I think it's funny how the ad at the top of this site this morning was "What Really Attracts Guys." Oh, the irony. How about "What Really Repels Guys?" Yesterday it was, "How to Attract a Wealthy Guy." Yeah. Now it's "Put Your Face on Ice" and "Lip Fat Injections." Man, Google does a good job of targeted advertising.

The ad from this a.m., "What really attracts guys," brings me around the subject of modern women versus traditional women and parental role models. As I have said before, my parents are very modern. They share almost equally in the responsibilities of the marriage. They both work hard and play hard. And they don't keep secrets from each other like many of their friends do. Secrets mainly such as, "Oh, I was really bad at Neiman's today and I'm just going to intercept the bill before hubby sees it."

We don't play like that in my family. Anywho, I know that in most marriages in the Jewish community the women do play like that, or they're on an allowance or the husband goes over the bills with a fine-tooth comb. Well, where am I going with this? Oh, OK, even though we don't keep secrets like that in my fam, mom is the one who buys me pretty things. Dad stays out of the shopping picture with regards to me. Sometimes dad doesn't know to what extent mom spoils me, because she's spending her own money.

His curiosity factor usually goes something like this. I'll see him and be carrying a new Chanel bag or something. "Oh, that's pretty honey," he'll say, "Is it new."

"Yes, I got it in New York last time we were there, remember?" and then I'll catch mom's eye. For some reason he notices handbags but it takes him a while to notice jewelry.

Up until I saw the "Go girl" comment from last week, I was unaware that dad is a regular reader. So I got a little flack when I went home this weekend about the Botox, fashion stuff, jewelry, etc. etc. that I just didn't think daddy knew about. I was going to write more on this subject and how it all ties into my mom's traditional friend berating me this weekend b/c she thinks I am too upfront with men, how they don't need to know about my botox, my jewelry, my clothes, that I should be more subservient, less intimidating, but now I'm tired so here's the short version. Mom's good friend, whom I am very close to, ALWAYS tells me this stuff, and I love her to death but we do not see eye to eye on this subject. I know I need man advice, and perhaps I should even listen to it, but, let's face it, I'm not going to. I'm going to continue to be me.

My response this weekend, to mom's friend's comments that I should not blog about my Botox, jewelry, etc. was as usual, "A man can take me as I am or not take me at all."

And if there are no takers, then that's just dandy by me, cause at least I'm keeping it real.

Enquiring Minds...

OK, Anon, this one's for you. We all have some questions for you, so I figured instead of speculating with my friends and family and other bloggers, I'll just put 'em out here into the great cyberspace void.

1.) How old are you?

2.) Where in NY do you live?

3.) How did you find my blog?

4.) If we played Jewish Geography, would we come up with some common names?

5.) This one is from the moms and the yentas, what do you do?

Feel free to respond via the comments . . .

Wally Is Back

OK, first an update, dear readers. Tomorrow I will go into the details of my weekend and last week. I arrived home from Jax last night around 9:30 with a petrified Wally in tow. I smuggled him into and out of the building in his new Sherpa Tote Around Town bag (thanks for the rec, Mel).

He is a little skittish, but was playing with his toys last night and seems happy to be with me again. I have the bark collar on him today while I'm at work, because he tends to howl when I leave.

A hot topic of conversation among my parents' friends who read this blog was the anony-commenter who seems to have a slight crush on me, against his better judgement. My mom wants to know who he is and my mom's friends do as well.

I got to hang with Nancy P., my biggest fan amongst my parents set--it was great to see you too--and found out that indeed, my dad did leave the "Go girl," comment. Truly frightening. I also have some pre- and post- Botox pictures to share later when I upload this weekend's pics. Tomorrow I go back for some more in the forehead and Restylane around my frown lines.

Thanks to Lynn and Alan for being such great hosts in Palm Beach as always. And I do have some funny stories but I will wait until later for those. For now, I thought I'd amuse you with excerpts from my diary, circa 1985, when I was 9 years old. I don't remember exactly what I looked like at that age, but I'm pretty sure I was in a lovely awkward, fat phase. And in the throes of my first-ever true crush. This is verbatim, spelling and all:

April 23, 1985
Dear Diary,
Today wasn't too bad. Guess what? Bryan sat next to me at lunch. He talked to me without making fun of me. I guess I still like him. But I think he likes Jessica and Cecelia. I had piano today. I hate it! I'm not sure if I want to quit or not. Mabey Bryan does like me! Bye!

