Sunday, December 28, 2008

Happy Hannukah (Though It's Really No Big Deal)!

The American Scene:

From the Jewish side, "competing” with Christmas has artificially elevated the status of Hanukkah from arguably the least important of the minor festivals to one of the most preeminent, and has also transformed the holiday (the tradition of giving Hanukkah presents is an adaptation of a Christmas-season custom, to say nothing of such outrages as the Hanukkah bush, Hanukkah Harry descending the chimney, or green-and-red-striped bagels).

The Israeli Intellectual Situation

Sometimes I buy into the cliche of the suffering artist. I think that I want to be a writer because I'm a misanthrope, because so many things seem corny to me, because I get that aching feeling in my stomach from forced pleasantness, when I lie about anything, or whenever anyone feeds me a self-help mantra when I ask them a serious question about their life and goals.

But I find myself, now more than ever in Israel, thinking of the fight to create my own language as a fight between light and darkness, even life and death. It's not the result of some deep-seated sadness, or the result of a need for attention. The reason is actually almost always a moral one. As Jen Graves wrote in the last column in the Stranger:

There's something inherently, wonderfully amoral about art—it does nothing, really—but its stubborn independence is the same thing that makes it our only potential way out of this whole mess, the only moral thing we've got going.

In this country where religion has clouded the minds of many (though certainly not all), I've found a lot of hostility to independent (and artistic) thought and a lot of people resting on easy opinions. This could be because I am so far removed from any intellectual epicenters, because I'm not meeting writers, or whatever...but it scares me. I am hesitant to make any broad assumptions (even the one I just made makes my stomach ache a bit) on this blog because I am aware that the people I've met are not the people who are creating and critiquing culture, but rather Jews who have come here looking for their own spiritual and emotional piece of mind. Still- I find myself leaving interactions wanting so much more.

In Seattle, to be an intellectual is not a four letter word, it is actually a complement. Yes we suffer from some urban alienation, we're perpetually logged into our computers, and we buy into a lot of petty crapola, but we still venerate those who expose ourselves to ourselves in devestatingly accurate ways. We still are hungry for meaning, and aware that meaning comes in so many different forms. Some people may call this being "Politically-Correct," but I've come to see it as being open to the fact that we don't actually know anything about the world. And I happen to think it's a very moral way to live. So, thank you, uptight Seattleite- you've got more good going on than I give you credit for. Now if only we could do away with all the self-loathing.

The Jewish Intellectual Situation

This is a fabulous essay written by the editors of n+1 on the current proliferation of Jewish literary magazines, and their value and influence over what Jews are talking about and how we are trying to be seen right now. To paraphrase, Heeb is the juvenile and rebellious Jew trying to start a fight with anyone religious, Guilt and Pleasure has been unable to talk about anything of significance about the Jewish people or the current conflict and seems to be resting on the laurel that "while Jews may appear slouchy and neurotic, we're actually undeniably fabulous," Nextbook (while employing a great number of talented Jewish writers) is shackled by its mission to only write essays about Jewish thought (as if Jewish thought appeared in a vacuum where goys did not exist) and everything else is too provincial to warrant critique ("provincial" being the favored word of anyone trying to sound smart in a literary magazine).

The essay ends on an excellent note, and one I've felt since forever: that if, as a people oppressed, the Jews are not able to stand up for the oppressed everywhere, we have completely forgotten what it means to be a Jew. These endlessly self-referential magazines, with their self-revering tone, are too hypocritical and riddled with internal contradictions to survive very long.

No good can come of it, but maybe this: That our nationalism—racism, even—finally allowed unfettered expression on these American shores, will burn itself out as its contradictions become clearer. No one can look at Heeb, or the "Superjew" and "Yo Semite" T-shirts, without feeling ashamed—even if that magazine and those T-shirts are themselves products of that feeling of shame and are meant as a rebuke to it. The greatness of this people was also that it once believed its experience of oppression to be a universal one, and its fortunes tied to all those who are oppressed. There are many ways back to that belief, including through ethnic particularism, if one wants to find that way. Otherwise secular Jews deserve to become like people of Scottish descent: to wear yarmulkes twice a year like kilts, and toot shofars like bagpipes, calling no one back to righteousness.

Friday, December 26, 2008

Pet Peeve

People: can't you just say "I"?

