At worst, Instagram is a narcissistic display of vapid beauty shots masquerading as ironic selfies that will more often than not spawn Tumblr blogs called things like “Hot Dogs or Legs?” (fine, that one ruled), “Rich Kids of Instagram” and most recently and disturbingly, “Funeral Selfies.”
At best, it is a tool that connects you with cool content shared by virtue of that which a commenter is willing to disseminate. Case in point: the woman who, under a photo of me accompanied by a caption about faille poop, asked if I had yet seen The Guardian’s list of great Ephron quotes.
I had not. So I went to The Guardian, and you know what I learned (other than that the secret to life is to marry an Italian man)? That a new book of essays and plays and criticisms and so forth released in the U.S. yesterday. According to the late wunderkind’s publisher’s site,
“Everything you could possibly want from Nora Ephron is here—from her writings on journalism, feminism, and being a woman (the notorious piece on being flat-chested, the clarion call of her commencement address at Wellesley) to her best-selling novel, Heartburn, written in the wake of her devastating divorce from Carl Bernstein; from her hilarious and touching screenplay for the movie When Harry Met Sally . . . (“I’ll have what she’s having”) to her recent play Lucky Guy (published here for the first time); from her ongoing love affair with food, recipes and all, to her extended takes on such controversial women as Lillian Hellman and Helen Gurley Brown; from her pithy blogs on politics to her moving meditations on aging (“I Feel Bad About My Neck”) and dying.”
So, there you have it in one long sentence. Book club, anyone?