Transcript
Host (0:00)
This episode is brought to you by FX's Love Story. John F. Kennedy, Jr. And Carolyn Brissette join host Evan Ross Katz on the Official podcast for FX's new series Love Story. John F. Kennedy Jr. And Carolyn Brissette. And go behind the scenes with cast and special guest featuring Sarah Pigeon, Paul Anthony Kelly, Grace Gummer and Naomi Watts. FX's Love Story. John F. Kennedy Jr. And Carolyn Bessette. Wherever you listen to podcasts, Edible arranges.
Gabby (0:30)
Effortless joy all year with same day and next day delivery or local pickup. Edible makes gifting simple fresh arrangements, dessert boards and baked treats for birthdays, thank yous or just because. Order@edible.com or your local store. I have some here. Yes, we're recording. Oh, thank God. I'm still doing it on myself. Can you believe? And no, I don't want any help. I don't need any help. For I'm in an independent, adept woman prone to mistakes. You see this nice gummy bear straw I have because. Because I want to make the little things more enjoyable because maybe. Maybe we could all buy ourselves a nice candle and burn it. You have got to use your things. They make you feel alive inside. Why don't you splurge on yourself? What about a pair of silk pajamas that you can wear around house and pretend you're in some kind of a musical if you go that way, if you like those sort of things. Not me. Not me. Well, hello, hello, hello. Well, hello, hello, hello. They say not me. Get your hellos out of here. I find that offensive. I don't want a small talk with some kind of an agent over the phone. I don't care if you're recording. This is an assault on my time. Well, hello, hello, hello. Oh, who's happy around here? Not me. Because I know I'm going to wait on hold for the next 20 to 30 minutes and I'm going to get transferred to another robot and then wait again for another 30 minutes. Hello, hello, hello. Well, let's get into it Already? Already? And why not? Why not? Talk about rejection. My light's not on me. See, I'm doing it by myself. I will not go as far as to say, okay, now we're ready.
Host (2:41)
This episode is brought to you by FX's Love Story. John F. Kennedy Jr. And Carolyn Brissette join host Evan Ross Katz on the official podcast for FX's new series Love Story, John F. Kennedy, Jr. And Carolyn Brissette and go behind the scenes with cast and special guest featuring Sarah Pidgeon, Paul Anthony, Kelly Grace Gummer and Naomi Watts FX's love story John F. Kennedy Jr. And Carolyn Bessette Wherever you listen.
Gabby (3:08)
To podcasts, celebrate your unique story with Pandora Jewelry. Crafted with meaning and exquisite artistry. From sparkling lab grown diamonds to personalized engravings and heartfelt charms, Pandora offers endless ways to express what's in your heart. Pandora's rings, bracelets and necklaces are so fun to mix, match stack and style. Every day is a chance to be love. Let Pandora Jewelry remind you that love starts with you. Shop in store or online@pandora.net now we're ready. I will not go as far as saying rejection is a blessing, but it is something. Rejection is not for everybody, but it is for you and for me. Rejection is dismissed as inadequate or inappropriate or not to one's taste for us. Ouch. It hurts like a thumb to a lighter too long in which a roach of a joint won't light. Come on, come on, come on. It's so close to your face, your eyebrows are at risk like a throbbing toe that you stubbed on the bed frame. But no one is there to laugh at you. So instead you cry in sorrow, alone and embarrassed, like a paper that is falling from the ceiling, and you look up to watch it, only for it to paper cut your cornea. You've seen it. You've watched it too closely. I'd say it's not your time. They say when getting rejected, it's because of you and your destiny. The universe has your back. The secret in Oprah Recommence and say again and again and again, your future cannot handle the timing. The moon and the stars are protecting you, but you must wait for your time and to not be rejected but accepted. Timing will be better when you show the world you're ready. Well, how you do that, we mustn't know, do we? It's just a bunch of words strewn together that means absolutely nothing. What's new? Award salad of a type with a Roma tomato sprinkled in and maybe a cucumber with massage kale drenched in ranch dressing, which you drink like the leftover cereal milk from your Cheerios because you're disgusting. No, I think rejection is because they're not ready for you. On the contrary, you need not take accountability or change who you are for someone else's time. This is not about you, you. It's about them. They decide when it's their time, and many times they are not on time. Come back next year, the Denver Broncos cheerleaders say to me. See, See, it's not their time to have a great like me. You see, it's not their time to see to see what I see in me for I want someone to see me clearly without even a pair of plus 1.25 reading papers just to see their iPad nightly reading reading a great such as Jane Eyre after Wuthering Heights and then on to Rebecca. They're stuck in the 1800s. How will one be ready for me, huh? Get with the times. An innovator the future I am and I am on time. I return. I return to a Denver Broncos cheerleader audition and again they are still not on time. They say to me, you're too warm and we like it quite Luke on the cooler side of a tepid. They're not ready for a glinting, glistening hot fire who would do wonders in the back rows of choreography and hairography to the right, to the left and around and around and around. These thick locks are made for something and it is their destiny. All they want is the iceberg that is taking a hundred thousand million zillion years to melt and scientists still really care about it. But it's like I don't have the time to give an ounce of a fuck of a melting glacier when I I can't get