What do you think?
Rate this book
I See You Made an Effort: Compliments, Indignities, and Survival Stories from the Edge of 50
Annabelle Gurwitch the humorist The Washington Post calls hilarious and O, The Oprah Magazine slyly subversive returns with a wickedly funny new book chronicling the vicissitudes of turning 50.
The panic began to set in when Annabelle Gurwitch turned 49. Suddenly, new and pernicious health problems began to plague her, solicitations from the AARP began flooding her mailbox, and a marriage proposal on Twitter was abruptly rescinded when the tweeter caught a glimpse of Gurwitch's age.
A visit to her gynecologist ended not with one of his usual benign send-offs stay healthy, stay happy, stay hydrated, but instead with the slightly ominous: Stay funny.
In this new collection of essays, Gurwitch has taken her gynecologist's advice to heart. Whether she's lusting after the young man fixing her computer, navigating the extensive anti-aging offerings in the Barneys beauty department, or negotiating the ins and outs of acceptable behavior with her teenage son, Gurwitch bravely turns an unflinching eye towards the myriad of issues women can expect to encounter in their later years.
The panic began to set in when Annabelle Gurwitch turned 49. Suddenly, new and pernicious health problems began to plague her, solicitations from the AARP began flooding her mailbox, and a marriage proposal on Twitter was abruptly rescinded when the tweeter caught a glimpse of Gurwitch's age.
A visit to her gynecologist ended not with one of his usual benign send-offs stay healthy, stay happy, stay hydrated, but instead with the slightly ominous: Stay funny.
In this new collection of essays, Gurwitch has taken her gynecologist's advice to heart. Whether she's lusting after the young man fixing her computer, navigating the extensive anti-aging offerings in the Barneys beauty department, or negotiating the ins and outs of acceptable behavior with her teenage son, Gurwitch bravely turns an unflinching eye towards the myriad of issues women can expect to encounter in their later years.
256 pages, Hardcover
First published March 6, 2014
230 people are currently reading
2335 people want to read
About the author
Annabelle Gurwitch
15 books198 followersANNABELLE GURWITCH grew up hoping that she was the long lost daughter of Joni Mitchell or the reincarnation of an Egyptian princess. Neither of those things turned out to be true. She is the author of The New York Times bestseller and Thurber Prize Finalist for Humor Writing 2015, I See You Made an Effort; You Say Tomato, I Say Shut Up (co-written with husband Jeff Kahn); and Fired! which was also a Showtime Comedy Special.
Annabelle was the original co-host of Dinner & a Movie for 6 seasons on TBS and host of Planet Green's WA$TED. Other acting credits include Seinfeld, Dexter, Boston Legal. Her essays and satire have appeared in The New York Times, The New Yorker, Los Angeles Times, Marie Claire, The Nation, Men's Health, Glamour, Salon.com. She was a regular commentator on NPR for numerous years and regularly performs at arts venues across the country. She is empty nesting in Los Angeles. Annabelle is a Jewish mother, a reluctant atheist, and an avid environmentalist.
Annabelle was the original co-host of Dinner & a Movie for 6 seasons on TBS and host of Planet Green's WA$TED. Other acting credits include Seinfeld, Dexter, Boston Legal. Her essays and satire have appeared in The New York Times, The New Yorker, Los Angeles Times, Marie Claire, The Nation, Men's Health, Glamour, Salon.com. She was a regular commentator on NPR for numerous years and regularly performs at arts venues across the country. She is empty nesting in Los Angeles. Annabelle is a Jewish mother, a reluctant atheist, and an avid environmentalist.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 331 reviews
May 28, 2014
"Ladies, may I show you to a table?" the maitre d' asks us.
"Ladies," I whisper to my friend Carla. "Well, at least he didn't 'ma'am' us."
Ouch!
I've lost track of how many times I've been ma'amed, but it still stings every time.
Lately, my husband has been complaining about the increasing amount of space in the medicine cabinet that is taken up by moisturizers. "You must have one for each part of your face," he whines. He is just WRONG! I have TWO for each part of my face. THREE for that sensitive eye area.
I'm over fifty. What does he expect?
Annabelle Gurwitch gets it and expresses it more eloquently and humorously that I can. She dishes on everything to do with aging, from reading glasses to the almost unbearable sadness of watching your beloved teenager drifting away AFTER fixing you with an eye-roll and a look of disdain.
At least our own kids still SEE us. To everyone else, a middle-aged woman is invisible.
"Age has spun me into an alternate universe, one that exists in exactly the same space-time, but is unseen by those who are younger."
I may bemoan my dull skin tone and sagging fleshy bits, but at least my exposure to the public is limited. Gurwitch is an actress. She has to be OUT THERE with the younger set, scrounging for work. And, seriously, how many parts are there for actresses "of a certain age"?
"...an actress can hope for age-appropriate roles spanning from girls (with variations on a scale of sluttiness) to mother, MILF, professional, cougar, and then, death."
Even though The Sopranos is over, ugly, old, paunchy men still work all the time. Where are the roles for women with those particular qualifications?
For an actress, the choice, when it comes to cosmetic intervention, seems to be not IF, but WHEN:
"I've had things injected in my face that I wouldn't clean my house with."
I laughed my head off at this book, not out of schadenfreude, but commiseration. Oh, yeah! Been there, done that. And thank gawd I don't need Depends...yet.
Will you enjoy this book if you're NOT yet fifty or even approaching that golden age? I have no clue.
But just remember...one day, this WILL be you. So be kind to us ma'ams. Look our way. Notice us, you whippersnappers with your massive college debt and NO job prospects.
Be kind to us and we MAY just hire you to find our car keys for us.
"Ladies," I whisper to my friend Carla. "Well, at least he didn't 'ma'am' us."
Ouch!
I've lost track of how many times I've been ma'amed, but it still stings every time.
Lately, my husband has been complaining about the increasing amount of space in the medicine cabinet that is taken up by moisturizers. "You must have one for each part of your face," he whines. He is just WRONG! I have TWO for each part of my face. THREE for that sensitive eye area.
I'm over fifty. What does he expect?
Annabelle Gurwitch gets it and expresses it more eloquently and humorously that I can. She dishes on everything to do with aging, from reading glasses to the almost unbearable sadness of watching your beloved teenager drifting away AFTER fixing you with an eye-roll and a look of disdain.
At least our own kids still SEE us. To everyone else, a middle-aged woman is invisible.
"Age has spun me into an alternate universe, one that exists in exactly the same space-time, but is unseen by those who are younger."
I may bemoan my dull skin tone and sagging fleshy bits, but at least my exposure to the public is limited. Gurwitch is an actress. She has to be OUT THERE with the younger set, scrounging for work. And, seriously, how many parts are there for actresses "of a certain age"?
"...an actress can hope for age-appropriate roles spanning from girls (with variations on a scale of sluttiness) to mother, MILF, professional, cougar, and then, death."
Even though The Sopranos is over, ugly, old, paunchy men still work all the time. Where are the roles for women with those particular qualifications?
For an actress, the choice, when it comes to cosmetic intervention, seems to be not IF, but WHEN:
"I've had things injected in my face that I wouldn't clean my house with."
I laughed my head off at this book, not out of schadenfreude, but commiseration. Oh, yeah! Been there, done that. And thank gawd I don't need Depends...yet.
Will you enjoy this book if you're NOT yet fifty or even approaching that golden age? I have no clue.
But just remember...one day, this WILL be you. So be kind to us ma'ams. Look our way. Notice us, you whippersnappers with your massive college debt and NO job prospects.
Be kind to us and we MAY just hire you to find our car keys for us.
May 13, 2015
The idea behind this book was for me to enjoy a few laughs. Mission accomplished!!!!
I'm turning 63 this month...
I'm past the minimum age requirement for "I see you made an Effort".
