“Oh, my God.” (He calls himself “the Joe Biden of husbands” because he’s prone to “drop the bomb” in interviews.)Fey is sitting across from Richmond in their comfy, vintage-y Upper West Side apartment, where a lavender exercise ball lolls next to the flat-screen TV, a pink tricycle is parked under a black grand piano, and golden award statuettes abound.
When I arrived, at p.m., Fey had already put her three-year-old daughter, Alice, to bed and was tapping away on a silver Mac laptop at the kitchen counter on a script for her slyly hilarious NBC comedy about an NBC comedy.
She’ll return to the script when I leave, near midnight. It’s undercut by the fact that she’s wedged into her daughter’s miniature red armchair, joking about squeezing her butt in and looking like Alice in Wonderland grown big in navy velour sweatpants and pink slippers. “When we were first dating,” he says, harking back to Chicago in 1994, “some of the guys at Second City said, ‘Hey, wouldn’t it be a hoot if we go over—”’“‘—over to the Doll House,”’ Fey finishes.
Liz Lemon, longs to do is go home and eat a big block of cheese—while Richmond and I drink vodka martinis he has made.“What are you gonna tell? “‘We’ll go to this strip club ’ I was like, ‘The fuck you will.”’Their conversation is woven with intimacy, the easy banter of a couple who knew each other long before fame hit.
She scathingly mocks women who bow to the cult of plastic surgeons, men who cannot admit to themselves that they are intimidated by powerful women, and anything and everything “retro.” Behind the catty banter and constant references to “The Stepford Wives” and “Sex and the City,” Dowd is posing a more serious sociological question: What is progress?
And have we achieved equality only to throw it all away?
If Harriet Miers represents the Dilemma of the 21st Century Woman, who better to weigh in on the dilemma than Miers’ most caustic critic, New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd? When Sexes Collide,” Dowd grapples with (and documents) the conflicting demands of work, romance, and family, all against the backdrop of a less-than-hospitable cultural climate.
As Dowd writes, “Feminism lasted for a nanosecond, but the backlash has lasted 40 years.” Dowd writes her second full-length book in much the same style as her columns—part musing, part science, part incisive analysis, with short sentences and her signature biting wit.
And despite filing divorce papers three years ago, it has yet to be finalized with Schwarzenegger, so technically Shriver is still a married woman.And like her twice-a-week column, “Are Men Necessary? She reveals her own anxiety through casual references to her own dating woes and the advice offered by her mother.The first section of the book is dedicated not to the discussion of whether men are “necessary,” but how women are taught to behave in order to land a man.She offers advice to men who “date down,” while taking perplexed jabs at women eager to “jump off the fast track and shimmy down the aisle.” Despite the pop-culture bent of the book, Dowd avoids the trap of writing in the tone of a half-baked Cosmopolitan column.She artfully weaves together facts, studies, and thoughts from friends and celebrities.