Same Day
We wrote limericks today in school, here's mine:
There once was a girl named Jane who knew she was a pain. She bumped her lip and cut her hip and from then on she used her brain.

Like it? I do. Bye!

April 24th or 25th [The dates seem to jump around a lot. I guess I wasn't as type-A at age 9.]
Today he was mean to me. I don't think I like him anymore. I hate my teacher. She's a pain in the rear end! Yesterday we got our report cards. I only got one C+ [probably in phys ed]. Want to hear my grades? B, B+, A, B, B+, A, B, B.

April 26
Dear Diary,
Someone died in our class. His name was Tarek John. He died of a blood vessel in his brain, it popped. He was Christi's boyfriend. He was nice to people. I am sad he died

Questions, Questions

There is one annoying, offensive, bothersome, anger-inducing question I am asked that seems to pop up repeatedly from all kinds of sources: Why is a cute/nice/smart/flattering adjective girl like you still single?

Why do people insist on asking this question of us singletons?

From now on, my answer is going to be, "Why not?"

It's always off-putting when someone slams you with this question in-person, for what are you supposed to say? That all the men you meet are creeps? That most of the good ones are taken and the ones who aren't are like you--single because they are not yet ready to settle down?

OK, so here are my answers, because I had my bimonthly phoner with my therapist last night and she asks me this damn question every time I talk to her. And I tell her the same things, over and over and over again.

1.) I refuse to settle.

2.) I have very a specific physical type to whom I am attracted: Dark hair, slightly Semitic looking, not short, decent body, full head of hair, handsome face.

That pretty much rules out a large part of the single, over-30, Jewish male population. And I'm not being a snob here and I'm not saying that I think I'm so good looking that I think I should be with a hottie or anything like that. What I'm saying is that I am simply not physically attracted to other types, and physical attraction is obviously an important factor in any relationship.

3.) I am actually quite chaste and do not sleep around. At all.

4.) I hate the process of dating. I would rather go to the dentist or dermatologist (esp. if Botox is involved;) than on a first date.

5.) I have been told that I can be slightly intimidating--with brains, good jewelry, designer clothing, a fabulous family, solid opinions, a good sense of humor and sophistication actually working against me.

6.) I don't cook, and I never will.

7.) I don't believe in the traditional male-female gender roles wherein the woman stays home and caters to the male's every need. That's not how it works in my family and any guy I fall for would have to be the type of guy who carries the burdens of a relationship equally, e.g. cooks, cleans, runs errands, tends to the kids, the dogs etc. as much as the woman. My dad is a case in point, and in my family, the roles were divided equally, period. My dad wants dinner? He cooks it himself. He wants his dry-cleaning picked up? He gets it himself. My mom works as hard as he does, so why should she have to go home after work and do more than he does? She shouldn't and she doesn't. Period. The end. This is a rarity in upper-middle-class Jewish culture, where many women do not work and instead go shopping all day and are completely dependent on their spouses. That's not how it works in my family and that's not what I want.

Sadly, I think most Jewish guys want a subservient woman, whether subconsciously or consciously. I am not her.

8.) I like my independence and a lot of the time, I like being alone with my thoughts. It would be nice to spend some quality time with a quality fellow a few nights a week, but I think that the other nights, I would just like my space.

9.) I am easily annoyed and like to be in control of my environment.

10.) I take up the entire bed and often talk in my sleep. Loudly.

11.) Guys suck. Girls are crazy. Stereotypes are true.

12.) I think I actually like being single, as much as I bitch and moan about the lack of decent men. Because the truth is that I think like a guy most of the time and have this "what if I could do better/the grass is always greener mentality."

13.) My parents are the perfect couple--looks, brains, success, kindness, love, respect the whole nine yards. And, as we all know, our parents are our primary role models in everything. And I don't think it's a coincidence that my younger brother, who is a perfect specimen of physical beauty and is also kind, cool and smart, is also still single. So until I find the perfect guy for me--perfect for me, not "perfect"--I shall be single, OK?

14.) And, oh yeah, I don't want kids. I'm not a baby person; I prefer dogs. Apparently this makes me some kind of freak of nature. I'd like to think it shows that I am self-actualized enough to recognize the fact that I would not be a good mother. If Roxy, my grandmother, had recognized this, she would have saved my mom and her sister a lot of grief. And a lot of money paying for hired help.

