Showtime! From Fluffer to Headliner

I had 2 events this past week, one far more Nixon Sweat Machine inducing than the other. So let me begin with the tremor fest:

This would be my Fall for the Book reading with David Shields, author of the phenomenal The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead (believe me, this memoir-cum-data dump-cum-philosophical exposition is way more upbeat than the title suggests). I couldn't believe my luck in being paired with one of my literary heroes. Until I thought about the fact that I'd actually be sharing air space with him. And, even more terrifying - have to read my actual book in front of him. Reading in front of a roomful of strangers is a lot easier, believe me. (And before I go on, let me just say that in any game of "Who, living or dead, would you invite to a dinner party," Shields would be seated to my right. Jim Morrison to my left.)

So don't need to tell you how nervous I was. And to make matters worse, I decided, either bravely or idiotically, to read the first 11 pages of the book. The smutiest part, for those of you in the know. Can you believe I said the word "penis" in front of my idol and then delivered a passage about blowing some dude? Neither could I. But I did.

And Shields called my writing powerful. Which just about made my entire world. And when Shields blew my reading away with his reading, a 30-minute collage made up of segments throughout the book (including, his uttering the word penis as well - we are soul mates!), I was truly humbled. As well as able to take some lessons away - like, SLOW DOWN. Shields, who sounds a bit like John Malkovich, has true comic timing and enviable delivery.

Here is a photo of the happy couple. All I need is a corsage and I'd be ready for my senior prom.



The night after reading with Shields (I joked with my cousin that I was going to ask to be his fluffer and read first), I headlined at the Barnes & Noble in Reston, VA. I had a great turn out and whether due to a glass of wine beforehand or just pure relief of having made it through the Shields event without puking on his shoes, I was at my most loose and most relaxed. And, remembering my lesson from the previous night, I read slowly and lifted my head out of the book to look directly at my audience (which I had seen Shields do.)

A gigantic thank you to the wonderful staff, Ginna, Jenny, and Pam - all huge fans of the book and unbelievably cool and fun women. And equal thanks and cheers go out to everyone who showed up and cheered me on. It made all the difference in the world.

Tall Tales - My View From The Top

Today my friend Billy sent me a snippet from a popular YouTube video that totally sealed the deal for me. In it, a pint-sized Asian lady answers a room-for-rent ad and shows up to meet her two female housemates, who both sit in a sparsely furnished living room. When the women stand to greet her, they each unfold to reveal near skyscraper measurements.

"Wow," marvels the Asian, speaking directly into their navels. "I am so tiny compared to you two gorgeous giants."

"It's the latest craze," Billy wrote in his email, "tall porn!"

I knew it was bound to happen. With the recent release of Arianne Cohen's The Tall Book: A Celebration of Life From on High, (not to mention all the fanfare made over Michelle Obama's 5-foot-10 stature), I am, at long last and just an inch shy of 6-feet, finally in style.

Like Cohen, who stands 6-foot-3, I too often feel like I walk through life with a spotlight on me. Growing up (pardon the pun), the question, "How tall are you?" was usually followed by, "And did you play ball in school? (No, why, were you a jockey? I'd respond, especially if a short man was posing the question.)

In an interview made to promote her book, Cohen talks about the trouble she has finding clothing to fit her long frame and the discomfort of squeezing herself into coach class or movie theater seats. I definitely feel her pain, but I have never seen "tall" as being a condition. Or, if I did, I usually saw it working to my advantage. In fact, one of my most shining moments occurred in a movie theater when I was in college. The guy in front of me kept rocking his chair back, repeatedly knocking me hard in the knees. When I leaned forward and politely asked him to stop, he turned around, regarded my cramped quarters, and snarled, "It wouldn't be such a problem if you weren't such an Amazon freak."

"Yeah," I coolly replied, "it's definitely been hard for me having legs that go all the way up to my neck." As soon as the credits began rolling, he turned back around and asked me for my phone number. (And, just to lay this to rest right now, I may be tall, but I have never been confused for a supermodel.)

In her book, Cohen provides an inventory of the difficulties associated with being vertically challenged—like the Goldilockian search for chairs and beds that fit just right ("The world is not built for tall people," Cohen observes). The author also offers some pretty comforting statistics about being tall. Perhaps you munchkins out there weren't aware that tall people possess higher IQs, win more presidential elections, earn approximately $789 more per inch per year, and generally outlive their shorter contemporaries (although, with my being an accident-prone lefty, this sort of cancels that last one right out.)

I'm thrilled that my height is being memorialized on the printed page. But unlike Cohen, who has said, "tallness isn't something that people write books about, " I did have a literary touchstone. Phyllis Krasilovsky's The Very Tall Little Girl got me through the decades of teasing that might have made me feel even more self conscious about my body had I not read and reread it at such an early age. The title character, who truly stands out from the black-and-white ink illustrations by being dressed in a vivid pink and red polka dotted dress, struggles with squeezing into her classroom's tiny chairs and tables and engulfing her smaller friends in her outsized hugs. But, as Cohen does in her book, Krasilovsky catalogs the benefits of being tall. Like, being able to pick out groceries from the high shelves or being allowed to go in the deep end of the swimming pool. While the other children are relegated to their homogenous black and white background, the very tall little girl gets to carry the flag at the school assembly and star as the funny giraffe in her school play.

For this tall tale, I thank my mother, who stands 6-feet in stocking feet although she prefers to be in heels. "This book belongs to Cathy Alter," she inscribed to my then 5-year-old self, "a very tall little girl." I was then, as I am now, touched by her largesse.