Whatever douchebrain opinion you're about to share sounds even more douchebrained after the expression, "I, personally."

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

The Death of the Queer Resource Center

Back in September, I wrote a post about UW's depressing queer resource center.

I wrote:

It's not that I don't think there should be places where gays can go and talk about their problems, I just think the gay resource room could be, I dunno, a bit hipper? It felt so clinical there. There were all these posters about AIDS and HOMOPHOBIA and TRANS PHOBIA, where there could have been art or something else that didn't make me feel like I was in a social worker's office. If you want to create a relaxed vibe, don't make gay students feel like they should all be collectively outraged constantly by the invisible web of white male heterosexist patriarchy. The Queer Resource Room should look like "The Cock" in New York, or the late great "Pony" on Pine, staffed with indie arts fags. This is Seattle, not Albuquerque, can't we have a bit of playful fun with a gay resource room in the center of one of the gayer cities in the country? If you want activism, queer theory, Tony Kushner and all that to be hip again, start with your wall art.

Today, the Stranger predicted the death of the queer resource room in 2009. I can't say I disagree with them. Queer resource rooms have seen their day. With an internet connection, anyone can read about famous queer authors, find out about queer events in their city, and learn about how to protect themselves from STDs.

But I still think these places are important because face-to-face interaction is important to everyone, no matter how advanced they think their webcam is, no matter how good they are at using google.

And if I hadn't met teachers, school nurses and administrators face-to-face who told me they were passionate about fighting for gay rights, who had pink triangles and rainbow stickers on their doors, I doubt I would have felt comfortable enough to come out my senior year of high school and I would have been just another closeted college kid my freshman year.

I think we should try to make them hip. I think we need these places. I think they still serve a purpose.

If the gay community is totally over going to a gay center and reading gay literature, maybe it's because this isn't a really social thing. It's forced interaction, it's awkward, it's sitting down with someone who doesn't know a thing about you except the fact that you're gay (and thus OPPRESSED) and who, no matter what, is going to maybe sound a little bit patronizing towards you.

If these places are too clinical for today's gays, what about creating a space where gays can yell at each other, and laugh and talk about the future? What about a gay salon, like the shitstorm salon Brendan Kiley's obsessed with?

We could talk about how annoying it is that every single gay character on TV is a fucking hairstylist, why every mainstream gay movie seems to end with the lead gay guy dying, why queer activism is so passe on college campuses, how shitty and pointless the Human Rights Campaign is, the state of queer theatre, the state of drag theatre, arguments for and against posting a naked picture of yourself on Manhunt, which gay rights organizations deserve our money, how to help high schoolers coming out of the closet at shitty conservative schools and, of course, what should replace the (now dead) queer centers.

That's just a starter list. And there would be lots of booze, and paper so you could write down your thoughts (and pictures?) while other people are talking, and we'd stick the whole night somewhere painfully hip like, oh, Cafe Presse or the Hideout.

What do you think?

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The Western Wall

"Grab a yalmukah" someone scowls at me at the western wall and points towards a glass recepticle filled with cardboard. I must put the cardboard on my head so I can walk closer to the pile of dirty bricks Jewish people bow to day in and day out. The cardboard symbolizes my connection with the dude upstairs who never talks to me. I put it on my head and it flies off and hits the man next to me, who's mid-prayer. He doesn't say anything. I try to fetch it and as I walk, my shorts come slide slightly down my legs. The Western Wall can see my underwear.

I go up to the bricks with my cone dunce hat and stare at them. They're filled with dirty notes meant for God and not my eyes. Behind me, a filthy table is peeling, and there are worn bibles sitting atop it. The dude next to me is entranced by the book he's reading, and he's swaying his body back and forth and muttering to himself. So are the people next to him. Anywhere else, I'd call 911 but the Western Wall simply sits and accepts.

I wander behind the Ethiopian boys who are standing in a line with string hanging out from their sweatshirts. They're the black Jews here. You can find them mopping the floors in every restaurant in the country.

I find the only open chair and sit and watch the teeming, writhing masses with a man with dreadlocks and his male friend.

"Shit's crazy," I say.

They don't respond.

