Diary
Today is Roseanne Barr’s birthday. Courtesy of the Writer’s Almanac, here are some of her good lines. Because [Roseanne] and her husband were short on money, she took a job outside the house, as a cocktail waitress. She began trying out her jokes, largely about the incompetence of the male species, and the people frequenting her bar loved it. To men who did not wash dishes, she said, “What’s the matter—is Lemon Joy kryptonite to your species?” and about husbands who couldn’t find their own socks, she said, “They think the uterus is a tracking device.” A lot of her comedy came from her observations and experiences as a housewife and stay-at-home mom. “As a housewife, I feel that if the kids are still alive when my husband gets home from work, then hey, I’ve done my job.”“Experts say you should never hit your children in anger. When is a good time? When you’re feeling festive?”“Women complain about PMS, but I think of it as the only time of the month when I can be myself.”Good Comedy Lines by Roseanne Barr
Diary
This is one of the best columns Frank Rich (NY Times) has written in a long time. I am not sure, however, if he does not exaggerate the decline of the media’s critical abilities. At the turn of the 20th century, America’s journalist were clearly not anywhere close to the role model that Rich is painting for us. Maybe 30 years ago things were better but clearly not 100 years ago. FOR a country desperate for good news, the now-deflated “balloon boy” spectacle would seem to be the perfect tonic. As Wolf Blitzer of CNN summed up the nation’s unrestrained joy upon learning that the imperiled boy had never been in any peril whatsoever: “All of us are so excited that little Falcon is fine.” Then came even better news. After little Falcon revealed to Blitzer that his family “did this for the show,” we could all luxuriate in a warm bath of moral superiority. No matter what our own faults as parents, we could never top Richard Heene, who mercilessly exploited his child for fame and profit. Nor could we ever be as craven as the news media, especially cable television, which dumped a live broadcast of President Obama in New Orleans to track the supersized Jiffy Pop bag floating over Colorado.Frank Rich: In Defense of the ‘Balloon Boy’ Dad
Diary
considered one of the most beautiful ones ever written. I discovered this listening to the daily podcast of the Writer’s Alamac. Here are the written words: My dearest Girl, This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair. I cannot proceed with any degree of content. I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my Soul I can think of nothing else—The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you again[s]t the unpromising morning of my Life—My love has made me selfish.On this Day in 1819, 23-year-old John Keats wrote a love letter
Diary
Golden for my parent’s fiftieth anniversary In the old photographs, it is always autumn.Beautiful Poem by Sonia Gernes
Colors fade to the sepia of remembered thought:
my mother in a flapper dress, my father
proud beside the Model A. They glow
in the light of dreams that I can never know.
Diary
Maureen Down (NY Times) reports stunning data and speculates why the libration of women seems to have made them unhappier while men have become happier. Women are getting unhappier, I told my friend Carl.The Emmancipation Paradox: Women have become unhappier since 1972
“How can you tell?” he deadpanned. “It’s always been whine-whine-whine.”
Why are we sadder? I persisted.
“Because you care,” he replied with a mock sneer. “You have feelings.” Oh, that.
Diary
Just read a story in the New Yorker about the development of an all-electric car by the California startup company Tesla. Despite the difficulities of refuelling the car quickly, I would love to experience driving this all electric car. Here is Tad Friend’s report on his test drive: IT’S ELECTRIC!Electric Car Alert: I want to take the Tesla for a Spin
This week in the New Yorker, I write about Elon Musk and his company Tesla Motors, which last year began producing the Roadster, the only highway-capable electric car currently on the road. (Subscribers can access the full article.) In April, while I was reporting in Silicon Valley, where the company is based, I spent a few days test-driving the car, an experience both familiar and strange. Once you slide into the Roadster—which, for me, at six feet tall, required some forethought—you’re in a standard sports-car cockpit, one just large enough to fit two people and a loaf of bread. There is no video-game-style joystick or futuristic trackball; the car feels like a car. Only the lack of a glove compartment and the crappy, off-the-shelf JVC stereo-and-navigation system indicate that Tesla was hurrying to get the car out the door.
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