Michelle, Ian’s little sister here. Ian just called me from the top of a mountain outside of Milford, Pennsylvania, and before his cell phone cut off, he said that “Nell’s rehearsal dinner was great”. After that I was left with buzzing silence, so we’re on our own here.
Ian and my brother Steve have shown great restraint and decorum regarding the recent complaints regarding Ian’s blog. Well, I got Ian’s approval to use the “F” word, so all you people who have a problem with my brother can Fuck Off. And I mean that in capitals. Seriously? You are taking the time and effort to say a blog is self-involved? I pity you, with the free time on your hands, and particularly feel you all must be simply pathetic to not realize the grace, generosity, talent, goodness and fun in my brother’s writing (and in his life) that you get to witness for free. There are few living writers who can turn a phrase like Ian, and you should count yourselves lucky that you don’t have to pay a dollar a word. Cuz he’s worth far more that that. So get the freak over yourselves, and spend five minutes looking at what your president is doing. Complain about that, voice your opinion about that, but don’t waste precious minutes and brain cells on being concerned with my brother’s wedding tux. His tux, and his wedding, are things I will remember forever for how simply amazing they were. Go stick your head down a hole. You might get more accomplished.
Okay. My rant is over. I’m typing from Ian and Tessa’s apartment in Park Slope, where I am taking refuge from a Saturday night party in my own buidling. I’m also half looped from a wine and cheese party. I’ve already raided the Pop Tarts and am about to go abuse the cable TV. Someone else from my family will be writing tomorrow night, and hopefully, someday soon, my brother will return to where he rightfully belongs.