So...
I've had a busy few weeks: a trip to Boston, good news about a couple of exams, planning for a couple more, etc. But it doesn't bother me that much - if you really were clicking this page incessantly with bated breath, I am truly sorry, but I get the sinking feeling that my mom is the only one who reads this blog. So, sorry Mom...can we get down to business now?
Anyway, Tina Fey is my "Dear Diary" crush (just as she claims the same thing about Jon Stewart). Indeed, she is, according to
New Yorker writer Michael Specter, "the sex symbol for every man who reads without moving his lips." That quote is one of the better lines in this
piece about Fey by Maureen Dowd in
Vanity Fair. I love Tina Fey, I've read a number of profiles about her--and this article has a lot to love about it--but I just cringed reading it a few times because of Maureen Dowd (sample: "[I]t was a dazzling Cinderella moment...She got her own slipper, writing and willing herself into the role, and the shoe wasn't glass. It was a silver Manolo Blanhik."). Apparently, she's the kind of writer who can't get out of the way of the writing: the prose will leap off the page...and kick you in the groin. It's like Maureen Dowd doing an impression of Tom Wolfe doing an
impression of...well, Tom Wolfe.
Wrap your head around that one. But read the article first.