I, California
The Occasional History of a Child Actress/Tap Dancer/Record Store Clerk/Thai Waitress/Playboy Reject/Nightclub Booker/Daily Show Correspondent/Sex Columnist/Recurring Character/and Whatever Else
-
-
5.0 • 1 Rating
-
-
- £6.49
-
- £6.49
Publisher Description
Hilarious. Smart. Bitter. Sweet. Self-deprecating. Stacey Grenrock Woods. Experience with her the stirring joys of receiving a Peter Frampton poster for Hanukkah, sitting for a head-shot photo session as a child actress, waitressing Pan-Asian fusion cuisine, having musicians for boyfriends, humiliating people on The Daily Show, and waiting for prescription drugs. Oh, the waiting.
From the idyllic sprout-and-yogurt San Fernando seventies; to the idyllic painter's-cap-and-bandanna eighties; to the idyllic, heroin-clouded Viper Room nineties; to the idyllic Botox-infused present, Stacey Grenrock Woods has experienced a prototypically Southern California life on the margins of fame, which is roughly the equivalent of a prototypical American life, isn't it?
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Woods, a 30-something sex columnist for Esquire and former correspondent for The Daily Show, has always yearned to be a celebrity: "I've never known what it's like not to want to be famous." Her rambling autobiography starts with a California childhood filled with acting classes and ends with a minor role in the 1990s on 7th Heaven. En route, her stream-of-consciousness memoir is filled with descriptions of adolescent girlfriends and crushes on rock stars. Yet her brief flirtation with fame as a booker for Johnny Depp's Viper Room receives a scant six pages and results in a drug-fueled craving for Twinkies. After slogging through three-quarters of the book, Woods finally reveals a mildly interesting experience on The Daily Show in 1999. But it's scant payoff. The only semipoignant note comes when she stares at photos and is saddened to discover how time and drugs have ravaged her. Unfortunately, a tiresome description of her dreams on Ambien interrupts this potentially well-structured essay. Fans of her witty Esquire column will be disappointed by this tedious and self-indulgent collection.
