Monday morning I flew home on a redeye. Monday night I went to The Meat Hook in Williamsburg to interview Julie Powell about her new memoir Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsession. I'm a little sad that the video we shot didn't come out, but hopefully in the future my flipcam will be in effect. Mostly I'm grateful I was able to do my job; 2 hours before I was sobbing hysterically with snot running out of my nose. Story for another time. Also good lesson: always find out exactly what will be happening in advance, take an author photo (especially when she's standing next to hunks of dead meat), and believe that everything will be okay. Sorry if it's obnoxious to link that way, but maybe that's a clue - I really want you to click through and read it since it's pretty much the only thing of substance I've done this stuffy-headed emotionally insane week!
Early reviews have shown as much squeamishness about the details of her affair as the gorier aspects of tearing apart hunks of meat. “My exploration of my sexual life felt like something I needed to write about,” she says. “It makes people uncomfortable. They get embarrassed for me, which I think is adorable, but if I get unhappy, that’s my problem; you don’t need to worry about me. I don’t like to be a big conspiracy theorist or feminist crazy person, but men have been writing about this for a long time. Maybe I don’t know what the f--- I’m getting into, but I wrote the book, I’m OK with it. You can criticize me all you like, but what you can’t do is say, ‘You’re a skanky, adulterous self-involved twit,’ because I wrote that already! It’s done; yes, that’s true.”