15.) I want someone smart, well-educated, funny and successful. At best, I think most guys I meet have three of the four. OK, so I only have three of the four at this point in my life too, so maybe that's part of the problem. Whatever. That's my bitch session for today.

New York Dreaming

I had a dream last night about a boy I worked with and had a brief, but fun tryst with for a while last year in NYC. Things ended poorly, for we both were using each other for our own reasons, none of which seem to matter anymore. Also, the saying "Don't shit where you eat," really is a wise one, because after things end, it's always bound to be awkward at best, humiliating at worst.

But given my past year of experiences with utter douchebags, drug addicts and, well, sociopaths, this particular fellow now seems rather sane and sweet. I watched The Break Up last night, which ends with Jen and Vince's characters having a pleasant random encounter on the street, despite the bitterness of their breakup. Time healing all wounds and all that.

My dream was very similar to this scenario, wherein I had an encounter with this boy and all was well. He looked cuter than ever, was kind, as was I, and I actually woke up smiling. It took me a couple of minutes to remember his role in my dream, but once I did, I suppose that what I thought was this: It actually is possible to meet someone nice, have some fun with them for a while, delight in one another's company while the relationship/affair/whatever lasts and then move on without bitterness or baggage.

I haven't thought about this boy in a very long time, but I do admit that in retrospect, I behaved badly toward him and am a little embarrassed by my actions. He entered my life at a particularly odd juncture—I was in the throes of my lawsuit and my anxiety was more than a little heightened. He also was around for the zenith of The Rodent Issue, and, let's face it, I was driven absolutely insane by that whole episode that summer. The Rodent Report

Anywho, today as I was editing my new book, rehashing the rodent stories and reading over my account of one crazy night we had at the Four Seasons, I remembered him fondly. And though we both, I think, treated each other at times with infantility, I wonder how he is doing and what he is up to. So if you're reading this, and I'm sure you'll know who you are, drop a line and let me know.

The Final Countdown

Eight days till the big Georgia-Florida football game and the even bigger annual Green party in honor of the Gators' victory.

Seven days till I am reunited with the love of my life, Wally, and my crazy-ass friends in Jacksonville, Crazy Fun Weekend.

Six days till I go to Palm Beach, one of my favorite locales and stay with Lynn and Alan, two of my favorite people. Haters and Lovers

Five days till I have at least 50 clean pages of my second book completed and edited.

Four days till the Botox fully kicks in. Already I have no more crow's feet and can barely scrunch my eyebrows together and that pleases me immensly. Alex Kuczynski be damned. My ass she's given up cosmetic dermatology. Her face doesn't move at all.

Which means 10 days until I can go back for more botulinum toxin in the hideous horizontal line that spans my forehead and get Restylane in my frown lines to boot.

And speaking of Wally, apparently, once he turned 11, his testosterone skyrocketed and he's been humping Stella and Tessie, of Tangled up in Tessie Lou Blue fame, like there is no tomorrow. Now I'm about to render him celibate again.

I got nothing else. I gotta go write.

Media Mongrels

One of the most loathsome qualities of the New York media is its obsession with schadenfreude. Members of the media, especially underlings or marginally successful people, take immense delight in the failures and foibles of their former coworkers or ex-compatriots.

I found this out firsthand when I wrote Dishalicious, but I knew what I was getting into and didn't much care, because here is the truth: Most members of the print media are pathetic, schlumpy, bitter, jealous, untalented, mildly-retarded, dullards. I'm not speaking of the Conde Nasties, the Hearsties, the AmEx kids or the like. I'm speaking mainly of the Gawkettes, Gawker the tabloiders, the local paper people, etc.

One of my main themes in Dishalicious is that it's not as glamorous on the inside as you may think. In fact, it's decidedly pedestrian. You will meet smarter people at the DMV than you will in the bullpens of Us Weekly or In Touch.

But of course there are a few standouts, people who despite the amoral atmosphere, maintain an air of dignity and sophistication that seem to be a part of their character. One of these people, in my humble opinion, is Jared Paul Stern, Night & Day, who is a legendary New York media figure. Of late, he has had his troubles and been cast outside of the circles he was very much on the inside of for most of his New York career. Gawker's biased coverage.

