Then. Now. In BookLand.

 " My comic updates every day, because that is the expectation. I wouldn’t be able to not show up a few times a week at a regular job and still expect to get paid, and I don’t do the same on my site."

--Natalie Dee, crunchgear interview

I wish I could shoot the photo for the new book today -- at the exact same size 2 that would match the photo on the last book jacket in 1999 -- but at the moment, I have a very unfortunate haircut.

Today, I'm working on the Outline, and I'm trying to work faster than I'd like so the whole project can be wrapped up before the production guy who put together the last one retires.

Working faster now means something a lot different than it did in 1999. It took six years to put together that collection partly because I wrote a monthly column. I post everyday now, from either the netbook or blackberry, whereas that entire book was painstakingly typed out on a 486 and handed in on floppy disk, to beat... Y2K. The book did have a website (the kind you still cranked by hand) -- ably put together by A Guy named Bob, where you could read old columns and "buy the book" ... if you wanted to transcribe an address and mail in a check. I didn't have a blog (I'm sure some people did, but apparently I handed out columns door-to-door), and of course there was no facebook or twitter. According to the book, I did have a cellphone all the way back in the early 90s, and since I was (for once) an early adopter, it was the size of my Toyota. As was the fax machine (where we exchanged and transmitted information on real pieces of actual paper, if you can imagine).

I've changed houses (once), cars (once),  hair color (once), and boyfriends (don't ask), since that book.

I did have cable (I wasn't marooned on a desert island or anything), and I know that because there's a chapter about the one time I stayed home sick, had fever dreams, and insisted to everyone that HBO televises executions during the day. (I am pretty sure they still don't.)

Today I'm reviewing a decade's worth of old columns written in the intervening years between the last book and now, and seeing which, if any, make the cut. I'm finding that most don't. One I do remember somewhat fondly is about this Oscar de la Renta dress which is the only time I've ever ripped a dress out of the pages of Vogue and bought it.

Here's a little clip from May 20, 2001 (which indicates to me that at least in some ways, the more things change, the more it stays the same):

"I handed Hop Sing the 'emergency' gold card and dispatched him to the web. (And I can't TELL you how MUCH it pained me to do that - as the daughter of a woman who proudly views Crystal Light as an 'extravagance.')

The next Monday, I walked by his desk while he was on the phone with 'couture' at Neiman-Marcus, describing the Vogue clipping in front of him, just in time to hear him say, "That's not how it works, doll. I'm not buying tobacco here. You tell ME how much it costs, not the other way around."
   I never saw what the fuss was about designer clothing until this came into my life - and it's everything I love about art and architecture all rolled into one.
  I feel like a different person when I wear it. (I imagine I would also feel like a different person if I wore cowboy boots and a white-fringe jacket... but not in a good way.) I don't care if it takes duct tape and carpet tacks to get me into it (and keep me there), no sacrifice is too great.
  I wish it came with its own riding crop, because it makes me want to whip bad men and make them call me Miss Kitty.
The final challenge is the Guest List for the Party. Hop Sing is in a STATE that I don't want NewGuy to come. (After repeated questioning, it turns out that he really thought the two of them had 'a moment' at a party a few weeks back - when the guy reached out for my Kate Spade bag, a job usually delegated to Hop Sing himself. Yet, my faithful manservant handed it over, and apparently, he misconstrued that one moment as the 'Changing of the Guard.' He said he felt like he was 'passing the Torch.' He was 'handing over Martin Sheen's briefcase on the West Wing - the one with the Big Phone and all the secure numbers.') He's distraught that I'm not taking this relationship more seriously.
  Ultimately, I vetoed his appearance, reminding Hop Sing, "I just can't work and date at the same time. I need to keep my hands and mouth free." (May 2001)

Today, as I write the Outline, I am looking over the old book and figuring out what I will do differently and what I might do the same in the new book. A few things stand out:

• I probably shouldn't mention ringworm as it pertains to kids I don't know.
• I will definitely refrain from reprinting wedding toasts I have made.
• I should make a note to check in more often with my friend, Stan, because he is hilarious.
• I must never, ever replace a roof again. Even if a roof collapses around my ears, I must move.
• I can stop being defensive when people insist I'll change my mind about having kids. Game over. I win.
• I need to take more trips, because funny things (like food poisoning) always happen to me when I do.
• I should host more baby showers (for the same reason). 
• I should not muse aloud about the odds of which of my friends' marriages will make it and which ones won't (judging from the book, I'm only accurate about 70 percent of the time, and you know what, not one of them has thanked me when I turned out to be right).