Mostly .... The these essays are about aging.... (If you are under 50 years old...you might consider waiting until you, too, have reached the minimum age requirement to appreciate Annabelle Gurwitch's sense of humor)
I expected 'all' of these middle age stories to be funny... But then realized why that would be impossible... Much of aging really is 'not' funny...( I still find it hard to laugh off Cancer)...but even when telling the most tender - stories... Somehow... The reader comes away either laughing... or smiling ... or commiserating with women about getting older...and accepting their reality.
How are we suppose to age is a question presented to us. The authors point of view is that there is no longer a template. I tend to agree with her.
Annabelle Gurwitch uses a lot is sarcasm with her humor.....( sometimes it works... other times... I felt a lack of authenticity).
One of my favorite stories...was called "828-3886"....I related to the two decade friendship...then getting 'THE' phone call How do you brace yourself when your close friend calls to tell you they have Cancer? It's a really good story...
The author makes the distinction from a time when she was in her 20's, and all Cancer sounded the same to her.....
To now being old enough to know pancreatic cancer is one of those ..."no one gets out alive" cancers. NOT TRUE, by the way. My friend. Who lived down the street from Steve Jobs... Had the same type of cancer as Jobs. He survived, and this is the third year he is still been doing terrific. -- closer to the 4th year.
Many other stories: about vanity & Society....teenagers, marriage, sex, meditation, hormones & vit D, Spanx, clothes, shoes, food, weight,birthdays, anxiety, health problems, Botox, Beverly hills hotel, family history.
So... What are your thoughts about aging? Is it something you thought might not happen to you?
Regardless of what your thoughts about getting older, .... This is a fat-free-book with energizer enjoyment.
I'm turning 63 this month...
I'm past the minimum age requirement for "I see you made an Effort".
Mostly .... The these essays are about aging.... (If you are under 50 years old...you might consider waiting until you, too, have reached the minimum age requirement to appreciate Annabelle Gurwitch's sense of humor)
I expected 'all' of these middle age stories to be funny... But then realized why that would be impossible... Much of aging really is 'not' funny...( I still find it hard to laugh off Cancer)...but even when telling the most tender - stories... Somehow... The reader comes away either laughing... or smiling ... or commiserating with women about getting older...and accepting their reality.
How are we suppose to age is a question presented to us. The authors point of view is that there is no longer a template. I tend to agree with her.
Annabelle Gurwitch uses a lot is sarcasm with her humor.....( sometimes it works... other times... I felt a lack of authenticity).
One of my favorite stories...was called "828-3886"....I related to the two decade friendship...then getting 'THE' phone call How do you brace yourself when your close friend calls to tell you they have Cancer? It's a really good story...
The author makes the distinction from a time when she was in her 20's, and all Cancer sounded the same to her.....
To now being old enough to know pancreatic cancer is one of those ..."no one gets out alive" cancers. NOT TRUE, by the way. My friend. Who lived down the street from Steve Jobs... Had the same type of cancer as Jobs. He survived, and this is the third year he is still been doing terrific. -- closer to the 4th year.
Many other stories: about vanity & Society....teenagers, marriage, sex, meditation, hormones & vit D, Spanx, clothes, shoes, food, weight,birthdays, anxiety, health problems, Botox, Beverly hills hotel, family history.
So... What are your thoughts about aging? Is it something you thought might not happen to you?
Regardless of what your thoughts about getting older, .... This is a fat-free-book with energizer enjoyment.
November 4, 2020
Q: Dear God,
Please let me still be fuckable at fifty. (c)
Q: I think of myself as someone who is up for adventure. I’ve performed roles where I’ve had explosive charges attached to my person, fired machine guns, learned to sing opera, kissed Rodney Dangerfield. (c)
Q: ... it’s surprisingly freeing to have any burden of beauty lifted. (c)
Q: I was the only student at my school who could spot an FBI plainclothes agent. (c)
Oh, Gosh, this was so funny and sad and depressing and hilariousand chockfull of psychological viruses not for the weak.
All the cougaristics she's trying to talk about sounds tiring and a bit forced. Poor computer fiixing guy (AuDum?) - at this rate he'll never have an affair with this client. Hmmm.... could be the experience of his geek life to tell the tales about. Hmmm....
The tired view on age and its indignities is dicouraging, to say the least. I'm pretty sure this book is not the best fit for anyone leaning on the depressed side of psyche. Are they trying people to scare themselves into early graves or what?
After reading this stuff I feel like killing myself might be well justified. Or maybe go climb some mountains, join a cult and do some karma cleansing? Where did I put my psychoanalyst's mumber?
On the serious side, I'm not sure on which side of the ageism argument this book stands. I'm pretty sure that the references to 'brain fog' and the rest of it are precisely why some people older than 25 start getting troubles finding gainful satisfying employment. I'm not saying it's because of this book, of course, I'm just pretty sure that all this stuff gets taken by some people at face value and gets used in strange and weird ways. Like when hiring-firing people. (Really, what, do people under 25 never get brain fog? Spare me the crap.)
It's like reading the exact opposite of Matt Haig's The Midnight Library. While the The Midnight Library is energising and concentrating on the good, the positive, the growth, the development, this one is making one focus on illnesses, issues, problems, cults, being scared of time, age, money problems etc. Even death, fear and extraterrestrials. All the while, it's engaging enough to be readable and engaging and just interesting enough to get read. Was this book a result/side effect of writing self-therapy? Not sure.
Ok, the Robin dying scene is so... ah... I'm not sure how to put it. Was mentioning the dying woman's genitals discoloration and swelling really needed to be mentioned in this book? Maybe it was, I'm no artist and no jusdge but that's not how it feels to me.
Q:
“Wake up, Robin. You can’t die yet, we don’t know your password.” (c)
Q:
... my husband, Jeff, said, “You did the right thing, but I don’t think I want to be left alone with you if I’m ever really sick.” (c) Oh, gosh. Way to go, Jeff.
Other bits and pieces:
Q:
Your health is your top concern while traveling. For the record, it is. I was just diagnosed as prediabetic but I don’t need my luggage to remind me. (c)
Q:
I tried keeping gratitude lists, stronger vibrators, cheap massages and better moisturizers. (c)
Q:
When I began contemplating having Under New Management inked just below my C-section scar, I made an appointment with my gynecologist. (c)
Q:
“You belong to a generation of great names,”... Each student’s name is more interesting than the next: Lilit, Anush, Reason, Butterfly, Summer and Summer Butterfly, which seems like both a name and a tone poem. (c)
Q:
I’m sure it sounds good if you’re sucking on an Ecstasy pacifier at a rave in the desert, but I would rather have my spleen removed and filleted in front of me than be high in the middle of a sweaty crowd ringed by porta-potties. (c)
Q:
Over a six-month period, not once but twice a month, I couldn’t leave my house. It was like my vagina had slaughtered something. (c)
Q:
I was regularly morphing from my usual bitchiness into a raving bitch. I wanted to kill everyone in my house, the people who live next door, in neighboring counties, and in countries whose names I can’t pronounce. (c)
Q:
...although I am an atheist, the only way I can afford the longer life span that the supplements I can’t afford are supposed to afford me will be to find gainful employment in the afterlife. (c)
Q:
The saddest unguent on the counter has to be the tub of goop whose label is simple and to the point: Hope in a Jar. I have never purchased that one. It seems like the last stop on the line before I start making animal sacrifices and sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber. (c)
Q:
There’s a grace period you’re allotted when the future is ahead of you, before people in your industry start saying things like What happened to you? I thought you were going to have a big career, or I’m so impressed with all the ways you stay creative, which translates to It’s astounding that your body hasn’t been found decomposing in a fleabag motel in the high desert. I am not becoming anything anymore. (c)
Q:
I sip what is probably the most expensive latte I have ever ordered. How do I know that? The price is written in Arabic. (c) Price in Arabic? As in Arabic numbers? Yeah, I can see how 1,2,3,4...0 can be challenging. LOL.