health insurance. It's not their time for me. Come back next year, they say again to me. And finally, finally I charge the stage with two orange pom poms and the words Rookie DBC Gabriella and I run and I run and I kick, I spit and I spit and I spit in the head. They are ready for me, and I have always been ready for then. But they caught up finally, with haste, throwing me into interviews with the Colorado 9 News, Kroger brand Barbara Walters asking me how my parents feel about me being sexualized while we're in an empty patient's room and I am clad in nursing scrubs. Ew. How can you squeal those words aloud when I spend all of these 12 hours, not just euphemistically, I think that's the right word, saving lives, but actually, and excuse me, but my my patient's blood pressure is going down the tube. Lady, save your lewd questions for someone who cares. And by the way, my parents are happy as a clam for me being sexualized. And this is a question that was not sent to me via email the night before. A curveball this is, but I know not to swing. This old bitch isn't going to get me like that. I go on to complete many more interviews on camera, including an ESPN Sunday night feature and I was the last swimsuit calendar cover girl. And I received a Papa Warner award for my work during COVID on being a dancer. Wait, let me show you my cover photo. This is she. For I have always been on time for me. Oh my God. Oh my God. And I don't know if you saw, but I have a hole in my pants. And it tends to happen. It tends to happen when you have a little too much junk in the trunk and you refuse to try your jeans on whenever you go shopping. But I wear my hole with pride, for it is my time. Okay, Where was I? Oh yeah, my successful time as a cheerleader. And you know what? They missed out on so much time on me. But that is their cross to bear. An echo of their failure that may bounce off the dance room walls fore and ever and haunt your cochlears and vibrate your head around doing, doing, doing. Like a ping pong is in there. Twas rejected. Was I fresh off the Dancing with the Stars tour by all the agents in Hollywood. Huh? Excuse me. I got second place and I co hosted for I am a Star. But nobody watched my season, which is why nobody remembers. And I am okay with that. But you agents, I know you follow me on Instagram. Well, where do you see yourself in this cursed city? Where are you gonna go now? Well, I thought that's what you were there for. And who knows? Cause I don't want to stop at what I only now know. But I want to keep going and keep going and keep going. I say with earnest, the ceiling is glass. They titter in my face. Titter, tatter. And I know they're not ready for a woman like me who is fully cooked in the oven at 450 degrees. They're not ready for a talent like me, which is yet to be determined. But I will always find a way to get back on tv, to get myself going, even at the umpteenth hour. And then fortune struck them and it was their time for me. Now here I bring a 10% and a 10% and a 10%, and I am accepted as a piggy bank. And you know they've missed out on all the 10% of a lifetime. But now, but now they have it bind them. A fresh set of teeth at the very least. Here they are, a mouthful of turkey. Teeth that blind your eyes when a smile comes about. My corns, my corneas, those should be mine. I screamed at myself through my gritted all natural teeth that I wish were some kind of a poultry. But. But this timing that Brought incisors to your head is not because I did something not good enough. It's because they had no time for the ones who are great. They couldn't see what was right under their nose. Take a big whiff. It's me. Hear me ye they say when I say it's not because of you. It's never ever ever because of you. Unless hear me when I say it's not because of you. It's never ever, ever ever ever because of you. But it could be for some of you. And that I cannot help you with. That is a lost cause. Because some people because it is because. Because of them. And they'll never know because they don't have the self awareness to take the criticism if you try and help them. So you might as well let them be, but reject me. I dare you. I know my beating heart and my buzzing cerebellum. It is not mine or yours to take on mere audience. I understand. You may not understand and your time is equal to my time. But this is philosophy. Maybe if you start from the beginning after a puff of a sativa with a cbd, you will understand. Or maybe you're gonna have to listen to it twice. And maybe you have to study and your time to comprehend, to adopt this philosophy, to gulp it down like a gallon of Kool Aid with extra sugar. This is on your time. Can you believe our parents used to feed us that? What were they feeding us? But you know what? Somehow we're all alive given the mass consumption of red dye 40. Because we are resilient. Things are on other people's time. No, our time. I'm even forgetting my own philosophy. But it is confusing because it's such an elevated way of thinking. But other than that, sometimes I think, well, you know what? Who should I be in a different life, in another life and a parallel universe of everything everywhere all at once? The magic library. And that's where the examples end. Because I don't know of another one, but you get it. Who would I be? What? What would I be doing? What should my goals be, huh? In another life, I shall be a hobbyist. No, I'm not talking about crocheting and knitting. That will not work for me. I need a. I need a hobby. Upright on my two legs, not supine. No simple reading will work for me, even though I am on the classics. As you know, Wuthering Heights. Loved it. The jury's out. They didn't understand. They they they they they they they they they they didn't like how you Couldn't keep track of the characters. But that is what's so fun about it, is that you're lost the whole time and it doesn't