Apparently, there was some sort of alleged "payola" scandal that arose while he was writing for Page Six, which he was an integral part of for years. Recently, he sold his book about the annals of gossipland, see yesterday's Observer article on his book deal. I didn't follow this Ron Burkle scandal closely, namely, because I'd worked with Jared at Star, and found him to be quite sweet, humble and upstanding, three qualities in short supply in tabloidland. So I think, to say the least, that he's gotten a bum rap of late. And I wish him well on his book deal and all things to come. And Gawker, which just seems to be getting bitchier by the day, should just lay the hell off people every once in a while.

It is horrifying that his wife has to work in a factory, hello. How would you like to work in a factory instead of blogging from your studio walk-up, Gawker editor??? And one day, all you Page Sixers and Gawkers with your ink-stained hands, shoddy wardrobes and limited vocabularies will be on the receiving end of your snarkiness, and trust me, it ain't pretty.

Addictions

I seem to have an addictive personality and this blog has become an addiction, whether healthy or unhealthy, I don't know. Dr. L. says, regarding the whole "blog thingamajig," as she calls it, "I just don't understand the benefit of people purging their lives into the void of cyberspace. But, whatever."

I think the benefit is just that; it's a purging of the soul for those of us who do not have other outlets. Sure, all bloggers, esp. formally trained journalists such as myself, would love to have a book deal or a column. But we don't, so we do this. And, in fact, some famous authors/columnists/journalists do actually have columns and/or book deals and still blog, so there must be something to it.

Anywho, last night while "baby-sitting"--as predicted, the extent of my contribution was walking the dog--Daryl commented how funny it was how my parents know every detail of my life. And if you're a regular reader, you know that my parents, in fact, do know almost every detail of my life and I have a very open, close relationship with them, which I think is healthy. My parents are very cool, and, in fact, are very close with lots of my friends and I'm very close with lots of their friends. That's just how we roll.

OK, so Daryl says, "You know when you were younger you were just the opposite; you never told your parents anything and you'd always get mad when they asked you personal questions."

A fair point, but most teens/adolescents go through that phase. Then he started cracking up and said, "I remember once that you were so mean to your parents that they made you wear a sign to the movies that said, 'I Love and Respect My Parents.'"

"What? They SO did not do that Daryl! I do NOT remember that at all--how old was I?"

Daryl and Dana have known me since birth. "You were like 13."

"Uh, uh. No way. I'd remember that."

"I swear, Dana told me and I remember cracking up for a week. You must have repressed it."

"Sweetie, I've been in therapy for 10 years--I repress nothing."

"Well, maybe it was just a threat then..."

"It had to be a threat. I would remember. And there is NO WAY mom and dad would let me go out in public looking like that."

Dana gets home and Daryl says, "Do you remember when Stephanie told her parents to fuck off or something and they made her wear..."

Dana completes his thought, "A sign that read, 'I Love and Respect My Parents!!!"

We all started cracking up, but I still contended that it must have been a mere threat by the 'rents, for I would definitely remember a humiliating experience like that.

I e-mailed mom this a.m. for a clarification, and as usual, my memory reigns supreme, fuckwads:

Nancy says, "Now about Dana and Daryl’s memories...That is one of the most absurd things I have ever heard!!! Actually, it is crazy. You don’t for a moment think we would have done something like that??? Very weird. What even brought that up????"

A Question for You, Reader

I've noticed that a great deal of you are entering my page through this post: Southern Style Smackdown? Bring it on.

Can one of you explain how/why? I'm not that Internet savvy, so please solve this mystery for me by commenting.

My hand hurts from typing; 27 pages of the second novel in 4 days.

My brother has bought a one-way ticket to India on Kuwaiti Air.

Wally's World

A big, fat happy birthday to my beloved Wally, who is 11 years old today. This is his first birthday I haven't been with him. And traditionally I have fed him a special dinner that included meat. For his 5th birthday in NYC, I got him a burger from Wollensky's. Who says I'm not nurturing?

However, since he's at home with mom and dad, and mom's a vegetarian and dad subsists solely on Lean Cuisine frozen dinners and odd, homemade soup concoctions, I don't think Wally will be having a carnivorous birthday this year:( I have instructed mom to give him the "meatiest tasting" faux-meat product they have.

Poor booger. Only two more weeks till we are reunited. Maybe he won't recognize me due to the Botox;)

I bit the Botox bullet yesterday, finally. It was utterly painless and I have no bruising whatsoever. My friends think I am crazy, because they are most certainly behind the beauty times, but it's all about preventative maintenance, darlings. If your muscles are paralyzed, no new lines can form, hellooo. I will post before and after pictures once the effects are optimal. You start to see results in a few days, but they max out in two weeks.