Q:
An attendant appears and inquires whether I am experienced. Is she making a Jimi Hendrix reference? No, she means have I tried the Experience Shower. It would just be impolite to refuse. My entire kitchen could fit inside this shower. I push the first of three buttons in front of me. This one is labeled Atlantic Squall. Streams of water lash my back; the pressure varies and moves from side to side like I’m being tossed in the middle of the ocean. I startle and turn when I feel someone’s hand tapping me hard on the shoulder, but no one is there. It’s the Experience Shower’s many nozzles ratcheting up the pressure. I must be farther offshore now, as I’m drenched by torrents of hard rain. I begin to feel seasick. I saw The Perfect Storm. This might not end well! The lights in the shower area move from yellow to green to purple. Was the person who designed this on acid or in the employ of the CIA? It’s like the Experience Shower is trying to get information from me. (c)
Q:
It was just like Samantha’s breast cancer story line in Sex and the City, except Robin didn’t have a lavish wardrobe, designer shoe collection, sex, the city, or any chance of recovery. ...
Chemo was also a great excuse to purchase one or two new sweaters to attractively provide coverage for the port she’d need in her chest and cute fuzzy booties for good measure. (c) Gawwd.
Q:
Comparing where you were in your career at thirty to where you are in your career at fifty is not advisable in any profession, but it’s especially a bad idea when it’s midnight and you’re emailing pictures to a Hollywood casting director to prove that you can easily pass for a middle-aged woman from the Middle Ages. In the middle of the night. A trifecta of middle. (c)
Q:
Are we talking first-, second-, third- or fourth-wave feminism? I wonder. As I understand it, the first wave gave us the vote, while the second freed us from our kitchens and bras. Postfeminism promised we could have it all. The third wave made sexy bras safe for grrls as long as we’re wearing them for our own enjoyment, and the fourth wave promises we can blog about it all. I was raised with second-wave values in a postfeminist world and now find myself surrounded by third- and fourth-wavers. I am easily identifiable as the oldest of the women I share an office with. I’m the only one without tattoos, ironic eyeliner, fluid sexual preferences and a Pinterest account. (c)
Q:
I pull the stylist aside. “Do they need to look so . . . tarty?” He looks at me like I’ve suggested that these ladies enlist in the North Korean People’s Army. (c)
Q:
... LC insists on pinks of all configurations: Tufted pink. Ruffled pink. Ruched pink. I feel like I am from an entirely different species from another planet. Homo crone from Planet Dowdy. (c)
Q:
At this point in my life, I find stainless steel kitchen appliances a turn-on and daydream of being able to afford long-term-care insurance. (c)
Q:
The only way I’d pay $10,000 for a bag is if it contained $9,750 in cash and gave me a hot-stone massage. (c)
Q:
Halfway through the performance, the woman mounted the piano, sang a self-composed song of disaffection and began screeching, “I’m fucking a piano,” at which point a real pizza delivery guy distributed pies to both the cast and the audience. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew that the performers wanted to change the perception of language, pizza and maybe the world. I had to become a part of this eccentric and iconoclastic community. (c)
Q:
I took that as a sign, the last sign I would ever look for, to put down my wand and take up a hammer. I worked on my craft and religiously avoided anything that smacked of magical thinking or mysticism. (c)
Q:
“Are you saying that random people call and want to pay phone bills that aren’t their own?”
“Yes ...
“Really,” I say. “How do I get someone to do that? Because that sounds fantastic. Until then, will you please, please, please take my fucking money!” (c)
Q:
“Are you going to kill me in my sleep, Mom?”
“No, I’m going to do it while you’re awake. Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s like you had a psychotic break. You’re so weird.”
“It’s called calm.”
“Well, you seem stoned!” (c)
Q:
As a younger person I was a perfectionist. I was an inveterate cheater at anything that required patience, like board games, math and monogamy. There’s something wonderfully satisfying about acknowledging your mediocrity and still persevering, except in sudoku. (c)
Please let me still be fuckable at fifty. (c)
Q: I think of myself as someone who is up for adventure. I’ve performed roles where I’ve had explosive charges attached to my person, fired machine guns, learned to sing opera, kissed Rodney Dangerfield. (c)
Q: ... it’s surprisingly freeing to have any burden of beauty lifted. (c)
Q: I was the only student at my school who could spot an FBI plainclothes agent. (c)
Oh, Gosh, this was so funny and sad and depressing and hilarious
All the cougaristics she's trying to talk about sounds tiring and a bit forced. Poor computer fiixing guy (AuDum?) - at this rate he'll never have an affair with this client. Hmmm.... could be the experience of his geek life to tell the tales about. Hmmm....
The tired view on age and its indignities is dicouraging, to say the least. I'm pretty sure this book is not the best fit for anyone leaning on the depressed side of psyche. Are they trying people to scare themselves into early graves or what?
On the serious side, I'm not sure on which side of the ageism argument this book stands. I'm pretty sure that the references to 'brain fog' and the rest of it are precisely why some people older than 25 start getting troubles finding gainful satisfying employment. I'm not saying it's because of this book, of course, I'm just pretty sure that all this stuff gets taken by some people at face value and gets used in strange and weird ways. Like when hiring-firing people. (Really, what, do people under 25 never get brain fog? Spare me the crap.)
It's like reading the exact opposite of Matt Haig's The Midnight Library. While the The Midnight Library is energising and concentrating on the good, the positive, the growth, the development, this one is making one focus on illnesses, issues, problems, cults, being scared of time, age, money problems etc. Even death, fear and extraterrestrials. All the while, it's engaging enough to be readable and engaging and just interesting enough to get read. Was this book a result/side effect of writing self-therapy? Not sure.
Ok, the Robin dying scene is so... ah... I'm not sure how to put it. Was mentioning the dying woman's genitals discoloration and swelling really needed to be mentioned in this book? Maybe it was, I'm no artist and no jusdge but that's not how it feels to me.
Q:
“Wake up, Robin. You can’t die yet, we don’t know your password.” (c)
Q:
... my husband, Jeff, said, “You did the right thing, but I don’t think I want to be left alone with you if I’m ever really sick.” (c) Oh, gosh. Way to go, Jeff.
Other bits and pieces:
Q:
Your health is your top concern while traveling. For the record, it is. I was just diagnosed as prediabetic but I don’t need my luggage to remind me. (c)
Q:
I tried keeping gratitude lists, stronger vibrators, cheap massages and better moisturizers. (c)
Q:
When I began contemplating having Under New Management inked just below my C-section scar, I made an appointment with my gynecologist. (c)
Q:
“You belong to a generation of great names,”... Each student’s name is more interesting than the next: Lilit, Anush, Reason, Butterfly, Summer and Summer Butterfly, which seems like both a name and a tone poem. (c)
Q:
I’m sure it sounds good if you’re sucking on an Ecstasy pacifier at a rave in the desert, but I would rather have my spleen removed and filleted in front of me than be high in the middle of a sweaty crowd ringed by porta-potties. (c)
Q:
Over a six-month period, not once but twice a month, I couldn’t leave my house. It was like my vagina had slaughtered something. (c)
Q:
I was regularly morphing from my usual bitchiness into a raving bitch. I wanted to kill everyone in my house, the people who live next door, in neighboring counties, and in countries whose names I can’t pronounce. (c)
Q:
...although I am an atheist, the only way I can afford the longer life span that the supplements I can’t afford are supposed to afford me will be to find gainful employment in the afterlife. (c)
Q:
The saddest unguent on the counter has to be the tub of goop whose label is simple and to the point: Hope in a Jar. I have never purchased that one. It seems like the last stop on the line before I start making animal sacrifices and sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber. (c)
Q:
There’s a grace period you’re allotted when the future is ahead of you, before people in your industry start saying things like What happened to you? I thought you were going to have a big career, or I’m so impressed with all the ways you stay creative, which translates to It’s astounding that your body hasn’t been found decomposing in a fleabag motel in the high desert. I am not becoming anything anymore. (c)
Q:
I sip what is probably the most expensive latte I have ever ordered. How do I know that? The price is written in Arabic. (c) Price in Arabic? As in Arabic numbers? Yeah, I can see how 1,2,3,4...0 can be challenging. LOL.
