MEMOIR
More than we want to know
Kathie Lee Gifford took a ton of criticism back in the mid- ’90s after it was alleged that her line of clothing for WalLMart was being manufactured in sweatshops. She self-righteously declared her ignorance of the situation and then foisted herself on some government agencies investigating labor law. She was, eventually, forgiven. Or at least, for an unfortunately brief time, forgotten.
She should not be afforded that courtesy, however, for her most recent, bloatedly titled and astoundingly self-indulgent book.
“Just When I Thought I’d Dropped My Last Egg: Life and Other Calamities” is so pointless an exercise in self-glorification that even rabid Kathie Lee fans are bound to consider it a horrific waste of 22 bucks. Read it, if you absolutely must, in the library. Do not encourage her to continue this behavior by contributing to her royalties.
Here’s the deal. The book is a collection of essays, which, in Kathie Lee’s case, most often means dimwitted riffs on such random topics as her gnarly, bunioned feet; her crush on Charles Krauthammer; her family’s appearance on “Family Feud” against Dog the Bounty Hunter and crew; her lack of an iPhone, and the sorry state of her “flop bags” (don’t ask).
Kathie Lee being the incapable- of-self-editing Kathie Lee, she also includes musings on a constipated houseguest’s ultimate relief; what she taught her kids to call their genitals; her colonoscopy; the reason for her preference for female gynecologists; and her waning sex life with Frank Gifford (really, Kath? It’s just waning NOW?).
Kathie Lee being the self-appo int ed- crusader-for-all -that-is-good-and-right Kathie Lee, she also cites her staunch support of AIDS test notification; colon cancer awareness; fair labor practices, including overpaying your Hispanic employees like she does; non-radical, non-crazy politicians; people (like her) without college degrees; having an attitude of gratitude; Jerusalem, manicures and good manners.
Being the incredibly-defensive- about-the-very-media- attention-she-clamors-so- loudly-for Kathie Lee, she also waxes on and on and on about the aforementioned sweatshop unpleasantness; leaving Regis; her use of something
called Fraxel instead of Botox, Restylane or surgery (oh, come ON, Kath), and her marriage to philandering oldster.
And being the shameless self-promoting Kathie Lee, she also belabors readers with all too much information, and samples, of her work as a budding writer of Broadway musicals.
Also, as you might expect, Name That Buffoon makes ample mention of Cody, Cassidy, Chardonnay, Chablis, Reege, Hoda, Michie and assorted other people in her cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs world.
All this is of course sprinkled with her customary feigned humility and disingenuous proclamations about her devil-may-care, I-am-what-I-am imperviousness to others’ negative opinions. She fails to mention that she is only impervious until she can cry about it on camera.
What Kathie Lee has produced here is roughly two weeks’ worth of the same stream-of-unconscionableness that has tumbled out of her yap for the past two decades, only now it’s set inexorably in 12-point type.
Just When I Thought I’d Dropped My Last Egg: Life and Other Calamities By Kathie Lee Gifford Ballantine 291 pages, $22
Barbara Sullivan is a News copy editor.
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