What would a summer beach read (the theme of this edition) be without an advice column? We thought of doing a "Dear Third Estate" but then we got creative. What if, we wondered, one of today's teen queen's, for instance Hilary Duff, wrote an advice column for one of the teen magazines? And what if, we wondered, she had to take a break and the publisher had to get someone to fill in for her? That could be funny. But what would make it even funnier?
Oh what always makes everything funnier? Cokie Roberts!!!!!!!!!! So, what if, in our fictional account, a magazine called Tiger Beatin' had to fill space for an advice column that Hilary Duff had intended to write but Cokie Roberts ended up penning? Our sides were aching!
Here now, in the spirit of summer, is advice from the one and only Cokie Robets.
ASK DUFF! by Kooky Cokie Roberts
When the publisher of Tiger Beatin' called me and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, I dialed the wrong number" of course I knew he was too shy to ask me to work on a feature. Being the kind and generous soul I am, I asked him if he was having deadline problems. Yes, he needed an advice column -- I cut him off and immediately said no. I still haven't recovered from the ten minutes I put in prepping for my last NPR piece. But then Steve walked in and asked me what was going on and said I was a fool to turn down money and that his house, his rules (he wishes!) which of course means that if I want to have more of those injections, I'm going to have to pay for them myself. (I had hoped to cut costs by doing it all "at home," you know, like a facial. But Steve looked in the fridge -- big surprise there! -- one day, grabbed my curdled cheese and threw it out.)
So with Steve screaming in one ear and the Tiger Beatin' publisher yammering on in the other, I may have missed a few key points. Like the title. Why is it Ask Duff? I live in D.C. Is that the new lingo for D.C.? It's so hard to keep up. I asked Steve and said "Guys are buff, maybe gals are duff."
Well even Steve can figure out something once in a blue moon. So as a very duff, young woman, a very young woman, I'm happy to share.
Maybe it will even pay enough to let us purchase a new summer home on Nantucket? We already have what Steve calls a summer home and I call a shack. He argues that it has "character" which must be a low class term for "eye sore" and the next time he uses the word "character" while I'm having to trek to the "big house" to use the bathroom, I may do more than grit my teeth.
Anyho, I had a point, and it's this, I'll try to be keeping it realistic and giving my propers to my peeps and tossing down some scream outs because I'm as Duff as the next girl, provided she's as beautiful as me, of course. Let's change topics. I am kind of glad to be doing this piece after all because as the great beauty of our time, I kind of owe it to my lessers to share my wisdom. Sadly, my genes are another matter.
So please, write in and I'll attempt to show you the error of your ways. Oh, I guess to avoid legal actions, I should state upfront that following my advice will not make you me. It will make you more attractive than you currently are which, in some cases, isn't saying much.
Dear Duff --
You're so pretty and smart.
I love you and I want to be
just like you. "Fly." is my
favorite song.
-- Queenie Vennum
Why thank you Queenie! Your letter is by far my favorite. However, a word of caution regarding your unrealistic goals. You seem very smart (and I hope for your sake that you are pretty because God knows what a turn off brainy can be!) but regardless of whether you're Twiggy, Lucy Johnson or Jo-Jo the Dog Face Boy, there's only so much my column can do (see legal disclaimer above). There is and always will be only one Kookie Cokie Roberts. I feel your pain and I enjoy it. Doesn't it make the world seem a little more fair? By all means strive for something better than you are, but be realisitic. Oh, and by the way, my favorite song is "Plastic Fantastic Lover." Rock on!
Dear Duff --
I teach science, so believe me
when I tell you that you are the
finest specimen biology has ever produced.
I'd like to climb your DNA chain, if you
know what I mean. You are without a doubt
the sexiest woman to take a breath. I'd like
to try a few chemical reactions with you,
if you know what I mean. Rare is the day
that goes by where I don't dream of
marrying the one and only Hilary.
-- Ray Cooley
Dear Ray --
I have no idea what you mean, but if you want to do something with the hideous Hillary Clinton, despite the wet blanket she and her husband Bill put on the D.C. social scene, why don't you write her! I'm not her answering service and, as far as I know, Hillary doesn't have any chains. I guess I should thank you for stating the obvious ("finest specimen," etc.) but you then call your personal taste into question by lavishing praise on that woman.
