Look, Madonna’s on the cover of Vanity Fair this month. Doesn’t she look pretty and dewy and unretouched and like the sort of woman who could act so well — once she figures out how to move her eyebrows and mouth again — that she could make you forget you ever heard the name Ingrid Bergman?
Has anyone ever told her the truth? Even her poor husband, who had a bit of promise when they married but whose talent appears to have been drained by his succubus of a wife? Someone should, so Madonna, listen to me: The reason you can’t act isn’t because you haven’t had the right training, or the right script, or the right director. The reason you can’t act is because in order to pretend to be another person, you have to become aware that other people exist, and they have lives and private thoughts and emotions that have nothing to do with whether they think you look fabulous at 49. Only a narcissist could say something like this with a straight face:
Madonna spoke of New York, how it’s changed: “It’s not the exciting place it used to be. It still has great energy; I still put my finger in the socket. But it doesn’t feel alive, cracking with that synergy between the art world and music world and fashion world that was happening in the 80s. A lot of people died.”
Because of course you’d know. You get out so much these days.
Another thing a non-narcissist wouldn’t say:
madonna: Do you have a daughter?
me: No, three sons.
[Madonna looks at me accusingly.]
me: I didn’t choose it—it just happened.
madonna: Do you believe that? You think things just happen?
me: I think that just happened.
me: So who’s making the decision?
madonna: You are, you and your missus.
me: About what kind of kids we want?
madonna: You chose it. Your soul chose it.
me: No. Do you believe that? That my insides wanted boys?
madonna: Unconsciously. Yes.
Now that you’re pushing 50, you’re going to learn something unpleasant: One by one, your friends are going to start getting sick. Just you wait. One day you’ll get a phone call, and it’ll be someone you’ve known for years, and she’ll say she found a lump in her breast, and she’s going to be starting chemo soon, and she just thought you’d want to know. When this happens, be sure to tell her her soul chose cancer. Unconsciously, of course.
Also, because I am still feeling very, very mean, ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States:
I believe I just unconsciously chose this headache I’ve had all day.