You think you do -— but you really don't know what a princess
is.
Yes, a princess is fussy, needs frequent manicures, likes
cute cocktail napkins, and never, ever takes the first seat she's offered in a
restaurant.
But a true princess is also the one who leads the charge
(usually metaphorically) when her kingdom is in peril. A princess takes care of her peeps. In style.
Let's say you have to spend a few days in the hospital or go
for one of those fun medical procedures where you need a companion. Sorry, but it
happens. In these cases, always, repeat always, choose a princess.
A princess will make sure that everyone is paying attention to
you (they better!) and will not be pushed around by anyone in authority. She's
a princess, man, no bureaucrat can possibly intimidate her. She's also good at
getting you a cab or a car to get you home in comfort. (She probably won't drive,
but will hold your hand.) She'll make sure that your meal is more or less
edible and that you get that extra juice you ordered. She'll get you a blanket
if you're cold or more pain meds if you need them.
She doesn't like to be inconvenienced, hungry, cold, or in
pain, and she'll figure out the easiest, least esthetically-challenged way to
make sure you aren't, either.
On the other hand, the absolute worst possible person to
help you out in situations like this is a true stoic. This grin-and-bear-it
type will simply, well, grin and bear it, because that's what this person does.
A little pain, a long wait, a meal from hell: would this person make a fuss? No
way. The princess? Way. All the way . .
.
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"For free, take; for buy, waste time."
So said Arthur Godfrey, a popular TV show personality back
in the 50s and the inspiration for the ego-maniacal "Lonesome" Rhodes (Andy
Griffith) in the classic film A Face in the Crowd. And while the wisdom of "The Old Redhead" is more than questionable (the man played the
ukulele, for starters), he really nailed this one.
In a controlled study (wouldn't you like to see, just
once, an uncontrolled study?), people were given a choice between two
products, one clearly superior to the other but more expensive by 25 cents. El Cheapo was 10 cents, Brand Better was 35 cents. Happy to part with
their hard-earned quarters, people sprang for Better.
But then . . . both products were reduced by 10 cents. Brand Better was cheaper than before, but El Cheapo was cheaper than cheap: it was FREE! Guess what happened. Yup. Just about everyone took the freebie — and I'm guessing you would too. We all take things we don't want,
don't need, and can't even think of anyone to give them to, just because they're
free.
Then there's a free ride: a glitch in my Metro Card last month caused the turnstiles on New York City busses to read ERROR and the drivers would just wave
me through. The card hadn't expired, and I had paid for it, so I wasn't trying
to travel for nothing. But hey, for free . . . I took. After a while, drivers started giving me dirty looks. Passengers, too. They thought I was one of those freeloaders who never seem to pay for anything. Uncomfortable with this kind of attention and starting to feel a little guilty around the edges, I got a new card and I'm back to being a law-abiding,
pay-for-the-bus kind of gal.
Champagne Tastes . . .
But all this reminded me of a time, way back, when
I fell in briefly with a group of semi-professional freeloaders. (I was young and needed the caviar.) I met one of
them at a party at the Russian Embassy, where the champagne was as free as the Crosstown bus.
And that wasn't all . . .
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Nobody doesn't like that song "The
Weight" by The Band. It's #41 on Rolling Stone's Greatest Songs of All
Time List, my Top Ten.
Of course, I have no idea
what it means.
But after a week stuck at home
with a rotten cold, and really sick of Oprah, Dr. Phil, and Judge Judy, I
decided to do something meaningful with my life: go online and uncover
the meaning of The Weight.
So here goes:
I pulled into Nazareth, I was feelin' about half past dead;
I just need some place where I can lay my head.
Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a
bed?"
He just grinned and shook my hand, and "No!", was
all he said.
Are you with me, so far? I always thought that Nazareth was
Biblical, but according to Wikipedia, it's a town in Pennsylvania.
Go figure. Anyway, it's clear that the traveler is tired and looking for a place to stay. "Half-past dead." How brilliant is that.
And then comes the famous chorus, where the plot thickens. . .
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I have this mountain of work piled up on my desk, but my
horoscope says:
"Sit back and watch the world go by today." Hmm. As an
Aquarius, I tend to take these things seriously. So what's a girl to do?
The horoscope adds that even though the sun is about to
leave my birth sign (oh no!), I should not try to "cram in as much extra work
as possible over the next 24 hours." Phew! I don't have to? What a relief!
The thing is that a) the
horoscope was from last week, but I like it so much I'm going to make it my NEW
OFFICIAL HOROSCOPE FOREVER: NOHOPE4EVR. And b) it's not
that I'm trying to cram in work, it's just that, duh, there's too damn much of it.
I don't work full time these days, yet my desk is in
worse shape than when I was running a business. How is that even possible?
Of course, back then I had people. When my desk was
a mess, I called in the troops and distributed things. They really loved me for
that. Some of the stuff would end up back on my desk, but if I waited long
enough, it was Too Late to do anything about it.
Still happens. Announcements of openings long past, the
special deals on plays with deadlines months ago, the chance to save 70% or
more at Lord & Taylor, February 18-20 only! Whoops.
But some things just won't go away. There are medical appointments to make, break, and
reschedule. My primary care doctor used to be my one and only: we went steady
for years. Of course, I two-timed him with the gynecologist . . .
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Every writer has a "bad story" story. This is mine.
Back in the day, I co-wrote, along with a friend as
misguided as I, an unsolicited script for a radio show. We called it The 13th Floor, and since we didn't know what we were doing, the title was probably the best thing about it.
We were young and we needed the money.
My friend Mary & I, who collaborated on this brilliant piece of
literature (NOT), both had small apartments in the same building. How small
were they, Johnny?
•They were so small that if you put them
together, they might form a good-sized broom closet.
•They were so small that you had to go outside to close the
door. That's an old joke, and no, I don't get it either. Just trust me, these
apartments weren't spacious.
Anyway, we wrote this play for a new show that was trying to
bring back radio drama. It didn't work: the show or the play. But miracle of
miracles, the producer actually bought our script for the incredible sum of
$200 ($100 clams each!) for all rights. All right!
When we heard the news, we whooped and hollered and rolled
around on the floor, although you couldn't do all that much rolling on a rug
that was more like a bath mat. Still, we were as happy as too unpublished
writers who were about to be published could possibly be.
And then (dramatic organ music here) tragedy struck .
. .
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