A bearded man is putting away his Talis (which is also supposed to remind people that there's a dude upstairs) and he sees me out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, are you on Birthright?" He asks me, pointing to the lanyard around my neck which proudly indicates that I am a dumb American tourist. He asks me where I'm from and I say "Seattle." "Ah," his eyes glitter. "Do you know the Levitans?" Jewish Geography; an international past time. "Why yes of course, I respond." It's true.

The man asks me more questions about my Jewishness with varying displays of interest and mental fatigue (he's been bowing a lot). I feel like the blonde rich sorority girl during rush. I am being courted. I am fresh meat, ready to convert.

Turns out the man has spent time in Seattle (in a rock band! that broke up!) and he came here and decided he couldn't leave. His bearded friend emerges from talking on his cell phone. He looks like a hairy bird.

"Before you leave, we have one thing we want to do," the hairy birdman says to me, grabbing my hand and linking hands with his friend and five other random strangers who instantly emerge from behind me, forming a circle.

"Mashiach! Mashiach! Mashiach! AYAYAYAYAYAYAYA! MASHIACH! MASHIACH! MASHIACH! AYAYAYAYAYAYA!" The men spin me around in a circle, and my pointy dunce cap goes flying into the wind like a rouge saucer. My flip flops get flung into the center of the circle. I'm being pulled into the air, part of the writhing masses.

"You've got to come back on Friday," a man says to me. Apparently, there's even more grabbing and flying and rogue dunce caps on Friday.

When we stop, I collect my belongings and leave the men who have just grabbed me, like they're strangers, like we've never met at all.

I keep the hat.


Can we just agree that everyone ever born is on this website and that it is okay. Soon, this is how straight people will meet eachother. Just one more example of the gays being ahead of their time.

Today in Undeniable Catchiness

More on why this song is so successful and how you, too, can create an unreliable narrator for your song by pop music god sasha frere-jones

I Love You, I've Missed You

God this is so great. I am so happy to be sitting in front of a computer and typing. This feels amazing. I travel across the world, do all of these touristy things that cost a bajillion dollars, and literally all I want to do is sit, here, in a room, alone, unbothered, and try to talk to you, dear anonymous person. Please continue to read.

Facebook Pictures of Israel

A girl I met on the trip in Israel just tagged me in 14 pictures. I just looked at them. I'm now supposed to either approve or disapprove of them. I'm not sure. I know we usually disapprove of pictures when we look ugly in them, but I think I want to disapprove of these pictures on moral grounds. They are not pictures of me. The Steven in these pictures looks really fucking pissed off. I look vacant and checked-out. They were taken during the week of the birthright trip, when we were going everywhere all the time, and I was constantly posing for different photographs with different people and it looks like I've forgotten where I am and even who I am in them. I'm just sort of there, hovering, like a cardboard cut-out, with a smile-sneer on my face. A sort of "ohfuckingdamnit okay I'll be in this picture" kind of face. It's a roll full of cardboard stevens. Do ignore.

By the Way...

The last post was about Tel Aviv, not Jerusalem (which I haven't experienced on my own yet) so I'm talking about a city that's supposedly the new york of Israel. Soon I'll be in the fucking holiest city of all- Jerusalem. I was there with birthright (the free sexfest israel trip any American jew can go on so long as they are able to prove they have jew parents) but I was being inundated with pro-Israeli propaganda constantly (more on that later) and couldn't blog, much less think.

Will I feel anything going to Jerusalem on my own? Will I start to "get" religion? Will the men bowing in front of a giant wall and mumbling to themselves look any less insane to me? Stay tuned.

Monday, December 22, 2008

The First Obligatory Israel Post

HAY! Wanna hear about Israel? No? I don't blame you. It's kind of an exhausted topic huh? Quite frankly, my brain tends to shut off when I even hear the word because I know I'm about to get an earfull of someones insufferably well-informed "opinion" on the "conflict." I've literally been to dinner parties and walked away from conversations about Israel. It's just Or something. But I'm here, actually in Israel, so I guess I'll try to think of something to say. God this is hard. I sort of feel like I'm firebombing the old city and simultaneously pissing on my ancestor's grave. I certainly can't think of anything nice to say.

All fellow Jews listen to this: Israel is the absolute worst possible place to feel like you're "getting away from it all." I know what your friends said and they're wrong. You're not getting away from anything here. If anything you're immersing yourself in all the weird cultural corners of "what it means to be a jew." You will be asked what you want to do when you grow up a thousand times. You will be pestered. You will be lectured to. You will see elements of your mother in women you meet. You will see elements of your father in men you meet. Do not expect to relax. Expect to argue. If you're from Seattle, consider yourself very ill-prepared. If you're a crier, don't expect a shoulder. Everyone was in the army and they cover their sadness with anger.

