I'm F...ing Christie Brinkley

There's this old joke that an old jokester once told me. It's about a garmento who is shipwrecked on a desert island. (If you don't know what a garmento is then you shouldn't be reading this blog.) Call him Irving. He's very lonely. He misses home, he misses his sewing machine, he misses his best friend Shmuel. One day, the supermodel Christie Brinkley washes up on the beach. He gives her mouth-to-mouth, she revives, and declares her undying love for him. They set up house together and, true to her word, Christie is madly in love with Irving. A montage follows of them running through the surf (Irving's long beard billowing in the breeze), thatching their roof, eating exotic fruit (it's not Kosher but they're hungry)... You get the picture. Then Christie notices that Irving is depressed. He's mooning around their little island, turning down her offers of sauteed kiwi burgers and late-night star gazing.

So she begs him, "Irving, what's wrong. It's your Christie here. You can tell me!"

"Welllll...," he grumbles, "you vouldn't understand.."

"Please, Irving, you have to tell me, what can I do to make you happy again? You know I'd do anything for you."

"Anytink?"

"Yes, of course, anything."

Irving brings out a bundle of old clothes and asks Christie to go behind the rock and put them on. Once the clothes are on, he wants her to come out from behind the rock and stand there. She agrees, goes behind the rock and puts on the strange clothes. She emerges wearing a fedora, a scraggly beaten up brown suit, a slightly yellowish white shirt and some scuffed black shoes. Irving's eyes light up. He runs up to her, embraces her and screams, "Shmuel, Shmulie, it's zo good to see you! Shmuel you vouldn't belief it, I'M F...ING CHRISTIE BRINKLEY.."

I love this joke.

I love it because it's so true. Life is depressing without people you love around - people to share the good stuff with. I woke up the other morning and just started laughing hysterically. Peter thought it was time to call 999 which is the 911 of Hong Kong. CHRISTIE BRINKLEY is what I was thinking... CHRISTIE BRINKLEY.

I have been feeling this vague sense of distance the past month. Like everything is blurry, including me. And I keep pinching myself because I have this beautiful family and we live in a lovely place and it's all pretty nice. Mostly I've been feeling guilty because of this undefined but real sense of .... well..... nothing? And then I realized. I've got no one to share it with. Back home there are these incredible people whom I've shared everything with for more than 20 years. And, here we are, and I've got no one to turn to and say, "LOOK AT MY APARTMENT, ISN'T IT WILD? HERE'S MY STREET, ISN'T THIS STRANGE? LOOK AT WHAT KATE CAN DO, ISN'T SHE SOMETHING? LOOK AT PETER AND KATE - AREN'T THEY SO BEAUTIFUL? ISN'T THIS SHIRT COOL? HOW 'BOUT THIS VIEW? HAVE YOU EVER TASTED SUCH A GREAT DUMPLING?" From the sublime to the ridiculous.

There's no one on my island but Peter and Kate - who, in my opinion, are far more perfect than Christie Brinkley. So, who do I tell? Who do I share it with? What's life without a bit of gossip? I'm bursting to open my door and usher in someone who has known me for years and share it all... all of it... every last second of this strange, new place and all our adventures. I feel better for having realized this.

For now, this blog will have to suffice. Until I can get Peter to dress up like Aunt Beena...