Laurie Sandell's Blog, page 350

Headed to LA for Golden Globes parties

[image error]Welp, even though my financial advisor told me not to take any last-minute trips (or was it my astrologer?) I couldn't resist leaving behind all this ice, slush and snow for LA's sunnier climes, when I scored an invitation to InStyle's Golden Globes after-party this Sunday. I booked a ticket with miles, borrowed a fancy dress from my sister, lined up a few places to stay and will head out tomorrow. I went last year, too, and it was a blast (here's a picture from that night, sampling a chocolate-covered strawberry in the Godiva room.) I will be reporting from the red carpet–or, like last year, from the bathroom.

Oh, and if any thieves are thinking about breaking into my place while I'm gone, don't bother. My friend Christa and her new husband, Jarhead author Anthony Swofford, will be staying at my place and watching Violet. Trust me–you don't want to f!*k with Tony. LA, here I come!

Celebratory cocktails for The Kids Are All Right

[image error]Last night I tagged along with my friend Sarah to a very star-studded dinner in honor of The Kids Are All Right and its many Golden Globe nominations. Annette Bening, Warren Beatty, Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Bob Balaban, James Lipton (!) and Parkey Posey were just some of the stars who came out to celebrate the film. I got to meet Oliver Platt, who was my celebrity crush until I found out he was married with three kids, and to toast screenwriter Stu Blumberg, whom I first met 15 years ago, when my best friend was dating his best friend and the four of us got really drunk on gin gimlets and broke into an impromptu swing dancing session in Stu's East Village apartment. Some other stuff happened, none of which I remember, but he's always been happy to see me over the years, so it couldn't have been that bad. Right? I also got to meet Lee Daniels and Nora Ephron and her husband, Nicholas Pileggi, who wrote Goodfellas. And had my second conversation with Hal Hartley in as many weeks. Of course, now that I'm back into cartooning mode, I'm seeing each of these conversations as mini-comics. If only I had time to actually draw them.

A Winter's Tale

[image error]During last week's snowstorm, as I waded through hip-deep snow, trying to get down my brownstone steps, my next door neighbor happened to stop by with a shovel. "Is your car parked nearby?" he asked. "Want me to dig it out?" I gave him an emphatic "Yes" and handed him $25 in cash. We walked around the corner and I pointed out my car, where it was half-buried in the snow. "No problem," he said. "Give me a few hours; I still have a bunch of stoops to do."

Later that day, I took Violet out for a walk. He'd dug the car out, alright–the one in front of mine, that is. For one New Yorker, a Christmas miracle. For another, just another argument for winters in LA.

The only kind of New Year's Eve I ever want to have

[image error]Good morning 2011. Last night was so fun. Amanda Stern hosted a small dinner party at her house, and I couldn't have enjoyed myself more, for a number of reasons:

[image error]1. Amanda lives four blocks away from me. There were no hellishly sluggish subways or drunk crowds to navigate. When I was ready to go home I simply said my goodbyes and left.

2. She served a FEAST: Roast chicken, saffron rice, two different kinds of salad, cous cous with raisons and veggies, roasted vegetables, pecan pie, brownies. (I contributed Butternut squash soup.)

3. She managed to assemble the perfect group of people (for me, anyway): My good friends Derek and Kristin, who are the parents of the ridiculously cute New Year's baby pictured below, the writer Colson Whitehead, who is a doll, the filmmaker Hal Hartley, whose work I've been a fan of for years and turns out to be so sweet and laid-back, Amanda's new(ish) boyfriend, Luke, who who gets a huge stamp of approval from me, Luke's scarily precocious 10-year-old daughter, Frances, and Amanda's scarily precocious niece, Lily (also the daughter of my yoga teacher, Eddie), and a delightful assortment of other cool peeps.

4. We did a few of my favorite things: Ate, threw confetti, played "Mafia," and ate some more.

Now it's time to get up and face 2011. I feel much more equipped, now, after that wonderful night. Happy New Year, everyone![image error][image error][image error]

Fun at Housing Works!

[image error]The marathon reading of Dickens's A Christmas Carol went off without a hitch, thanks to the smooth sheparding of its author, Housing Works board member (and friend) Alison Brower. They set up on the microphone on the balcony, so it was a bit nerve-wracking, reading to the crowds below, but I thoroughly enjoyed playing "The Ghost of Christmas Past," and I think I did a pretty good job, having watched about 15 different interpretations of it on YouTube (thank you, Jane Krakowski!) After I finished my segment, I hung out with Amanda Stern and Jonathan Ames (pictured right, with Hannah Tinti.) At one point, this very young reporter came up to the three of us and asked if she could do a quick interview for a blog–one for a very prestigious magazine, I might add, but I don't want to get her in trouble so I'm not going to name it. Her question was, "Um, do you have any quotes?" which is kind of hilarious. We racked our brains for disembodied quotes, and finally Jonathan said, "Well, there were a lot of Jews reading today." Then he started riffing, "We're Jew-ooge…Ebanezer Jooge." Amanda chimed in, "Do you have any Celexa?" I don't think the reporter had any idea of what they were talking about, but she very dutifully and earnestly started taking notes, and finally I said, "Do you want to know our names?" She said, "Oh, uh huh, yes, OK." So I gave her our names (she already knew Jonathan's) and we went our separate ways. Watch: she'll have stolen all my magazine assignments in two years' time.

