Laurie Sandell

First box o’ paperbacks has arrived

Color me thrilled; I no longer have to lug around insanely heavy hardcover versions of The Impostor’s Daughter. The paperback is almost here! It comes out on July 12, 2010. I know most people visiting this blog have probably already read it. But may I humbly suggest purchasing this light, reasonably priced, “spellbinding and sophisticated” (Elle Magazine’s words, not mine) memoir for one of your friends? My understanding is that they specifically requested a gift copy, but were too embarrassed to ask.

Hilarious web series: VeryMaryKate.com

I don’t know how I stumbled across this little show, but the woman who created it, Elaine Carroll, is a genius. She’s made 19 of these episodes so far, and I’ve watched every single one of them. Here’s one of my favorites: Very Mary Kate: Moving Day.

Continuing my weekend domination of VH-1

Yesterday I appeared, ever so briefly, on a Behind the Music about Christina Aguilera. In fact, my appearance is so brief I will spare you the trouble of watching the entire two-hour special, and instead direct you to my speed-of-light nano-appearance which can be found here, at  3:03. Enjoy!

Who’s that girl behind Brandy?

Hilarious. The original story here.

Good morning, Nashville

This won’t be news to anyone who knows me, but I have an incurable case of wanderlust. Few things make me happier than stepping off of a plane into a different city, regarding an unfamiliar skyline and checking into some random hotel. Today I’m in Nashville to do an interview on the outskirts of town. I’ve been here twice before, but never did much aside from work. Tonight I’m determined to change all that and hear some live music. That is, if I can stay awake after my 6:30 AM flight! I am dressed for the occasion in a little black dress and cowboy boots. I waffled a bit on the boots–didn’t want to be a walking cliché–then decided this particular cliché was too cute to pass up.

A Memorial Day bike ride

Alexandra is on her way back to LA, but I have to give her props for showing me a side of New York I forgot existed. You know how it is: You live here, the weekend rolls around and you’ll find yourself saying things like, “Ugh, there’s nowhere to go..should we just hit Olea again?” Then a wide-eyed, happy friend comes to town, and suddenly New York transforms into this enormously romantic, culture-rich mecca with no end of activities to try. One of those activities was a bike ride around Central Park, which taught me that yoga does nothing for one’s butt. Live and learn.

I see naked people

Finally checked out the retrospective on Marina Abramovic’s work at MOMA, entitled, “The Artist Is Present.” This show has gotten tons of press, namely because, as the title implies, the artist herself is part of the installation. She’s sitting in a wooden chair on the main floor of the gallery, facing another wooden chair, which museum-goers are invited to sit in. They start lining up at 6:00 AM, but there’s no guarantee they will get to face the artist since people are allowed to sit there for as long as they like. If you want to see something amazing, check out this Flickr stream of photos; the museum made a record of every person that sat in the chair.

The woman’s endurance is insane; she’s been sitting in that chair for 9.5 hours a day for the past three months, and doesn’t eat, drink or go to the bathroom. Alexandra and I watched three different people take the chair (the first sat for more than an hour), and Marina had different reactions to each: Sometimes she gazed with intensity, other times she seemed to relax into the chair, once she cried. As for the rest of the exhibit, one piece featured a young, nude Asian woman mounted on a wall ten feet above the ground, a bicycle seat between her legs and a tiny platform underneath each foot. She would rotate her arms slowly above her head, then bring them down by her sides. A white spotlight was shining right into her eyes, but she never flinched. There was also a doorway which featured two nude performers facing one another–when I was there, it was two men–and you had to squeeze between them to get to the rest of the installation. I’d read that one of the performers had said he wished people would pause between them, look into his eyes and really take in the experience, so I thought I’d do that, but when I got to the front of the line, I just squeezed through, brushed his hand by mistake (I think it was his hand), met his eyes when he turned his head, flashed him a clipped smile and kept walking. Alexandra, on the other hand, paused, gave the guy a wide smile, and really took her time squeezing between them. It was kind of slutty, to be honest.

The Whitney Biennial at 1:00 A.M.

This year’s Whitney Biennial is open 24-hours-a-day for the last three days of the show, so my friend Alexandra–who is in from LA and staying with me for three nights–and I heroically attended the exhibit in the wee hours of the morning, after a candlelit dinner at Café Cluny. We figured we’d either be the only people there, or we’d be there with dozens of drunk, 22-year-old hipsters. The show was packed! And though the crowd skewed young, there were all kinds of New Yorkers in attendance. We were mesmerized by a video installation by Kate Gilmore, which depicted the artist punching and kicking her way out of a sheet rock column, wearing a polka dot dress and heels. The piece “explored themes of displacement, struggle, and female identity”…or it was just really cool. Overall, it was an impressive show; I only said “I could do that” two or three times.

A reading and spring love

When I read at Barnes & Noble last year, this wisecracking, hilarious elderly woman came up to me and introduced herself. “I’m Norma,” she said. “I do a one-woman show called The Angina Monologues.” Since then, she’s hooked me up with gigs around the city for the 80 and over set; today, I read at the Council Senior Center on the Upper West Side. Norma was there in the back row, saucy as always: “How are you?” I asked. “Never ask an old woman how she is!” she said. “You’re not going to like the answer.” Then she asked if I was still doing celebrity interviews, adding, “I don’t know the difference between Brad Shit and Courteney Cox.” The crowd was bright and lively and my story went over well. On the way home, I encountered this couple on the subway; they were way too adorable not to photograph (surreptitiously, with my iPhone.) Love them!

Once again, a reason to live on Monday nights

Last night the new season of The Bachelorette premiered, and I was front and center with my Chinese food, dog, close friend Amanda, and my naked heart. Why oh why do I love this insipid and silly gem of a reality show so? I once interviewed its creator, Mike Fleiss, but came no closer to solving this great riddle of my life. The script never changes: “Gentlemen? Ali? It’s the last rose of the night.” The votive-choked set is cheesy and in danger of burning to the ground. And the Bachelorette herself is cute but irritatingly devoid of self: “I gave up my job and apartment to find love…” (Why not take a leave of absence and find a sublettor?) Still, I continue to be entertained, dammit.