From Yale to Jail

A thirty something Ivy Leaguer keeps the public aware of her opinions on things topical and struggles with multiple demons: alcohol, the law and remaining effortlessly hip in a changing world.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Nobody does Yale better...

Book Review: Tired Tale of Neurotic Coed
Tue Mar 15,10:10 AM ET

Reviews - AP
By COLLEEN LONG, Associated Press Writer
College is supposed to be a time of freedom, a time to explore new things and learn how to think for yourself. This is precisely why "Chloe Does Yale," a novel by Yale graduate Natalie Krinsky, is so disappointing.
AP Photo

There is virtually nothing fresh about this tired tale of a neurotic coed sloshing through campus life. Instead, the novel reads as if Krinsky had watched every episode of "Sex and the City" and had simply tried to mimic her favorite characters. Of course, she also mimics herself.
Krinsky wrote a sex column while a student at Yale and her heroine, Chloe Carrington, is a sex columnist for the Yale Daily News. Chloe is also from New York and obsessed with couture and her looks. Her column is titled "Sex and the (Elm) City." She's sometimes confident but also extremely insecure, much like Carrie Bradshaw, a character made famous by author Candace Bushnell and portrayed on the HBO series by Sarah Jessica Parker.


Yet another book I could have written better. I was too busy at Yale writing theater and arts reviews to write a sex column. Although I am sure she has nothing on me! My first twenty two were Yale men. Oh, except for that one member of the British sailing team. No wonder I married a British Marine!

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Star Fucking

Sorry I haven't blogged in a few days. Who am I apologizing to? My breathless fans? I have been reading and studying French. Well, sort of..I am undisciplined. My first few classes, I wanted to impress my fellow students and teacher and feel superior so I thought out every frog syllable carefully before uttering it. That was mentally exhausting, so then I just started speaking French when asked a question in class, without thinking about it. When Alice the instructor would correct a verb conjugation here and there, I really didn't know what she was talking about because I was thinking about what I was saying not how I was saying it. I didn't specifically remember using the word she was talking about..even though I had used it only moments before...just the way my brain works. While I am pleased that I can speak French without thinking about it, I am not sure I am learning as much. In my spare time I will continue to study grammar so that hopefully my babbling will be well structured. On to the topic at hand...STAR FUCKING. I had the extreme displeasure of reading Rosie O'Donnell's blog this week. http://onceadored.blogspot.com/ She is too lazy to write actual sentences, just bad stream of consciousness "beat" poetry about Boy George and meanies calling her fat. The worst part of the blog though are the posts by those who have their noses up her twat. In stark contrast to R's minimalism, they write paragraphs and paragraphs, so starved are they for Rosie love and attention. Please please Rosie read my blog!!!! Rosie I am a lesbian too!!! Do you want a pen pal Rosie??? SO SO PATHETIC!!! And Rosie herself is so unstable, still on the meds after being depressed over Columbine( hmm, if I were Rosie I would be depressed about a few other things), she flips the switch all day, on and off, on the ability for others to post comments on her blog! I guess she turns it on again when she needs to hear how wonderful she is, stretched out to seven paragraphs...

Monday, March 07, 2005

I should shoot my stylist...

When recently in the hospital, I awoke to find a counselor by my bed. I told her I was too tired to talk and dismissed her with a sniff. Instead of walking away she asked if I had a place to live. I was wounded. I wanted to ask, would a vagrant have this dye job and cut? Admittedly, my coif was not well conditioned, but still...I should have thrown a Prada shoe at her but I mumbled "yes" and went back to sleep. Another thing that bugged me about the staff at this glorified jitter joint is that it considered my sojourn at Yale something I could fall back on, once, you know, I pulled it together. In the words of my psychiatrist, I had "let myself go." Gee, is that a clinical term? As far as I am concerned the attendance at Yale of a Mexican waiter's daughter is a symptom of grandiosity and pomposity. I wanted to go there because I was mentally ill. That I was gifted enough to go is an inconsequential detail. As an adolescent I was only slightly less delusional than the lady on my ward in the hospital who told me she was the queen of Denmark AND a nuclear physicist! Speaking of Denmark, I announced to my mother once that I was interested in mounting a one woman show of Hamlet, with myself as the star! Un peu de trop!~I guess it is kind of amusing that such an undertaking would be easier for most people than getting into Yale.