When I came upon an article written by an ex about his exes, my heart began to race.
Not of out nostalgic fondness, but from the horror of potentially being written about, without the opportunity to provide balancing quotes.**
It's a disconcerting thing, to read about one's self in a magazine (especially if the story is unexpected), or even, as I've just learned, to read about someone you know in an entirely different context.
What on earth am I talking about? The most recent Harper's Bazaar, of course, also known by me as its "downer" issue. (Cue Rachel Dratch):
From Drew Barrymore's downturned eyes and lips on the subscribers' cover through the interviewer's questions about her on-again-off-again mate Justin Long,
through Galt Niederhoffer's abbreviated story of splitting from her partner (who was once my smart and gentle student, ages ago, when I taught elsewhere) to the distressing attempt at painting Balthazar and Rosetta Getty's marriage in a forgive-and-forgetty manner,
this issue's editorial features were punctuated by sadness.
If I want to wallow in writerly gloom, I'll just pull out a PMLA.
**BTW, I was referenced, but obliquely. This both relieved the private me and annoyed the diva me.