I want to be Nora Ephron*

Today, I went to a mega mixer. It was one of those awkward events where you stand in a room full of other media type people, half of them wearing nametags, half of them not and you make eye contact with someone and then force yourself to shake hands and  ask, ‘what do you do?’ and ‘where do you live?’ all while trying to pull down your dress so it doesn’t bunch up awkwardly at your midsection.

Anyway, someone asked me for the hundredth time what my ideal beat would be and I gave off the usual prattle about pop culture, feature writing blah blah blah.

It was only after learning of Nora Ephron’s passing today, that I realized, with sudden clarity, that I basically want to be Nora Ephron.

She’s exactly the kind of writer I’d like to be. Funny, engaging, famous but not too famous, smart without being flashy, self-deprecating in a way that seems honest. She wrote for all the major publications in her hey day and scripted two of my favorite-comfort-rom-coms of all time, You’ve Got Mail  and When Harry Met Sally. When I was going through my hardcore-must-read-every-piece-of-long-form-journalism-ever-written-phase, I stumbled upon her now famous breast essay, and then read a few of the pieces she wrote in New York magazine. Good stuff, man, good stuff.

Condolences to the family.

*with some James Baldwin-esque righteous racial anger stuff though too.

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