Israelis are loud. They're rude. They're provincial. They sort of sprawl out messily. They're unapologetically obsessed with money and status and they don't put a smile on their face when they're pissed off at the world. I like them and I hate them. I am them. I'm not them. One thing I've been grappling with is the idea that the Israelis live the way American jews would live if we weren't so bound by the unspoken social, sexual and moral codes of these aryan United States. But I no longer think this is true. They're a completely different people.

Okay okay, so it's not all bad. I do enjoy the national past time of commiseration. At any given moment, I can communicate my disgust with my current situation to any Israeli around me with a sad, wry smile and get a sad, wry smile in return. But is that zionism or whatever? I think not.

One other thing: I'm really sick of being gay here. Are you listening, GOD? Can you make it easier for me to have Gaydar please? It's fucking impossible to tell anything. Everyone's well-dressed, men have stereotypical lisps, everyone's got one "arm across the shoulder"of their "best friend" and yet they're all "straight" and offended by my "accusation."

I complain about it to everyone I meet, but I should really stop expecting commiseration. Everyone likes to believe it's not a big deal here (unless you're trying to make out with a Hasid) and if you have a grievance with life's more unsavory elements in general, step in line. There are a million people in front of you. As a gay man, you're standing behind the Palestinians. Do you really want to stand there? At least everyone knows someone they want to set you up with. You'll have to explain numerous times that gays don't uniformly fall in love with their own people. There are worse things. You know it's true.

Is it pretty here? Yeah. It is. It really is. I mean, for one it's sunny (don't hate me!) and there's this thing called "Jerusalem stone" everywhere which is this gorgeous brushed brick everyone uses to build things and when it's sunny outside buildings literally glow. But there's not as much innovative architecture in Tel Aviv as I expected (thanks for the lies, Wallpaper). Sure they've stolen a little Bauhaus architecture from London, and there's a bit of a UNESCO Paris feel to the apartments in Tel Aviv but talking about it seems more like exoticizing hideous old architecture than lauding anything innovative. And it's hard finding things to buy. Perhaps I've been visiting overly-touristy areas but if I have to see one more olive branch or shining city on the hill glazed on to a plate I'm going to punch a baby. They're not just in Jerusalem...played out Judaica is everywhere. What did I expect? I don't know. That will be the new theme of this blog: Steven's expectations routinely getting fucked up the ass. Steven blogging about how traveling is so hard. What a painful, terrible life I lead. Enjoy the schadenfreude.

Saturday, December 20, 2008


You know what's really annoying to me? Trying to think while on vacation. So you know what I will not be doing? Writing on this thing. For a few days.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

On Trying to Teach

This is from an email I sent to a teacher I worked with this past quarter:

Being able to communicate with you after class gave me a glimpse into the life of a university teacher and all the insecurities, stress and magic of it. To you, the class was a bunch of light bulbs in need of electricity, and you were constantly worried about whether or not you were providing enough voltage. To me, they were the students I wanted to escape from, the reason why my mother invested in an SAT tutor and a college counselor and the reason why I spent so much time applying to so many schools- so I wouldn't be stuck here, where everything felt just the same as it did in high school, where you could get away with writing all the short stories in your English class about growing up gay and the teacher would give you an A for effort (and because he was afraid of offending you and being labeled un-PC), where success was measured in how often you showed up to class and whether or not you paid attention, not in your ideas or analysis or criticism or intellectualism.

But, I suppose, I'm starting to further understand how to make the system work for me- must be in leadership roles (check) must communicate with professors (check) must not be snooty (B- for effort?).

There were a few moments that changed me. First came when I had to lead a short discussion section. I got up in front of the class and I had to say something about the film festival book, and how the festival circuit actually exploited good films, did nothing to further the art form, and was essentially a name-game networking event that scared indie filmmakers and delighted journalists ("so many brushes with stardom and rivalries and politics!"). I got up and, looking into the eyes of my fellow students, couldn't fathom a word that wouldn't make me sound like an intellectual snob. My entire prep, all of my thoughts, somehow revolved around what made this book a good piece of journalism, why it was news, what worked about his use of language.

