By Mark Aldrich
A note from the publisher: Click here to vote for Meghan Jenkins to appear on a future cover of Maxim magazine! She made it through the first and second rounds of voting with your help; please vote each day. And now a column from Mark:
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I am a very private person, plus I am pretty committed to a co-dependent life with the entire human population it sometimes seems, so I probably waste more psychic energy and time in an effort to give other people their privacy than I spend on the care and maintenance of my own. Especially in those moments when it seems that people around me are oblivious to their horrible and immediate need to simply keep things to themselves. Or to warn me of an imminent over-share.
I could blame cell phones, blame Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, think some thoughts about the effect of self-help groups and therapy on the culture at large, but after I think about and then discard each of these deep considerations, I draw your attention to this conclusions: I do not care about your details, unless you are my dearest, most intimate friend(s). No: sometimes not even in that case. Even here, there may be things I do not really need to know. The details.
Continue reading “Too Much Information”
By Tess Hudecova
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Continue reading “‘She is always there …’”
By Mark Aldrich
Years of haircuts experienced on the hair-bearing side taught me the wrong lesson: that I could do it for/to myself and save money.
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Among the many things that are better left to professionals—piloting a jet, performing almost any surgery, copy editing—cutting hair always should be included. I did not know this until the day I learned it.
Cutting hair looks so easy. The professionals talk to you and even chat amongst themselves while they do it, for crying out loud. (Some will even use the word “amongst” while they talk: “Your dark hairs are here, amongst the gray ones.”) How do they do that? If you interrupt me while I merrily type away here, I will pretty much stop typing and begin to glare at you until you decide to ask someone else whatever it is you came to ask me. And how do you know where I live anyway?
One of my barbers back in the early 2000s was a World War II Navy vet who loved to tell stories from his war years while he was wielding his scissors around my scalp. (He was of the old school: No clippers for his customers. “Why give them a cut that they can give themselves?” he would ask-declare. Little did he know how well I knew that lesson. See below.)
Continue reading “Nice Haircut”
He knew people. Had connections. A Brushes-With-Hollywood™ Tale by Mark Aldrich.
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There is a big difference between living a life story about which people say, “That ought to be a movie,” and possessing a life story about which those same people will pay real money to buy the book or sit in a theater to view that movie.
Many people are the stars in a movie that is only being made in their minds (an imaginary camera always accompanies me at the coffee shop), and many people have at least one real-life incident about which the go-to analogy is, “It was just like a movie.” Movies confer reality in our collective consciousness.
Some people get to make those movies, and there is where the relationship between movies and real life sometimes shake hands. If you landed the job of producer or casting director or even stagehand or intern on the crew of a Big Hollywood Anything, every nephew and brother-in-law that you may or may not have ever met might set about to audition via annoying moments for their rightful place beside you on the sound stage.
Continue reading “A Hollywood Beginning”