There was a cute little item
in the Times this morning describing the action behind the scenes at the Golden Globes. Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks had produced a TV movie that won an award, and they were goofing around in front of the press backstage. The article says, “Mr. Spielberg said that since he felt he worked for Mr. Hanks on the project, he would let him field all questions. Mocking surprise, Mr. Hanks ordered Mr. Spielberg to fetch him a cup of coffee. ‘Black, no sugar,’ he said.”
I snickered at this, and Jack asked me what was so funny. I read him that part of the story but he just said, “Ah, those filthy rich cut-ups.” Jack has a way of deflating these harmless little moments, but his sarcasm makes a point — why do I sometimes feel so cozy about these people? Do I not have a life, or what? My tiny mind is woefully understimulated and so I can forgive myself for getting my chuckles where I can find them — but is that everybody else’s excuse for being interested in celebrities?
Well, it’s always been this way, I guess — the glamorous classes will always be a fascination for the watchers among us who only stand and wait; the doers are off hiking and donating blood and using their brains to change the world. Although I must admit that parenthood verges on heroic those mornings when He Who Must Be Diapered graces us with an unusually robust Hershey’s Kiss. Despite some of my comments that may lead people to believe that I am a dissatisfied with my lot, let me stress that I am extremely honored to be a mother. The Nut is a beautiful, good-natured little man and we are lucky to have had him land in our house.
Got a pair of red Puma Californias today! On sale!