Tomorrow: What the Dickens? A Christmas Carol Marathon

[image error]I will be part of a very cool event tomorrow at Housing Works Bookstore on Crosby Street: a several-hours-long, marathon reading of Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol. Here's the info. And here's a list of participants. Come check it out!

Max Blagg


Sam Lipsyte


Farai Chideya


Lisa Dierbeck


Scott Adsit


Jonathan Ames


Amanda Stern


Colum McCann


Laurie Sandell


SaidSayrafiezadeh


Hannah Tinti


Alexander Chee


Jill Hennessy





Kathryn Harrison


Joshua Cohen


Ted Lee


Honor Moore


Zachary German


Heidi Julavits


Patrick McGrath


Teddy Wayne


Karen Essex


Mary Gaitskill


Mike Albo


Justin Taylor


Julie Klam


Kurt Andersen


Thomas Beller


Francine Prose


David Goodwillie

Men like this are single and on the loose in NYC

[image error]If you are NOT a single woman and you do NOT live in New York City please stop reading this blog post immediately, as it does not apply to you.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap….are we alone? Good. OK, so, I think I just went on a date with the douchiest guy in New York. And you know how sometimes you just need some commiseration from a good girlfriend? Someone who can say, sister, I've been there, too? That's what I'm needing right about now. Let me begin by saying that a good friend set me up with him. And I am always, always appreciative of the friends who bother to set me up. She didn't know this guy well; she just knew that he was successful and driven and thought it might be nice for me to date a go-getter such as myself. So if she happens to read this (please, please, don't read this, close girlfriend who I want to keep as a close girlfriend,) I want to make clear that the M.R. (Man Rage) this guy has triggered in me has nothing to do with you.

Anyway. I probably should have bailed on the date before we ever went out, because the first time we talked on the phone, I found him to be combative and arrogant and didn't get a good feeling at all. He asked me how my week was looking, and I said I was free Wednesday night. He said, "Oh, I have plans that night." I said, "How about tomorrow night?" He said, "I'm having tapas with a guy I've rescheduled three times." I said, "OK, then, Sunday?" He said, "Nope, sorry, can't do it then." I said, "Why don't you tell me what works for you?" He said, "How about brunch on Saturday?" I said, "Actually, evenings are better for me." He said, "Why?" I said, "Because I tend to work during the day." He said, "On the weekend?" I said, "I work every day–I'm a writer." He said, "That's ridiculous, you should take a day off. So, Saturday brunch?" I was already exhausted at this point, so I gave in.

He suggested Elmo, in Chelsea. It's a loud, bustling, trendy–and very gay–restaurant. When I walked up to him he was sitting at the bar, typing on his Blackberry. At the sight of me, he jumped into the air, completely startled, as if I'd walked up to him pointing a gun at his chest. I think he may have been joking, but it immediately threw me off-balance. We sat down at the table and the waiter came over to us. Then he did that thing that I hate where he asked the waiter his name and started using it in conversation: "Mark, I'll have a Virgin Mary. And Mark, I think Laurie wants a decaf coffee."

He asked me where I grew up. I said, "Stockton, California until I was eight. It's kind of a white trash town…" He cut me off and said, "Oh. You may not know this, but you probably shouldn't say that." I said, "White trash?" And he said, "Yes, the phrase is kind of offensive–it's reverse racism." He proceeded to elucidate the origin of the phrase. (A phrase which, I have learned, is offensive and reverse-racist so I apologize to all the white people I have offended over the years.) At this point, I started to think, oh, OK–he has Aspberger's Syndrome. Because even if you thought that, you wouldn't say it in the first 10 minutes of a  date. He also kept abruptly changing the subject and asking out-of-context questions, like, "Do you think your parents are in love?" In hindsight, I wish I'd refused to answer, or gotten up and left, but I felt compelled to get through it, because a mutual friend had set us up…and because I'm a woman, and this is something that women do. So I said something like, "Well, they did kiss each other hello and goodbye, but didn't have the type of relationship where my mom would be cooking and my dad would come up behind her and put his hands on her hip and kiss her on the neck. It wasn't romantic like that." And he said, "Ohh, I get it–so your idea of a romantic relationship is dating a VAMPIRE."

