This morning I was revising this essay I wrote last year about my trip to Italy and I had two thoughts:
Oh, I am so very glad I am not this sad about love anymore.
and
God, I want some spaghetti carbonara.
Italy did not cure me of my emotional ills like it did for other writers much more famous and successful than myself, but I didn’t go there because of that book, although I did go there to eat, which I did very successfully, like the champ that I am.
I have actually been pretty fascinated with all the advertising for Eat Pray Love, The Movie, which is going to make so much money they will have to invent a new monetary unit for it. I was thinking all they had to do was just not fuck it up. Like you’ve got the Julia Roberts face and the Javier Bardem face and the James Franco face and the various Italian iconography, and all you have to do is just put those things in an ad (and if it is a trailer, please add the Julia Roberts laugh and also the Julia Roberts smile) and it will just speak for itself. And they have done that, and ladies and gentlemen may I introduce you to RAZMATAZZAJILLION (insert dancing dollar sign gif here), which is how much money Eat Pray Love is going to make this fall.
I think I’ll probably go see it, I have to admit. But I will NOT go with my girlfriends on a Friday night wearing like, a sari, and a post-yoga class glow. I will sneak in ashamedly with the rest of the freelancers in the afternoon when we should all be at home trying to write our own razmatazzajillion dollar-earning books.
