I'm feeling totally unmotivated today. I just want to lie around and watch Brady Bunch episodes and not have to use my brain. So, what's the best thing to read on a day when you don't want to have to use brain cells? A celebrity autobiography. They're light and fluffy and completely lacking in substance, and so much fun.
"In I'll Scream Later, Marlee takes readers on the frank and touching journey of her life, from the frightening loss of her hearing at eighteen months old to the highs and lows of Hollywood, her battles with addiction, and the unexpected challenges of being thrust into the spotlight as an emissary for the deaf community. She speaks candidly for the first time about the troubles of her youth, the passionate and tumultuous two-year relationship with Oscar winner William Hurt that dovetailed with a stint in rehab, and her subsequent romances with heartthrobs like Rob Lowe, Richard Dean Anderson, and David E. Kelley."
I know what you were probably thinking after reading the description of today's book, Another book about a celebrity with a drug problem? Didn't she just read one of those last week? Is this last week? Or maybe I'm the only one who asks myself questions like that. It's a habit I picked up after a several decades of being related to my Mother, a woman who really enjoys repeating conversations (sometimes word for word). She frequently attempts to have the exact same conversation with me two, three, even four days in a row, to which I respond, "Didn't we just have this conversation yesterday? Is this yesterday?" Every day I get up, I read a book, I write an entry, I make fun of the neighbors clothes for awhile, I have the same conversation with my Mother that I had the day before - it's like being stuck in that movie Groundhog Day.
I liked today's book a lot better than the last autobiography about celebrity addiction that I read, for several reasons: this book didn't drag out the chapters on addiction and then race through the rest of the book, there was no attempts to blame anyone else for the beginning of her drug problem, and I didn't have to work to fight off the image of Marcia Brady shooting up while reading this book. All in all, it was a good reading day, despite my lack of motivation.
Fun fact for the day: Sign language is different from country to country, and the way Americans sign the letter L is an obscene gesture in Nicaragua, a fact that Marlee learned the hard way. . . while visiting a school. . . that was filled with small children (although she was coy about what obscene gesture it was - I hate it when books leave out the really important facts).
And my final shallow thought of the day: Marlee is the only celebrity I can't think of off the top of my head whose children all have normal names. There are no children in her family named Apple of Banjo. I always notice, while reading biographies and autobiographies of celebrities from the 30's-60's that very few of them gave their kids odd names. When did this crazy name thing start? And more importantly, why did it start? It's like they're all having some sort of contest that the rest of us don't know about. I imagine them showing up at red carpet events saying, "I just named my child Banjo. Ha ha, top that." And then whoever they're speaking to will respond with, "Oh yeah, you may think you've won, but just you wait. My child is due in six months, and I can top Banjo. You'll rue the day you ever challenged me." Or it's entirely possible that conversations like that never take place and I just have too much time on my hands - time that could be put to a much better use than sitting around imaging what celebrities say to one another on the red carpet, a better use like. . . watching Brady Bunch.
