Awarded Best Humor Columnist of 1996 by the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, P. S. Wall has tossed the nation on its funny bone with her nationally syndicated column "Off the Wall." Combining the irreverence of Dave Barry and the sass of Molly Ivins, P. S. Wall is as irresistible as that last piece of candy (but much better for you). From marriage to parenthood, from middle-age spread to what women really want, this hilarious ...
Awarded Best Humor Columnist of 1996 by the National Society of Newspaper Columnists, P. S. Wall has tossed the nation on its funny bone with her nationally syndicated column "Off the Wall." Combining the irreverence of Dave Barry and the sass of Molly Ivins, P. S. Wall is as irresistible as that last piece of candy (but much better for you). From marriage to parenthood, from middle-age spread to what women really want, this hilarious collection takes it all on. Now, a few laughs compliments of P. S. Wall:
MEN: "Men are like food. When your girlfriend is dating a dip, it's up to you to tell her to lick those fingers clean and eat her peas and carrots like the rest of us."
WEIGHT: "A few years ago, I thought 'Fat Gram' was a rap singer. I drank whole milk like a kitten, didn't think twice about slathering mayo on a toasted cheese sandwich, and still had a stomach you could bounce a quarter on. Nowadays, I can't walk past the dairy section without my thighs curdling like cottage cheese."
MOTHERHOOD: "Whenever I start getting that maternal yearning, I borrow my nephew. After about two hours, I'm fully prepared to donate all my female organs to science."
Tennessee-based syndicated columnist Wall is a force to be reckoned with. Her topics are her husband, "Sweetie," men in general, "girl talk," relatives, weight, clothing and food, and she has plenty to say about them. The paradox that Wall and her friends have yet to resolve is the lack of attention they get from their spouses. She wonders whether the cause in her case is her weight and inquires about liposuction for "the bag of fat between her neck and her ankles," but finally decides against it. And while her brunch buddies are categorizing men as scum and dirt balls, she consoles herself that on occasion Sweetie behaves like a lap dog rather than a wolf. On her bad days, Wall regrets she's not one of those lucky women who married gays. There's something touching about her self-deprecating brand of humor, which doesn't threaten but invites one to commiserateand laugh. (Oct.)
Product dimensions: 5.48 (w) x 8.12 (h) x 0.45 (d)
Meet the Author
“Born in Tennessee and raised in Alaska, Wall has the southerner’s warm gift for metaphor and a northerner’s cool aptitude for telling it like it is,” Kirkus Reviews observed of columnist-turned-novelist Paula Wall.
In 1996, Paula Wall took a couple of "snippets" she'd written to her local newspaper. One year later, the National Society of Newspaper Columnists named her Humor Columnist of the Year. Wall's column, Off the Wall, went on to become Universal Press Syndicate's #3 Internet column after Dear Abby and News of the Weird, with a weekly readership of over 8 million. She was also a finalist for the Thurber Prize.
Two collections of her columns were published: My Love is Free... But the Rest of Me Don't Come Cheap, and If I Were A Man, I'd Marry Me, which stayed on the Top Requested Humor Books List for 28 weeks, sandwiched between Ben Stiller and George Carlin, a position where Wall says she had always longed to be.
The Rock Orchard is Wall's first novel. She lives on a farm in Tennessee where she writes in a closet.
Biography courtesy of the author's official web site.
Good To Know
Some fun outtakes from our interview with Wall:
"I'm a verbal klutz. I'm always mixing up words. A couple of weeks ago my Better-half and I were at a bookstore looking at magazines and I asked him if the actress on one of the covers had been ‘auto-shopped.' He said, "You mean, ‘Photo-shopped?' Then, he took a closer look and said dryly, "On second thought, considering the amount of body work done, you had it right the first time.'"
"I never look in the mirror until it's too late. I just throw on clothes and go. Better-half and I were standing at the checkout and a little kid behind us tugged on his mother's sweater and whispered, ‘Mommy, is she poor?' I looked down and I was wearing jeans I'd had since college. The knees were gone, the seat was a mere memory, and there was a dab of paint from every house I'd ever lived in. Better-half had been trying to get me to pitch them for years.
‘See,' he said, ‘it's time to retire those rags.'
‘But they make me look thin!'
‘Honey, if that butt looked any bigger the U. S. Post Office would assign it a zip code.'"
"Bury me on a bed of moss. I'm a country girl to the marrow of my bones. Better-half, on the other hand, thinks a four-star hotel is roughing it. Several times a year he drags me to Manhattan and tries to rub some culture into me. Within fifteen minutes, I'm on a first name basis with the hotel staff, asking about their kids, and trading recipes."
"Last summer, in an effort to make me feel more at home in the Big Apple, Better-half rented bikes, and we rode around Central Park and the Upper East Side. Even the squirrels' fur coats were haute couture. As he eyed a gazelle-looking jogger (and she eyed him back), he turned to me and said ‘See, there is wildlife in the city.'"