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Good evening, Tuesday. I went for a Lasik evaluation today so still feeling a bit wonky from the dilation of the baby greens. Needless to say, I'm thankful to be back in a city where doctors are top notch- I may be going through with shooting some lasers in my eyes to get rid of the need to wear glasses all the damn time. Wish me luck...
In other news, I fell back in love with the Upper East Side today, though that subway line explosion (they are building a new line on Second Avenue so as not to be a slave to the 6 train) today took place smack dab in front of my old apartment building at 72nd and 2nd. Crazy. Explosions aside, the UES is so comforting to me somehow- it's a neighborhood where everything you need is close by, Anne Slater types and dowagers are as rampant as hipsters in Bushwick, and they know how to give a good pedicure in good old 10021. And speaking of wacky old ladies, I was sad to read about the death of Phyllis Diller yesterday, whose birthday was the same as mine, July 17th. Phyllis was a real trailblazer- I'm not sure that many female comics were quite as self deprecating as she was, her heyday existing in a time way before Tina Fey or the poop humor of "Bridesmaids". G-d bless her for paving the way for such silliness.
I recall reading Simon Doonan's wonderful book entitled "Wacky Chicks" some time ago, in defense of such babes, and related in a very big way to the wackadoos among us. I'm one, I know this. It's only going to get wackier as I get older, the prints louder, the lipstick more smeared, the jokes more offensive and inappropriate. I love being a wacky woman, and adore the whole lot of you out there that feel more in tune with say, a Bea Arthur than a Princess Grace. Or perhaps if you are old enough to remember The Brady Brunch, perhaps Aunt Jenny was someone you looked up to, as a fellow middle child or a wacky chick sympathizer. My very own grandmother (my mom's mom) was a wacky chick herself- and every inch the fabulous one with a nightly fixation on Johnny Carson, Gin and Tonics aka "medicine", and long Kent cigarettes. Oh and a fondness for zebra prints, naturally. You simply can't be a wacky chick and not rock an animal print, or something equally as loud. It's just the way it is.
And books like the now cultish "Advanced Style" celebrate these grand old dames who just go for it, and that in itself is a big achievement. Not all of us can look like Grace Kelly, so best to be who we are and connect more to the Iris Apfel in us all (you know she's in there). And perhaps your appreciation of eccentric olden types is not quite there yet if you're a wee babe in the woods, that's ok, there's hope. Ms. Diller did not start her standup career until she was 37, after years of being a bit of a bourgeois housewife somehwere in Brentwood, married to a man she called "Fang". (That's funny as hell right there, ps). She embraced her less than movie star looks, talked much about her botched attempts in the kitchen, and had a throaty laugh that was infectious and maniacal at the same time. So maybe you're still trying to be young and cool somewhere, but don't worry- your wackiness will catch on soon enough, when you realize being a kook is a-ok and way more fun at cocktail parties than being a terrible bore.
So today, I wanted to give a shout out the wacky chicks, with Phyllis leading the charge.Her memorable one liners delivered like explosive bursts of funny like "Think of me as a sex symbol for men who just don't give a damn," or "I once wore a peekaboo blouse. People would peek and then they'd boo." Awesome. Much love to all the whackies out there, of which I saw quite a few on the Upper East Side today- rich whackadoodles are the best. I saw one today, for instance, in a nail salon, weighing all of 8 pounds in de rigeur leopard print complete with enormous link belt (low slung) and enormous sunglasses request "ballet" as her nail color, said in a somber and throaty sunken Mayflower of a voice (for those of you mani/pedi types, she meant "Ballet Slippers", a classic color whose full title was simply too much to say after not having eaten for 50 years). I just loved that moment- and it's those type of chicks that make the world a bit more fun. So if you're afraid to be a little wild, don't be. The world will love you for it, just as they did Ms. Diller.
Let it shine, ladies, cause that's what's up this glad to be a bit of a cuckoo kind of Tuesday in the best city to do so- all the love, kiddies. All the love. Oh, and if you're still unsure about what constitutes a wacky chick, here is a brilliant summary from Amazon's write up on Mr. Doonan's book "Most of us know a wacky chick. She's a true nonconformist, a woman who dares to be different. On any ordinary day she might be found performing a citizen's arrest, running a concession stand at a swingers' convention, or wearing a tiara on top of a cowboy hat. Even when conservatively dressed, wacky chicks give themselves away with their fire and exuberance: their outrageous personalities make them as easy to spot as a flamingo prancing among pigeons". Are you or aren't you, darlings? XO