There are many reasons in New York magazine’s profile of Carrie Fisher to fall in love with Princess Leia all over again. The actress, whose one-woman show based on her memoir “Wishful Drinking” opens Friday in New York, has kitchen floor tiles “shaped and labeled like enormous tablets of Prozac.” She has a tendency, as writer Amy Larocca puts it, to “shout things for emphasis” (e.g., she says of the shock therapy — or was it the acid trips? — that zapped her short-term memory: “Totally. Fucking. Worth it!”). She insists on referring to Kate and Jon Gosselin as “Kate and Allie.”
These are all delightfully charming anecdotes, to be sure. Personally, though, I was won over by the moment described in the article in which Fisher tosses pieces of string cheese in her mouth and says: “You know how they say you’re your own worst enemy? Well, you’re not. Read what they say about you on the Internet if you look fat. I don’t give a shit, by the way, but they say I look like Yoda.” The clincher: Recent comparisons of her body to Elton John’s drove her to write on her blog, “Blow my big bovine tiny dancer cock.” As a colleague wrote in an e-mail: That’s a T-shirt slogan, if ever there was one.
