Yesterday morning, outside the lounge window, here in the Catskills:
The other night Sir Bruce Forsyth was a guest on the BBC’s One Show. He has been best known most recently as host of the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing. The U.S. version is Dancing With The Stars.
Within moments, it became clear why he was on the program. He has a book out about his life and career:
His life has been “lived” largely before an audience. He was a performer who grew into a celebrity. In comparison, I suspect most authors instinctively feel uncomfortable with celebrity.
Most being the most important word there. There are always exceptions. Some clearly do revel in being the center of attention:
My novelist uncle in Rhode Island was messaging me again yesterday. It wasn’t about writing or books, which I actually find useful. This time is was about the NFL’s New York Jets playing at London’s Wembley Stadium this weekend.
Are they? I had no idea. Regardless, he should be writing his next book (I’m still cleaning up mine)…. not messing around on Facebook. Eh, but nevermind, it got me thinking:
I remember Sky Sports, in the late 1990s/ early 2000s, showing the NFL from the U.S. on Sunday evenings to what must have been about “a few dozen” U.K. viewers – half of them probably Americans. (Five hours ahead here, watching the entire “4 o’clock game” E.T. was too late for anyone with a job.) The two anchors – one American, one British – hosted while sitting on what looked like reclaimed furniture. The set would not have been out of place on a U.S. TV cable local access show.
Check this out. I could have fallen over when I discovered this. I had to share it:
It’s a 1948 British hardcover copy – with a dust jacket! – of Raymond Chandler’s classic The Big Sleep, featuring Philip Marlowe, private eye. (Interesting bit of authoring history: Wiki says Chandler turned to writing detective fiction after losing his job at age 44 in 1932, during the Great Depression. I never knew that.) The 1946 film version had starred Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.
Well, it has been all over the place now. The Charlotte Proudman, human rights barrister, LinkedIn photo compliment-OR-sexism saga has shifted predictably from Twitter and “social media” and has headlined UK “mainstream media” in recent days. In the Independent, Ms. Proudman was given a column to defend herself for a privacy violation (in publishing a private message without the sender’s consent) and explain herself further:
She has received a great deal of support. Other reactions have been negative and critical:
While watching several West Wing episodes again recently, it struck me once more. Remember when President Bartlet’s daughter, Zoe, had the French boyfriend? Jean-Paul?
He resembled Rafael Nadal. He was obnoxious, filthy rich, snobbish, aristocratic, and did drugs. He was, frankly, a stereotypical upper-class French, early 20s, horror.
That led me to recall this: