Over at the New Yorker, Tina Fey agonizes, at length, over the burdens of being Tina Fey. She’s a working mom, for sure, and she’d love to have another kid, but that would mean “derailing the TV show where two hundred people depend on me for their income, and I take that seriously.” Almost as seriously, I’d guess, as the $5 mil a year or so she pulls in making me laugh.
Throughout the article, Tina refers to herself in the third person as “the Writer,” when I think she means “Grotesquely Pretentious/Condescending Multi-Millionaire TV Star,” but who am I to judge?
Afterwords
You have to subscribe to the NY to get Tina’s fatuous rap in full, which is one reason why I don’t, but Salon’s Mary Elizabeth Williams gives a sufficiently worshipful précis here.