Q:
An attendant appears and inquires whether I am experienced. Is she making a Jimi Hendrix reference? No, she means have I tried the Experience Shower. It would just be impolite to refuse. My entire kitchen could fit inside this shower. I push the first of three buttons in front of me. This one is labeled Atlantic Squall. Streams of water lash my back; the pressure varies and moves from side to side like I’m being tossed in the middle of the ocean. I startle and turn when I feel someone’s hand tapping me hard on the shoulder, but no one is there. It’s the Experience Shower’s many nozzles ratcheting up the pressure. I must be farther offshore now, as I’m drenched by torrents of hard rain. I begin to feel seasick. I saw The Perfect Storm. This might not end well! The lights in the shower area move from yellow to green to purple. Was the person who designed this on acid or in the employ of the CIA? It’s like the Experience Shower is trying to get information from me. (c)
Q:
It was just like Samantha’s breast cancer story line in Sex and the City, except Robin didn’t have a lavish wardrobe, designer shoe collection, sex, the city, or any chance of recovery. ...
Chemo was also a great excuse to purchase one or two new sweaters to attractively provide coverage for the port she’d need in her chest and cute fuzzy booties for good measure. (c) Gawwd.
Q:
Comparing where you were in your career at thirty to where you are in your career at fifty is not advisable in any profession, but it’s especially a bad idea when it’s midnight and you’re emailing pictures to a Hollywood casting director to prove that you can easily pass for a middle-aged woman from the Middle Ages. In the middle of the night. A trifecta of middle. (c)
Q:
Are we talking first-, second-, third- or fourth-wave feminism? I wonder. As I understand it, the first wave gave us the vote, while the second freed us from our kitchens and bras. Postfeminism promised we could have it all. The third wave made sexy bras safe for grrls as long as we’re wearing them for our own enjoyment, and the fourth wave promises we can blog about it all. I was raised with second-wave values in a postfeminist world and now find myself surrounded by third- and fourth-wavers. I am easily identifiable as the oldest of the women I share an office with. I’m the only one without tattoos, ironic eyeliner, fluid sexual preferences and a Pinterest account. (c)
Q:
I pull the stylist aside. “Do they need to look so . . . tarty?” He looks at me like I’ve suggested that these ladies enlist in the North Korean People’s Army. (c)
Q:
... LC insists on pinks of all configurations: Tufted pink. Ruffled pink. Ruched pink. I feel like I am from an entirely different species from another planet. Homo crone from Planet Dowdy. (c)
Q:
At this point in my life, I find stainless steel kitchen appliances a turn-on and daydream of being able to afford long-term-care insurance. (c)
Q:
The only way I’d pay $10,000 for a bag is if it contained $9,750 in cash and gave me a hot-stone massage. (c)
Q:
Halfway through the performance, the woman mounted the piano, sang a self-composed song of disaffection and began screeching, “I’m fucking a piano,” at which point a real pizza delivery guy distributed pies to both the cast and the audience. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew that the performers wanted to change the perception of language, pizza and maybe the world. I had to become a part of this eccentric and iconoclastic community. (c)
Q:
I took that as a sign, the last sign I would ever look for, to put down my wand and take up a hammer. I worked on my craft and religiously avoided anything that smacked of magical thinking or mysticism. (c)
Q:
“Are you saying that random people call and want to pay phone bills that aren’t their own?”
“Yes ...
“Really,” I say. “How do I get someone to do that? Because that sounds fantastic. Until then, will you please, please, please take my fucking money!” (c)
Q:
“Are you going to kill me in my sleep, Mom?”
“No, I’m going to do it while you’re awake. Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s like you had a psychotic break. You’re so weird.”
“It’s called calm.”
“Well, you seem stoned!” (c)
Q:
As a younger person I was a perfectionist. I was an inveterate cheater at anything that required patience, like board games, math and monogamy. There’s something wonderfully satisfying about acknowledging your mediocrity and still persevering, except in sudoku. (c)
July 30, 2019
It was funny, at times laugh-out-loud funny, but there's an undertone of depression in it that can only emanate from a young person who believes that getting old is the end, period. Maybe it's because of Gurwitch's unfortunate choice of careers, wherein youth is the only currency. Maybe she has been brainwashed to accept the bullshit viewpoint of the media and our stupid culture, which rewards fecundity - or the appearance thereof - to the exclusion of everything else, over brains, wit, humor, style, experience, or knowing how to size up a con in 10 seconds instead of marrying him. I guess at 60 it's not that interesting to me anymore to hear young people opine on what it's going to be like, getting old. For example, this dud: "I am not becoming anything anymore. That's the kind of thudding honesty that occurs at fifty."
Seriously?????
Come on, Annabelle, pull up those pink ruffly granny pants and stop whining. I became an author at 58, WAY after I was dead, ya big crybaby.
Seriously?????
Come on, Annabelle, pull up those pink ruffly granny pants and stop whining. I became an author at 58, WAY after I was dead, ya big crybaby.
December 23, 2020
Having slipped past the mid-century mark myself, I was looking forward to some empathetic chuckles with a fellow middle-ager musing on turning 49. Gurwitch is a Hollywood adjacent, secular jew with a preteen son - not insurmountable differences, but apparently still a gap too wide to forge. This is in no small part due to the fact she's narrowing in on 50 as a woman. For women in Hollywood, as Gurwitch notes, 50 is the new 80 in actress years. Meanwhile Tom Cruise at 58 is no doubt in lifts, sprinting across some soundstage shooting Mission Impossible 15. Liam Neeson at 68 is still using his unique set of skills as a passable action hero even if it takes 15 slash cuts to shoot him jumping a chain link fence. Now I don't for a second fashion myself an aging Hollywood star, but it is to say different rules apply for men aging in our cultural consciousness. You could make a compelling argument that US citizens currently live under a male gerontocracy.
I have yet to spend a small fortune on facial creams and age defying unguents. I will never experience menopausal dry vagina. I don't yet have osteoarthritis. That shouldn't preclude my enjoyment of this collection of musings but it all felt a little too Borscht Belt, "take my wife, please" brand of humor. The broad swipes just didn't connect for me. But then again it could simply be as an aging male I tend to crotchety and cynical grumbling as I mumble into my porridge complaining that I'm not like those other seniors.
I have yet to spend a small fortune on facial creams and age defying unguents. I will never experience menopausal dry vagina. I don't yet have osteoarthritis. That shouldn't preclude my enjoyment of this collection of musings but it all felt a little too Borscht Belt, "take my wife, please" brand of humor. The broad swipes just didn't connect for me. But then again it could simply be as an aging male I tend to crotchety and cynical grumbling as I mumble into my porridge complaining that I'm not like those other seniors.
January 1, 2020
An easy, though somewhat repetitive read of the author's personal reflections of her own process of aging. While told with humor, it felt like cocktail party chatter.
December 28, 2017
Really funny. I started reading it and couldn't stop, laughed out loud. Did I enjoy it because I'm not there yet ("there" meaning menopause); therefore it wasn't so depressing as it could've been...Annabelle talks a lot about getting old, and even though I'm not there yet (the dreaded menopause), I can see it in the far distance, it's just a speck, but I know I'm headed toward it, and...I could appreciate this book of humorous essays like someone in their 20's wouldn't be able to. Have I spent a lot on facial products? (which is the topic of her second essay), uh...yes, a frightening amount. She also has a few stories about being an actor. An aging woman actor. It's depressing, but Annabelle has a talent for finding the humor and making a hilarious bit out of it. So, mainly I laughed and thought to myself, I'm glad I'm not there yet.
