As most of you know, a columnist’s life is wide open. Not just my life, but my children’s as well, because nothing, no matter how private, no matter how self-revealing, is off-limits when you’re two hours from deadline and you haven’t written a word. Recently, my 11-year-old complained about having her phone conversations laid bare in a column, to which I said: “You like that expensive summer camp, don’t you? Try not to think of yourself as a daughter – think of yourself as material.”
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No singer ever charged that kind of money before. Speaking as a man, I can think of things that $700 would buy me, and to be frank, hearing The Way We Were isn’t in the top 35. I had good seats. But for $700 , expect a little lap dancing.
So why did I do this?
A) I knew everyone in the crowd; they’d been to my bar mitzvah.
B) She hadn’t toured in 25 years. Of course, neither had the Cowsills.
C) She’s got great pipes. There’s Sinatra and her. And you’ve got a better shot at getting all the way through a song with her because, unlike Sinatra, she can still remember the words.
Why did it become so uncool to like Barbra Streisand?
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