FEY, TINA. Bossypants. New York: A Reagan Arthur Book, 2011. ISBN: 978-0-316-05686-1. Pp. 277. $26.99.
"I hope that's not really the cover. That's really going to hurt sales". You said it, Don Fey, Tina Fey's dad. What a sight it is, seeing row upon row of Tina Fey's memoir in the bestseller section, her adorable face staring out at me, her head cradled in those furry manhands. If it weren't for the cover, her book would be number one. Oh wait.
This is how funny Fey's book is: Kris and I sat down to watch Karate Kid 3 in sync with Rifftrax and I ended up reading through the whole thing. By the way, can you believe the kid in KK3 was almost thirty when they made that movie? Did he drink the waters of eternal youth when he was thirteen?
I'm stalling. I set out to write this blog so I could roast books, not drool over them. What's the point of writing a review when everything I have to say is positive, or, at worst, neutral? My one complaint is that Fey mentions her scar (six-year-old Tina, slasher, alley behind family home), saying, "I only bring it up to explain why I'm not going to talk about it". Then she talks about it for two pages. Two hilarious pages, I may add. Then there's my favorite part. A man driving by shouts at thirteen-year-old Tina "Nice tits". Her response? To yell back "Suck my dick". My hero.
Maybe the worst part about reading Fey's memoir was this: When Fey reproduces some of the awful things people say about her on the internet, I literally took them personally. I read that chapter and felt as if someone had just said the exact same things to me. It was creepy. I don't aspire to be Tina Fey, or do what she does. But I immediately assumed that whoever hates Tina Fey hates me. Because, you know, I'm an adorable, hilarious woman with an Emmy-award winning television show in which I star across Alec Baldwin.