Dear Duff --
I just turned thirteen and I'm your biggest fan!
My mother says I should be careful when I
use make up because I don't want to
look too harsh or comical. She says nobody
likes a circus clown. What do you think?
-- Nettie Jones
Dear Nettie --
First let me say, it's always great to know that my peers appreciate my exquisite beauty. Secondly, as for your mother's remarks, is she by chance Amish?
Make up is like sex, there's no such thing as too much. I'm thrilled to be your role model because we all need good role models. My personal role models included Ivana Trump, Petulia Clark, and that madcamp scamp Tonya Harding. As for your mother's comments regarding clowns, excuse me, the clowns were always my favorite part of the circus!
Is your mother, by chance, butt ugly? If so, that could explain her hostility towards jolly clowns and her misguided grooming advice. Oh well, try to tolerate her speaking but consider the source. After all, if you weren't supposed to judge a book by it's cover, then they'd put the cover on the inside and the text on the outside. Right?
Dear Duff --
Don't you feel used and abused by a society
that rates beauty over brains? That treats women
like sex objects? That says your only as good
as you look? That perpetuates feelings of
insecurity in those society has deemed good
looking?
-- Dr. Catherine Stanley
Ugly girls ask a lot of dumb questions. Apparently, they're also now America haters.
Ugly = bitter and it's not pretty. I've included this letter just so my loyal fans can see the kind of kooks a woman of my beauty has to put up with.
Dear Duff --
Help! I color coordinated my outfit for days.
I bought a matching black bra and panties,
black silk pants and this wonderful black
pullover. Then the other day, my clod of a
boyfriend got his cigarette ash on the
pullover and it has a hole! What to do?
I've spent my entire paycheck on this outfit
and now I have nothing to wear. I'm in
a quandry. Help!
-- Confused
Dear Confused,
First let me say that I know what it's like living with a clutzy clod with no sense of style. What can you do? Steve's idea of style is to wear which ever white t-shirt has the least noticable arm pit stains. As for your quandry, what an interesting word, the answer's rather obvious.
Skip the pullover and just wear the bra. You'll get more attention that way.
Dear Duff --
There are definate sparks between you and
Chad Michael Murray. I'd like to see more
of you two together. Any chance? You're
my all time favorite.
-- Liz Thomas
Lizzie --
We've got a lot in common -- I'm my all time favorite as well. As for your question, I had trouble finding it. I managed to locate a question mark but apparently you were in the midst of asking some guy named Chance if there were any left. (Any what? I don't know. Your letter is very confusing.) I take it you think Chad Michael Murray is hot and apparently saw us together when I grabbed his little tushie. Where were you, Lizzie? Where were you? I could have used a witness when I was fighting Chaddy's restraining order.
Dear Duff --
I love your look, messy, unkempt hair and all.
-- Dick Long
Mr. Long --
Or should I say Mr. Smart Ass? I have no messy, unkempt hair. I am a naturally beautiful, naturally well coiffed sex goddess. I'm sure you found your letter rather amusing and shall we venture clever? But be forewarned, I have kept the attorney in the Chad Michael Murray matter (see previous response) on retainer and I will be meeting with him to discuss a libel lawsuit.
Finally, a note. Not another letter. This is a personal message like in Desperatly Seeking Susan -- you know, the Madonna film where she dries her arm pits with a bathroom blower? Anyway, let's just call her Desperately Seeking Cokie, okay? Attention Desperately Seeking Cokie, I don't know why you keep leaving me messages, but stop. Apparently you're in the midst of promoting a film called Herbie and someone has asked you to write some sort of advice column to fill in for "another teen queen." You say that since I've already grabbed some letters from the office, I might be able to help you pick out some to answer. I have no idea why you keep leaving me messages, but stop.
Apparently you need help writing something. Quit begging me to call you and do it yourself, it's not that hard, belive me. You say that the publisher of Tiger Beatin' called you and told you I'd be there to help you. Well forget it. I'm far too busy to do my own column let alone help you learn to write. And, might I add, that your request that I help you pick out which letters to answer sounds more like you're looking for an assistant than a co-writer. I'm no one's lacky (ask Steve!). And what kind of a last name is Loham anyway? Leave me alone, you kook!