Book Review: "You Have No Idea" by Vanessa Williams and Helen Williams

YES. THAT Vanessa Williams. THE Vanessa Williams. The one who went to Syracuse and was the first black Miss America and who was on Broadway and who played the resplendent Wilhelmina Slater on Ugly Betty and who sang that song from Pocahontas that listen to in my car every day because my kid just won't shut up about it. VANESSA WILLIAMS.

(You can probably tell that I am VERY EXCITED that BlogHer Book Club gave me a chance to review her memoir, You Have No Idea, which Ms. Williams wrote with her mother. And here's a newsflash [and also the short version of this review]: Vanessa Williams is pretty awesome, and her mother doubly so.)

(Also, full disclosure: I love that "Colours of the Wind" song. Makes my cry every time. Yes, I'm a hippy-dippy tree hugger. Whatever. Don't you judge me.)

The main theme of You Have No Idea is resiliency. How do you bounce back from scandals, bad decisions, broken hearts, deep dark secrets, and somehow manage to come out on the other side better than ever? According to Vanessa and Helen, you do it by never forgetting where you come from and by always remembering what is really important. You stand with and behind the people who have always stood with and behind you. You learn from your mother, and you share your wisdom and experience with your daughter.

One of the things I like best about this memoir is that is told "in parallel" -- for example, when Vanessa talks about the Miss America scandal, it's not just her story; her mother also gets a chance to talk about how those events affected her, as well. You can tell in the language and expressions how much these two have rub off on each other. They're not entirely alike, but they're not entirely different, either (as you would expect from a mother and daughter who are very close).

Mostly, though, it's refreshing to read a book about a celebrity that isn't vapid, vacuous, or vicious. Partly this is because Helen is not "famous" except mostly by association (although her own accomplishments as a teacher are outstanding on their own), but I also think this is because both women are just so darned nice, smart, and funny. The tell their story in a way that is honest but also diplomatic; they recognize that it is possible to tell the truth without hurting others' feelings more than necessary.

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Disclaimer: This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club, but the opinions expressed are my own. Come on over and join the discussion!

High Art (Emphasis on the "High")

I have been having that Dream again, the one where I am standing near the stage of a high school auditorium in a pair of well-fitting jeans and bright yellow Chuck Taylor Converse All-Star low-tops and a black turtleneck with a long blue sweater-coat with what looks like deceased Muppets around the collar, and I have my hair up in a tousled yet sleek bun that manages to be messy without being bumpy, and my glasses are clear frosted rhinestone encrusted cat's-eye numbers and they look good, and I have between my fingers a long 20's-style cigarette holder and nobody is giving me any shit about smoking indoors, because I AM AN ARTISTE, dammit, and I am the director of the Best Goddamned Community Fucking Christmas Pageant Ever.

And yes, I know EXACTLY how many things are wrong with that paragraph, not the least of which is the fact that it is absolutely the run-on sentence from holy hell.

ANYWAY. One of these days I will tell you in great and embarrassing detail about TBGCFCPE, because in my head I have the whole thing planned out, but in the meantime, let me share with you someone else's Vision of Pure Entertainment Perfection:

via NPR's Monkey See Blog

I am struck, primarily, by the following:

(1) HOLY SHIT, THIS IS REAL. I mean, video of it exists on the Internet, so it HAS to be real, right?

(2) The backup dancers' outfits would make more sense if they included Solid-Gold-Dancer-style tinsel wigs instead of those ridiculous clown mops.

(3) I really, really love Florence Henderson's dress, in all seriousness, and if I could get it in my size, in a slightly more A-line cut, and with a shorter hem, I would totally wear that to the company Christmas party.

(4) You know you are a sad, irreparable dork when the woman who plays Alice, dressed as a duck, is way cooler than you are, Peter Brady.

(5) When I win the lottery and I buy my Pleasure Palace in Cabo, I am ABSOLUTELY going to make sure that I build my own personal nightclub, and it is going to look like this set.

(6) HOLY FUCKING SHIT, YOU GUYS, THIS IS FOR REAL.

(Sorry, but the Management of this Blog is unable to provide you with brain bleach after reading this post. Please consult your nearest mental health practitioner or drink Jaegermeister until you numb the pain.)

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

We went to our first baseball game of the year the other night. Spring is probably my favorite time of year for baseball -- well, May and early June, actually, when there is a better chance of nice weather (read: not freezing your nuts off), but I am not adverse to April baseball if it is at least 15° above freezing and not actively raining.

Fortunately it was a great night for a ball game (until the middle of the 6th inning, anyway), so we took our free tickets and headed to Citizens Bank Park. Some days I miss the Vet and the rats and the mutant pigeons and the ever-pleasant smell of a giant public urinal, not to mention the judge in the basement, but now that we have Shae I am glad the Phillies play somewhere nice. Somewhere clean. Somewhere with the world's greatest ballpark sandwiches.

Our seats were in Section 134, right along the third baseline. The view was fantastic -- here, let me show you:

And what we could see of the field was even better:

On the mound here is Jamie Moyer who is maybe the only guy on this entire team who is older than I am. Oh, wait, I lied -- Chris Coste is older than I am. (And hey, there is an infielder who I never heard of who has my exact birthday!)

Oh -- have I mentioned that I love our new camera? With the "old" camera we would never have gotten that much detail in the "wide" shot, although we would have gotten amazing pictures of the back of the head of the person sitting in front of me:

It was a good game. The Phils won, 11-4, and Shae got to see what I believe is her first major league home run, hit by Pedro Feliz, who I believe must be my new favorite Phillie or something, because I took about 300 pictures of him, like this:

I just don't know. Makes me look like a stalker, which I don't think I am. He does have a nice butt, though, if that counts for anything.

We did NOT get our picture taken with the Phanatic, which was a huge disappointment: Shae declared him "not nice." Hopefully she'll get over it.

Share The Love

Don't often get political here, but when I do, I want to do it well, and I don't think there is a better way to do it than by linking to this picture. The T-shirt says it all, I think, so no additional comment from me is necessary.

(Although I did really enjoy this comment from one of the posters: "Incandescent happiness - [you're] doing it right.")

"You Only Grow Old When You Are Alone"

Paul Newman died today of cancer. He was 83 years old, and still right sexy, even at the end. He did good things. He made great movies. He loved his life. He loved his wife of 50 years.


And I will miss him.
Obit.