Mostly, I am just wondering whatever happened to JenniCam? I had a whole chapter devoted to a conversation with my friend George about her, and the whole notion seems so quaint in the youtube era (to say nothing of jerkyourtube). At least George is still my friend.

[comic from the the crunchgear interview with Drew "toothpaste for dinner" and Natalie Dee . Toothpaste for Dinner (Ambien Walrus) here]

The Devil WOULD Wear Prada

I went shopping for holiday party wear this afternoon, and I wasn't happy about it.

The main reason I wasn't happy is that I already had the most perfect party dress imaginable -- a basic black backless sheath trimmed in mink. It's a Magic Dress. I inherited it from my friend Bex. It's Magic, because it fit  everyone who's a 2, 4, 6, 8, or 10. It fits if you're 5'2 like me, and it fits if you're 5'8 like Bex. I can't explain it.

Because of its magical properties, it got loaned out a lot, and the last person I loaned it to never gave it back. I finally mentioned it to her now that she's not pregnant anymore (did I mention it even worked as maternity-wear?!), and she said it wasn't in her closet because she'd given it back when it didn't fit. Well, no. That didn't happen. It fit everyone. Like I said, it was MAGIC. Probably, she just loaned it to someone else and never got it back. I can only hope they needed it more than I did.

I'm usually pretty sanguine about stuff that comes and goes like that, but I'm a little bitter about the loss of the Magic Dress (and don't get me started about the irreplaceable long Magic Suede Skirt, lost in a similar fashion). I find myself channeling my mother, "I guess I just can't have nice things!"

I'm partly bitter because these are girls who love to shop, and are very, very good it. (In fairness, they have generously shared their closets with me for years, so I have benefited wildly from their skills.) I, on the other hand, hate it. I would rather be beat with a stick.

It's not that I don't like fashion -- I do -- if it could just materialize. There is no thrill in the hunt for me. I'm not good at going out and foraging for it. So I mostly go with what people give me. I have a lovely Coach bag, for example -- a gift from someone who thought I really, really liked Coach -- but I don't. It's a little stuffy for my taste. I like Prada -- more contemporary. In his defense, he had seen me admire a colleague's Coach briefcase, and her Prada bag. He got the two mixed up. I don't carry a briefcase. If I did, Coach would be nice. But I carry the Coach everyday. It's a lot easier than finding something new. The only other bag I carry is the KateSpade my pal Elle gave me years ago when she came into town for moral support for my first big charity fundraiser  (in fact, she gave it to me while I was wearing the Magic Dress, and, well, now I'm just getting upset...)

I hate trying on clothes worst of all -- which I did all afternoon. I went in for this Shoshanna party dress. But they only had the size 6 in purple. It said Plum, but trust me, it was purple. Worse than that, there are no mirrors in the dressing rooms -- you have to come out and give everyone a three-way view. So not only did I look like Barney, there were witnesses.

I ended up getting a couple Marc Jacobs work dresses instead of the Shoshanna. Which is funny. Because I work in an office where I can -- and sometimes do -- wear pajamas. But they were so extravagantly marked down, it would make sense to get a new job just to have somewhere to wear them.

The holiday celebrations I'll attend will be 50/50 gay/straight. And God knows, straight men could care less about fashion -- they just want something they can rub up against. For that, I usually go with leather, fur, and silks. The more tactile the better. The gays just want a designer they can trust. So I went with some soft and shiny Nicole Miller. (The one I always horrify my gay-husband with by accidentally referring to as AnnaNicoleSmith.)