There is minimal recovery time; for four hours you cannot lie down, put makeup on the area or exercise. You are supposed to smile and frown often to circulate the toxins or engage the muscles or something. So I was talking on the phone, driving home, smiling and frowning like a maniac. God knows what my fellow drivers thought...

Dog Days Are Here Again

Meet Wally; the only man I will ever truly love limitlessly. He shall be back in my bed after I go home for the big Florida-Georgia party Halloween weekend. The Nazi regime that is my condo board can go shove their poles up their asses until they hit something solid as far as I'm concerned. Thanks to dad, a hissy fit that scared the wits out of my decrepit landlord and a legal loophole, I am out of my condo Dec. 31 at the latest. Now, girls, I need some suggestions for a chic, designer doggy tote that looks like a handbag so I can smuggle him in and out of the building undetected by the omnipresent cameras. I welcome your comments, please.

Double Happiness

I caught the sublime French movie Le Fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain a few days ago for the second time. If you haven't seen this film, it's about a quirky young woman who, due to a childhood of solitude and isolation, has learned to find pleasure in the smallest of things. One of the funnest aspects of the subtitled film is that each character is introduced by the narrator in a voiceover listing his or her dislikes and likes:

"Amélie's mother, a school mistress from Grugeon, has always had shakey nerves.She dislikes puckered fingers in the bath, having her hands touched by strangers, and pillow marks on her cheek in the morning. Amandine Pouline likes figure skaters' coustumes on TV, polishing the parquet, emptying her handbag, cleanign it out, and putting everything back."

I don't know about you, but there are certain thematic elements in my life, and just before watching this movie, I'd had a discussion with Dr. L., who said, in more eloquent words, "Do what makes you happy; what fills you up and gives you pleasure. This is not so difficult."

So I had been thinking about what actually makes me happy, gives me genuine pleasure and fills me up spiritually. And then I watched this movie, which, in essence is about the same things. Amelie does what makes her happy and tries to do the same for the others in the movie. Really, it's harder than it sounds to just do what makes you happy, but anywho, here is my list, a la Amelie.

Dogs, dogs, and more dogs. All dogs--cute, ugly, mutts, but especially Wally.

The beach.

Art, both appreciating and doing it.

Fashion, clothes, jewelry and fashion magazines.

Being around my friends and family.

Traveling.

Reading.

Writing.

Partying like there is no tomorrow, because maybe there isn't.

Taxis.

New York.

Grooming and beauty products. Only girls can understand the pleasure of products, the brilliance of Sephora, the divinity that is a fabulous new moisturizer, mascara or lip gloss.

Laughter and a sarcastic since of humor, to wit: Larry David, Woody Allen, Seinfeld, Arrested Development, Entourage, Frasier, David Sedaris.

I can think of more, but I must go stretch. And I'm off to Chicago tonight in the pursuit of happiness in the form of friends, family, fabulous foods, art and architecture.

Day of Atonement

Yesterday was Yom Kippur, the "Day of Atonement," wherein Jews are supposed to repent for their sins and ask for forgiveness. I tried that last year; it didn't work. In fact, I'm pretty sure it backfired. Last year, I atoned for every single one of my sins, in writing no less, and the next 11 months proceeded to be even crappier. So fuck that.

Yesterday I went apartment hunting with my non-Jewish realtor. All of the sudden he looks at me and says in his adorable, gay, southern voice, "Wait a second, honey, aren't you supposed to be atoning for your sins?"

"I am," I cried. "I am atoning for the fact that I abandoned my dog for the wrong apartment, I'm begging forgiveness for doing so and I'm trying to rectify the situation!!"

What more could God ask for?

Hasta Lavista, Brickell

A big Allo to all my new Australian readers; I would love to visit your part of the world sometime soon.
Yesterday I gave my 30-day's notice to my landlord that I would be vacating the premises by midnight, Oct. 31. I'm coming home to collect Wally and moving to South Beach, where the young, Jewish and stylish roam free. My landlord has not responded to my phone calls, so I've gotten a real estate lawyer involved and consequently, am going to nail his old, decrepit, German ass to the poorly shod walls.

