Now realize this is a memoir and it's called, "I remember nothing." I thought it would be ironic, that she HAD remembered alot, but no. If you like poor little rich girls whining, this is for you...sorry, I can't muster much sympathy for a girl who waltzes into a job at Newsweek, meets famous people and doesn't remember anyting about them and complains about only getting $40K as a surprise inheritance. To add insult to injury, then there's a chapter about her "flops", remember these are movies she has written and/or directed, and she's complaining about them? A chapter on emails would have been timely a dozen years ago. One thing I found surprising is in a list she has of things she will miss, she does NOT include watching movies, and reading is only included as "reading in bed." Take note of the page count, yup, only 135 pages. (copied review) Nora Ephron returns with her first book since the astounding success of I Feel Bad About My Neck, taking a cool, hard, hilarious look at the past, the present, and the future, bemoaning the vicissitudes of modern life, and recalling with her signature clarity and wisdom everything she hasn’t (yet) forgotten. Ephron writes about falling hard for a way of life (“Journalism: A Love Story”) and about breaking up even harder with the men in her life (“The D Word”); lists “Twenty-five Things People Have a Shocking Capacity to Be Surprised by Over and Over Again” (“There is no explaining the stock market but people try”; “You can never know the truth of anyone’s marriage, including your own”; “Cary Grant was Jewish”; “Men cheat”); reveals the alarming evolution, a decade after she wrote and directed You’ve Got Mail, of her relationship with her in-box (“The Six Stages of E-Mail”); and asks the age-old question, which came first, the chicken soup or the cold? All the while, she gives candid, edgy voice to everything women who have reached a certain age have been thinking . . . but rarely acknowledging.