April 5, 2014
OK, I'll admit that the cover made me pick this one up. Who can resist those pink grannie undies with a touch of lace? The author is turning 50, and this is a collection of essays about what it feels like to be a woman of a certain age. Sure, the problems are mostly first-world ones, as the author readily admits, but that does not make them any less real for her.
If we are lucky, we will grow old, and whether we do it gracefully or not, with humor or angst can depend on various factors: genetics and disposable income for plastic surgery being the main ones. As with any collection, some of the essays are better than others. Reading "When Brown Was Going To Be The New Black" has me snorting and laughing uncontrollably, and that piece alone was worth the price of admission.
If we are lucky, we will grow old, and whether we do it gracefully or not, with humor or angst can depend on various factors: genetics and disposable income for plastic surgery being the main ones. As with any collection, some of the essays are better than others. Reading "When Brown Was Going To Be The New Black" has me snorting and laughing uncontrollably, and that piece alone was worth the price of admission.
July 9, 2015
Holy Colonoscopy! I am going to be fifty in less than one year. I don't think I can adequately convey, Dear Reader, the levels to which my addled mind is being diddled by this notion. And before anybody out there in Goodreads Land comes up with that tired 'age is just a number!' BS...well, let me just remind you that R. Kelly said that. And you can see how well that worked out for him.
Fifty is a 'number' alright. It is a number of extremely disturbing things if you are a female in a western culture. "Fifty" means that your body is freaking the f out...or soon will be. Remember how excruciating puberty was? With hair popping up in weird places, high maintenance skin, and the emotional balance of Lindsay Lohan? Well, "fifty" means you get to experience all that insanity again. Only you are well into mid life, more tired, more stressed, and more out of shape. Also there is less pizza, fewer trips to the mall, and you pretty much know that the cute guy in your algebra class is never going to call. Um, I mean 'text'. When you are 'fifty' you keep making those clumsy sociological faux pas. You often 'show your age'...
I am a few years older than my husband. I had my daughter when I was 38. My parents are both dead. Thus, I am almost always the oldest person in the room. Friends who are my age have mainly moved away, or else their kids are heading into college and we have almost nothing in common any more. I am more apt to meet younger people and attempt to make friends with them. This is not by design. It is just getting harder and harder to find people older than I am. I have some former work buddies...but they are 'retired' and spending most of their time travelling and taking wine tours. I am still going to elementary school field trips and figuring out how to finance orthodontia. -- This lack of commonality with most of the people in my day-to-day life takes a toll. "Nobody gets me". See? Puberty again. I am even whining like a 13 year old.
So thank god Annabelle Gurwitch decided to write this book. She KNOWS. She knows how it feels to understand that, at fifty, most excuses have died. I will never be a huge success. I will never travel to Mars. (they will only want 30 year olds) It is 'too late' (seriously) to go back to school (unless the very worst disaster happens -- can you imagine taking on over $100,000 in school tuition when you are supposed to be 'retired' in 15 years? Fifty can feel shitty because it marks that line in the sand where your endless opportunities for Do Overs and Reinventions come to an end. Only a sociopath, at this point in life, would really feel like they are fooling anybody. You have gotten well acquainted with yourself. And this is a good thing! But it is also a tough thing because you can't easily pull the wool over your own eyes anymore. You are no longer buying your own line of crap.
And remember when you used to dream about recognition? Fame? Beauty? World travel? Wealth? Now, as Annabelle puts it so well, your fantasies revolve around stainless steel kitchen appliances and the ability to one day purchase long term care insurance. On the one hand, many of your dreams are dead. On the other hand, the dreams you still have are more realistic. So 'fifty' is not all bad. But you need a sense of humor. And a tough skin. There are days when you can't believe what a hard core asskicker you have become because all of the stuff you have lived through in your 5 decades on Earth. You wonder why you were so affected by such trivialities when you were young. Other days you feel the weight of the world and all of its sorrows so powerfully that you know you are heroic for just getting out of bed and getting that first cup of caffeine down the hatch. Fifty gives you perspective.
Annabelle's parents were still among the living when this book was written. However, they had begun their inevitable decline. Also, her thirteen year old son was often not very nice to her. (At least it seemed to me.) This is another tragedy of fifty. Your parents tend to be either deceased or in bad shape. You don't have their help and guidance. Meanwhile your kids tend to be in their adolescence and find you the most ridiculous and annoying members of the population. You are sandwiched between tragedy and drama constantly...and your own hormonal balance is whack. Yeah, fifty is the Perfect Storm of Cray.
Spanx. Well yeah. You eat less than you ever have in your life ... make sure 99% of it is healthy...and try to exercise for the first time in a decade and still you rest at your highest lifetime weight achievement. Fifty is when you just have to stop weighing yourself. It isn't worth the self esteem suck. If you can't button your pants, you know something's up.
Attractive younger people? Well, yeah. They still exist. Annabelle ran in to one at the Apple Store. He was a 'genius' at the help desk trying to fix her phone. Annabelle noticed how hot he was. He was pretty nice to her. And Annabelle looks pretty amazing 'for a fifty year old' (I have seen her on TV and in her author photo.) But then reality (and sheepishness) set in. A twenty something girl came up to the desk behind her and immediately Genius was rather preoccupied with helping HER! (Do you remember noticing 'attractive' fifty year olds when you were 21? Nope. Didn't think so. Well, maybe Dustin Hoffman in the Graduate. But not usually. Not in real life. A fifty year old looks like someone's mom. Or dad. Or sometimes you can't tell which because that androgyny thing is starting to happen.)
So you make sure you mostly don't notice. Because it is embarrassing when you do. And it is surprisingly easy, when you are fifty, to not react. (If you are female.) Because your mind is so consumed with lists of things to do, and people to take care of and bills to pay...
Fifty can also be very rewarding. Hey! You stayed alive this long already! As you realize that almost all of the adults you remember from your childhood are either dead, senile, or in assisted living, you know that this is your one moment to 'be the adult'. In America, we don't like to be that adult though. It should be a wonderful thing...to be 'wise' and 'experienced' and to 'have a long view'. But we hate that. We want botox and reading glasses that don't look like reading glasses. We push ourselves to seem younger than we are because our collective view of aging (and all the advertisement that accompanies that) is so unflattering. Annabelle reacts, hilariously, to her invitation to join AARP. All those sexless couples in pastel pants! Take my libido! Please! Our only view of 'attractive' in our society is ripped, or nubile. We have no vocabulary for the more subtle beauty of the ageing.
Annabelle and I also potentially share the genetic curse of arthritis. Although I do not yet experience any overt symptoms that have sent me to a doctor, I have a strong family predisposition to this scourge of the elderly. I have always been 'stiff'. That lotus position? I couldn't do that shit at 20. Last year I was so hopped up on cortisol and stress due to the crisis of my parent's deaths, that I could no longer kneel on the floor. My legs would just not stay bent like that. (I have subsequently been binging on supplements and trying to walk every day and I feel some improvement. However, Annabelle's description of her doctor's horrendous bedside manner, his brusque dismissal of her concerns and her morbid fantasies about having to use those insane old folks devices they advertise on Me TV (my fave channel, btw) had me nodding my head fervently.
Gurwitch gave me some validation that I am not wrong to realize that it can really and truly suck to get old in our society. Age might be 'just a number' -- but most of us would choose '25' over '55' if we were standing in line at the Cosmic Deli. That's just a fact. And when you are fifty, you are more clear headed and stoic about accepting things as they are. "Stay funny" counsels one of Gurwitch's doctors. Since she is a comedy writer and actress, I guess this is a natural go-to for her situation. However, I tend to see myself as the non famous equivalent. If you can't laugh...sometimes you end up crying. So, I prefer the absurdity of it all. Fifty certainly gives me a lot of material to work with. --And it was quite entertaining and refreshing to read somebody else's take on 'fifty' that was neither too earnest nor too Pollyanna, nor too sour. I enjoyed this one and I can't wait to see what she does with 'Sixty'.