On another note, you simply must read what my "fan" Leandro has written about me. Particularly hilarious are the parts where she advises me to get a makeover so I can go from "pretty to beautiful" and the part where she tells me to get a subscriptiton to NetFlix. I wonder what kind of meds she is on? Freaking priceless. I love it. I am heading to Chicago on Friday and have a busy week of apartment hunting, so I don't know how much I will post. If you have any apartment leads on West Ave or Bay Dr., send them my way...
LeandroToro Juicy Gossip and Fun!
In her defense, I'm pretty sure she's Canadian. And in my defense, drugs are FUN.


Page 623 -- Bonnie Fuller, Stephanie Green, Dishing from Dishalicious
Filed Under: Bonnie Fuller

(source: www.cbc.ca)

PHENOMENALLY FOCUSED AND HARD-WORKING BONNIE FULLER, EDITORIAL DIRECTOR OF AMERICAN MEDIA, INC.

* * * * *



(source: www.dishalicious.blogspot.com)

STEPHANIE GREEN, FORMER RESEARCH ASSISTANT AT AMI, AUTHOR OF A FICTION NOVEL, DISHALICIOUS


Stephanie Green has replied to our posting about her on her website as follows:



Thursday, August 24, 2006

Wow, It's weird being written about by retards

Keep in mind that the book is fiction and I only stumbled upon this link through a function of my site tracker. This is pretty unbelievable dreck, but worth some shits and giggles. BTW, this "writer" takes offense at the fact that I use expletives in my writing. Um, OK, what can I say? I have the manners of a Miss Porter's graduate and the mouth of a sailor.




Our comments on her comments:

* * * * *

We stand by our position:

PROFESSIONALISM

We found Stephanic Green a compelling author based on the excerpt she published from her novel Dishalicious on her site. Wonderful!

Nonetheless, we still maintain that it is (temporary) career suicide for someone with two degrees in journalism to (a) attempt to publish a fictional book about a top editor; (b) publish material which has many four-letter words (perhaps it gives flavor to the story, what do we know); (c) publish what appears to be semi-autobiographical material that describes (mild but regular) illegal drug use by the author.

Is that professional? Is that the way to act to gain respect of peers? All the bloggers may love it, it's part of the "rough and tumble" of blogging (to paraphrase President Clinton talking about politics).

Ms. Green gives the impression she feels she is above glossy gossip tabloids. Nothing wrong with that.

But where is Ms. Green planning to work? If one were, say, seeking a position at Vogue, is this what one would present to Anna Wintour as part of a resume?

We take no offense with Ms. Green's comments -- we enjoyed her writing.

Moving on from that, as Ms. Green put her work (about a fictional life) on her site for viewing -- we are just commenting.

Do we work in the book/magazine/publishing industry? No. We're just guessing that this isn't the way to gain respect in the industry. (But again, what do we know,)

Do we ourselves have "bad manners" in commenting in this way? Perhaps.

Though Ms. Green emphasizes this is a work of fiction, the attraction of her work is that others simultaneously suggest it is thinly-veiled biographical material.

So we feel sad to see such an obviously intelligent and talented person commit (temporary) career suicide. (She's presently studying for a position in real estate.)

SELF-DEFEATING

What's the point of working to get a front-page-story by-line in Star magazine (OK it's all fiction) on a scoop re Brad and Angelina if one then does the above three things?

OUR ADVICE TO STEPHANIE:

Now we attempt to "make-up" for our possible bad manners, by giving possibly unwelcomed advice.

1. You are semi-famous. Look at the magazines and find the name of make-up artists. Throw yourself at the mercy of someone and beg him/her/them to re-do your look. You could go from pretty to beautiful (just as do many "stars" with the correct make-up person).

Then get a few photographers to take many photos of you and put the best ones on your website under "press kit" to provide potential interviewers and writers with access to good photographs of you.


2. Decide whether or not you really want to be famous, and how famous you want to be. You might want to do the following.

(a) Read Deborah Schoeneman's excellent book, "4% Famous." Do you want to get "so" famous your life will be investigated and you will be attacked? Or do you want to stay below the radar at 4% or less?

(b) Join Netflix (can't get a better bargain -- you can end up renting top movies for about $1 each) (and yes, we have its ads on our site). Then rent the movie "Spanglish" with Adam Sandler. Sandler plays a chef who wants to get a rating -- he doesn't want 4 stars -- that's the equivalent of "too famous." He wants, say, 3.4, so he's high, but not too high.

(c) Invest in Bonnie Fuller's "The Joys of Much Too Much" so you can keep going when getting famous is stressful.

