! Terrifying! I WILL TAKE IT!!!) and I'm speed-reading through this whole chunk feeling more giddy and excited than I have for pretty much anything in...I mean, just a really long time.
I suddenly began to feel like things were possible. That I had things to offer that were possible, things that someone could maybe potentially want, and that I'd maybe be cool with either way. It was crazy. And refreshing, and...and...
I could go on to you about how the chapter about her dad reminded me precisely of my badass stepdad and just how much I loved that, how reading about her former job at the front desk of the Evanston YMCA reminded me of my stint at the elitist nursing home in my hometown, our mirrored horrendous attempts at getting a boy's attention, (our) puzzlement and wonder over (our) former both skinny and "little bit fat" selves, the fact that she and her husband still drive home like normal people to see their families for the holidays (in crazy rural-ass Pennsylvania...somewhere...)...how altogether completely normal she sounded, and how totally inspiring all of that was to me.
I finished the thing and thought about it, and realized that up until now, I hadn't really had anyone in the forefront-ish of this industry that I could look up to. Really. I mean, Kate Winslet yes but, let's face it, I will never be British or that perfectly buxom, and I'm sure both Leonardo DiCaprio and James Cameron would never want anything to do with me, so that will only ever take me so far. I long for a career like Judy Greer's, like Parker Posey's, like Carol Kane's 25-30 years ago, but as far as someone to hope to be, I hadn't really found one. I couldn't find a good enough example, a good enough model of a person off of whom I could intend to construct and live my life.
I may never be a head writer of SNL, or the creator and star of a gem like 30 Rock. I may never find my way to Second City, I may never get to be so influential on a presidential campaign, I may never own such a fly white denim power-suit, I may never win the Mark Twain Prize for Humor; but I can do whatever the hell I can do, and if I can do it as brilliantly, fearlessly, intelligently, humbly and unapologetically as Tina Fey...I don't think I could think of many greater achievements.
And I won't fucking care who likes it.
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