Fifty is a 'number' alright. It is a number of extremely disturbing things if you are a female in a western culture. "Fifty" means that your body is freaking the f out...or soon will be. Remember how excruciating puberty was? With hair popping up in weird places, high maintenance skin, and the emotional balance of Lindsay Lohan? Well, "fifty" means you get to experience all that insanity again. Only you are well into mid life, more tired, more stressed, and more out of shape. Also there is less pizza, fewer trips to the mall, and you pretty much know that the cute guy in your algebra class is never going to call. Um, I mean 'text'. When you are 'fifty' you keep making those clumsy sociological faux pas. You often 'show your age'...
I am a few years older than my husband. I had my daughter when I was 38. My parents are both dead. Thus, I am almost always the oldest person in the room. Friends who are my age have mainly moved away, or else their kids are heading into college and we have almost nothing in common any more. I am more apt to meet younger people and attempt to make friends with them. This is not by design. It is just getting harder and harder to find people older than I am. I have some former work buddies...but they are 'retired' and spending most of their time travelling and taking wine tours. I am still going to elementary school field trips and figuring out how to finance orthodontia. -- This lack of commonality with most of the people in my day-to-day life takes a toll. "Nobody gets me". See? Puberty again. I am even whining like a 13 year old.
So thank god Annabelle Gurwitch decided to write this book. She KNOWS. She knows how it feels to understand that, at fifty, most excuses have died. I will never be a huge success. I will never travel to Mars. (they will only want 30 year olds) It is 'too late' (seriously) to go back to school (unless the very worst disaster happens -- can you imagine taking on over $100,000 in school tuition when you are supposed to be 'retired' in 15 years? Fifty can feel shitty because it marks that line in the sand where your endless opportunities for Do Overs and Reinventions come to an end. Only a sociopath, at this point in life, would really feel like they are fooling anybody. You have gotten well acquainted with yourself. And this is a good thing! But it is also a tough thing because you can't easily pull the wool over your own eyes anymore. You are no longer buying your own line of crap.
And remember when you used to dream about recognition? Fame? Beauty? World travel? Wealth? Now, as Annabelle puts it so well, your fantasies revolve around stainless steel kitchen appliances and the ability to one day purchase long term care insurance. On the one hand, many of your dreams are dead. On the other hand, the dreams you still have are more realistic. So 'fifty' is not all bad. But you need a sense of humor. And a tough skin. There are days when you can't believe what a hard core asskicker you have become because all of the stuff you have lived through in your 5 decades on Earth. You wonder why you were so affected by such trivialities when you were young. Other days you feel the weight of the world and all of its sorrows so powerfully that you know you are heroic for just getting out of bed and getting that first cup of caffeine down the hatch. Fifty gives you perspective.
Annabelle's parents were still among the living when this book was written. However, they had begun their inevitable decline. Also, her thirteen year old son was often not very nice to her. (At least it seemed to me.) This is another tragedy of fifty. Your parents tend to be either deceased or in bad shape. You don't have their help and guidance. Meanwhile your kids tend to be in their adolescence and find you the most ridiculous and annoying members of the population. You are sandwiched between tragedy and drama constantly...and your own hormonal balance is whack. Yeah, fifty is the Perfect Storm of Cray.
Spanx. Well yeah. You eat less than you ever have in your life ... make sure 99% of it is healthy...and try to exercise for the first time in a decade and still you rest at your highest lifetime weight achievement. Fifty is when you just have to stop weighing yourself. It isn't worth the self esteem suck. If you can't button your pants, you know something's up.
Attractive younger people? Well, yeah. They still exist. Annabelle ran in to one at the Apple Store. He was a 'genius' at the help desk trying to fix her phone. Annabelle noticed how hot he was. He was pretty nice to her. And Annabelle looks pretty amazing 'for a fifty year old' (I have seen her on TV and in her author photo.) But then reality (and sheepishness) set in. A twenty something girl came up to the desk behind her and immediately Genius was rather preoccupied with helping HER! (Do you remember noticing 'attractive' fifty year olds when you were 21? Nope. Didn't think so. Well, maybe Dustin Hoffman in the Graduate. But not usually. Not in real life. A fifty year old looks like someone's mom. Or dad. Or sometimes you can't tell which because that androgyny thing is starting to happen.)
So you make sure you mostly don't notice. Because it is embarrassing when you do. And it is surprisingly easy, when you are fifty, to not react. (If you are female.) Because your mind is so consumed with lists of things to do, and people to take care of and bills to pay...
Fifty can also be very rewarding. Hey! You stayed alive this long already! As you realize that almost all of the adults you remember from your childhood are either dead, senile, or in assisted living, you know that this is your one moment to 'be the adult'. In America, we don't like to be that adult though. It should be a wonderful thing...to be 'wise' and 'experienced' and to 'have a long view'. But we hate that. We want botox and reading glasses that don't look like reading glasses. We push ourselves to seem younger than we are because our collective view of aging (and all the advertisement that accompanies that) is so unflattering. Annabelle reacts, hilariously, to her invitation to join AARP. All those sexless couples in pastel pants! Take my libido! Please! Our only view of 'attractive' in our society is ripped, or nubile. We have no vocabulary for the more subtle beauty of the ageing.
Annabelle and I also potentially share the genetic curse of arthritis. Although I do not yet experience any overt symptoms that have sent me to a doctor, I have a strong family predisposition to this scourge of the elderly. I have always been 'stiff'. That lotus position? I couldn't do that shit at 20. Last year I was so hopped up on cortisol and stress due to the crisis of my parent's deaths, that I could no longer kneel on the floor. My legs would just not stay bent like that. (I have subsequently been binging on supplements and trying to walk every day and I feel some improvement. However, Annabelle's description of her doctor's horrendous bedside manner, his brusque dismissal of her concerns and her morbid fantasies about having to use those insane old folks devices they advertise on Me TV (my fave channel, btw) had me nodding my head fervently.
Gurwitch gave me some validation that I am not wrong to realize that it can really and truly suck to get old in our society. Age might be 'just a number' -- but most of us would choose '25' over '55' if we were standing in line at the Cosmic Deli. That's just a fact. And when you are fifty, you are more clear headed and stoic about accepting things as they are. "Stay funny" counsels one of Gurwitch's doctors. Since she is a comedy writer and actress, I guess this is a natural go-to for her situation. However, I tend to see myself as the non famous equivalent. If you can't laugh...sometimes you end up crying. So, I prefer the absurdity of it all. Fifty certainly gives me a lot of material to work with. --And it was quite entertaining and refreshing to read somebody else's take on 'fifty' that was neither too earnest nor too Pollyanna, nor too sour. I enjoyed this one and I can't wait to see what she does with 'Sixty'.
December 21, 2017
Fun, humorous, and breezy essays that were enjoyable to read and caused some laugh-out loud moments.
June 29, 2014
The glowing review from Bill Maher should have been a clue. Gurwitch bemoans her aging, her lack of stellar success, and what sounds like a decent marriage. Clearly, this book is an attempt to make up for the lack of residual income. She may even say that somewhere. I have to admit, I wasn't paying that close of attention after the first couple of essays. At least she has the honesty to call her issues first world problems and notes that she sometimes behaves as an elitist. Sadly, the cover is the most entertaining part of this book. I think. I couldn't finish it, but I just couldn't take the chance that the last third was no more to my liking than the first two. Life is too short.
Read
June 7, 2018No stars because I'm stopping this at page 50. It's very hard to write a funny book about aging.
In the first couple chapters, I see I have nothing in common with her--I don't go to an Apple store to have them fix a laptop (ha! so cheap now I basically just buy a new non-Mac one), my youngest graduated from college before I was 50 so dealing with a middle-schooler is ancient history to me and buying $400 worth of creams makes me cringe, not laugh. My .02 is that the basics (Nivea, Aveeno) is just as good.