I had to think of something to say that related to the curriculum (and fast! all the staring!) that didn't further alienate me from them. I believe I said something about how this book, unlike the last critique we had read (which sounded more like an angry blogger rant), was more of an accessible critique, perhaps because the journalist knew that his purpose was to educate the populace about an exceedingly complicated arena of art and commerce through whimsy and non-judgmental observation, and not to indoctrinate the reader with slatherings of opinions (something academic writers tend to do all the time).

None of which is relevant to your course! This anecdote I had revolved around writing, and there are so many writers who think about writing all the time but I guess what I realized was, like, who cared? I was a teacher at this moment, not the kid sitting in the back of English class. I had responsibilities. It was scary and I realized what a juggling act teaching must be, finding this way for your brain, with it's myriad of thoughts (some productive, some self-defeating) to work in harmony with the brains of everyone around you. To pace yourself so the thoughts will sink in everywhere. To look at the class but not in their eyes (never the eyes!) and try to gracefully tie just about everything to your syllabus (how do you do this?)

There were other moments. Lots of other moments. There was the moment I filmed the commercial, where I really felt like I was actually lending some sort of creative clearance to the endeavor, like I could leverage my loopy sense of creative entitlement toward the greater good ( and then it got deleted...) There was the moment I started atanarjuat and had to fast forward through parts of it and not come off like I was unsympathetic toward silence and absence in nonwhite narratives. There was the time I said the words "this hurt our aesthetics" or whatever. There was the weird look people gave me for being associated with the Stranger, that made me feel like they were practically expecting my whole routine to be very off the cuff, whereas yours was polished and refined. I got to revel in their juvenilia (is that a word? it should be a word), and be occasionally juvenile around them, but you got their professional ready-to-work smiles and "sure thing" glances. I'm not sure who should be jealous of whom.

All of which to say is...teaching is hard. I have no idea how you do it. You are some kind of wonder woman balancing all of these conflicting things (does fun make people learn? how do you create fun? what if they're having too much fun?) I mean, I honestly feel like I learned more than two credits worth of information, even though I probably only deserve two credits since I didn't really do a whole lot. For a whole quarter, I got to occupy the brain of a college professor, and was privy to all of her off-the-cuff thoughts and emotional reactions. For a journalist, that's called a gold mine. For a student, it's practically unheard-of. So, a genuine thanks. It was a fascinating, frustrating, endlessly insightful ride, and not something I will soon forget.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Cafe Presse's Smelly Cheese

I'm a total wuss with stinky cheese. The smell horrifies me, it makes me want to gag, I don't understand how people put the cheese close to their face, much less down their mouth.

I'm at cafe presse right now doing homework, and every time someone brings out a cheese platter (which is literally every other second here) it's like someone is sticking their belly button lint up my nostrils with force and saying "this is what you get for waiting until the night before your final to start studying!"

It's like eating out of a dumpster. I don't see the difference. It's like going and sitting in a dumpster and eating whatever curdled cottage cheese is sitting in there and then paying the dumpster for the time it spent letting the cottage cheese go bad.

Or it's like giving a blow job to your food.

Both make you gag. Seriously, people. How do you eat this? How is it not like eating your own throw up?

Oh, and don't bother googling "smelly cheese". All you'll get is this article about a boy who's ears ended up smelling like smelly cheese forever because he never washed back there.

"Lesson learned the hard way, cheddar."

Update! apparently the correct term is "stinky" cheese. Not smelly. And its fans are bountiful and loud. I stand by my proclamation. People: you disgust me.

Saturday, December 6, 2008


Apparently she was also accused of clogging her toilet by her manager. Either that or she found my blog entry on the same subject and said "ha ha ha ha ha ha I will steal that!" Either that or I'm a hack journalist and this is a common accusation.

Goodbye Seattle

on the eve of my departure for israel, i have a few notes on the media in seattle.

in journalism, it doesn't seem like the truth is enough to carry any piece. it's got to have drama. it's got to be sarcastic. it's got to be incredibly cynical. if it's a music article, it's got to have a bajillion analogies and go on forever. if it's a news piece, it has to rebble rouse a blue state demographic.

