Less Than Mysterious

So, JT Leroy is a construct, an actor, a half-sibling, so what? Readers of #1HS have known this since FOREVER. Though it can still be amusemoi to read the profiles and such. (I’m sorry, but I don’t really see the appealing personality here — I kind of just see st*rs getting starf*cked.) But then, I’m suspicious of anyone who gives such free reign for use of the words "lot lizard." And, what’s more, I resent Ms. Knoops’ non-comment: "I don’t need this in my life right now."  She’s had YEARS to rehearse a more graceful and entertaining reaction and that‘s what we get?

Wonder if Frey’s publisher will stick by him?

Can’t say as I really care about that either. Much. People actually believe the crap in memoirs? Seriously? Does it make it in any way less or more meaningful whether or not it really happened? Maybe it does to some, but a story’s a story in my book. Some of the greatest memoirs in history are full of lies and exaggerations. Do Americans have some sudden yearning for The Truth of which I’m not aware?

From the NYT this week, I much prefer this story about hiccups. You know, my mom had the hiccups once when she was a kid … FOR FIVE DAYS. And on the fifth day came Halloween, and my grandmother brought a bunch of trick-or-treaters in to see her without reminding her what day it was. And those brats in masks scared the hiccups right out of her.

Now, that’s a true story.