In the first couple chapters, I see I have nothing in common with her--I don't go to an Apple store to have them fix a laptop (ha! so cheap now I basically just buy a new non-Mac one), my youngest graduated from college before I was 50 so dealing with a middle-schooler is ancient history to me and buying $400 worth of creams makes me cringe, not laugh. My .02 is that the basics (Nivea, Aveeno) is just as good.
July 6, 2014
A collection of essays on coming of age... age 50, that is. I was a little disappointed with this book after the first few chapters. The one on her friend dying of cancer, although touching, was a downer in a comedy book. In other chapters there were too many references to her dry vagina. Hey, one would have been too many but there were a lot more than that. The author was a little hard to identify with. But it was worth sticking with it. The chapter called "I'm meditating as fast as I can" was worth the price of admission for me. Meditation I can identify with. Her observations of random thoughts that go through your head while trying not to have any thoughts were hilarious. And the chapter on plastic surgery was pretty good, too. The last chapter was just a bunch of random quotes from the book which seemed to be just filler. Overall I found her to be a little vulgar. I guess it's supposed to be funny when older women drop f-bombs and make references to kinky sex and what not. I't been a goldmine for Betty White. Didn't impress me much.
April 30, 2014
I think I may be on the wrong edge of fifty to really enjoy this book. A few smiles, but not nearly what I'd hoped for. There are some funny insights into the not so glamorous life of a c list star. I do remember seeing her once or twice on Dinner and a Movie. Some fun observations on raising a teenage boy and caring for aging parents at the same time, make this an okay read. Bossy Pants and Wishful Drinking are still the benchmarks for celebrity/comedic/meditations, but this line might be worth reading the whole thing; "Wearing vintage clothes when you are vintage is a double negative."
April 18, 2019
Do you remember Annabelle from Dinner and a Movie? I loved her! She's still great with these essays written as she faces her 50th birthday. Happily married, with a teenage son who won't talk to her. Several essays are absolutely wow including one about her new trampoline and another about helping a friend die.
October 16, 2014
Loved this book! I could relate to a lot of it and Annabelle is hilarious and a good writer. Enjoy!
December 13, 2021
Funny, but I’m so glad I don’t live in LA.
March 24, 2015
Gurwitch is entering the downhill slope of middle age, and she isn’t going to go gently. In this enjoyable collection of essays, she is sometimes hilarious, and at other moments more philosophical. But she is never dull. Thank you to Penguin Random House for sending me an ARC.
Middle age means a deluge of mail order catalogs that sell products for the incontinent, the arthritic, the retired. Gurwitch doesn’t want them. What she might want is a few intimate moments with her hot yoga instructor—ah, so young!—or maybe even the young man who’s fixing her computer.
Alas, middle age also means caring for parents that are in declining health, and some of us get to raise teenagers at the same time. If you can’t laugh, you might have to cry! And sometimes, being middle aged means a precipitate end to a career, when your old employer sends you packing and those that are hiring want someone younger than you. They don’t say it, but it’s obvious.
And middle age means you need to buy some really good concealer, because if you have been a sturdy feminist whose self-esteem used to mean that no cosmetics were necessary, guess what? Once you’re old enough, just picking those chin hairs out with tweezers isn’t going to do it. Lose the unibrow; trowel on the concealer and redraw the brows you just removed; cross your fingers that it works. “Facial hair,” she reminds us, “is an equal opportunity offender.”
Gurwitch is an actress, for those that didn’t already know that, and she has some stories to tell that will either make you howl with laughter or moan with pain, depending upon your perspective. Perspective? She has it here in spades. My personal favorite was her piece on petty theft. I hope she can still get a hotel room in her own name!
At times her tone becomes more philosophical, because there’s not much that’s funny about having people close to you die, and unfortunately, that’s one more unwanted surprise Mother Nature pushes at us when we edge our way toward 50 and beyond. And she wants you to remember that you can’t die without telling someone your password. You just can’t.
Many of us swore we wouldn’t sit around and bitch about our physical complaints when we grew old, the way our parents did…but now there’s Google. There’s WEB MD. For every symptom we have, there are at least twenty dread diagnoses possible! Get off the computer! Are you listening?
If you are under 40 and still reading this review, you ought to know by now that this book is not for you. If your mother is still alive, however, you should get this for her. Mother’s Day is coming. And for heaven’s sake get her a dozen red roses to keep it company.
Because you just never know. It could be her last. And really, that’s not so funny.
Middle age means a deluge of mail order catalogs that sell products for the incontinent, the arthritic, the retired. Gurwitch doesn’t want them. What she might want is a few intimate moments with her hot yoga instructor—ah, so young!—or maybe even the young man who’s fixing her computer.
Alas, middle age also means caring for parents that are in declining health, and some of us get to raise teenagers at the same time. If you can’t laugh, you might have to cry! And sometimes, being middle aged means a precipitate end to a career, when your old employer sends you packing and those that are hiring want someone younger than you. They don’t say it, but it’s obvious.
And middle age means you need to buy some really good concealer, because if you have been a sturdy feminist whose self-esteem used to mean that no cosmetics were necessary, guess what? Once you’re old enough, just picking those chin hairs out with tweezers isn’t going to do it. Lose the unibrow; trowel on the concealer and redraw the brows you just removed; cross your fingers that it works. “Facial hair,” she reminds us, “is an equal opportunity offender.”
Gurwitch is an actress, for those that didn’t already know that, and she has some stories to tell that will either make you howl with laughter or moan with pain, depending upon your perspective. Perspective? She has it here in spades. My personal favorite was her piece on petty theft. I hope she can still get a hotel room in her own name!
At times her tone becomes more philosophical, because there’s not much that’s funny about having people close to you die, and unfortunately, that’s one more unwanted surprise Mother Nature pushes at us when we edge our way toward 50 and beyond. And she wants you to remember that you can’t die without telling someone your password. You just can’t.
Many of us swore we wouldn’t sit around and bitch about our physical complaints when we grew old, the way our parents did…but now there’s Google. There’s WEB MD. For every symptom we have, there are at least twenty dread diagnoses possible! Get off the computer! Are you listening?
If you are under 40 and still reading this review, you ought to know by now that this book is not for you. If your mother is still alive, however, you should get this for her. Mother’s Day is coming. And for heaven’s sake get her a dozen red roses to keep it company.
Because you just never know. It could be her last. And really, that’s not so funny.
March 25, 2014
Annabelle Gurwitch discusses everything from her computer crashing to purchasing cream for a dry vagina. In addition, this is only within the first two chapters.
Ms. Gurwitch shares her experiences being forty-nine going on fifty and all the changing life cycles that comes with it. She speaks about having hot flashes at the most inopportune time. With each event, she adds humor that will make you laugh aloud.
The ways she describes certain thoughts, “If I spend any more money today, it will threaten my Tampax budget.” As she describes her neighbors, “On the other side of our home is Tobacco Road. The Joad family’s home is sliding into disrepair.”
Annabelle Gurwitch speaks in a serious tone when explaining her feelings about her friend. Robin passed away from cancer. During her last days, Annabelle and four friends stayed at Robin’s home.
She further discusses being diagnosed with arthritis. At the beginning of this chapter, she writes, “Dear God, forgive me Father, for I have Googled. I have Googled the Mayo Clinic, WebMD, and even Yahoo! Answers.” This is her adventure Googling her health problem: osteoarthritis in the neck.
The book ends with “The Four A.M. Club”, women and their thoughts in the early morning hours.
Annabelle Gurwitch is the former co-host of ‘Dinner & a Movie.’ This book chronicles her life by way of different events that she has experienced. By not only being a woman going on fifty, but a woman going on fifty that is also a mother, wife, and friend. I recommend this book to all women, not just those forty-nine going on fifty. See if you can relate to some of her adventures, I did.
I received this book free from Penguin Group –Blue Rider Press through the Net Galley Book Reviewer Program.