(d) Read Paris Hilton interviews. See what how a super-famous individual handles the inevitable insults that come with being famous.

3. Think over your opinion of "super" agents, particularly, the idea that you need such.

The "right" agent could have gotten you a big "advance." What's that? An "advance"? Isn't that a loan against your future royalties? It would be great to get all that money up-front, but then how many years would you have to wait to sell enough books to cover that advance so you can start making more money?

And what about super-agent's percentage? What percentage of that advance and those future royalties would belong to super-agent?

And what percentage of the cover price is yours and what percentage of the cover price goes to the publisher?

4. Self-Publish

Dishalicious (in our opinion) is a great title -- ignore what everyone says -- keep it.

Bonnie Fuller is one of the hottest editors in the country. She's super-mom, super-achiever, super-advisor. She gets into what she's doing and gives it her best. That type of person is rare. People have gotten into game-playing power-struggles with her and left the scene in a rage. Everyone wants to read about Bonnie Fuller.

You have a gold mine in that book!

You are $30,000 in debt. Why? You fought a court case and WON.

You took those (temporary) career suicide risks. Now comes the time to reap the financial benefits, and keep doing so for a long, long time. You could write a second, a third, a fourth novel. Advice on how to succeed at Star magazine, etc., etc., etc.

Self-publish on Amazon. You'll begin making money immediately and keep making money. The percentage taken by Amazon can't come close to super-agent's percentage plua publisher's percentage..

We guess you'll be assigned a self-publishing specialist from www.Amazon.com who will advise you on the best price to choose, etc. and people who wish to read your book can simply go to Amazon.com, pay the price, and download and read it. You likely will not be required to invest any money "up-front" (our guess).

5. Publicize, publicize, publicize.

You've already shown you have a talent for getting publicity.

Supplement that with even more expertise. Look up on the Internet material on how to publicize your book, and keep working at publicizing it. Appear at bookstores. Go to book signings. Never mind if only a few people show up. Keep doing it. We do read from time to time of a best seller that was made by an author who believed in his/her book, that many best sellers have become best-sellers simply because the authors just kept working to publicize them. And your constant self-publicizing may also produce good job offers.

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Click here to go to the Dishalicious web site.

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(source: www.gawker.com)

BONNIE FULLER SPEAKING AT COLUMBIA'S GRADUATE SCHOOL OF JOURNALISM

The publication of the "fictitious" "tell-all" actually might help Star's sales.

What could be hurting the gossip glossies' sales is that people think it is "all "made-up."

Here is part of what was reported on Gawker.com when Bonnie Fuller spoke at Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism:


[Bonnie Fuller] claimed that her stories are legitimate and multi-sourced, and some of the "scoops" she gets, like the next day's Angelina cover, are obtained by sending out stringers to stalk celebrities, taking copious notes about their activities, and drawing conclusions from there.

For instance, when they reported on Jen and Brad's estrangement ("We were the first!"), it was a "scoop" because they were the only ones to stake out the two of them and write about how they were never together.

So they drew a conclusion from there. Brilliant.

So when the rest of the world was reporting their break-up, Star had already moved on to the Brad and Angelina affair.

...

...Bonnie told us what she does with famous people's assistants and friends and the like when they call and give them a big scoop. She polygraphs them.


Dishalicious' fictionalized portrayal of the fictional gossip glossy describes exactly that.

This can only make Star more believable and buyable (in our opinion)

Publicizing Dishalicious likely could increase interest in and therefore sales of Star magazine.

Click here to read the full Gawker article.

Click here to go the Star magazine website.

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Ah ... giving advice... isn't it fun?

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P.S. Fact-checking detail: Re Dishalicious' heroine's "hideous working-class Canadian accent" -- there's no such thing as a "working-class Canadian accent."


MY COMMENTS TO HER: (The girl just can't help herself)
OK, Leandro, I just stumbled across this post about me again. A few corrections: 1) I am not $30,000 "in debt" that was merely the cost of my legal counsel. 2.) It is my understanding that people who grow up in Canada of a certain lower income class, are branded with a particularly annoying accent like Ms. Fuller's. 3.) I have ABSOLUTELY no desire to be famous and I am not 'semi-famous.' 4. People who shop exclusively at Bergdorf Goodman, Barneys, Neiman Marcus and on Madison and Fifth Avenues are not the ones in need of makeovers. The ones in need of makeovers are the ones who've never heard of these locales. But thanks for reading. You certainly have some interesting opinions!