.....we could and should ask more from our media. they're not as engaged as they should be. they're kind of freaked out by the power we've given them, so they crack jokes about how incompetent they are, but they're actually incredibly smart. they're just operating under insane and weird pressures from a seemingly infinite sea of angry internet people hungry for things to get even angrier about. its a weird set of pressures, and im not sure if the resulting writing is as good as it could be. im not sure a collection of blogs is what the future of the media should look like. i do find it fragmented and alienating, and im sure i'm not the only one. it's not like i long for the days when the nightly newscast was the only thing people saw...but this...this obsessive need to increase one's social capitol, to invent a taste, a brand, a point of view wholly unique from the teeming masses, to be funny and provocative on a daily basis.... it's a bit of an unreasonable expectation to have for a journalist.

traditionally, journalists go out and report the news. now we're being asked for our opinions in order to stay in the game of simply reporting the news. we have to carve out an online identity when we don't actually know anything about the world. we have to fake it. we have to pretend we're the expert, and get tomatoes thrown at us from anonymous internet folk the entire time.

in front of the computer, all you gain is intellectual knowledge. it feels like learning, but it's just getting fed spin and trying to figure out where the truth lies under all the spin. it's exhausting. and what makes a good blog story is rarely the truth. it's more a heightened emotional reaction to something. you know you're attracted to the rants on blogs for a reason- it's because you're consuming someone else's reaction to an event. it's infinitely more interesting because you're literally looking at a news story through the eyes of someone you know and (perhaps) trust to cut through the bullshit. any impartial news story pales in comparison because it's just a news story. a blog entry has layers and layers of intellectual fodder.

first there's the event, then there's the impartial story about the event, then there's the commentary on the impartial story about the event, then there's the commentary on the commentary on the impartial story about the event. then there are the commentors who argue with the writer. then there are the commentors who argue with the commentors. then there's the dude who twitters the commentor comments, and then there's the person who responds to the twitter. there's an enormous amount of information to consume, most of it asinine, occasionally fascinating or illuminating.

a bit of a bright point- there is a sort of candidness with the reader that gawker has, and when you strip away all of their creative resentment, all the bickering about who is more deserved of our attention and all the bitchy things they say about people who aspire to do anything with their lives, i think it's actually a really great candidness. i think there's something to be said for remaining a complete outsider. maybe the ideal media would sound like n+1, or the believer or BUTT. something fearlessly intellectual or completely raw and confessional. not necessarily angry or critical, just honest. better for something to express a relentless introspection than to hide behind a smart ass writing style or a voice that condescends. it seems riskier because it is riskier. and risk is good.

i know i'll be called out as a hypocrite. yes, i work for the stranger. no, my stories aren't perfect. im not even trying to defend myself. i just like tearing things apart and trying to expose their mechanics. it feels cliche, but i want to figure out how best to proceed, morally. shouldn't that always be the imperative?

and with that, i leave for israel... gorgeous, politically stable israel where everyone is moral and acts with compassion towards everyone around them.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Vanity Fair: Tina Fey Used to be Fat

So we knew this right? And Maureen Dowd is obsessed with this.

Then she retreated backstage at S.N.L., wore a ski hat, and gained weight writing sharp, funny jokes and eating junk food. Then she lost 30 pounds, fixed her hair, put on a pair of hot-teacher glasses, and made her name throwing lightning-bolt zingers on “Weekend Update.”

It's all about Tina Fey's previous girth. It's literally the most annoying article I've ever read on someone I love.

"How did she go from ugly duckling to swan?" "Given her frumpy start in comedy", "Her makeover is the stuff of legend", “She doesn’t have the looks,” Mengers told him." "She was very mousy. I thought, Well, they gotta be having an affair." "I really wasn’t heavy in high school,” "I’m five four and a half, and I think I was maxing out at just short of 150 pounds, which isn’t so big." "I looked like a behemoth, a little bit. It was probably a bad sweater or something." "You’ve got to pop one more button on that blouse and you’ve got to get that hair done and you’ve got to go!" "they bonded over hot veal sandwiches and their appreciation of 'sarcastic humor'" "She wanted to be “PBS pretty”" "O.K., I’m starting Weight Watchers.” "Please, please make sure you’re eating.”’ "McKay recalls Fey telling a story about her heavier days" "you’ve got to get that hair done and you’ve got to go!"

Tina: us gays don't care about your looks. When I read an interview with you, I want zingers.