He also kept interrupting to give me pop quizzes, like, "OK. I'm going to ask you something I've been asking a lot of people lately. You're involved in two lotteries. Lottery A and Lottery B. In Lottery A, you have 3 tickets and 7 different people have 1 ticket each. In Lottery B, you have 3 tickets and one person has 7 tickets. Which lottery would you prefer to be in?" I would say, "Um…Lottery A, I guess." Him: "Why?" Me: "Well, what does it say about you if you pick–" Him: "It doesn't say anything, it's an instinct game." Me: "Well, I guess because I'd rather have more tickets than a bunch of people, than fewer tickets than one person." Him: "Interesting. Interesting. OK, there are two jars. One has 90 white marbles and 10 black marbles. The other has 9 white marbles and 1 black marble…" I should have said, "I would pick the heavier jar and smash it over your head." But I didn't. I picked the jar with fewer marbles and explained my position. Because I am a girl and sometimes girls do that. The next night my friend Joanna invited me over for dinner and naturally we spent the first 15 minutes cracking up as I told her my horror story, and guess what? A friend of hers set her up with the exact same doucheba–I mean, guy, five years ago and he also took her to brunch in Chelsea!

Then I went home and got down on the floor and curled up with my dog in her dog bed and lay with my head on her side, listening to her breathe in and out. I let up when her breathing got labored–she's only 12 pounds–but not before I said, into her fur, "Violet–never again. It's spinsterhood for us." No, I'm kidding. Do you honestly think I would allow this guy to ruin my faith in love? I need to find someone to marry just so I can tell him this story!

A Conversation with Nathan Englander and Zadie Smith

[image error]On Thursday, I went to a benefit hosted by Matawi, an organization started by my friend Rachel Silver (one of those people who actually makes a difference in the world…you know the type?) Her aim is to send young Somali women to college and she is succeeding: A large group of people converged on The School of Visual Arts to hear Nathan and Zadie talk about writing, books, authors, dreams, characters, procrastination and success. It was fascinating. Both are brilliant and quick and Nathan is so down-to-earth and funny (he joked that he was wearing a "tankini" the first time he met Zadie, on the Isle of Capri.) A group of inner city high school kids was in attendance, and one asked Zadie what she needed to do to become a writer. I was interested to hear what she was going to say, because it's one of those professions that doesn't have a clear-cut point of entry. Her response was along the lines of, "Read lots of books, to find out which ones inspire you. Then get a pencil and paper and sit down and write. It doesn't require expensive gear or gadgets and it's something you can do for the rest of your life." She made it sound very doable and even though you and I know it's really a life of misery and torture and porn-watching and Debtor's Anonymous meetings, I appreciated hearing her simple words of inspiration. I think their talk will eventually go up online, so I'll post it here if it does.

At the National Book Awards After-Party

[image error][image error][image error]Two words: Patti Smith. Met her at the party. Has a cooler woman ever existed? I've been wanting to read her memoir, Just Kids, since it was profiled in New York mag earlier this year, but never got around to it. (Why? Because I've been on a chick lit kick, but that's a story for another time.) Anyway, Amanda Stern, impresario of The Happy Ending Music & Reading Series, took me as her date, and even though she is now my mortal enemy for waiting over a week to send me these photos, I am going to plug her next show at Joe's Pub, because, as far as I'm concerned, it's the best possible way to spend a night out in New York. Here we are, mugging in front of the step and repeat with Beowulf Sheehan, a photographer who shoots writers.

Sad news

[image error]I just heard the news that my old boss, Paul Calello, the CEO of the investment bank at Credit Suisse Group, passed away yesterday after a yearlong battle with non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He was 49, and leaves behind a wife, Jane DeBevois, and four teenagers—a daughter and triplet boys. I was Paul's executive assistant for three years, from 1998 – 2001, and he was one of the best people—and bosses—I've ever known. Considering he worked in a business famous for its excesses, Paul lived in Brooklyn,spent modestly and would even fly coach. (Understand we're talking about the CEO of a major investment bank, here.) He was incredibly ethical, coached his kids' soccer teams, loved to fly fish and knew a lot about art. He had a sharp, observant sense of humor—at times, he literally had me gasping for air in his office as he shared his wry observations. I never once saw him turn away a phone call from his wife or kids. Above all, he was nice. His employees adored him. I certainly did.

The fact is, I never wanted to put on a suit and be a secretary in an investment bank, but I had to pay the rent, somehow. I figured I'd work at the job for a year while figuring out how to launch my writing career. The one and only reason I stayed for three is because I worked for a man I loved, who never raised his voice, gave praise for a job well done, and even allowed me to conduct magazine interviews from my desk, so long as they didn't interfere with my work. He liked to read my articles when they came out, so I would leave them for him on his chair. During my tenure there, I made a few mistakes—I once left him stranded at the airport in Tokyo because I forgot to order him a car—and his response was simply, "Don't worry about it; I'll take the train." His philosophy was, "Just own up to your mistakes and I'll do the same." He was a rare gem of a person and will be so missed.