make sense until the end of the chapter, end of the paragraph. And Catherine is full of sass and petulance, and she withstands every beating from everyone who beats her because she's always getting beat up. Like, damn, what were they doing back then in the 1800s? So much violence. And I will say I have no hope for the movie, but I will be contributing to the millions of dollars it has grossed already. And I'll tell you what, Jane Eyre is well on my nerves. Sure, sure, maybe she's forbearing and intelligent with great morals, but stop being so cerebral, Jane. Jesus. Take a load off. Take an edge off. Let the emotions take over. I cannot take the dialogue anymore. And don't you trust Mr. Rochester? He's sketchy. I know he is. I can smell it through my pages of the Kindle. And he's full of lies. Don't let him overcome you with his. His extensive sweet talk and just a lot of talk in general. Speak up, Jane. One says she's outspoken, sure, maybe, but there's not a lot of volume. Er, sheer. Lots of words. And she's courageous and sticks up for herself. But I need more enthusiasm. I need more umph from the original heroine, feminist. But don't sit and wait at a man's feet. Please, dear God, stop calling him sir. I'm gonna rip my eyes out and smash him. Smash him on the page like and so maybe they can read. But it doesn't have to go to my brain because I cannot take it anymore. This Mr. Rochester doesn't deserve you calling him sir. If you're making out and you're getting a little freaky with a tongue kiss, you are not calling him sir. Okay? Unless you're bumping bellies and have some kind of 1800 century foreplay. He doesn't deserve it as he has a preternatural woman of a wife living in the closet who plans to attack anyone who dares to open the closet door. And he is putting you in harm's way. Dear Jane. Dear Janet. I hate it when he calls you that. What the. Who gave him the prerogative? I don't even know if your real name is Janet. What are you going to do? Like to go by Janet. What? Are you going to correct him on that? Is that your preferred name? Age? I don't think so. Stand up to him. I will be an adventurous. I shall Say a free solo climbing up the rocks not attached to a string. Feeling the wind underneath my armpits. I'll undergo laser treatments to shrink and shrink and shrink and shrink and shrink my amygdala so I have no fear center. I will skydive weekly every Wednesday. I don't fear death. I'll do my 100th jump. Naked titties flapping in the wind of a 14,000 free football. They almost fall off. But you have to hold on tight. The crack of a pussy catching a breeze. I am alive. My areola say as I put my life at risk. Let's play with fate. And then I'll climb the tallest building in Taiwan with sweaty hands and a tortured audience. They can't. Their palms are sweatier. Watching. Watching a woman who could fall to her death at any time. Why would you subject anyone to that? But I need an adventure because. And I don't have any fear and do not care for my family at home. So I keep. I keep. I keep climbing. My toes. My toes. My barking dogs are slipping. And my palms start to perspire as I speak. If you guys haven't seen that free solo guy climb the largest skyscraper in the world, you have to. You have to watch it. It will make you literally sweat. I can't. I can't do the anxiety. In my adventurous time, I will be a triple black skier. Triple black diamond skier. Following my ski buddies to the tippy top of a mountain and shred the gnar all the way down. Pizza, French fry. Pizza, French fry. Pizza, French fry. My friends are guiding me. Quick, quick, quick, quick, quick. They go so quick my pizza can't keep up. However, we separate. And I end up on the edge of glory. A cliff tempting me to take one wrong move so the pillowed mountain can have me forever. The only way out is through. Meaning I have to get the fuck down somehow. And I attempt to get to safety as Mother Nature pilfers both of my skis. These boot clamps have not been tightened. Someone's gonna hear from me if I ever get down this godforsaken hill full of snow and then get the cursed frostbite of the toes and fingers. And I can already start to feel them. Want to snap off one by one. Because I can feel them. I can feel them as they are. I'm touching the skin because my ski poles slip through my fingers as I do the 20 foot death slide. And so do my mittens. And the. And the frost nip begins. And on my belly I turn to gain core Control that the gravity tends to take for its own. No, you cannot have me. I must maintain my position. I pull out my cell phone, hold it high in the sky, looking for one bar of a service. Please. I'm living in a Verizon commercial. Can you hear me on the other side? Anyone? I attempt to dial 911 for help, but this part of the mountain is soulless. I look for any kind of a g to take me to safety. And nothing. Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? I start to scream. Hello? Hello? Hello? Is anybody out there? I'm in a dangerous situation. But what is the emergency call good for if not not operable in an emergency? So this isn't real. This isn't real. This emergency call is another mirage of a visage. I move it around the sky. I move it around the sky to see if I can connect to any kind of wireless frequency. Please. Here I am. 91 1. Hello? Hello? Hello? Anybody? Anybody? Nothing. No can do. And this is where I am forlorn and lucklorn, but also kind of calm because luckily I took a half of an edible and that. And that brings me into my body. As I reflect on the mystical parts of life. Ah, where am I? These beautiful trees. Somebody will come save me. Or maybe they won't, but I must somehow get down. Since 911 isn't answering, I have no choice but to repeat a belly slide threatening my internment if my limbs don't move quick enough to grasp the lens of a meager pine tree. I'm on my belly. I'm on my belly. In just the right minute.
