2007-07-21 - 10:52 p.m.
...SPEAK NO EVIL..!!
Actually, make that: “Speak no ANYTHING at all..." That’s been my mantra, since becoming plagued with a week-long...and counting...bout of LARYNGITIS (counting to myself, in my head, that is).It all started last Sunday when I met my friend Diana Biederman at Don’t Tell Mama for an evening of classic American songs known as Victor’s Show. The "Victor" in question is Victor Neufeld, formerly Barbara Walters’ producer at 20/20 and currently a producer at CNN. Well, that’s his day job, but Victor does one heck of a cabaret evening…with witty banter in between great songs. But I digress...
So, just as Victor broke into “Come Fly With Me,” I got a fly in my throat…an annoying tickle that just wouldn’t quit, despite my trying to drown it with vodka gimlets. I had to stifle a cough throughout the entire show, “Ahem, ahem-ing” only during the applause. I felt as if my lungs were about to burst. Victor sang on and on… “Route 66,” “I Love You Just The Way You Are,” “Rhode Island Is Famous For You,” “Wasted Away in Margaritaville,” etc. Applause, applause…cough, cough.
I bid Diana good-night…and hacked and wheezed all the way home on the #3 train. (FYI, Diana is now in LA, trying to sell a TV series she developed. Think good thoughts for her. She describes it as “Dynasty in swimsuits.” I see a touch of Melrose Place in there, too. I hope she nails it; it would be such a refreshing change from dumb-old reality TV.)
Monday…still coughing, voice fading.
Tuesday…up at the crack ‘o dawn for a TV segment on CW11 Morning News with my client Fred Flare, source of “all things cute.” Voice fading FASTER and faster by the minute. One of the models asked me if I had been out “karaoke-ing” all night. “No, I just always sound like Bette Davis after a carton ‘o Lucky’s.” By evening, my voice was more like an "other-worldly squeak."
Wednesday…VOICE COMPLETELY GONE..!! And, of course the phones kept ringing, and I couldn’t call anyone back. Panic set in. I spent the whole day sending out e-mails apologizing for not returning calls. What would I have done without e-mail..?? The mind reels. My booming business empire might have entirely collapsed! Rushed off to see my darling Dr. Zimmerman (David), who loaded me up with prednisone and antibiotics, which I began pounding before I even left Duane Reade. David told me to "try not to talk AT ALL"…but I was a desperate woman. I had a long-planned meeting tomorrow at Gilda’s Club with Fred Forcellati, my Loehmann’s honcho.
Thursday…woke up saying, “hello, hello…testing…hello”…voice still gone. Only a vague whisper is audible. Meeting looming at 2 p.m. DAMN! Drink the tea. Take more drugs. Suck about a million Ricola Cherry/Honey Drops. Still nuthin’. Get to meeting, totally embarrassed, imagining myself as the guy in that really depressing commercial where he has a fake larynx b/c of smoking/cancer. Squeaked and croaked and whispered throughout the meeting, but my throat got so dried out, that suddenly I developed an alarming full-body coughing convulsion. It was an extravaganza of coughing, wheezing, gasping for air, eyes tearing, nose snotting up. It was hideous. I ran from the room, and tried to cough it out and compose myself in the bathroom. Left Fred hangin’ with the Gilda’s reps. It was mortifying. When I returned, the meeting was wrapping up, and I felt totally humiliated and exhausted…but what the hell, I gave it my best shot. Back out on the street, Fred (I LOVE this guy) said, “Hey, Linda…don’t call me, okay. Send me an E-MAIL..!!"
Friday…still trapped in my voice-less world. Sent an e-mail to Kevin Moriarty, who had called me earlier in the week. I told him I had no voice, and he wrote back, “Sorry you can't use your voice. Can you still use your mouth?,” which was a tad pervy, though he totally denied it was meant to be suggestive. Hey, how long do I know you, K-Man…?? Took the rest of the day off and went to see Broken English, starring Parker Posey and directed by Zoe Cassavetes (and featuring her mom Gena Rowlands, whom I worship). It was very New York and neurotic and I loved it. Posey’s character was prone to depression and panic attacks and had no luck with men…and, sad to say, I could totally relate. However, she did follow a man to Paris in the end, and the movie lets you believe that things might work out after all. (NOTE TO SELF: Get your ass to Paris. That’s right, folks…I’ve never been to Paris!).
Saturday…able to croak out a few essential words… “Large coffee with half-and-half, please.” Otherwise, no need to talk. Spent a glorious sunny day just roaming around…silently, except for the occasional phlegm-ball. Green market, the Strand, Filene’s, Bed Bath & Beyond. Ate some yellow wax beans and tomatoes and fresh mozzarella for dinner…watched the 12-hour Godfather Saga off and on, read Murakami’s Norwegian Wood. Just chilled. No pressure to call anybody. No can do.
It’s funny…but just a few weeks ago…at a Father’s Day barbecue at my sister Susan’s house, she and my sister Pat told me that I talk too damn much. “You never stop talking; we can’t get a word in edgewise.” Hmmm…I just thought I was being entertaining, informative and amusing (those bitches!).
So, hopefully, soon I will be chit-chatting away in the land of the talking (sorry, Pat and Sue). It’s been extremely frustrating not to be able to communicate. There’s no nuance in an e-mail…unless you bold everything…or use FULL CAPS…or underline...all of which I’m totally guilty of…not to mention exclamation points!!!!
And as a publicist, I’m totally hobbled by not being able to pick up the phone and pitch a story idea or spew my non-stop client propaganda 24/7. It’s deadly not to be able to nail the witty comeback or zing the brain-dead customer-service representative. Mostly I missed dancing around in my underwear singing Amy Winehouse and Janis Joplin songs out loud. Or faux-scatting along with Ella and Mel Torme. (Is it just me…or is scatting completely retarded?)
Okay…I didn’t mean for this to run on SO long…it’s just that I have this logjam of words trapped behind these useless vocal chords…so they had to come out somewhere.
I know, I know…it’s just laryngitis. So, tell me about your ingrown toe-nail, your mosquito bite or your paper cut…
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