Ms. Gurwitch shares her experiences being forty-nine going on fifty and all the changing life cycles that comes with it. She speaks about having hot flashes at the most inopportune time. With each event, she adds humor that will make you laugh aloud.
The ways she describes certain thoughts, “If I spend any more money today, it will threaten my Tampax budget.” As she describes her neighbors, “On the other side of our home is Tobacco Road. The Joad family’s home is sliding into disrepair.”
Annabelle Gurwitch speaks in a serious tone when explaining her feelings about her friend. Robin passed away from cancer. During her last days, Annabelle and four friends stayed at Robin’s home.
She further discusses being diagnosed with arthritis. At the beginning of this chapter, she writes, “Dear God, forgive me Father, for I have Googled. I have Googled the Mayo Clinic, WebMD, and even Yahoo! Answers.” This is her adventure Googling her health problem: osteoarthritis in the neck.
The book ends with “The Four A.M. Club”, women and their thoughts in the early morning hours.
Annabelle Gurwitch is the former co-host of ‘Dinner & a Movie.’ This book chronicles her life by way of different events that she has experienced. By not only being a woman going on fifty, but a woman going on fifty that is also a mother, wife, and friend. I recommend this book to all women, not just those forty-nine going on fifty. See if you can relate to some of her adventures, I did.
I received this book free from Penguin Group –Blue Rider Press through the Net Galley Book Reviewer Program.
August 25, 2016
Hits the "G" spot; Glib, Generous and Good
There are a number of just-turned-30,or 40,or 50 humor books out there, and almost all of them have their engaging aspects. They do display a considerable range of styles, from the purely jokey to the angsty and way too self-involved. This book is a nice antidote to those two extremes because it is at times both funny and insightful in a rueful and self-deprecating way. By that I mean Ms. Gurwitch knows her way around a one-liner and around an extended goof of a story, (see "AuDum at the Apple Genius Bar"), but she also has a handle on wry commentary on the state of the recently 50. The emphasis is on wry commentary - there's no over the top hysteria, no relentless kvetching, no excess. We all get older, and some of the stuff associated with that is funny, or at least can be given a good-humored spin. That's what's going on here, and it is all done with honesty, a keen eye for the absurd, and a grown up appreciation of people and their foibles and preoccupations. So, if you'd like a gentle, humorous reminder that you aren't alone as you hit 50, this could be a very nice choice.
Please note that I received a free advance ecopy of this book in exchange for a candid review. Apart from that I have no connection at all to either the author or the publisher of this book.
There are a number of just-turned-30,or 40,or 50 humor books out there, and almost all of them have their engaging aspects. They do display a considerable range of styles, from the purely jokey to the angsty and way too self-involved. This book is a nice antidote to those two extremes because it is at times both funny and insightful in a rueful and self-deprecating way. By that I mean Ms. Gurwitch knows her way around a one-liner and around an extended goof of a story, (see "AuDum at the Apple Genius Bar"), but she also has a handle on wry commentary on the state of the recently 50. The emphasis is on wry commentary - there's no over the top hysteria, no relentless kvetching, no excess. We all get older, and some of the stuff associated with that is funny, or at least can be given a good-humored spin. That's what's going on here, and it is all done with honesty, a keen eye for the absurd, and a grown up appreciation of people and their foibles and preoccupations. So, if you'd like a gentle, humorous reminder that you aren't alone as you hit 50, this could be a very nice choice.
Please note that I received a free advance ecopy of this book in exchange for a candid review. Apart from that I have no connection at all to either the author or the publisher of this book.
March 16, 2014
I was oblivious to Annabelle Gurwitch's identity before selecting I See You Made an Effort for review otherwise I probably would have given it a wide berth. I don't have a single thing in common with a Jewish/atheist actress/comedienne living in Hollywood, and I still have ten years until I turn 50 anyway.
That being said I found this collection of essays on reaching middle age readable, sometimes touching, and even occasionally funny.
The most moving story is about the slow death of her friend from pancreatic cancer and the story of 'The Sandwich Generation' which includes the recurrence of her mother's breast cancer.
I laughed at Annabelle's trampoline induced injuries, 'This is Fifty' and her parents technological cluelessness.
The '4am Club' was the essay I could relate to most with those same questions and fears running nightly through my own head.
I was least interested in her accidental membership of a cult or the price of her anti aging serum, though I can see how the two are connected even if Gurwitch misses it.
I didn't think I See You Made an Effort was anything other than an okay read but I'm probably not the right audience for it either, you might be.
May 29, 2014
This book was funny but it may have been funnier to me if I was 50. At 37, I can laugh at myself and the funny things that aging does to women or the general neuroses we are all victim of. Staying awake worrying about family, money, the Holocaust, anything really, until you realize you are not going to fall asleep and then wondering if you would feel better or worse if you took a sleeping pill this late at night. Gurwitch points out the limited shopping selections we have as women once we age out of the juniors section but are not quite ready for elastic waistband pants at Coldwater Creek. I currently am the mother of a teenager roughly the same age as Gurwitch's son. I am exhausted now and can only imagine how much more tired I would be if I were a decade older and dealing with the whirling vortex that is the teenage years. In short, I got a few chuckles out of Gurwitch's stories but I didn't crack up. If I revisit this read in 13 years when I am turning 50, I may find it hilarious, but to me today it is merely lukewarm.
** I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review **
Read my full review here: http://www.ivoryowlreviews.blogspot.c...
** I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review **
Read my full review here: http://www.ivoryowlreviews.blogspot.c...
March 10, 2015
This book grew on me. Initially, I felt the author was so obsessed with superficial concerns about aging and appearance and although I'm very close to her age, I couldn't relate. But as I read further, she did cover the issues of dealing with her son, aging parents, reaching an age where your professional opportunities may be limited, with humor and at times, great insight. I especially appreciated her descriptions of class inequality in LA. She's in a profession where her appearance is crucial, so when the book focused on lamenting the loss of youthful looks, it lost me. But when it covered the more universal concerns of a woman on the cusp of menopause, she had moments of keen observation. Enjoyable overall, especially when she stops treating turning 50 as a tragedy.
December 22, 2019
Read on audiobook, this humor memoir about an actress and older mom turning 50 started out slow for me, but by the middle, I was hooked. I much preferred the more serious chapters-- the ones about the author dealing with the loss of her friend to pancreatic cancer were particularly moving and well written. And the final chapters about developing arthritis and still trying to do things like jump on a trampoline with her 10 year old son knowing just how bad it was going to hurt thr next day but doing it anyway hit close to home and made me laugh put loud. 3 stars because of it had been a print book I know I probably would have skimmed a fee of thr chapters.
November 11, 2013
I received this as an early read from NetGalley.While I didn't find this laugh-out-loud-until-I-cried funny like I do with pretty much everything that David Sedaris writes, I very much enjoyed this! I'm 46 and could relate to most of the topics covered, both from first-hand experience and also from my girlfriends who are over 50 and sharing their wisdom. I'm always happy to read well written and humorous accounts of what it's like to age and NOT especially gracefully! We're all in the same boat, but we don't all talk frankly about our voyage, this was a nice affirmation that I'm not alone.
November 8, 2013
Wonderful hilarious book about what it means to be a woman of a certain age..From Eileen Fisher clothes to expensive makeup to hormonal creams &mood swings. This is a book you will identify with & love for its real life honesty.
October 5, 2014
Any woman around the age of 50 can find humor within these chapters. One minute I was crying from laughing, then finding myself choked up from hard hitting realities. Finding humor from aging is a must!
July 31, 2014
I don't want to give you the impression that reading this book will bring on menopause... But by Chapter 5 I was experiencing symptoms of perimenopause. Recommended for my girl friends at the mid-point of life.
September 1, 2016
Brave. Hilarious. A fantastic book about life that is laugh-out-loud funny and surprisingly wise.
Read
June 28, 2022Ugh! Listened to 1 cd. Couldn't stand the woman's whining about being 49.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 331 reviews